The Boneyard Romance

Rutherford arrived at the Boneyard, the lone suit and tie in a sea of undershirts and dirty suspenders, wondering why he was there. He still had a sermon to write. He looked at Jackie, who was shaking hands, grinning ear to ear, the way a father did when his first son was born. There was no such grin for an uncle, Rutherford thought, there was only a polite smile, which he decided to wear, striding coolly to the bar and ordering a glass of water. “Water? Man, get your ass outta here,” the bartender said. Rutherford slid a dollar bill across the counter and received a dirty glass full of lukewarm water. The musicians had taken a break, but it seemed that they were about to reconvene. The alto sax player was in the face of his woman, yelling into her like she was an inanimate object. Rutherford watched her face, frozen except for her eyes, which moved back and forth, barely blinking. When he finished his tirade, the sax played rounded up the band. Instead of storming off the stage, as Rutherford expected, the woman strode to the microphone. She snapped her thick fingers slow and even, so that the anticipation between each snap brought the din of the bar down to a murmur by the fourth snap. Instead of a fifth snap, the band began to play. The singer made eye contact with him for a split second, Rutherford thought, and then moved her eyes around the room. After the band had played a few bars, she began to sing. “Yes, I got a Daddy, and no, he don’t treat me right…” “Who is that?” Rutherford felt himself say, after deciding not to say it. “That’s the mystery. Quiet Lily’s a mystery,” the bartender answered. Rutherford slid another dollar across the bar and the bartender continued. “Whiskey,” he said, “Every Saturday night, for like 2 years, see? Then one day she said her name was Lily, occurred to me that’s the only thing I ever heard her say, besides whiskey. Then one day she get up and ask J.J. could she sit in? He was drunk, so he let her. Turn out, she ain’t half bad.” The bartender spoke to him between nodding and pouring shots for Jackie’s friends. Rutherford turned his attention back to Lily. Her song was in its closing bars. “Yes, I got a Daddy, and no, no, no, he don’t treat me right…” Applause and catcalls peppered the air that was dense with tobacco smoke, and Lily descended the stage. She sat down at a table with what Rutherford assumed was her customary glass of whiskey. He stood up from his barstool and crossed the room to her table. “Mind if I sit?” he asked. Lily shrugged. “What’s that song you were singing?” he asked. “Yes and No.” “I don’t believe I’ve heard that before. Who’s it by?” he asked. Lily swallowed and met his eye. “Me,” she said, keeping his gaze. “You really got a Daddy don’t treat you right?” Lily shrugged. “Have you been saved?” he asked, out of habit. Lily looked down at her glass, met his eyes again, then threw back her head and downed her remaining whiskey. She slowly stood up and began walking toward the exit. “Only reason I ask, ma’am,” he began. She shot an icy glance back at him, “Ma’am, miss… Lily… is that I’m the pastor at First Baptist Church in Three Oaks.” She was gaining distance on him after exiting the Boneyard. “We have services Sundays at 10. I’d love for you to sing in our choir,” he said. She stopped, turned around, and set her arms akimbo. “You gonna follow me home?” she asked. “No, just I… hope to see you some Sunday. Maybe even tomorrow, or,” he said, fumbling with the chain on his watch, “later today. Here,” he said, producing another dollar bill, “In case you need to be taking the bus into town.” He waited for her to take her hands off of her hips, but she wouldn’t. She had a pocket in her skirts, he could see, and he slid the dollar bill in, lingering for just a moment on her hip. She put her hand in her pocket, and pushed the bill back at him, hard against his chest. It fluttered to the dirt. “Take that,” she said, quiet and even, “ and buy yourself some more faith.” She turned around. “You can’t buy faith,” he called after her, “But you sure can rent it!” He watched her disappear into the night, then went inside to find Jackie and tell him it was time to go home. *** Lily remembered that first Sunday morning she spent on the bus to Three Oaks as the last day she ever felt uncertain. It was crowded in the back of the bus, and it seemed that all the other passengers were older and better dressed than she was. She’d turned to the man standing next to her and asked, “First Baptist?” “You can follow me,” he said. When they exited the bus, she followed the man, and most of the crowd East for five blocks, then South for three. The sign for First Baptist Church bore carefully painted letters that read, FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH of THREE OAKS WHERE JESUS SAVES, HEALS, AND DELIVERS! Rev. Rutherford James Payson, Pastor Lily entered the church and sat in the back row of wooden chairs, waiting for the service to begin. Other folks were talking, laughing, shaking hands. A few of them approached her, called her, “my sister.” She smiled back as best she could. Rutherford emerged as the choir sang an upbeat, tambourine-driven, yet otherwise a capella version of “Amazing Grace.” He shone in his purple and gold robe, radiating more charm, Lily thought, than a pastor probably should. Just as the hymn ended, Rutherford spoke, booming without shouting, “My brothers and sisters in Jesus,” he began, “I would like to take a moment to welcome any worshippers that are new to our congregation this morning. I invite you to hear the word,” he paused for murmurs of agreement, “I invite you to lift your voice!” a woman shouted and the tambourine joined in, “I invite you to experience the love of the Almighty God and Jesus Christ, Our Savior!” his voice lifted to a fever pitch. “Take your hands, “ he said, “raise them up, and FEEL the power that is given to you from Heaven! Use this power to spread the word! Use this power to praise his name! Use this power to SAVE YOUR SOUL!” The tambourine played rolled into another hymn. Lily was too awestruck to sing along. She just watched Rutherford, singing with his jaw dropped as far as possible, and his eyes closed. After the hymn, Rutherford stepped to the pulpit. “Our reading today is as follows,” he cleared his throat for emphasis, “Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace! When there is hatred,” he paused, “Let me sow love.” There were scattered affirmations from the congregation. “When there is doubt, sow FAITH!” he pounded on the pulpit, “When there is sadness,” he paused, and a woman began to weep loudly, and Rutherford lowered his voice slightly, “let me sow joy. When there is DARKNESS, LET ME SOW LIGHT!” the congregation became uproarious, “LORD!” Rutherford cried. Lily could see the sweat pouring down from his face from the back row, “MAKE ME AN INSTRUMENT OF THY PEACE!” Lily sat silent in her chair through the remainder of the service, and afterward, she stood at the end of the line to greet the Reverend. “Miss Lily,” he said when he saw her, “I was hoping you’d come by.” She nodded. “Wonderful service,” was all she could muster. “I’d like to invite you to Sunday dinner with my family, if you have no other obligation,” he said. She took a breath. “That would be nice.” “I intend to make a church-going woman out of you, yet!” he said. The remaining parishioners chuckled as they exited the church. He came to her side, and leaned in close to her. She could feel his warm breath and his lips graze her ear. “I also intend to marry you,” he whispered. She looked him in the eye and raised her hand up, sliding it down his forearm and squeezing his palm as they walked around the corner to the rectory. *** Lily didn’t hear from J.J. all week, which she thought was just as well. If he wanted to break it off with her, she thought, it would save her the trouble of doing it herself. She only worried, just a little bit, that he’d ban her from sitting in with the band. She knew, though, that Quentin, Alley, March, and Jesse would go to bat for her. Still, she hated the thought of them fighting, just cause of her. It was quiet that Saturday night when she arrived at the Boneyard. Willie didn’t look at her as she ordered her whiskey. There was no sign of J.J. so far. “Where’s J.J. at?” she asked Willie. “Hm?” “J.J…. Where’s he at?” she asked again. “March!” Willie called to the end of the bar, gesturing at Lily. As March crossed toward her, she knew. She wouldn’t have to break it off with J.J. He’d died, just the way she’d imagined he would- close to his saxophone, with his eyes rolled back in his head and a needle in his arm. “J.J.’s gone on,” March said. Lily nodded. “I just knew he’d get himself messed with that,” March continued, “He was a good player.” “He was,” she said. “My little cousin Millard’s gonna sit in on sax tonight. Kinda an audition for him, see?” March said. “Mm, hm,” she said. “Listen, Lily… if you don’t feel like it tonight, we all understand, but… it sure is nice when we have you here,” March said. “I’ll sing. I always sing,” she said, “But just one.” March nodded. When they called her to the stage, Lily dedicated J.J.’s favorite, “Knock-Down-Drag-Out Blues” to his memory, then exited the stage, sat down at her table, and breathed deep for a moment into her glass of whiskey before taking a sip. *** The next day, Lily took the bus to Three Oaks, having promised Rutherford that they’d go for a walk after church and Sunday dinner. “J.J. died,” she said as they rounded the corner from the rectory. “How?” he asked. “The needle,” she said. “Mm hm… I am sorry,” Rutherford said, not being able to use the standard, ‘He’s with Jesus now.’ “I’m not,” she said, “He loved shooting up more than anything. Even the blues. That ain’t right.” “Well, you don’t love anything more than the blues?” “No,” she said. “No? Not your mama? Not nothing? Not Jesus?” he asked, fingering the ring in his pocket. “My mama wasn’t a thing. Jesus ain’t a thing. It’s different.” “If we,” he paused, “If we were married, would you give up performing?” “No,” she said, “Would you?” “I don’t perform,” he said. She looked at him and raised her eyebrow. “I would never,” she said, “Never cause you such pain as that would cause me.” He stopped in his tracks and caught her hand. She turned toward him. “Lily, I won’t ask you to do anything but marry me,” he said. “Yes, you will,” she said, “But I accept anyways.” “I feel too old to get on bended knee,” he said, smiling. “Me too,” she said, “So let’s just walk.”