shook his head as if to shake the notion of a man who could leave his growing family and stay away for months at a time. “Gee whiz! It was really big of him to help her chop wood and follow the mule! Susan, I think he must have had a girlfriend in Florida. Had to.” Mac snickered. “Sounds like he was a man of passion, given that he left your grandma pregnant each time he left.”
“Well, maybe not every time, but that’s the rumor.”
The honeymooners forgot about Grandpa Willson as they pursued their own passions. The next morning, they were up early for a walk by the bay and then to meet Harry at the Chowder House for breakfast.
Chapter 5
Susan
Apalachicola, Florida, July 2009
Susan and Mac were already enjoying steaming cups of coffee when Harry showed up. The banjo man was obviously a regular at the restaurant, and the waitress brought him his coffee without asking.
As soon as Harry walked into the restaurant, he saw Susan and Mac and greeted them. He was direct, a quality Susan was beginning to get used to with the man.
“I’m a bit mixed up about you. There are things I have questioned and didn’t think I wanted to know the answers, but on the other hand, you might be able to relieve what has nagged at my brain for years.”
Susan cocked her eye at him but said nothing. He’ll get to it, I suppose.
The three ordered their breakfast; while waiting, Harry launched into the story of his banjo. “Seems like this salesman from the mountains, representing who he termed as ‘a famous luthier’ would come to Florida every year, stay for a while, and then return to get more instruments for the next year’s sales. His name was Luke Harvey. I think it was right before the First World War that he met my grandmother. This is where my story sometimes doesn’t make sense. Supposedly, they got married, but what I never understood was that Grandma’s last name was not Harvey. It was Lindsay. She was real young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, when Dad was born in 1922, so she would only have been twelve or thirteen in 1916. That’s the creepy part. Although I remember her well, she died when I was twelve, and I never asked her about Luke Harvey or any of that history. She didn’t talk much about him, other than the fact that he taught her to play the banjo and sing the songs. She taught Dad, and then he taught me.”
Susan glanced at Mac. He had a smirk on his face that she would like to wipe away. She wanted to know more. “Harry, is your dad lucid, good memory? Would it be appropriate to visit him?”
“He has more long-term memory than anyone I know but forgets people’s names. He calls all the women good-lookin’, and guys, he calls brother. He even calls me brother sometimes. As far as short-term memory deficit, it isn’t terrible. I notice the confusion if he’s tired or when he first wakes up. But yeah, I think he would love to talk to you, especially if you play banjo for him.”
“I don’t even have a banjo anymore. Sold it last year. I could probably get one at some pawnshop and fix it up. But Harry, if I’m going to play, I need a lightweight instrument. I had a resonator on the one I sold, and it was too heavy for me. That’s why I got rid of it. Even if I had removed the resonator, it would have been too heavy for me.”
“You did well on my White Ladye last night. But I’d never sell that beauty. I have another mountain banjo, much lighter, that you might be able to play. It’s fretted. I picked it up a couple of years ago. It isn’t old. Probably made in the last twenty years. I would be willing to sell it to you, if you are interested.”
“Have to see it and play it, of course. Mac?”
Mac shrugged. Although they had only just gotten married, he had already learned that when Susan had something on her mind, it would be useless to try and stop her. “How much are we talking about, Harry?”
“Two-fifty.”
“We’ll see.”
“I can pay for it myself, if it’s what I want!” Susan snapped at her groom, giving him the eye.
Mac grinned at Harry and shrugged.
After breakfast, the three walked back to Harry’s rooms. Susan was pleasantly surprised that his pad was neat as a pin, not a reflection of his appearance. Wonder if there is a Mrs. Harry. Does he have a girlfriend?
She asked. “A wife, Harry?”
“Not anymore.” End of conversation.
The banjo in question was similar to her grandfather’s work, but it was obviously a newly built one. She looked inside and saw that it was made by Hatfield, a Kentucky luthier. The work was good; it was easy to handle. She tuned it and played it as though she had been made for it and it, made for her. She dived into a vigorous rendition of “Cripple Creek.”
“Wow! I thought my banjer pickin’ days were over. Not with this little jewel!” She dug into her purse and handed him the two-fifty he’d asked for and hugged her new baby. Just like that.
She looked at Mac, and he was obviously pleased. “Good deal, babe. You got your banjo.”
As the newlyweds left his rooms, Harry looked after them. He muttered to himself, “Maybe I should go to St. Pete and look at birth records. Assuming is not enough. That woman has stirred up a pot I didn’t know was on the stove. And why did she have to ask if I’m married? Don’t like to think about it. Thinking of Gloria’s death rubs a sore spot that just doesn’t want to heal.”
Chapter 6
Luther (aka Luke)
St. Petersburg, Florida, October 1921
Luke was in his element with his beautiful family, the balmy weather, and knowing he would live like a king the next several months. A willing “wife,” Georgie’s cooking, and mingling with the flapper set in the clubs. As the train slowed down coming into St. Petersburg railroad station, his heart gave a flip. The excitement of seeing Martha, mixed with my deep love for Zanny, should give me a heart attack, not just a couple of flip-flop beats, but I can’t help it.
After he got his luggage and the crates of musical instruments from the baggage car, they piled it in the cab Martha had hired. He sat between them in the back seat. The ride to her home was short, and the cabbie helped him unload his crates of banjos and fiddles.
When Luther was in North Carolina, he spoke like every other mountain person, but as Luke, he had developed a cultured speech his own children would not recognize. Luther Willson was a consummate actor.
“Well, Ms. Martha, do you think I should be able to sell my wares for my supplier in the mountains? He only sent these six banjos and two fiddles this time. Had some family difficulties and did not have the time to build anymore of them.”
The truth was, he had the busiest summer he’d had in years. Crops were good, the community wanted a real church, and he was a good builder. If he could craft beautiful musical instruments, he could build houses all the same. Why not a church? But he didn’t want to tell Martha the real reasons. That was Luther, not Luke. His thoughts went to Zanny telling him that with no current preacher, he would not be there to fill in. Don’t think about it.
“Oh, you’ll
