The man pointed at the piano. “Show me.”
Back straight, head high, Emma marched to the piano, situated herself on the bench, floated her hands above the keys, and froze. Every note of every song she had ever played flew right out of her head.
“I’m waiting.”
Emma shot him a weak smile, cleared her throat, and cracked her knuckles. Still, her mind remained blank.
She left in tears.
“Maybe you coming down with something?” Sam said.
“Maybe.”
Sam made her a cup of hot tea. “They’ll be other auditions,” he assured her.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
There were indeed other auditions and Emma froze each and every time.
“DC ain’t worth squat,” she declared after the seventh disappointment. “I think I’d do better someplace else. What you think, Sam?”
Sam thought what Emma thought.
When they moved to Baltimore, Emma experienced the same paralysis. Philadelphia was no different.
“Baby, I think you got the stage fright.”
“That don’t make no sense!” Emma snapped. “I been playing the organ in church ever since I was four years old and this ain’t never happen!”
“Perhaps,” Sam offered cautiously, “that was because you were doing the Lord’s work. These clubs is the devil’s playground.”
Emma glared at him. “Now you sounding like my daddy.”
Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Make sense to me.”
“God is everywhere!” Emma screamed.
“Except where He ain’t.”
“I ain’t hearing this from a man whose sole purpose for attending church was to find a woman.”
“Not just any woman.” Sam slipped his fingers between hers. “You.”
Emma melted. “You a stone-cold fool, Sam Elliott.”
“But I’m your fool, Emma Elliott.”
* * *
The couple returned to Macon to celebrate the holidays as well as Harlan’s first birthday.
They arrived empty-handed, sans luggage. All the moving around had depleted their meager savings. They didn’t even have enough money to buy Christmas and birthday gifts for Harlan. Tenant paid for their train tickets.
When Emma walked into the house and removed her coat, Louisa almost cried. Emma was thin, her once-full hips now sheared down to the bone; dark half-moons hung beneath her eyes.
Sam didn’t look much better.
Furtively avoiding the shock shining in Louisa’s eyes, Emma forced a smile. “Where’s Harlan?”
“Upstairs napping,” Louisa squeaked.
In the bedroom, Emma and Sam stood over the crib, marveling at the little life they’d created.
“He’s getting so big,” Emma whispered in wonderment.
Sam grinned, reached down, and touched Harlan’s hand. “He’s amazing, Emma, thank you.”
A lump rose in her throat. “He is, he is,” she managed.
“Maybe it’s time we take him with us.”
“Maybe,” Emma said.
* * *
Days later, as the family prepared to head out to Christmas Eve service, Tenant turned to Emma and asked if she wouldn’t mind accompanying the choir on the organ. “Like old times.”
The words barely left his tongue before Emma barked, “No!”
Tenant flinched at the severity of her response, but said nothing. He had no idea that Emma was damn mad at the Lord for taking away her ability to play in front of an audience of strangers, and so she had ousted God and His religion from her life.
“S-sorry, Daddy,” Emma mumbled as Tenant shuffled sadly away.
Chapter 13
They’d decided that the next best place to start again would be Louisville, Kentucky, home of the Kentucky Derby, the Hot Brown, bourbon, and Sam Elliott.
“Kentucky?” Tenant scratched his head. “I don’t understand why y’all keep jumping from state to state like a pair of jackrabbits.”
“I guess we haven’t found the right fit is all,” Emma retorted.
“Fit?”
“Yes, Daddy. We trying to find a place that feels like home.”
“Well, if that’s what you’re looking for, you should just stay right here in Macon. Don’t Macon feel like home?”
“We’ve already been through this, Daddy.”
Tenant folded his lips.
* * *
During the visit, Emma didn’t spend much time with Harlan. Not the amount of time you’d think a mother would spend with a child she hadn’t seen for seven months. She barely even held him, though that part wasn’t all her fault—whenever she reached for him, Harlan would scream bloody murder.
And really, what did Emma expect? Louisa was the only mother Harlan knew. She was the one who bathed him, fed him, read him bedtime stories, comforted him when he was scared, spanked him when he was ornery, and kissed him no matter what.
Who was Emma? Mostly a gray face in a grainy photograph, a name scrawled at the end of a letter or on the inside of a sentimental greeting card. Those things didn’t mean anything to Harlan. As far as he was concerned, Louisa was his world.
Louisa tried her best to comfort Emma. “He’s got to get to know you; that’s all.”
“But Mama, he don’t behave that way with Sam.”
It was true; Harlan was always quiet and content in Sam’s arms.
“Some babies just take to mens easier than they do to womens,” Louisa said, even though she didn’t actually know that to be true. But what else was she to tell her wounded daughter?
* * *
The morning of the day Sam and Emma were scheduled to leave, Louisa crept into Emma’s room with Harlan balanced
