“Hey.” The word sounded weak in her ears. “You can’t just—”
“Hush up.” He grabbed his other guitar and settled next to her, his long legs dangling over the side. “Here we go. Remember the notes? Remember what I told you?”
She did. She’d gone over the book he gave her a dozen or more times, wishing each time for a guitar on which she could practice. Her fingers might not be as nimble as her ear, but the next few minutes revealed to her that she did indeed have a knack for this. She could hear the song in her head and find the notes on the guitar. How or why, she didn’t know.
“I told you, you’re a natural.” Grinning, Jackson pumped his fist. “You’ll catch up to me in no time.”
That seemed unlikely but the kind words buoyed her. They did simple chords and put them together in little songs like “Mary Had a Little Lamb” and “Farmer in the Dell.” Jackson cheered when she got it right, laughed and cajoled when she didn’t. Their voices mingled with the notes and made a music that was sweeter than any she’d ever heard.
“Good, good, you’re doing great!” Jackson leaned forward, his legs kicking back and forth. “You’re the next Loretta Lynn, I’m telling you.”
“You’re just saying that.” She leaned into the guitar. It felt so perfect nestled on her lap, the wood warm in the sun, the strings tight against her fingers. “But thank you. I don’t have any desire to be anyone else. Just me.”
“Just you, Amish girl.” He plucked a new tune, one she didn’t recognize. “You’re pretty wonderful, just you.”
“Don’t.”
He held up a hand, pick clutched between thumb and forefinger. “Sorry, sorry. Just play. Try this.”
She closed her eyes and listened to the notes, then strummed them herself.
“You’re amazing.”
She opened her eyes to see him grinning at her, his face suffused with delight and that other thing…that thing that scared her. “No, I’m not. I’m just me.”
“Okay. Don’t get that scared look like I’m the boogie man or something.” Jackson played a few measures. “How about ‘Jesus Loves the Little Children’?” You folks only do religious music. That’s fine. This should be right down your alley.”
With each trial and error, each do-over, each new run-through they sounded better. The song made her smile…until she thought of her little brothers and sisters. Jesus loved them. He loved the little children. Here she was, engaged in child’s play when she should be home helping Mudder get supper.
“I have to go.” She held out the pick. “It’s way past time.”
“We haven’t gotten to the good stuff yet.” Ignoring her outstretched hand, Jackson pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket. He smoothed it out and laid it on the tailgate next to his leg. “I finished a song. I want to play it for you.” He ducked his head, his cheeks staining a deeper shade of red than warranted by the sun overhead. “It’s kind of rough, but I think you’ll like it. It’s called ‘The Plain Truth.’”
Before she could respond, he began to play, his voice softer, gentler than she’d ever heard it before. A sweet twang resonated in it that reminded her of the singers she heard on the country music station.
It seems like our worlds don’t touch, they don’t meet.
They’re hot and cold, black and white, bitter and sweet.
We’re walking on opposite sides of a raging river, no bridge between us.
But the first time I saw you
Looking all angelic in your apron and your bonnet,
I saw that place where hot and cold meet, thunder rattles, and lightning strikes
In a near fatal miss.
Where bitter and sweet entwine, lips pucker and smile, leading to that first kiss.
Where black and white collide, we see that nothing is so simple.
Blinded by the light, I don’t see the near miss, I see blue eyes and lips and dimples.
You say our worlds don’t touch, they can’t meet.
They’re like hot and cold, black and white, bitter and sweet.
We’re walking on opposite sides of a raging river, no bridge between us.
I say our roads met the first time I saw you.
I want you and you want me.
That’s the plain truth
Lord, it’s the plain truth
Coming down on you and me.
On Sunday morning you sit on a bench in a barn.
I’m planted in a pew in the Methodist church
Down on Main Street where the sweet sound
Of organ music invites in sinners and saints.
I’m a little of both, I admit, but
We’ve both been loving on Jesus our whole lives.
There is no river, there is no great divide.
All you have to do is admit it.
I want you and you want me.
That’s the plain truth
Lord, it’s the plain truth
Coming down on you and me.
I want to love you for the rest of my life
Someday, I want you to be my wife.
I want to share a spot in the cemetery when this life ends
I look into your blue eyes and hear eternity calling on the wind.
Hear that sound? That’s the sound of you and me and eternity.
I want you and you want me.
That’s the plain truth
Lord, it’s the plain truth
The plain truth coming down on me and you.
The music died away. She found she couldn’t speak. Neither did he. Birds cackled overhead. A dog barked. Captain lifted his head, whined, and went back to his nap. Jackson plucked a note. Then another. Finally, still staring out at the pond, he smiled.
“It’s just a song. Don’t look so scared.” He laid the guitar in its case and shut it. “It’s way too long for the radio. I need to cut it down. Sometimes I do this sort of stream of consciousness thing to get the words down and then I start paring it back and paring it back until I get down to the nice, white, polished bone. You ever do that?”
“Sometimes.” Her voice sounded breathless in her ears. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“How can you think all those things?” Of all the questions milling around in her mind, that was the only one she could voice. Kisses and dimples and wife and babies and sinners and saints. All in one song. “We hardly know each other.”
“I just wrote what I felt.” He smoothed his hand over the leather case without looking at her. “Isn’t that what you do?”
“Yes.”
He looked up and met her gaze. “It’s just a song.”
So he’d said.
“I have to go.”
He stuck his pick in his pocket as if to punctuate her statement. “We’ll do this again.”
He made it sound like a vow.
“I’ll try.”
“I knew we would be good together.” He smiled, but his eyes held hers with a look so like a promise she couldn’t bear to break the hold he had on her. “Your voice is its own instrument, Adah. Even if you never play the guitar, they can’t take your voice from you.”
A sob welled up in her with such force it nearly strangled her. Jackson understood her in a way no one ever had before. Not even Matthew. “I really should go.” She choked out the words that were the opposite of everything the quickening of her heart told her. “I need to get home to my family.”
“If you need to go, go. I understand about family stuff, but there’s something I want to ask you first.”
Considering his previous invitation had brought her here, Adah girded herself for this new temptation. “Whatever it is, I can’t.”
“At least hear me out.”
That’s what kept getting her in trouble. “I have to go.”
“Meet me at the fairgrounds Monday night.”
“What?”
“The stock show and rodeo is in town. Clayton Star and his band are playing at the fairgrounds after the rodeo. They’re really good. I want you to hear them.”
“I can’t.” It wouldn’t be any different from any of the other concerts she’d attended. Only then she’d been with Matthew. She’d felt protected, as silly as that sounded. Being with her own kind made her feel as if no one was looking at her like a misfit or an outcast. An oddity.
“You’ve never been to a concert?”
“It’s not that. I have been. I just don’t know—”
“If you should go with me? You don’t want to be seen with me?”
The only ones who might see her were friends also still in their rumspringa. Matthew wouldn’t be there. The only reason he went was for her. “I don’t want you to think there’s more here than there is.”
“There is more here, even if you don’t want to admit it.” He tilted his head, a sudden look of pain creasing his mouth. “Is there someone else?”
Heat curled around her face and made her ears hot. Her tongue felt tied in knots.
“There is.” He leaned back and grabbed a black cowboy boot sitting behind her. “But that’s okay. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t interested.”
“In the music. I came because of the music.”
He pulled on a sock and yanked on his boot. Adah switched her
gaze to the pond. A duck waddled from the edge of the water up the bank, a string of babies following behind her. A family. Adah belonged with family. She grasped the side of the truck and hoisted herself down.
“Don’t run away.” Jackson slid from the truck and stood, towering over her. “Wait! You said yourself you’re on your running around or whatever you call it. Until you decide to commit, you’re a free agent. You can do whatever you want. That’s what you said.”
Not wanting him to see her face, she kept her back to him. “I know what I said.”
“Then come. For the music. It’s a learning experience. Going to a concert after you’ve started to learn to play an instrument is different.” Adah could feel his presence in every bone and muscle in her body. She should never have come. But she had and now Jackson had her captivated as surely as a hunter did his prey. “You watch their style, the way they play, the things they can do, and you learn from it. You want to do those things too. You’ll see, you’ll want to play like they do and sing like they do.”
Adah gazed out at the pond, watching the wind make ripples in the water. The leaves rustled, making their own music as they danced. A mourning dove cooed. Bees buzzed over the sunflowers that turned and stretched toward the sun overhead. Music existed everywhere, but especially here, close to the earth. Her heart ached in rhythm with the water lapping against the earth. “This once. Just this once.”
“Amen and hallelujah!” Jackson grabbed her around the waist, lifted her from the ground, and twirled her around, once, twice, and plopped her back on her own feet. “You won’t regret it.”
Staggering, trying to find her balance, Adah threw out her arms. Jackson laughed and grabbed them, steadying her. His grip was strong and warm. Nee. She couldn’t depend on this man. She jerked from his touch. “I can’t. I changed my mind.”
“Too late.” He tugged something from his back pocket. “Take this. Call me when you get close to the fairgrounds. I’ll meet you at the gate by the back parking lot. The overflow lot.”
He held a phone in his hand. He’d known all along she would say yes. Adah backed away from him. “I can’t take that.”
“It’s a disposable phone. I bought minutes for it. When the minutes are gone, you can buy more or throw it away. I want to be able to find you at the fairgrounds. I don’t want us to be searching for each other in a crowd. My number is programmed in it. If you need me for anything, call me.”
If the way she felt had anything to do with it, Adah knew they’d been searching for each other for a long time. It couldn’t be allowed to matter. “You won’t notice a girl in an apron and prayer kapp driving a buggy?”
“If you’re scared to come alone, bring a friend.”
What friend could she bring who would understand about Jackson? The concert, yes, but Jackson, no. At times like this Adah wished for a big sister. Ruthie, who would be five years older than her. She would have experience. She would be done with rumspringa and baptized. She would have advice. She would’ve known what to do.
“I’m not scared.” Adah took the phone. “I have to go.”
“See you there.”
Adah climbed into the buggy. The last time she looked back, Jackson had his guitar in his hands. He strummed, waved at her, and strummed again. Making music with her to the very last second before she disappeared from sight.
A
dah looked at herself in the tiny square of dusty mirror hanging from the wall in the Daughertys’ old shed. Her pale image stared back at her. She used her sleeve to wipe the mirror clean. Despite the fact that she’d already looked around twice when she slipped into the old building, she glanced around a third time. No one saw. No one came out here since Tobias and Michael built the new shed closer to the barn and corral. She and her friends had been using this shed for their rumspringa meeting place for the last two years. No one ever seemed to notice their comings and goings at night—and early in the morning. Or they pretended not to notice.