Chapter 8
Friday night came and Eric couldn’t help but put on a little cologne. A splash on his neck, then on the other side, and he was ready. He glanced in the mirror. He looked like he always did, hat, flannel, but instead of his work shirt with the Sweet Milk Dairy logo, he wore a plain gray shirt. Charlie’d never go for a bumpkin like him. Who was he fooling?
He thundered downstairs. Because his friends elected him to start the bonfire, he needed to leave early to get out to the remote location. A load of wood waited for him in his pickup truck.
His mom listened to the radio in the kitchen, singing along, doing dishes.
He grabbed a box of matches from over the fridge. “You going over to Tara’s tonight?” He shook them to make sure there were enough. The sound of wooden sticks met his ears. He had enough.
“What for?”
“She invited you to the Keytone’s men’s choir. And their barbershop quartet.” He couldn’t remember the name. “You should go.” He snagged a handful of dryer lint and sheets of the local newspaper for kindling.
Laurie sighed. “Oh, I don’t know.” Focusing harder on her dishes, she furrowed her brows.
He tucked the paper under his arm. “It will be fun. You can hang out with friends and have a good time. Ange can watch Lizzie. You should go.”
She sighed and turned off the water, settling a pot onto the drying rack.
“You feel as if you don’t deserve to have fun. Is that it?”
“No, it’s just—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.
He rubbed her arm. “You haven’t been out since Pa died. It’s okay to go and have fun. He’d want you to go to events and enjoy yourself—make new friends.”
She turned off the faucet and shook her hands free of water. “I suppose I can go. I’m not dressing up.” She looked down at her jeans and button-up shirt.
Eric winked. “Maybe take off the apron.”
Rolling her eyes, she removed the apron and hung it on a hook on the side of a cabinet. “Fine.”
“And tell me all about it when I get home.” He walked backwards toward the kitchen door.
“What time will that be?”
“After midnight. Maybe later. In fact, don’t wait up for me. I’ll be the last to leave. I’ll stay until the fire is all extinguished.”
She nodded. “I won’t stay any later than nine at Tara’s.”
“That’s fine.” He glanced at the clock. It was six now. The rest of the crew was coming at seven. He’d better get cracking if he wanted a roaring fire in an hour.
Laurie decided she’d better wear at least a little powder and maybe some mascara. People always said she looked tired these days when she didn’t wear makeup. It’s not exactly tired, she just didn’t see any need to get all dolled up without Will being here to coo excitement at her looks. He always had a ready compliment for her.
After Eric left, she went upstairs and found Angie in her room.
“Watch Lizzie until nine, will you?”
“No problem. Just doing homework.”
“Lizzie’s bedtime is nine o’clock.”
“I know.” She waved her away. “Go, Mom. You don’t have to worry about us. She’s not a little girl anymore.”
Laurie nodded. She went into her bedroom to her ensuite bathroom and put a little powder on her face, evening her skin tone, then a little blush. She grabbed the eyebrow pencil. Something else was lacking. Mascara and eyeliner came next. Then lipstick. She stood back and evaluated herself in the glass. Not too bad for a girl pushing fifty!
Tara’s orchard was across one of the cow fields, and Laurie could’ve walked and had walked the path before, but tonight, she drove.
When she got to the main road, she turned right and then right again, following the dirt road to the small venue. Rows of apple trees grew to the right; to the left, pears. Closer to the building, rows and rows went clear to the next hill.
Plenty of cars were already parked in the lot. A sandwich chalkboard sign sitting out front, nestled between a display of hay bales, pumpkins, and purple and yellow mums read: Live Music Friday. Keytones and the Gentleman’s Quartetly.
She studied it, admiring the cleverness of replacing an R with a T in Quarterly. Then the voices in her head told her she was stupid for going. Who would want her to come? Who would she sit next to? What right did she have to have fun when Will had suffered so much and died? She should just turn around and go home.
She was about to rebuckle her seatbelt when she heard a knock on the window.
Tara stood outside, grinning and waving. “You came!”
Laurie unrolled the window. “I was just about to leave.”
“You can’t leave. It’s a great show! The music has started. Dancing starts at ten.” Tara opened the car door, ignoring Laurie’s protestations.
Ten? She wasn’t even going to stay until nine.
Tara waved her in. “Come inside for at least one show. They’re really good.”
“Okay.” Tara could be so persistent. And in this case, Laurie was thankful. She wouldn’t have gone inside on her own.
She grabbed her purse, locked the door, took her keys, and followed Tara inside the small store.
Inside, the place was hopping! Several men from forties to eighties wore 1920s straw boater hats with bands the same red color as their matching vests. Usually, when Laurie went to events, more women attended than men. This time it was the opposite. For sure, a few sweethearts, wives, and even children accompanied the Keytones. But Laurie hadn’t seen so many men together in one spot wearing the same uniform since Will had left the service.
One of the older gentlemen got jostled in the crowd, and his hat fell off his head. The older gentleman shook a good deal and was about to bend over.
Laurie raced over to help him, but another man beat her to it.
He also wore a brocade vest, but instead of red, his was black. “I got it, Lonnie.” The black-vested man bent and picked up the hat, but saw that Laurie was there, too, to help out.
“Thank you, Carl.” Lonnie took the hat.
“My pleasure.” Patting him on his back, Carl flashed him a smile then faced Laurie. “Thank you!”
“Oh, I didn’t do anything.”
His grin spread nearly from ear to ear. “You saw someone in need and responded. That’s a mighty big thing. Many people would’ve looked the other way.”
Laurie didn’t know what to say to that, but her face flamed.
“Lonnie is one of the oldest members. Even though he’s pushing ninety, he still has a great set of pipes. He’s a legend around here. He won awards in his day. We’re grateful to have him.” Carl had amazingly blue eyes, and a full head of dark hair for someone in his mid-fifties. His temples had turned a nice pewter. He carried a black case smaller than a flute case.
“You going to play the piccolo?” She pointed to the case. But it looked too big to be a piccolo.
“No.” He smiled and then raised his eyebrows but gave no other explanation about the case. “I’ve got to go. Lovely meeting you.”
“You, too.” Realizing she’d never formally introduced herself, Laurie shook her head at her awkwardness and returned to her chair by the cash desk. What did she expect after not going out in three years?
At a whistle signal, the men crowded onto one side of the room, lined up in two or three rows. Lonnie shuffled over and took his place in line.
Carl strode to the center of the choir of men carrying a stand with fluttering music. Laying the black case on the stand, he opened it.
What was inside? Laurie leaned closer to get a better look through the heads in front of her.
He unzipped the black case and pulled out…
Laurie almost laughed out loud. He pulled out a baton! Carl was the leader of the men’s choir.
Dropping the case out of the way, Carl, pinching the baton between his forefinger and thumb, stood and faced the men.
Laurie could only see his back, but he was athletic and energetic.
From his vest pocket, he pulled a round metal pitch pipe and hooted. A single note rang out into the room.
The men harmonized from the single note.
Carl lifted his baton. “One, two, three!” he whispered.
The men started a lovely a cappella choral rendition of “Danny Boy.” After that “Oh, When the Saints Go Marching In,” “Baba Yetu,” and “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.” The crowd sang along. Then they did more popular songs and ended with “You’ll Never Walk Alone” from the musical Carousel.
Laurie’s eyes dripped. The lyrics touched her deep in her heart. She’d never had music affect her in that way before.
Tara handed her a tissue.
During the final applause, Carl turned, caught her eye and smiled. A meaningful moment of connection passed between them.
The men in the choral group broke their lines and took seats within the audience. Carl returned his baton to his case.
Laurie wiped her face. The whole musical experience entered her being and shook her. The pent tears from these last three years rolled out of her, cleansing her soul.
Tara put her arm around her. “It’s okay to cry, Laurie.”
Four men stayed up front, all wearing black vests.
“What’s going on now?” she whispered to Tara.
“Men’s Quartetly.”
“That’s a clever name.”
“Carl came up with it.”
Laurie raised her eyebrows, intrigued.
Carl blew his pitch pipe again, pocketed it, and then the four of them harmonized perfectly.
They did fun songs, they did serious songs, they made jokes, laughed, and used their hats as props in coordinated movements.
Laurie laughed so hard, she wiped away tears of laughter this time.
At the end of the show, Carl and his three barbershop quartet brothers bowed.
The audience stood and clapped. Laurie jumped to her feet and clapped until her palms hurt. Music washed her soul, bathed it in tears and laughter. She was finally ready to be whole.
Tara elbowed Laurie. “Here, you have to meet Carl.”
Laurie squinted at the man bowing at the front of the crowd to great applause. “What’s his story?”
“Wife died many years ago, and he never remarried. He threw himself into the music group and founded Keytones and the Gentlemen’s Quartetly here in Sugar Creek. He claims he hasn’t had time to date or start a relationship. But I think he just hasn’t found the right woman.” Tara pushed her forward. “You two would make a great match.”
Laurie would love to show appreciation to the man who had helped her feel something other than despondency after three years.