Читать книгу The Book of Harlan - Bernice L. McFadden - Страница 19

Chapter 12

They promised to come back for Harlan as soon as they were settled. But they never quite settled.

In DC, clothed in a smart dress and dainty hat, Emma marched into a cabaret that was advertising for a new pianist. She introduced herself to the manager, a big, black, thick-lipped man, heartily shook his meaty hand, and advised him, quite confidentially, that she was exactly who he was looking for.

Amused, he rolled his long cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Are you now?”

“Yes.”

The man pointed at the piano. “Show me.”

Back straight, head high, Emma marched to the piano, situated herself on the bench, floated her hands above the keys, and froze. Every note of every song she had ever played flew right out of her head.

“I’m waiting.”

Emma shot him a weak smile, cleared her throat, and cracked her knuckles. Still, her mind remained blank.

She left in tears.

“Maybe you coming down with something?” Sam said.

“Maybe.”

Sam made her a cup of hot tea. “They’ll be other auditions,” he assured her.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

There were indeed other auditions and Emma froze each and every time.

“DC ain’t worth squat,” she declared after the seventh disappointment. “I think I’d do better someplace else. What you think, Sam?”

Sam thought what Emma thought.

When they moved to Baltimore, Emma experienced the same paralysis. Philadelphia was no different.

“Baby, I think you got the stage fright.”

“That don’t make no sense!” Emma snapped. “I been playing the organ in church ever since I was four years old and this ain’t never happen!”

“Perhaps,” Sam offered cautiously, “that was because you were doing the Lord’s work. These clubs is the devil’s playground.”

Emma glared at him. “Now you sounding like my daddy.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Make sense to me.”

“God is everywhere!” Emma screamed.

“Except where He ain’t.”

“I ain’t hearing this from a man whose sole purpose for attending church was to find a woman.”

“Not just any woman.” Sam slipped his fingers between hers. “You.”

Emma melted. “You a stone-cold fool, Sam Elliott.”

“But I’m your fool, Emma Elliott.”

* * *

The couple returned to Macon to celebrate the holidays as well as Harlan’s first birthday.

They arrived empty-handed, sans luggage. All the moving around had depleted their meager savings. They didn’t even have enough money to buy Christmas and birthday gifts for Harlan. Tenant paid for their train tickets.

When Emma walked into the house and removed her coat, Louisa almost cried. Emma was thin, her once-full hips now sheared down to the bone; dark half-moons hung beneath her eyes.

Sam didn’t look much better.

Furtively avoiding the shock shining in Louisa’s eyes, Emma forced a smile. “Where’s Harlan?”

“Upstairs napping,” Louisa squeaked.

In the bedroom, Emma and Sam stood over the crib, marveling at the little life they’d created.

“He’s getting so big,” Emma whispered in wonderment.

Sam grinned, reached down, and touched Harlan’s hand. “He’s amazing, Emma, thank you.”

A lump rose in her throat. “He is, he is,” she managed.

“Maybe it’s time we take him with us.”

“Maybe,” Emma said.

* * *

Days later, as the family prepared to head out to Christmas Eve service, Tenant turned to Emma and asked if she wouldn’t mind accompanying the choir on the organ. “Like old times.”

The words barely left his tongue before Emma barked, “No!”

Tenant flinched at the severity of her response, but said nothing. He had no idea that Emma was damn mad at the Lord for taking away her ability to play in front of an audience of strangers, and so she had ousted God and His religion from her life.

“S-sorry, Daddy,” Emma mumbled as Tenant shuffled sadly away.