36
What’s that noise?” Barbara said, shaking Sam awake.
“What noise?”
“Listen.”
Then Sam heard it. Music. A saxophone.
“Did you leave the radio on?” he asked.
“No. It’s not the radio. It’s coming from outside.”
Sam threw the covers off and peered out the window.
“It’s Hank Withers,” he said.
“What in the world is Hank Withers doing outside at six in the morning?” Barbara asked.
“He appears to be sitting on the bench outside of the meetinghouse playing a saxophone.”
“Tell him to knock it off!” Levi yelled from his room. “I’m trying to sleep!”
Sam pulled on his pants and a shirt, ran a wet comb through his hair, then walked across the parking lot.
Hank lowered his saxophone.
“Morning, Sam. How are you this fine summer morning?”
“We’re fine, thank you, Hank. What brings you out here so early in the morning.”
“Reverberation,” Hank said.
“Excuse me?”
“Reverberation. If I sit here and play my saxophone toward the meetinghouse I get the nicest reverberation. Didn’t realize that when I designed it. Just got lucky, I guess. I like to come over here in the morning and play while the world’s still quiet. Norma doesn’t like me playing at home. Says it wakes her up.”
“I can imagine it would,” Sam said.
“Yeah, I don’t mind playing outside. In fact, I’ve come to prefer it. Gets a little cold in the winter, though.”
“You play here in the winter?”
“Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Bright and early,” Hank said. “You play an instrument, Sam? Maybe we could play together.”
“No, no, I never learned to play an instrument. Took piano lessons when I was a kid, but it didn’t pan out.”
“That’s a shame,” Hank said. “I’ve found music to be very relaxing. Why, some mornings I’ll sit and play for hours.”
“Then I’ll leave you to it,” Sam said. “Enjoy your day.”
He walked back to the house, poured a bowl of cereal, and was seated at the table when Barbara came in, coffee cup in hand, and sat across from him.
“Is this going to be a regular thing?” she asked.
“Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays,” Sam said.
“Oh, Lord.”
“He’s actually pretty good. It might grow on us.”
Their telephone rang.
“For crying out loud!” Levi yelled from his room. “Who is calling us at six fifteen in the morning?”
“Maybe it’s the army,” Barbara said, jumping up from the table and hurrying to the phone. “I hope Addison’s all right.”
She lifted the phone off the hook.
“Hello. Gardner residence.”
“Good morning. It’s Norma Withers. I’m looking for Hank. He wouldn’t happen to be there, would he?”
“As a matter of fact he is. Would you like me to get him?”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to bother you with that. Just tell him to bring home a gallon of milk from the store, if you could, please.”
“Yes, I’ll tell him.”
“And some eggs and bread, too, please. And orange juice. And tell him he’s almost out of MiraLAX, so if he wants some more, he should get some of those, too.”
“Milk, eggs, bread, orange juice, and MiraLAX,” Barbara repeated. “Got it.”
“Tell him jumbo eggs, not large.”
“Jumbo eggs, not large. Okay.”
“Do you prefer jumbo eggs?” Norma Withers asked. “I’ve always liked the extra whites for cooking.”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” Barbara said. “But I suppose you’re right. I better go catch Hank, so I’ll let you go.”
“Thank you, dear.”
Barbara conveyed the message to Hank, discussed the virtues of jumbo eggs, then came inside, ate breakfast, showered, and continued unpacking.
Sam went to his office at the meetinghouse, sneaking in the back door so Hank Withers, still wailing away on his saxophone, wouldn’t see him. He had never realized how difficult it was to concentrate while listening to someone play a saxophone. What a racket! He turned on his radio to drown out the noise, then got out the meeting directory and began memorizing names. He was surprised to learn the meeting had more than one hundred and fifty members, most of whom, he observed, lived near the meetinghouse, though only a dozen of them attended with any regularity. How did a meeting of one hundred and fifty members have only twelve attenders?
Maybe Hank had played the saxophone during meeting for worship, he thought. That would certainly explain the exodus. Or maybe there had been a big church fight, or a boring pastor.
During the interview, they had made it seem as if people had died off or drifted away over the years. He looked at the date on the cover of the directory. Three years old. He wondered what had happened in the past three years. Had to have been a church fight. He wondered why they hadn’t mentioned it to him. Maybe there were still raw feelings. He wished he could phone the superintendent and ask, but he suspected the superintendent would be of little help.
Perhaps Hank would tell him. He glanced out the window and noticed Hank walking toward his car, getting ready to leave. He opened the window.
“Hey, Hank. You got a minute?”
Hank turned toward Sam.
“Sure, let me put my horn up, and I’ll be right in.”
Sam met him on the front stoop of the meetinghouse, the directory in his hand. Hank sat beside him.
“Did something happen here a few years ago that upset some people in the meeting?”
Hank frowned, then fidgeted and looked uncomfortable.
“It’s probably not my place to say. Perhaps you should ask Ruby. She was clerk of the meeting then.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you told me,” Sam said.
“I’d rather not discuss it. It’s water under the bridge. No use dredging up bad feelings. Now we’ve got ourselves a new pastor, so let’s move forward.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it, then you don’t have to,” Sam said, though being a nosy sort, he was desperate to find out what had happened.
The presence of buried secrets thrilled him to no end, like stumbling upon a treasure map, hidden in an attic. One hundred and fifty members down to twelve. Where had they gone? What had happened? Where should he dig? In moments like this, Sam forgot all about the long hours and low pay. It was enough to realize others knew something he didn’t. Something delicious and scandalous. Something they didn’t wish to divulge, which had always been his preferred topic of conversation. The forbidden fruit. The apple on the tree. The snake egging him on.
I could be happy here, he thought. Happy, indeed.