Ghost on Black Mountain (29 page)

“I think music is God’s art,” Daddy added.

“Yes.” Mr. Mackey winked at me as if we had some sort of secret.

“Well, I stick to the good old church songs.” Maw Maw spoke around a stiff smile. If I didn’t know her better, I would have thought she was being short with Mr. Mackey.

Mr. Mackey turned a beautiful clear smile on Maw Maw, but she didn’t thaw one bit. So he looked over at me. “Iona, I hope you’re going to take my class this fall.”

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Mama frowned.

“I’ve been waiting for a real music class all my life. I’ll be a junior, which gives me a better chance to make it in.” I gave
him my sweetest smile. Something shifted in the air but no one seemed to notice but me.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you get into my class.” We stared at each other as if no one was around.

Mama cleared her throat. She wanted me to find a nice boy who would shrimp the rest of his life. That way I could live close by. God.

“I’ll tell you what, come around at two tomorrow. We’ll get a head start on our lessons. I only work with serious musicians.”

My body tingled all over.

He turned his charm on Mama as if he knew she was the boss, the one who would decide for me. “Of course you would have to approve, Mrs. Harbor. I wouldn’t want to go against your plans for Iona.”

I held my breath.

Mama busied herself covering the breadbasket like a storekeeper closing up shop. “Well.” She didn’t look up. “I don’t approve of Iona wasting time.”

“She has a lot of work here,” Maw Maw chimed in.

I looked at her with utter surprise. She was always on my side.

“Please, Mama. I’ll finish the sewing for the ladies’ circle. I promise not to get behind.”

Mama was quiet. I counted to ten in my head.

“I guess this once, since you’ll be taking music in school, but you have to keep up with the sewing.” Mama eyed me across the table.

Daddy let out a breath.

Maw Maw frowned at me, and I saw where Mama got her attitude.

“Thank you, Mama.” I moved around the table and hugged her neck. Her shoulders turned rigid.

“Don’t disappoint me.”

“I promise.”

Later after Mr. Mackey left, I heard Maw Maw talking to Mama in the kitchen. “I’m telling you I got the same feeling. He’s just like him.”

“What do you mean?” Mama sounded perplexed.

“I bet if I had my tea leaves, I could show you he’s no good.”

Mama looked up and saw me standing on the stairs. “Iona, are you still downstairs?”

“I just wanted to thank you for letting me have this extra time for music. It means a whole lot.” I smiled my best good-daughter smile.

Mama clicked her tongue. “You best be careful.”

I left the two women in my life sitting at the table in our kitchen. Nothing could spoil this chance. Nothing.

Forty-nine

T
he next afternoon couldn’t get here fast enough. I barely slept for thinking of those ivory keys under my fingers. Finally someone would take me seriously. The same music I heard the day before led me right back to the bright-blue house, where I rang the old-fashioned pull bell mounted to the doorjamb. The melody came to a gradual stop, trailing into the air as if sad to end, clinging to objects in protest. I looked away from the glass panel next to the door so as not to appear rude.

“Hello.” Mr. Mackey wore faded jeans, a pale-blue oxford shirt opened up the front, and no shoes. He buttoned his shirt. “I’m glad you made it, Iona. I need a break.”

“What were you playing?”

He ushered me into the house with a sweep of his hand. “A piece I’m writing.”

“You’re a composer too?”

He laughed. “I teach to support my music habit. The bills have to be paid.” He shrugged. “My father doesn’t think much of my music or my teaching.” His smile was knowing.

“You’re nothing like the teachers I’ve known.”

“Really? Why am I so different?”

“Most teachers are stuffy and frown all the time. They’re a million years old and would make the class learn classical music, not the new stuff.” I looked around the big room. “And they’re always Republicans.” His world held a baby grand piano in the middle of the high-ceilinged room. Sheet music with penciled notes was scattered around the floor, and an empty bowl with the remains of his lunch sat on a short side table beside the bench. A whole wall was dedicated to bookshelves, where his portable record player sat. A large leather sofa took up the floor space at the far end of the room, under the tall window that looked out on the marsh.

“Don’t knock the classics.”

“A lady killed herself here.”

He nodded. “I know. I saw her in the bedroom upstairs. I think that must have been the place she hung herself.”

I watched to see if he was pulling my leg but he seemed serious enough. “This is beautiful.” I touched the shiny wood of the piano.

Mr. Mackey sat on the bench. “So, Iona, shall we find out what you’re made of? You say you hear music in your head. Prove it to me.” He raised a dark eyebrow.

My breath came quick. God, what had I gotten myself into?

He ran his fingers over the keys. “It’s scary the first time you stare your dream square in the face. But there are two choices you can make: one, walk over here and show me what you can do, or two, you walk out the door and forget music. It’s one of those moments, Iona.” A tune worked around the room. “Come and try to make the notes in your head come alive.” He motioned to the keys.

“I haven’t played in a while, but I …” I looked at my feet.
“I drew a keyboard on a piece of cardboard box. I practice my scales on this every night, and I sneak to the church to play there.”

He looked solemn. “Shame on a mother who makes a girl use a paper keyboard. What passion you have, little girl.” He patted the bench. “Either you try or you become the daughter your mother wants.”

I sat down.

He leaned in close. “Play, Iona,” he whispered.

My fingers worked like rusty hinges on an unused gate.

“Go to that place in your head where the music lives. Trust yourself.”

I closed my eyes as Mr. Mackey’s warm breath touched my cheek and ear. The hot wind blew through the windows. The music spread through my body and released into my fingers, across the keys; a sour note here, a bad chord there, but beauty and peace worked into my soul. Mr. Mackey joined me with his own accompaniment, covering my bad places, creating a new song, refining me, a little wild, but not just my song, ours. The music left me and entered him while I watched, my hands shaking in my lap. He played in another world; I rode the magic carpet his notes wove. I loved him. The kind of love that comes out of nowhere and hits a girl in the gut. A jealous love that took hold of me with both hands. When he finished, we sat on the bench, waiting for the music to rest. Birds sang outside. The wind rustled the marsh grass. A gator splashed off the bank into the deep brown water of the Altamaha, my very blood.

He took one of my hands and placed my fingers in position on the keys. “This is the chord you missed. You have the music, Iona.” He was silent.

I couldn’t trust looking him full in the face.

“Can you practice here every day?”

“I have to.” My knee jiggled.

He stilled it with a touch of his fingers. “Yes, you must.”

And so it started, innocent and from true passion like all love should. I told Mama I was walking, and she never questioned me. Why would she? I was her good girl. When I played the piano, JT smiled. I saw all the love he held for me. My passion for music and JT twisted around each other like a tightly braided rope. I found myself imagining what it would be like to kiss him. I’d kissed boys before; I wasn’t completely sheltered. But something told me that kissing JT Mackey would be a whole new experience.

One afternoon when I finished a difficult piece, he bent over and kissed me full on the lips, holding my chin with two slender fingers in the most gentle of ways, as if I were something precious. One kiss led to a kiss each day, then two. One afternoon I surprised him by acing a challenging assignment better than he could have guessed, better than he had played it. He ran his hand over my breast and down into my shirt. Electricity spread through my joints. My skin stuck to the leather sofa as the summer heat closed in on us. He was twenty-four. Eight years wasn’t so terrible. When I turned thirty, he would be thirty-eight. Perfect. My lessons became broader and included what all my girlfriends saved for their wedding night. Who cared? I had no intention of marrying, but I did want to be with JT the rest of my life.

Our summer continued on this way. The heat that year was unbearable. We got brave and walked the town together in the evenings. We fell into each other’s arms as soon as I walked into his door and then sat naked on the piano bench to practice. At home I worked harder than ever on stuff like church socials, sewing, and of course math. Mama never noticed the change in me. But Maw Maw watched me like a hawk.

When the first day of school came, my stomach fluttered.
Something was over. Music was my last class of the day. JT would smile at me when I came in the door, but nothing more. I didn’t dare tell my girlfriends. For one thing, they held a poor view of a girl who did what I did, and the other was they would tell Daddy for sure. Darien would run JT out of town tarred and feathered and strip Daddy of his pulpit. Each evening I went to his house and he cooked big bowls of chili and sometimes homemade bread. I pretended we would live this way forever.

Then one night, JT met me at the door. “People are talking, Iona. We’re going to have to take a break. I can’t afford to lose my job, and you don’t need to lose your reputation.”

“What about my lessons? How will I practice?”

“You’re good enough for a vacation.”

“You said every day.”

“It’ll only be for two weeks. Then we can start back.” He smiled.

“Just two weeks.”

He bent over and kissed me. “Come here.” We went to the sofa.

Our arrangement lasted all of two days, when I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I was in the kitchen ready to slip out for my nightly walk when Daddy came in carrying a paper bag. “Look what I found in the attic.”

Inside was a brown toy piano. “I’m almost sixteen, Daddy.”

“I know. I bought it for you when you were four. I’m so proud of all your hard work, Iona. Would you play at church this week?”

Shame ran through me.

“You let me know. Are you going for your walk?” The way he looked at me told me he knew about JT and me.

“Yes.” I pushed out the back door.

When I reached JT’s house, I prayed he’d be happy to see me. Then I caught a flash of something moving in the big front
room. I was looking through the glass panel beside the door. His body that I knew so well was tangled around Kathy Morris, a freshman who was fourteen. He was doing to her what we had done all summer so well together. He rolled to one side, and his stare locked with mine. Kathy landed on the floor. I walked away.

The door opened. “Hey!”

I walked faster.

“Come back here, Iona. We need to talk.”

“Fuck you.” I laughed so hard my breath left my lungs. I trotted along the road, tears rolling down my face. I could bring his world crashing down. Mama was right. My head was full of cotton candy fluff.

The toy piano sat on the kitchen table. My fingers were drawn to the small keys, where I found a tune. I was better than JT. The sound of applause made me jump.

“Bravo, Iona!” Daddy stood in the door.

My life was beginning; something hard and tender at the same time was taking over. I stuck out my tongue at Daddy. He laughed.

“I’ll play for you at church.”

He put his arm around me. “I’m glad you’re back, Iona.”

Fifty

M
en like JT Mackey always get what’s coming to them. I saw what became of JT when I turned seventeen. He was forced into marriage with one of my classmates, a quiet, skittish girl. I smiled when I heard the news but moved on to my next class. See, I learned a lot from Mr. Mackey about what not to look for in a man. I also learned I was a good musician. JT’s baby was born six months later. He lost his job and took his wife to Savannah. His dreams were gone. And that was too bad, since he was gifted.