The Music Box Read Free Page B

quite enough, Emma.”
    But when Emma had the bit between her teeth, she wasn’t that easy to stop. “And that poor sweet little tadpole of a daughter, probably keeps her on a diet of rainwater and cold grits. That’s why she’s so little, don’t you know. Half-starved little thing. They oughtta lock up that mean old possum of a daddy and throw away the key.”
    â€œEmma Drummond, I have never heard the like.” Angie stared at her friend in astonishment. “I declare, you are worse than a roomful of ten-year-olds. Where on earth do you come up with these things?”
    â€œInspiration and detection,” Emma replied loftily. “Luke says there’s a good dash of aberration thrown in there as well.”
    â€œYour husband has uncommon perception,” Angie said from the heart.
    â€œLuke says I can keep him better occupied than a double feature at the drive-in,” Emma declared proudly.
    â€œI can—” Angie stopped. The classical radio station Emma had playing softly began a chorale. “Turn that off, if you please.”
    â€œWhy?” But Emma had heard the reason before and reluctantly did as she was told. “I sure wish you’d start back with the choir again, honey.”
    â€œThat’s one road I do not intend to walk down with you today.” All through her teen years, Angie had been soloist for the church choir. Since returning from the university and the city, however, she had refused to sing at all.
    â€œA gift like that shouldn’t go to waste,” Emma complained, almost by rote now.
    â€œIt’s not wasted. I talk all day long in my classes. Sundays are my only day to stay quiet.”
    â€œThat’s not the same and you know it.”
    The state road chose that moment to take a sudden sharp turn, and there in front of them stood the stone gates and the sign. Angie ended the argument by pointing and saying, “This is it, Emma. Pull in here.”
    Emma’s broad features lost their brightness. She steered the heavy Plymouth over to the side of the road. “Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”
    But Angie was already climbing from the automobile. Even she could hear the flat coldness that had crept into her voice. “How long will you take in the city?”
    â€œThere’s nothing in the city that’s important enough to keep me from being here when you need me.”
    Angie glanced at her wristwatch but could not manage to focus on the tiny hands. “Two hours,” she said, gathering herself for the long walk ahead. “That will do.”
    â€œI’ll be here.” Emma leaned her heavy frame across the seat to better see Angie’s tight face. “Just know my prayers are right there with you, honey. Every step of the way.”
    ****
    Angie had always felt the place to be not so bad, as cemeteries went, though she hoped and prayed she would be laid to rest back on the hilltop that had served their village for a hundred and fifty years. Numerous valley families had kin who had moved down to the city, and this had brought her to the main cemetery several times. The hillfolks’ custom was to be present for all births and marriages and deaths, no matter if the ties that bound had been stretched thin as ribbons. No matter that letters might come seldom as Christmas, or that arguments might have driven the kinfolk away in the first place. All such things were set aside at the passage of human seasons.
    Angie trekked up the steep slope, staying to the small side paths that wound their way through carefully tended lawns. She reached the crest of the rise and stood in the gray overcast afternoon. She recalled how it had been, those six years earlier, when Stefan’s funeral procession had come into view.
    In the distance the black shapes had unfolded from their automobiles and gathered about the hearse, their cries rising in the still air. Angie had found herself