Brimstone

53

THE PIANO MOUNTED on the wagon expanded Allie’s horizon. She’d taken to driving it herself and parking at every hitching post in town. She’d climb back, sit on the piano bench, and play hymns and sing by herself, without Percival. Today she was doing it right across from the sheriff’s office.

“That’s a painful noise,” Virgil said.

“Can’t you do something ’bout it?” I said to Virgil.

“Keeps her from cooking,” Virgil said.

We were sitting on the porch, Virgil, Laurel, and me.

“Yes,” I said. “I s’pose it does.”

I looked at Laurel and put my fingers in my ears. She dropped her head, and in a moment, put her fingers in her ears, and looked cautiously up to see if I was looking. I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back, but she didn’t look away.

People stopped as they passed her and listened. I suspected it was in disbelief. Between hymns she climbed down with a collection plate and passed it among them. If they gave her anything she would say, “God bless you.” Then she climbed back up on the wagon and played some more and sang some more. I couldn’t tell if it was the same hymns or new ones. They were loud but unvaried. After a while, when no more people came to the wagon, she loosed the team from its hitching post, got back in the wagon seat, waved at us across the street, and drove to a new location.

“You think she believes all this stuff?” I said to Virgil.

“I never quite understood Allie,” Virgil said.

“And now you do?” I said.

“I been thinking ’bout it ever since we took her out of Placido,” Virgil said.

Laurel was sitting very still and very erect, watching Virgil’s face as he talked.

“Always loved her, even when she cheated on me, which, certain sure, she’s done a lot of,” Virgil said. “Still love her. Don’t know why. What I read, I guess that’s how it is. You love somebody, you love ’em.”

Laurel was staring at him.

“ ’Course, I was mad at her a lot,” he said. “You know anything ’bout that, Everett?”

“Never been in love,” I said. “Liked a lot of women. Never loved one.”

“That’s too bad,” Virgil said. “When it’s right, it feels real good.”

“Feel right often?” I said.

“Not too often with Allie,” Virgil said. “But…”

Laurel had probably never heard a man talk about such things in her whole life. Virgil didn’t talk about feelings much, because I’m not so sure he had many. But when he cared to, he would talk about anything he felt like talking about. Laurel seemed immobilized, listening to him.

“One of the things I come to see,” Virgil said, “is that Allie believes whatever she needs to believe. And when she don’t need to, she believes something else.”

I nodded.

“She needs a man taking care of her,” I said.

“Yep.”

“You ain’t it,” I said.

“I’m taking care of her,” Virgil said. “Just not…”

He looked at Laurel.

“You know,” he said.

“Which means she can’t trust you to take care of her.”

“Sure she can.”

“But she don’t know it, ’less you and she are, ah, taking care of business, she don’t feel like she got any control.”

“Maybe so,” Virgil said.

“Ain’t you, it may as well be God, I guess.”

“Yep.”

Laurel leaned close to Virgil and whispered to him. He listened and nodded. Then he looked at me.

“Laurel told me she understands what we’re talking about, and she don’t mind if we say fuck when we need to.” Virgil’s face showed nothing as he spoke.

I nodded.

“Thank you, Laurel,” I said.