High Country Fall

“You really ought not to miss it,” he said enthusiastically. “I bought a tilt-top piecrust table last fall for a thousand less than I’d have paid at Sotheby’s.”

A thousand less? No wonder Will was anxious to cultivate this connection. If he made a good impression at next year’s auction, he could be called back as a private appraiser. Old people always seem to find him charming, and old people with tilt-top piecrust tables?

I congratulated the man, told Joyce I’d see her upstairs, and slipped inside the lavatory for a quick check in the mirror. No lipstick and my hair could definitely use a comb.

When I emerged, random chords and snatches of melody floated down the stairwell and made me hurry back upstairs to join in.

Billy Ed had left my guitar propped by the hearth, and I reclaimed it, then took a nearby stool. I soon learned that while most had played together before (indeed, two were professional entertainers), several were newcomers like me whom the Ashes had invited to help celebrate their new partnership with Norman Osborne.

We played a rollicking version of “Arkansas Traveler” just to make sure everybody was on the same page, followed by “New River Train,” with Bobby Ashe mimicking the haunting whistles on his harmonica. After that, different ones took the spotlight to play or sing.

I was surprised to see that Sunny Osborne played the dulcimer, and in response to calls from the audience, Norman Osborne stepped up with his guitar.

“This one’s always been special to me,” he said. “My mama taught me how to chord it when I was seven years old, but it wasn’t till I married little Sunshine Monroe here that I understood what the words really mean.”

With that, the two of them launched into that corny old standard, “You Are My Sunshine.” At least, it should have been corny. For the most part, they sang it straight. And yet they’d somehow altered the tune and the tempo enough to make it their own. When his baritone and her strong soprano wound in and out of the familiar melody their instruments were playing, they created new harmonies that made the old song fresh again. I later learned they’d been married for twenty-seven years, yet there was such tenderness in his voice they could have been newlyweds; and when she looked up at him during the final singing of “… you’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” I was touched to see that her eyes were moist with unshed tears.

For a moment, I thought of Mother and Daddy, how they smiled at each other like this when they sang together, and once more I was wracked with doubt about Dwight’s reasons for marrying me, about settling for sex and friendship instead of waiting for the true love of someone who would look at me the way Norman was looking at Sunny.

The Osbornes were followed by the Ashes, who were urged on by their guests to perform a crowd-pleasing call-and-response full of bawdy double entendres that made everyone laugh.

At least a dozen guests had brought their instruments with them, and over the next hour different musicians shuttled in and out. Sunny Osborne, Joyce, and I settled into a groove, and we were content to play backup while others with more need to shine took front and center to sing or demonstrate some fancy picking or bowing. Among them was a white-haired old-timer in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt who played the banjo as if he’d been teethed on one. He was a big flirt and teased me into a short duel, which he let me win for a minute before leaving me in the dust helpless with laughter.

At ten we took a break and Lucius Burke brought over a bourbon and branch for Joyce and a frozen margarita for me that he’d mixed himself since the bartenders had left with the caterers after supper was over.

“You’re staying for the second set, aren’t you?” Joyce asked him.

“Sure,” said Burke, who had surprised me a little earlier by knowing all the words to “Muhlenberg County.” “I’m here till Bobby sings ‘Amazing Grace.’”

“That’s what we always close with,” Joyce explained to me.

Bobby was standing over by the bar in deep conversation with several people and seemed in no hurry to emulate the fat lady.

“Can I get you a glass of something?” Burke asked Sunny as she flexed her fingers after playing so long.

“Thanks, but I need to find Norman. See where he’s got to.” She set her dulcimer on the stool and made her way through the crowd.

I took another sip of my margarita and complimented Burke on his choice of drink. We exchanged mini-bios— where we went to law school, when we first ran for office—and I kept it strictly casual. No flirting on my part. I even made sure I held my glass with my left hand so that there was no missing Dwight’s ring. Eventually he turned back to Joyce, who had passed from solicitous hostess to relaxed guest at her own party.

“Congratulations again on the new partnership, Joyce. Bobby really seems hyped about it. Not that you guys were doing so poor before.”

Joyce beamed. “No, but Norman Osborne’s a real rainmaker. He does three times our business. We had Pritchard Cove and Arnetago, but he had exclusives in Beeton Ridge, Rabbit Hollow, Manitelya, and High Windy. He and Bobby have been out making the rounds all week and it’s even better than we thought.”

Those names meant nothing to me, but Lucius Burke was clearly impressed. “You have to hand it to Norman. He could sell gas logs to the Devil if he set his mind to it. Remember that guy from Pensacola who told Norman he only wanted a three-bedroom house and Norman—”

He broke off as the three of us registered that something was happening over by the bar. We heard Sunny Osborne’s voice raised in exasperation: “—and I’m telling you he wouldn’t do that.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Joyce as Sunny hurried toward us.

“I can’t find Norman.”

“Really?”

“I’ve looked all over the house and he’s not here.”

“Are you sure? Maybe he saw you were having fun playing and he hitched a ride home with someone.”