Music Of Home Read online

  The Gordon house, like the Fields home, offered a pleasing view of the valley. Cool autumn weather had turned the leaves a variety of hues. Drusie enjoyed seeing bright red, shimmering yellow, blazing orange, and deep green leaves.

  “Archie sure picked a pretty day to drive up here.” With the back of his head resting against his chair, Gladdie looked with a lazy expression toward the valley. He inhaled an exaggerated breath, a sure sign he wanted to enjoy a good dose of crisp mountain air.

  “He sure enough did.” Without intention, Drusie followed his example. The air refreshed her, and the ordinary topic of the weather put her at ease. “Hope he enjoys the drive. Leaves sure are pretty.”

  “Sure are.” Gladdie peered at the midday sun. “He left Raleigh yesterday. He’s supposed to be here soon.”

  The fact of Archie’s imminent arrival struck her. Drusie tapped on the arm of her chair and rocked faster. “It’s gettin’ late. You reckon he’s had trouble?”

  “I don’t hardly know.” Gladdie shrugged. “But if he ain’t had trouble, he’ll be here soon, just like he promised. He said noon, so I doubt it’ll be much after that. Businessmen pride themselves on being prompt, you know.”

  Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, they saw a cloud of dust kick up on the road. A large automobile roared down the drive to the Gordon house.

  “What in the world is that?” Drusie leaned forward in her seat.

  “You mean, what kind of automobile is he drivin’?”

  “Uh-huh. I ain’t never seen one that fancy.”

  “It’s an Auburn. You ain’t never seen one of them before?” Gladdie teased.

  She eyed the Gordons’ aged Model T Ford parked in the side yard. The paint had chipped, but the tires were sturdy. Many of their neighbors didn’t have transportation anywhere near that good. “I have a feelin’ you ain’t never seen an Auburn, either. If Archie hadn’t written you about his fancy automobile, you wouldn’t be able to tell what you were lookin’ at. Now you just try to tell me I’m wrong.”

  Gladdie’s ma rushed through the front door, a spoon coated in ham hock grease in hand, wearing her perennial apron and polka-dotted dress. “What’s all that ruckus?” She looked to Archie’s automobile and answered her own question. “Oh! He’s here! And what an automobile that is!”

  Gladdie peered at the vehicle. “I admit, I ain’t never seen no automobile so light colored before. Kind of reminds me of the ivory pipe Uncle Ned used to have. Remember that, Ma?”

  “I sure do. Sent from some friend workin’ in Africa. Naruby or some place like that.”

  “I don’t think that’s a practical color for a car, considerin’ all the dust on the roads,” Drusie observed, then regretted speaking aloud. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean no harm. Just blurted without thinkin’.”

  “You didn’t say nothin’ I warn’t thinkin’,” Gladdie consoled her. “But Archie never was known to be practical. Reckon that’s why he’s so successful in the music business.”

  Drusie hadn’t seen an automobile that wasn’t painted black, either. “It may not be practical, but it’s right pretty.”

  “Sure is,” Gladdie agreed.

  “Sure is,” Mrs. Gordon opined.

  Archie pulled up to the house and came to a stop so fast that Drusie was afraid its driver might fly right out of the seat, but he remained steady. She figured the beast of a machine was too weighty to flip over no matter if it got up to fifty miles an hour. “I don’t reckon he had time to look at the pretty trees what with drivin’ like that and all.”

  Gladdie agreed. “Maybe not. I imagine he’s got more important things on his mind.”

  Archie cut off the engine, then waved at them as he got out of his car. Gladdie and Drusie stood, watching Archie approach. Though nowhere near as handsome as Gladdie, Drusie guessed that his swagger attracted the womenfolk.

  Suddenly Drusie felt self-conscious. She smoothed the skirt of her dress, a cotton affair she had sewn herself from patterned flour sacks. She had to wait two months to use up all the flour, but pretty red flowers on a white background had been worth the test of endurance. As soon as the next batch of flour was done, she could sew a shirt for Pa from the striped material of the sack they were using now. Ma had just gotten some white cotton cloth and a good supply of chintz at bulk discount from Mr. Goode’s store and had fashioned herself a new Sunday dress, Pa a shirt, Clara a blouse, and Drusie a skirt. At the rate they were going, the whole Fields family would soon be the best dressed at church.

  She looked at Archie. When he laid his gaze upon her, his expression brightened. She was glad she had chosen to wear the flowered Sunday dress. She wanted to look her best so Archie would think his cousin’s fiancée was a lady.

  She tried not to study Archie too hard, lest he think she was being a flirt. She hadn’t seen him in a long time—not since he went to Raleigh four years ago to make good in the city. He had changed from the acne-faced teenager she remembered. The trademark red hair remained, but the acne was gone and the face and physique had matured from a boy’s to a man’s. He was wearing a suit in a cut she’d never seen. The coat had buttons on both sides and came in at the waist. Perhaps that was the style in the city. A fine suit like that certainly set him apart from her friends and neighbors. He’d stick out like a sore thumb even in church. She wondered if men dressed like that in the city all the time. If so, they must be mighty uncomfortable wearing ties and starched shirts like they were always going to worship service.

  “Hey, Gladdie! I’d recognize you anywhere.” Archie tipped his hat at his aunt and greeted her, as well.

  Gladdie approached Archie, and the two men met midway in the front yard. Drusie watched them embrace. She could see even from the distance that they shared a genuine fondness.

  “That’s a mighty fine automobile you got there!” she heard Gladdie say.

  “A new Auburn Phaeton. Eight cylinder.”

  “She’s a beaut.” Although Drusie had never known Gladdie to covet anything, the admiration in his eyes for the automobile was obvious.

  “She sure is a great little tin can.” Archie gazed at the automobile like a miser would look at hoarded gold.

  Mrs. Gordon shook her head. “Men and their machines.”

  Drusie giggled. The sound apparently attracted Archie’s attention, because he looked up at her. “Butter and egg fly! What a tomato!” Ignoring Gladdie, Archie headed toward the house. “Is this Drusie Fields?”

  Drusie had never been described in terms of an edible item before, but she assumed from Archie’s animated expression that the words were complimentary. “It’s me.” She didn’t make a move to go closer, feeling that to do so would be too forward.

  He let out a low whistle, which at once made her feel complimented and strangely shy. “You grew up to be a dish. I’m not surprised. Your mama was always pretty. And what about Clara? Is she a looker, too?”

  “We look right much alike for sisters, I reckon,” Drusie acknowledged. “I think she’s prettier than me.”

  “Then she must be a hot mama.”

  “Hold your horses, Archie.” Gladdie’s voice indicated his displeasure. “The Fields girls are respectable, not some floozies you might meet in the city.”

  “I know it, cuz.” Archie tipped his hat. “Didn’t mean to offend, Drusie. Or you, either, Aunt Penny. Although I hope you don’t mind my saying that you are as beautiful as ever.”

  Mrs. Gordon swept her glance upon her apron and back to Archie. “Oh, you hush now! I’ve got to go finish up lunch.” She went back into the house, not bothering to catch the screen door like she usually did. Even over the loud bang it made as it shut, Drusie heard Mrs. Gordon’s giggles.

  Drusie felt more shocked than flattered by Archie’s bold words directed her way and a bit embarrassed that Mrs. Gordon acted like a schoolgirl, but she decided to be gracious for Gladdie’s sake. “With smooth talk like that, Archie, you must be sellin’ records left and right.”


  Archie laughed and leaned against one of the poles—which weren’t anything nearly so grand that they could be called columns—that held up the porch covering. “I only speak the truth,” Archie observed, still studying her. “Gladdie here tells me you take the roof off the house with your singing.”

  Drusie wasn’t sure how to respond. “I reckon I do sing right loud.”

  Archie chuckled. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, you’re quite the canary, according to Gladdie. And from what I remember, you liked to perform. Is that still so?”

  “Well, some people tell me I’m right good at singing, but of course, your ma is supposed to tell you that, I reckon.” Now that Archie was asking about her singing, Drusie felt even more anxious. She wished she hadn’t shown her unease by punctuating every thought with an expression of uncertainty.

  “Your ma, huh?” Archie looked at Gladdie. “You say everybody likes her, not just her ma?”

  “That’s right,” Gladdie said. “She’s just bein’ modest. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “That’s just grand. So are you going to perform for me?” Archie asked.

  “Perform? I—uh, sure.” Drusie’s anxiety turned to an excitement she tried not to display. Her plans were falling into place with no effort on her part. First, Gladdie had asked her to bring her banjo, which was no surprise since she was often called upon to entertain company. Archie, visiting from out of town as he was, would be no exception. But Archie wasn’t just any company. He was a record producer—owned a recording studio, even. He was the big boss at his business. What he said went. At least that’s what Gladdie told her. If she could impress Archie, then maybe she could cut a record and sell enough copies that Gladdie could buy Mr. Goode’s store. After that, she’d retire and they could live happily ever after.

  “Sure,” Gladdie piped up, interrupting Drusie’s daydream. “Drusie will play the banjo for you. She’ll even sing whatever song you request. If she knows it, that is. And she knows plenty of songs.”

  Archie took a seat in a rocker and rubbed his chin. “Hows about I let you pick whatever you want? Maybe a hymn and a traditional mountain tune.”

  “I have to say, you don’t waste no time,” Drusie said, hoping to stall him. She wanted to play for Archie, but she hadn’t thought he’d go in for the kill before they could sit a spell.

  Archie looked at his watch. “I don’t have time to waste. Time is money.”

  Drusie wasn’t sure his philosophy was the best way to go about living, but to be agreeable, she nodded.

  Gladdie handed her the banjo, and she sat back in the rocker. After thinking a moment, she selected her favorite tune, one that she knew would show off her voice. She looked back and forth at both men. Pride made Gladdie’s eyes glow.

  Mrs. Gordon came back out on the porch and joined them long enough to hear the songs. She clapped and smiled after the performance of the first tune and asked for another.

  As she complied, Drusie tried not to linger long on Archie’s face, but she could see interest and contemplation when she met his eyes. At one point when she caught Archie’s glance, she almost forgot the familiar words to her song. From the intensity in his gray eyes, she could see that how well she performed was important.

  When she was finished singing, everyone applauded.

  Archie grinned. “Gladdie didn’t exaggerate. You’re very good.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yep, Drusie does me proud every time. Sing him another song, sweetheart,” Gladdie prodded.

  “Another song? Don’t you reckon he’s right tired of hearin’ me?”

  “Not yet,” Archie said. “I want you to show me you can perform on short notice anytime. Try ‘Down in the Willow Garden.’ ”

  So this was truly an audition! She tamped down her nervousness and concentrated on the words to the song. The old tune told about a man who killed the one he loved with a saber. Its melody sounded sweet to the ears. One had to listen closely to realize the brutality of the act described.

  “Very poignant,” Archie said after the last note. “How about one more?”

  Drusie wasn’t sure what he meant by “poignant,” but she took it as a compliment and then launched into “Who’s That Knocking at My Door?” After she was through, the air fell silent.

  “You have quite a repertoire.”

  Drusie wished he wouldn’t keep using such strange words, even though he smiled as he said them.

  Archie stood, exuding confidence. “I think the music industry is ready for her. Lots of acts are making good with the music of home, the music we grew up with.”

  “Our mountain music sure is special,” Mrs. Gordon agreed. “Nothin’ like them city folks hear in them fancy opera houses they go to, I imagine.”

  “Nothing like it. And I think that’s why that music sells so well. But I must say, the audience for our type of music isn’t really highbrow people in New York and places like that. The people who buy our music are good, hardworking country folk,” Archie explained. “The music that I record at my studio reaches a large audience, and many of them are willing to buy a record or two.”

  “That’s all fine and good, but I don’t see what any of this has to do with Drusie,” Gladdie said.

  “You don’t?” Archie poked Gladdie. “This won’t be a trip for biscuits, will it?”

  “Biscuits?” Mrs. Gordon asked. “I thought you liked biscuits. Matter of fact, I made a batch up just for you.”

  “Oh, I like your biscuits, Aunt Penny. I just mean, I don’t want to waste my time.” Archie looked at Drusie. “So what do you think?”

  Unwilling to appear foolish and vain, Drusie decided she’d better get Archie to spell out his intentions for business, if he had any. “Think about what?”

  “Leaving this place for something better.”

  “Leavin’?” Gladdie let go of Drusie’s hand. “I don’t much like that idea.”

  Drusie wasn’t sure what to say. She had hoped Archie would like her singing, but at that moment, she realized she hadn’t thought through everything his good opinion might mean. If he wanted her to perform for a crowd, he’d want her to leave home. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t so sure about anything. “Why, I—I don’t know.”

  Drusie observed her surroundings. Lush foliage was everywhere, along with birds that woke her in the morning with their singing and deer that would sometimes peer at her when she was in the yard. The majesty of Grandfather Mountain never failed to inspire. She took in a breath that was a little deeper than usual, enjoying the fresh air. “There’s a lot to love about this place.”

  “True. But there’s a big world out there, and I think they’re ready for you.” Archie studied her. “And they’d be willing to pay money to see a pretty canary like you sing. Wouldn’t you like to have a few of the finer things in life?” He cut his glance to his automobile.

  Drusie shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind buying Ma some things for the house, and maybe a new truck for Pa, but I don’t need nothin’ for myself. The good Lord provides us with all we need. But I do have a dream. I mean, Gladdie does.”

  “You mean, the store?” Gladdie asked.

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Drusie answered.

  “And?” Archie let the word hang in the air.

  Drusie ignored the nervous knot in her stomach. “Gladdie has his eye on a store he’d like to buy.”

  “Goode’s Mercantile,” Gladdie elaborated. “You must have passed it on your way here. It’s just up the road a piece. But I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

  “You’ll see.” Drusie reached for Gladdie’s hand and held it.

  “Sure, I remember the store,” Archie answered. “The old man’s been here as long as I can recall. He and the Moore family have always tried to outdo each other. Sure you want to take over and get in the middle of all that rivalry, Gladdie?”

  “Well, Mr. Goode’s ready to retire now, and this may be the only chance I get to own the
store. I’m sure, with the Lord’s help, I can handle whatever competition anybody else in these here parts has to offer.” Gladdie tightened his lips.

  “That’s the way I like to hear you talk.” Drusie patted his shoulder and turned her face to Archie. “The Lord ain’t shown Gladdie and me a way to the money yet. We want to get married, and I sure would like to help him find that money.”

  Archie rubbed his hands together. “Then what better way to make some bacon than singing? You’ve got the talent.”

  “I do?” Drusie could hardly believe the conversation but decided if she really wanted to sing, she had better show some confidence. “I do!”

  “You hit the nail on the head!” Archie’s voice filled with cockiness. “Hows about you going with me to Raleigh? I have a recording studio, but you knew that, didn’t you, doll? You can cut a record and we can sell it all over the country.”

  The idea, which seemed so enticing while still elusive, left her feeling unnerved now that the reality was closer. “But—nobody knows me.”

  “They don’t know you now, but they’ll know you by the time I’m done. We’re going to tour, you and me. And the band, of course. We’ll go all over hill country and the piedmont. Lynchburg, Roanoke, Greensboro, Charlotte, to name a few. You’ll get to sing your little heart out, with professionals backing you up. Once they hear you, people everywhere will be clamoring to buy your records. I just know it.”

  “All that way?” She had just steeled herself for the idea of going to Raleigh. Now he was suggesting even more places. Fear struck Drusie. “Now hold on just a minute. I didn’t think nothin’ about goin’ all over the countryside.”

  “How else will people get to know you?”

  “I—I don’t rightly know.” Drusie felt dizzy. Recording? Touring? Singing in front of strangers every night? Such ideas overwhelmed her.

  “You don’t sound too excited.”

  “I’m not sure I am too excited about bein’ involved in all that commotion,” Drusie admitted.

  Archie cast Gladdie a look. “You don’t mind her going, do you? Sounds like she has plans for the money she’d make—plans that involve you.” Archie punched Gladdie in the forearm. “Say, you sly dog, you didn’t put her up to this, did you?”