The Fall and Rise of Kade Hart: A Hart Brothers Novel (4 page)

When I dismiss the class, all the girls band
together, laughing and chatting, except this one. Since I don’t
know her name, I can’t call on her, so I approach her and introduce
myself. I feel a bond with her because I was that kid in school …
no friends to talk to and no one to hang out with. Everyone avoided
me like the fucking plague.

“Hey there. I’m Kade. What’s your name?”

“It’s Lizabeth.”

“Well, hi Lizabeth. Do you like music?”

“Yeah.” She speaks so softly I can barely
hear her.

“So do I. I hope we can be friends.”

“Why?”

“Because we both like music.”

“You’re too old to be my friend.”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Ten.”

“Well, I’m twenty-seven and you’re seventeen
years younger than I am. I’m super good friends with Father Anthony
and I’m twenty-three years younger than he is. So I think it’s okay
that I’m older than you. As long as we stay music friends. Would
that be cool with you?”

“Okay. I guess so.” She still looks
suspicious, which is good. I’m a guy and she’s a little girl. Her
parents must’ve taught her to look out for guys like me.

“Good. Now don’t forget to practice and I’ll
see you next week.” I stick out my fist for her to bump and she
does with a slight grin.

The girls leave and Sister Helena comes
back. After we discuss the plans for the following Saturday, she
asks for a favor.

“There’s a novice at our convent. She needs
help, Mr. Hart. The poor thing can’t carry a tune in a bucket, God
bless her. I was wondering if you could help.”

“How?”

“Can you give her singing lessons?”

“Sister Helena, if someone is tone deaf,
it’s difficult to try to teach them to sing. They can’t hear the
music properly.”

“I was hoping that with a little help from
you, or proper direction, that you could perhaps guide her? She
wants to learn and loves music. I want her to be in the choir but
at this point she’s no use to us and it’s a very sad state.” She
scowls. Why does she scowl? The woman can’t help it if she can’t
sing.

“Okay, I can try, but that’s all I can do. I
won’t make any promises. I’ll work with her a few times and if
there’s not a chance I can help her, I’ll let you know.”

Sister Helena claps her hands then grabs my
arm. “Thank you, Mr. Hart. You will make Emmalia so happy. She’s
doing some gardening right now in the back of the convent. You can
find her there. Just go through the school and take the back exit.
Follow the walkway around to the back of the convent and it will
lead you to the gardens. She should be out there now.”

Oh, hell. I didn’t expect to have to do this
right now! I wanted to go home and chill. Instead, I nod, run my
guitar out to my truck, then follow Sister Helena’s directions.

It’s a gorgeous late fall day, unusually
warm and sunny. When I get to the garden, it takes me a few minutes
to locate her, but I’m shocked at what I find. Pointing in my
direction is the cutest little ass I’ve seen in ages. It’s wrapped
in a pair of tight cutoff jeans and the owner of said ass is on her
hands and knees as she digs a hole in the dirt. It would be my damn
luck—the first cute ass I’ve seen in who the hell knows how long
that I’m remotely attracted to, and it belongs to a fucking nun.
Oh, the irony.

“I’ve got you now, you little rascal. Did ya
think you were going to escape from me? Huh? I think not. Ugh!”

Suddenly I hear a snapping sound and this
sweet perfect ass tumbles backwards in the dirt as the owner yells,
“Ah!” as she falls. Dirt flies everywhere and in her hands is a
huge root of some kind. She holds it up in the air and says in a
voice with a barely detectable Southern drawl, “Told ya, didn’t
I?”

“You sure did! You destroyed the thing,” I
add.

When I speak she screams bloody murder. Then
she scrambles, as if the devil himself were chasing her. I waste no
time in rushing to her side.

“Hey, it’s all good. I didn’t mean to
frighten you. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear. Sister Helena
sent me.” Jesus, what the hell is wrong with her?

She sits on her haunches and just stares at
me. Air wheezes in and out of her lips and her nostrils flare with
her inhalations.

Shoulder length brown hair drips with sweat
from working in the garden and dirt clings to every inch of her
arms. But it’s her eyes that chill me. She’s absolutely frightened
to death. Dark brown eyes with gold striations pin me, and her fear
transfers to me.

I raise my hands in the air and say, “Look,
my name is Kade Hart and I was sent by Sister Helena to talk to you
about singing lessons. Please don’t be afraid of me.” My speech is
rapid. I need to allay her fears. Her eyes are so disturbing to me
it’s imperative I wipe that fear away.

She finally blinks, and then nods. Her hand
comes up to wipe the sweat from her forehead, leaving a giant smear
of dirt behind.

“I’m really sorry. I thought you heard me
walk up or I never would’ve done that to you.”

“No, it’s fine.” Her breathless speech says
otherwise. She stands on shaky legs and leans on her garden spade
to steady herself.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.” Her hand circles her throat,
massaging it, leaving a handprint of dirt smudges in its wake. She
bends down, giving me another view of her fine ass (how can a nun
have such a fine ass?) and then I notice the T-shirt she’s
sporting. I can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of me. She turns
and stares at me.

“I wasn’t aware that many nuns were
Metallica, Megadeath, and Slayer fans.”

“First off, I’m not a nun. I’m a novice. I
haven’t taken my vows yet. Second, what’s wrong with Metallica,
Megadeath, and Slayer?”

Her voice still trembles with the traces of
terror. I’m at a loss as to why I scared her so badly. It’s also
odd that a nun-in-training would look like she does. Not to say
that all nuns are unattractive, and she’s not cover model material
by any means, but she doesn’t fit my stereotype of a nun. Again,
I’ve not been around many nuns, other than the ones here at St.
John the Baptist, but none of them seem to be hip like Emmalia.

“Thrash metal just doesn’t seem to be the
type of music a nun would listen to. I take it you are
Emmalia?”

“In the flesh.”

“Like I said, Sister Helena asked me to stop
by. She said you were interested in singing lessons.”

“She did? And your name again?”

“Kade Hart.”

Suspicious eyes rake me from head to toe.
“So, Mr. Hart, do you think you can turn me into the singing nun?”
Her mouth twitches with a hint of mirth.

“I don’t know about that. Is that what you’d
like?”

She frowns. “What I’d like and what is
possible are vastly different.”

“How so?”

“Mr. Hart, I’m sure Sister Helena has warned
you about my inability to sing. If she hasn’t, I’ll do so. I’m
deplorable.”

We’re interrupted by an irritated voice.
“Emmalia, what in God’s name are you wearing?”

Emmalia is momentarily thrown off by Sister
Helena’s question. She scans her clothing and then answers, “My
gardening clothes, Sister.”

“Emmalia, you’re wearing a T-shirt that’s
fit for the devil himself. That is highly inappropriate for the
convent, not to mention those … those dungarees that display an
obscene amount of your skin.”

I quite like the amount of skin Emmalia is
displaying, but what do I know about nun attire? I’d best stay out
of this.

“But Sister Helena, I didn’t think anyone
would see me and I knew I would get filthy out here.”

“Emmalia, it seems to me you were filthy
before
you started digging in the dirt. That T-shirt needs
to be destroyed. Those bands are the devil’s works. And those
britches—unacceptable.”

“Um, Sister Helena, if I may, thrash metal
is known for its use of the power chords, or some refer to it as
the fifth chord. In the eighteenth century, some considered the
fifth an evil sound or associated it with the devil, but the
Catholic Church never punished or excommunicated musicians for
using it in their works. It wasn’t often used because it’s not very
easy to incorporate into hymns that are lyrical. Or at least that’s
the theory.”

Emmalia grins and Sister Helena looks as
though she wants to bite my head off.

“Mr. Hart, I would thank you to keep your
opinions to yourself,” Sister Helena says with a pinched look.

“Um, Sister, it’s not really an opinion.
I’ve studied music theory.”

“Nevertheless, Emmalia, please be sure to
destroy those items of clothing. I expect never to see you in
either of those again.” She stomps off.

“Damn. Is she usually that stern?”

“Sister Helena is our Mother Superior here.
She has to be, but she means well. And I didn’t know you’d be
coming or I never would’ve dressed like this. But thanks for the
rescue.”

“So? Singing lessons?”

“Yes. I’m at your mercy.”

“What about tomorrow afternoon? I’m not free
until around four.”

She pinches her lower lip between her thumb
and forefinger as she thinks, smearing dirt on her cute mouth.
“Yes, that should work. Where shall I meet you?”

I smile as I look at her dirty mouth. “Would
my townhome be off limits? The reason I ask is that I have my music
studio there.”

She narrows her eyes. I’ve given her cause
to be suspicious, though I don’t know why.

“I have good credentials, although I am a
drug addict.”

Her lids widen.

“I know. Disgraceful. But that’s how I met
Father Anthony. At Narcotics Anonymous. We use one of the church’s
rooms to meet. NA has meetings all over town. I’m an NA counselor
now. Anyway, one day our conversation turned to music and before I
knew what happened, Father Anthony lassoed me into volunteering
here. I’m teaching music lessons all over the place now. I just
finished teaching a group of ten-year-old girls recorder lessons.
And honest to God, I’d never picked up one of those things in my
life.”

She smiled. “Father Anthony has that knack
about him. He’ll be having you doing things you never thought
possible.”

“So, I know you may think it inappropriate,
but I’m trustworthy. You can check with Father if you’d like. I
promise to behave like the perfect gentleman. My place, then?”

“Sure. Where do you live?”

After I give her my address, I leave. On my
way home, I keep wondering about the nun-in-training. What’s an
attractive girl like her doing in a convent? It’s none of my
business, but I can’t seem to stop thinking how out of place she
looked. And then there’s her perfect little ass. Somewhere, someone
is laughing
his
or
her
ass off at the mere thought of
my little situation. Fuck. I need to get my mind off of that.
She’ll be coming over tomorrow and I can’t be sitting there, trying
to teach her how to sing, with nothing on my mind but her ass.

Emmalia

My head continually bobs around as I walk to
the Denver Animal Shelter. I’m surprised all this bobbing hasn’t
given me serious neck issues by now. It’s a little over a mile from
the convent, so it doesn’t take long, but I can’t shake the feeling
that someone follows me. Without fail, I feel eyes on me all the
time. They’re there in the shadows, my constant companions. Like
the vivid memories of my massacred family, I doubt the feeling will
ever leave. When I go to sleep, I don’t use a pillow to put my head
on; I use it to put over my mouth to stifle the screams of terror
that usually wake me in the middle of the night. Sometimes I wish I
had died when my family did. Anger and resentment rise up like
acidic vomit, threatening to choke me. I push it back down, but I
want to scream and yell and do all those things that horribly angry
people do, like bash their fists against a wall until they’re
broken and bleeding. But I do none of those things. I shove it all
away, pretending it isn’t there. Pretending it never happened.
Living like this isn’t living at all. I’m running scared all the
time. Like yesterday, when Kade Hart walked into my garden. I was
sure the fist-sized muscle in my chest was going to explode and
rupture my ribcage. I’m so sick of being afraid all the time. But
every time I think I’ll just drop my guard and let it all go,
terror overrides everything, and I can’t do it.

Relief douses the fear that gnaws and burns
me, as I enter the public library. This is only a quick detour that
I take, as I do several times a week, to further my research on the
necklace that stays hidden beneath my clothing. At first, I shied
away from it for fear they could track me somehow. But then I put
my computer knowledge to use and erased my footprint every time I
searched. Using the public library’s computer makes me a bit
bolder, too. Twenty minutes later, I leave with no more
information, but I refuse to give up.

Soon I push my way through the doors of the
animal shelter. Everyone greets me as I enter. I’m here to check on
one of the puppies. She’s been here for too long now and if she
doesn’t get adopted soon, they may have to do the unthinkable.
Everyone turns to me at this stage because I can be very persuasive
in helping people choose a pet. This little pup is adorable and I
can’t understand why no one has snatched her up.

When I get to her cage, she’s all wagging
tail and wiggling butt. “Hey, little one. How’s my baby today?” I
unlatch her cage and pull her out. There’s one thing that makes me
happy and it’s working with animals. I had to beg Sister Helena to
let me work and volunteer here. She finally agreed, but my time
here will end when my novitiate period is over.

“Emmalia, we had a couple look at her, but
they adopted Rocky instead.”

“Aw, really?” I immediately deflate.