Chapter Twenty-Nine
She was welcomed into the little band, but dubiously.
People settled back politely, very much, Caroline thought, as a class might when they were about to listen to a boring but respected lecturer.
It occurred to her that she'd grown accustomed to ovations when she took the stage. Obviously too accustomed, she thought now as her nerves began to jump. This little patch of grass beside Sweetwater Pond wasn't Carnegie Hall, but it was a stage of sorts. And her current audience was reserving judgment.
She felt ridiculous, absurdly out of place with her gleaming Stradivarius and Juilliard training. She was ready to babble an excuse and crawl away when she saw young Jim grinning at her.
"Well now, little lady." Old Mr. Koons ran his fingers down his banjo strings and made them twang. He couldn't see more than three feet in front of himself, but he could still pick with the best of them. "What's your pleasure?"
"How about 'Whiskey for Breakfast'?"
"That'll do her." He tapped his foot for time. 'We'll get her going, missy, and you just come on in when you've a mind to."
Caroline let the first few bars roll by. It was a good sound, full and cluttered. When the rhythm had caught, she tucked the violin on her shoulder, sucked in a deep breath, and cut loose.
And the feeling was good-full and cluttered. As fun was supposed to be. The hand clapping from the audience kept time sharply. There was plenty of hooting, and when someone picked up the lyrics, they were given a shout of approval.
"I do believe that fiddle of yours is smoking," Koons told her, then took a moment to spit out a chaw. "Let's keep her going."
"I know only a few," Caroline began, but Koons waved her protest aside.
"You'll pick her up. Let's try 'Rolling in My Sweet Baby's Arms.' "
She did pick it up. Her ear and instinct were keen enough. When the trio segued into the blues, then bounced back with a raucous rendition of "The Orange Blossom Special," she was right there with them.
She lost herself in the pleasure of it. Even so, she noted Burns watching her-and watching Dwayne. She saw Bobby Lee cuddle Marvella into a dance when they slowed things down with "The Tennessee Waltz." The music poured through her, but she noted that Tucker had his head together with Burke in what looked like a private and very serious discussion. And she saw Dwayne, sitting gloomily, a bottle at his feet and his eyes on the ground.
Things were happening, Caroline mused. Even as the sun was lowering, the carnival rides whirling, the shadows lengthening, things were happening. Beneath the whistles and the laughter, nerves were jangling as fast as Koons's banjo strings.
And she was just another player, after all. Just one more player in the odd, uneasy game. Fate had dropped her down into this messy stew of heat and murder and madness. She was surviving. More, she was doing. The summer was half over and she was whole. She was even beginning to believe she was healed.
If she left Innocence with only that, it would be enough. Her gaze shifted back to Tucker. It would be enough, she thought again with a slow smile. But it didn't hurt to hope for more.
"Well, kick me in the head and call me addled." With a wheezy laugh, Koons laid his banjo over his lap. "You sure can make that fiddle dance, little girl. You ain't no la-di-da neither."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Koons."
"It's time we went and had ourselves a beer." He got creakily to his feet. "You sure you're a Yankee?"
She smiled, taking it for the compliment it was meant as. "No, sir, I'm not. I'm not sure at all."
He slapped his knee at that, then hobbled off, shouting for his daughter to get him a beer.
"That sure was some pretty playing, Miss Caroline." Jim hurried over to get a peek at the violin before she closed it in the case.
"Then I'll have to thank my teacher."
He stared, then dropped his gaze to the ground. But even with his head down, Caroline could see his grin spread from ear to ear. "Shoot, I didn't do nothing."
"It's us want to thank you," Toby said, cupping an arm around his wife's shoulders. He held himself stiffly, favoring his bandaged side. "You stood up for us the other night. I know you were a comfort to Winnie."
"I'm ashamed I haven't thanked you properly, Caroline," Winnie added. "I might've gone crazy if I hadn't known you and Miss Delia were looking after my kids while Toby was being patched up at the hospital. I'm obliged to you."
"Don't be. I'm told that's what neighbors are for."
"Miss Caroline." Lucy tugged on Caroline's skirt. "My daddy's going to sing the National Anthem before the fireworks. Mr. Tucker asked him special."
"That's wonderful. I'll look forward to it."
"Come on now." Toby hitched his daughter onto his hip. "If I know Tuck, he's going to be looking for this lady here, and we'd better get ourselves situated for those fireworks. It's getting on toward dark."
"How much longer?" Lucy wanted to know.
"Oh, no more'n a half hour."
"But I've waited all day…"
Caroline chuckled over the universal complaint as Toby and Winnie toted Lucy away.
"She's such a baby," Jim said with a superior smirk.
Caroline sighed at the derision in his voice. She knew he'd defended his sister at the risk of his own life, but that was forgotten now. "You know what occurs to me, Jim?"
"No, ma'am."
"That I'm an only child." She laughed at his puzzled look, then picked up her case. "Go along with your family. If you see Tucker, tell him I'll be right back."
"I might could take that inside for you, Miss Caroline. It wouldn't be no trouble."
"That's all right. I have to make a quick phone call before it gets dark."
And wouldn't her mother be surprised? Caroline thought as she started across the green lawn, through the green shadows toward the white columns of the house. She would wish her mother a happy Independence Day. For both of them.
I'm free of you, Mother, and you can be free of me. Maybe, maybe if we face each other without all those thin, taut strings between us, we can find something.
Caroline turned around to take a last sweep of the fields of Sweetwater. Though it was barely dusk, the lights on the midway and on the rides were winking in the distance. They didn't look tawdry now, but hopeful. If she listened carefully, she could just hear the piping music and laughter as the Crack the Whip whirled its latest passengers.
Before long, night would fall, then the sky would explode with light, and the air would shake from the cracking booms. Turning back to Sweetwater, she quickened her pace. She didn't want to miss a moment of it.
Her mind was so full of what was to come, she paid little attention to the voices. It wasn't until she heard the fury in them that she stopped, wondering how she could avoid walking in on an argument.
When she saw Josie and Dwayne standing in the front drive beside Josie's car, Caroline automatically stepped back, thinking she could hurry around the side terrace. She hesitated just long enough to see the knife Dwayne held.
She froze where she was, beside the end column on the graceful front porch, watching, stunned, as brother and sister faced each other over the blade. Across the lawn, beyond the cotton field, revelers waited impatiently for full dark and celebration. Here, where the crickets were just beginning their chorus in the grass and a whippoorwill perched in a magnolia and called for a mate, the two were unaware of being observed.
"You just can't do it. You just can't," Josie said furiously. "You have to see that, Dwayne."
"I see the knife. Jesus, Josie." He turned it in his hand, staring at the dull glint as if hypnotized.
"Give it to me." She struggled to keep her voice calm and even. "Just give it to me, and I'll take care of everything."