Part 1

Lazy hickory blades sliced through heavy air like the prow of a ship through calm warm Caribbean waters. High above, summer houseflies buzzed without direction near the polished oak rafters where the fans hung. The electric devices seemed out of place here: a curious mixture of modern amongst the past, a clash of architectures, a conflict of technology with spirituality. The scant movement of air generated by the slowly spinning blades neither frightened the flies, nor provided relief from the oppressive morning heat.

At the front, behind the Reverend Rhodes, stained glass rose from floor to ceiling. Brilliant sunlight streamed through the shaded glass there, separating as if through a prism, a rainbow of colour framing the everlasting cross where Jesus met his divine fate wearing a crown of thorns.

Also behind the preacher, a piano sat surrounded by the members of the girls’ choir, a mixture of races, their voices joined by gospel melody. Their harmony rode the humid atmosphere like a dove gliding to earth. It was not always so, here. There was a time when the sight of a black girl singing beside a white girl would incite passions of violence in a sleepy town such as this, but the choir likely was too young to remember these times and it was perhaps better that way. It certainly improved the harmony. The dove continued to glide through the heat and the fans above continued their lazy turning.

The pews were far from full, another consequence of the passing of time, but those that attended through the midsummer heat seemed dedicated and focused upon both the choir, and earlier, the sermon. At the chorus, most of the congregation raised their voices with the choir, an enthusiastic harmony pleasant upon the ears.

A trickle of perspiration trickled down the side of my neck. Carefully, I wiped it away with the back of my hand. It wasn’t often that I attended church. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time when there were not bridesmaids and ushers, or pallbearers, in attendance with me. This past year marked graduation from high school; it was the time of life where understanding, and even more so, belief, comes at the cost of questioning.

I wore my rough jeans, sneakers and a clean t-shirt and sat near the back of the church, well separated from the more pious of the congregation. The air hung so laden with humidity that it was almost difficult to breathe, a pressure upon my lungs. Yet, I didn’t leave.

Brushing hair out of my eyes, I glanced towards the front.

She was there. Pretty in her church dress, legs bare, sitting on the aisle in the front pew. She sang with the rest of the town, her voice as clear as a champagne flute, mesmerising the dove. Idly, I wondered why she wasn’t standing at the piano with Miss Fitzroy and the mixed choir girls.

Suddenly, I reconsidered if it were the humid air only pressing against my lungs.

Rebecca Rhodes.

The girl responsible for my foray beyond the periphery, delving into an unfamiliar church where lazy hickory blades circled endlessly and voices celebrated in song.

My lungs ached.

I brushed my hair back again while another trickle of perspiration dripped down my back.

Rebecca turned in her seat, her arm carelessly thrown over the back of the pew. When her eyes grazed over mine, her lips curled into a smile as she opened her mouth to sing the chorus once more. And with a mischievous look, Rebecca winked.

The Reverend, standing unamused in front of both Jesus and his flock, scowled, as Rebecca swivelled gracefully back to face the front. She did not turn again.

God help me, I think I was in love with her.

After church, as was the custom, the congregation gathered on the lawn in front of the building, most of the members standing close to the Reverend. Idle conversation intermingled with humidity wafted from all directions.

I walked slowly through the heat, heading for the shade of an ancient oak that had probably been but a sapling when the church was built. Despite my attempts to avoid eye contact with the congregation, a somewhat shrill voice halted my pace prior to my finding the inviting shade.

“Land sakes alive! If it isn’t young Flannery!”

Eyes swivelled towards me; I could feel them crawling over me like spiders. I paused, a fatal mistake. Slowly, I turned, the sun beating down upon my head. I forced a smile onto my lips.

“Uh, hello, Miss Fitzroy...”

Miss Fitzroy was aging, though it was difficult to tell by the way she approached me with the speed of a tornado. Overall, I liked the older woman; she was kindly in the way that old spinsters tend to be.

“I haven’t seen you in church in ages! Wasn’t the choir delicious today, all fired up in this heat...”

Facing back towards the church, I became aware of most of the onlookers turning back to their conversations about the upcoming bake sale, or next week’s sermon. Some eyes were openly curious, some considerably hostile. I was a bit of a loner in the town, found my share of trouble, and my presence was enough to inspire much gossip. Such is life in a smaller town.

Miss Fitzroy’s voice began to fade into the background, though I was careful to nod in the correct places. If asked about the content of the one-sided discussion, such that it was, I would not be able to recall the details.

Peripherally, I became aware of one onlooker whose eyes remained carefully towards me. When I shifted my gaze towards her, Rebecca cast hers away deftly but with an enigmatic smile. She stood near the Reverend in a tight group composed of many parishioners who populated the front pews. While I watched, she turned her back to me, her legs flashing in the sunlight, returning to the undoubtedly spiritual conversation in which she had previously been engaged.

I wanted to walk over to her group, stand beside her, and perhaps engage the group in my spiritual disarray. However, such talk would create more of a loner and troublemaker reputation than I already enjoyed.

Swallowing quickly and turning back to Miss Fitzroy, I cleared my throat.

“ ... such a wonderful voice. I wish she’d join the choir, don’t you?”

“Who?” I asked, suddenly a little more interested. This was the first word that I’d actually spoken to the lady, though she’d been speaking to me for at least five minutes.

“Miss Rhodes, of course. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”

“I couldn’t agree more. She has a wonderful voice.”

Actually, she had a wonderful everything, but I didn’t voice that.

“And considering who she is, one would think that she would engage herself a little more in the service of our Lord...” Miss Fitzroy finally allowed her voice to trail off.

At least Rebecca sat with the pious sections of the church, not in the back pews with the riff-raff. Personally, I felt that Rebecca, merely by attending regularly, was displaying more than adequate service to the Lord, whoever that might be. Of course, in this town, it was possible that Miss Fitzroy expected a more public display of service, such as the Presbyterians up the road who for many months displayed the charming, but well-meant, inspirational credo on their entrance sign: “Give ‘er for God.”

I blinked away the strength of the sun.

“I thought she sang like an angel,” I said carefully.

Miss Fitzroy nodded, her hair, slightly bluish in the rays of the sun, bobbing with her head. “Of course. Of course,” she muttered. “She sings like an angel. But every time I invite her into the choir ... and her father ... he asks her every week.”

“Perhaps she likes to sing from the pews,” I offered somewhat lamely.

She harrumphed and cast me one of those familiar, disapproving looks.

“Such a waste,” she mumbled. It wasn’t clear if she meant me or Rebecca.

I merely shrugged as Miss Fitzroy turned slowly, her eyes travelling over the remains of the congregation. People were beginning to drift away, but the core surrounding Reverend Rhodes, including Rebecca, showed little sign of departure.

“You must excuse me, child. I must speak to the Reverend before he flies away.”

Again I shrugged. Sweat trickled down my neck and I longed for the shade of the ancient oak.

“It was nice speaking with you. I hope to see you next Sunday.”

I grunted non-commitally as she bustled away, homing in on the Reverend’s small circle.

Walking towards the oak tree, I paused to look back. Miss Fitzroy was animatedly speaking with the preacher, who looked like he was trying to fend her off with some aplomb. Rebecca stood aside, turned slightly away. Her features wore a bemused expression. She glanced towards the oak. When she saw me, she smiled and waved her fingers as they hung near her hips.

Surprised, I turned away without acknowledging her glance.

Instead of sitting down in the shade as I’d originally planned, I kept on walking. At first, I had no destination in mind.

In those days, what passed as roads wound dusty and beaten between fields of corn and wheat bordered by angular wooden fences.

Earlier, I’d passed the town market, nearby the church, where I spied the boys hanging around the aisles under the watchful eyes of Mr. Weatherby, the proprietor. Given time, Vincent, Bobby, and Zeke would undoubtedly exit the market with enough contraband to make old Mr. Weatherby cringe, though it was unlikely that he’d catch them at it.

I resisted the temptation to join the old gang, and walked quickly by before they glanced in my direction.

Half aimlessly, I wandered the dusty road between the fences, wondering why I’d really attended the sweltering sermon today. Beneath the rough exterior, I knew why; I simply didn’t want to admit it to myself.

At the Torvalds’ farm, I turned west down a laneway more dry and dusty than the main road. Without thought, I pulled off my shirt and tied it about my waist. Behind me, a flatbed rattled up the road, springs clattering. I thought I heard it stop briefly, but I didn’t turn to look.

Soil swirled up from my footsteps as the sun beat mercilessly down across my bare shoulders. The mid-summer wheat rippled beside me as the cicadas sang. Aside from the movement of the fields and the song of the insects and the steady drone of my footsteps, nothing moved nor breathed in the oppressive heat of the day.

I didn’t mind.

I wanted to be alone. To think.

It wasn’t to be.

It felt like a typical mid-summer day.

It turned into a fateful day.

Under the shade of a river elm located well west of the Torvalds’ fields, I settled with the bark scratching against the skin of my back. Perspiration trickled down my arms, but the sun muted through the branches high above and I could imagine that I was somewhere in Paris. Of course, I had as much chance of ever visiting Paris as I had of flying myself to the moon and back, but it was a dream of mine at the time. Or perhaps it was a dream to simply walk out of this town without a glance over my shoulder.

For a while, I watched the river flow by, its water blissfully unaware of me, only passing through the township on its long journey to a distant ocean. The locals lovingly referred to the waterway as “Mississippi Creek”, though I suspect it had a more official name. Situated somewhere to the north of me, I’d avoided the swimming hole; even in this heat, I doubted if any local kids had ventured out to partake. The air remained silent except for the singing of the cicadas and the soft whisper of the flowing water.

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the solidity of the tree.

And if it weren’t for the sudden sound of her voice close to my ear, I might have fallen asleep to the calm gurgling of the river and the midday heat.

She laughed as I jumped to my feet, scrambling as if I’d been caught shoplifting at Weatherby’s. I whispered something that is best not repeated in the presence of a lady. Of course, that only made the girl laugh harder.

Kneeling at the base of the elm where I’d been sitting, Rebecca wiped at her eyes. Her raven hair flowed down her back nearly to the dry grass. She still wore the dress I’d seen her wearing in the front pews of the church, her long, bare legs tucked under her like a cat relaxing in the shade. Her white top stretched tantalisingly across her chest, the seams slightly parted to reveal glimpses of pale skin beneath as she moved.

Realising that my eyes had roamed the length of her, I forced them to her face. I doubt very much if I fooled anyone.

Biting her lip, she suppressed another giggle. “I didn’t mean to startle you...” But her grin belied her words.

She’d certainly meant to startle me, though why, I had no idea. My heart hammered in my chest, but not only from the adrenaline imposed by my surprise. I couldn’t speak, though my brain was crying out to my mouth to say something witty or at least something to regain my composure.

Rebecca gestured towards the base of the tree.

“Don’t be silly,” she said easily. “Sit back down. You looked comfortable.”

Warily, I crouched down and eased myself back into my former position. Rebecca shifted herself around until she sat crosslegged, remaining carefully in the shade, facing me. The corners of her mouth trembled as if she were struggling not to laugh.

Regaining at least a modicum of composure, I swallowed.

“Hi,” I said.

She smiled.

“Hi,” she replied. “I saw you at the back of the church today.”

I nodded.

“Only people with a purpose sit at the back of Reverend Rhodes’ hellfire sermons,” she mused.

I didn’t answer. She didn’t seem to expect one.

“Are you going to answer my question?”

For a moment, I was totally puzzled. Then I realised that when she’d startled me earlier, it was with a question. A question that I’d only half-heard as my flight or fight instinct had kicked into high gear.

“I’m sorry?” I murmured.

She laughed again.

“I asked you if you were the infamous Flannery McBride.”

I didn’t answer, but merely stared at her. Her brown eyes had a depth to them. I was expecting more of the vacant and shallow ignorance of a fundamentalist bible-thumper. It wouldn’t make her, at least physically, any less attractive to me, but I was intrigued by what seemed to be a genuine intelligence reflected through the windows to her soul.

She grinned mischievously.

“The same Flannery McBride that was arrested two months ago? The same Flannery McBride that told the chief of police to go ‘f’ himself?”

Word travels fast in a small town. I don’t know why I had hoped that Rebecca wouldn’t know all that. It wasn’t my finest hour, though I recall that what I’d actually suggested to the good sheriff was likely anatomically difficult even for a contortionist. Amongst some comments about his general ancestry. All in all, not my finest hour, but of the offhand suggestions to the sheriff, I had few regrets.

“The same Flannery McBride who might cause my hide to be tanned, if a father knew his only daughter was even looking at, much less talking to him?”

This time, I nodded in the affirmative.

“I’m Flan,” I muttered.

She promptly stuck out her hand. Her fingers were long and feminine, her nails, while not manicured or painted, were even and groomed.

“I’m Rebecca Rhodes. Only daughter of the preacher man.”

I hesitated for a moment, then touched the girl for the first time as I gently shook her hand. Her touch was warm, friendly, inquisitive and sensual.

She nodded once, her easy laugh and grin dissolved into a grave seriousness. In one fluid motion without using her hands, she rose to her feet.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Mr. Flannery McBride,” she murmured.

And then she simply walked away towards the laneway leading back to town.

It was going to be an interesting summer.

The heat wave continued with no respite. The following day, I again wandered across the dusty laneways towards the river, settling again shirtless against the elm. Closing my eyes, I absorbed the heat and the soft sounds of the river bank.

Somehow, I knew she’d come. We had arranged nothing, only our odd conversation from the day before. But I knew she’d return.

Her feet made no disturbance of the atmosphere. Like the previous day, I had no idea she had arrived until she spoke, nearly in a whisper, near my right ear. Her breath against my neck was even warmer and more moist than the laden air.

Today, I was expecting the unexpected and her voice didn’t startle me to my feet as it had yesterday. Rebecca didn’t seem surprised by my lack of response. Once bitten, and all that.

“So, Flannery,” she whispered, “exactly why were you sitting at the back of my father’s church on Sunday?”

I turned and opened my eyes. Today, she knelt in denim and a country blouse. She was at least as beautiful as in her Sunday best.

Sidestepping her question: “Don’t you ever use a normal greeting?”

She laughed. “Such as?”

“Hello?”

She grinned and moved herself around until she again sat in front of me crosslegged, her runners tucked neatly under her thighs. She stuck out her hand again.

“Hello, Flannery,” she said with an enigmatic smile.

I hesitated. I wanted to touch her so badly I ached. But I definitely didn’t want her to know that. Nevertheless, I slowly grasped her warm fingers.

“Hello,” said I. “Most folks call me Flan.”

I half-expected her to rise and leave me as she had the previous afternoon. But she didn’t.

“I know.” Then after a pause. “I’m not most folks.”

No. Indeed she wasn’t.

I glanced behind me, left and right. There was nobody else. Not her father storming up the lane. Not the boys. I’m not entirely certain why I was expecting an appearance. Rebecca grinned as if reading my mind.

“The boys are still casing Weatherby’s, probably wondering where ‘Flan’ is today. My father is napping safely at home.”

“I wasn’t...”

Rebecca laughed lightly again.

“You were.”

I fell silent.

“Why do you hang out with them?” She, of course, meant Zeke, Bobby and Vincent.

I simply shrugged. There wasn’t any good reason. They mitigated the boredom.

“They’re kind of simple, ain’t they?”

That was a kind way of putting it. True, though.

“They back me up,” I said carefully.

Her eyes lit up, the intelligence there blazing again.

“Like they did in May?”

I shrugged again and she nodded carefully, the smile never leaving her lips. Her eyes assessed me, saw through me as though my skin were merely a translucent mirror. Her gaze was a little disconcerting.

“Why did you come to my Daddy’s church yesterday?”

“Was I unwelcome?”

She hesitated. “Unexpected. And unexpected is unusual around here. Answer the question.”

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugged. Her breasts rose with her shoulders, straining against the buttons. “You don’t have to answer. You don’t owe me anything.”

I considered the statement.

“I have questions.”

She raised her eyebrows and bit at her lip. Without further comment, and without using her hands, she rose to her feet again.

She bent and trailed her fingers across the line of my jaw. It burned where she touched me, and I desperately wanted her to stay.

“We all have questions, don’t we?”

Her feet disturbed the atmosphere as little leaving as arriving. When I glanced behind the tree, she was gone.

It was Thursday before I saw her again.

Her breath against my ear caused shivers to descend my spine.

“Will you sit in the back this Sunday?”

Determined to play out our ritual, I opened my eyes, turning to my right: “Hello, Rebecca.”

She scooted in front of me and smiled, dropping easily into her crosslegged pose again. She held out her hand which I grasped, savouring her warmth.

“Hello, Flannery.”

“Why do you come here?” I asked.

She smiled. “Why do you?”

Actually, I didn’t know the answer to that, at least not in full. When I didn’t answer her, she shrugged.

“I probably come here for the same reasons you do.”

I doubted that, but I smiled which caused her to smile, too.

“You know the liquor store in town?”

“Jacob’s?”

She nodded. Actually Zeke and Bobby had been looking to buy spirits there for months, trying to figure out how to make fake ID good enough to fool Mrs. Glenning, who had terrible eyesight and who operated the old register. Of course, everyone in this town knew everyone else’s age, so even fake ID wasn’t going to cut it. But, of course, Zeke and Bobby weren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed, either.

Rebecca smiled and placed a bottle in front of her. Slowly, she turned it until the label faced me. A black label stared at me: Jack Daniels.

I bit my lip.

“You oughtn’t raid your Daddy’s cabinet, I reckon.”

She laughed.

“Daddy? It borders on a sin to drink this stuff. He’d preach it to the town if he wasn’t concerned about an open revolt. In our house? He’d be worried that I’d raid it. There’s not a drop of this at home.”

“Then...”

“Mrs. Glenning has terrible eyesight.”

“You...”

She nodded.

I thought Zeke and Bobby might be impressed with this choir girl after all. As it turned out, I was dead wrong on that score. Right here and now, I shook my head.

Slowly, she reached forward and spun the top from the bottle. Her eyes glued to mine, she smiled and raised the bottle to her lips, her throat working prettily. She didn’t gulp the spirits, but she drank it without flinching or grimacing at the taste. Lowering the bottle from her lips, she licked a drop from the corner of her mouth. Silently, she held the bottle out to me, a challenge in her eyes.

I hesitated, but eventually wrapped my fingers around the bottle and lifted it to my lips. Fire seeped down my throat and into my belly. Nearly immediately, I could feel tendrils of fuzziness trickling through my mind. I wanted to kiss her.

She placed the bottle between us and grinned. Carefully, she screwed the top back onto the bottle; the fire water sat between us like a chaperone, silently watching from the tinder grass near her left sneaker.