The Song of David(29)

“So if I danced around in front of a spotlight, you wouldn’t be able to see my outline?”

“Nope. Why? You thinking about doing a little pole-dancing at the bar?” she said cheekily.

“Yes. Dammit! How did you know?” I exclaimed, and she tossed back her head and laughed. I admired the length of her throat and her smiling mouth before I caught myself and looked away. I stared at her way too often.

“You look nice, Millie,” I said awkwardly, and felt like an idiot for the understatement.

“Thanks. I’d say the same thing to you, but, well, you know. You smell nice, though.”

“Yeah? What do I smell like?” I asked.

“Wintergreen gum.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“You also smell like a pine-based aftershave and soap—”

“New cologne called Sap,” I joked.

“—with a hint of gasoline.”

“I stopped to fill up on the way. Guess I didn’t need to, since we’re walking.”

“We’re walking because we’re practically there.” An old church that looked like it had been built around the same time as Millie’s house rose from a circle of trees at the end of the block. “There’s been talk that they are going to tear it down. Then I’ll have to find somewhere else to go.”

As we closed the distance, I could see that the church was a pale brick with a towering white spire and soaring windows on the tallest end. A creek ran to the north of the building and Amelie and I crossed a sturdy bridge that ran adjacent to the road.

“No water in the creek?” She asked as if she already knew the answer.

“No.”

“Soon. A couple of months and I’ll be able to come hear two of my favorite sounds at once.”

“You like the sound of the creek?”

“I do. When spring comes, I stand on this bridge and just listen. I’ve been doing it for years.”

When I began to veer across the grass on the other side of the bridge, heading for the wide double doors that were clearly the entrance to the church, she pulled against my arm.

“Aren’t we going in?” I asked.

“No. There’s a rock wall. Do you see it?”

Ahead was a crumbling, twenty-foot wedge of piled rocks cemented into a divider that rimmed the side of the church, separating it from the grassy slope that led down to the dry creek bed. I led Millie to it, and she dropped my arm and felt her way down it a ways before she sat and patted the spot next to her.

“Are the windows open?” she asked

“It looks like one is, just a bit.”

“Mr. Sheldon usually remembers. He leaves it cracked for me when the weather’s good.”

“Do you listen from out here?” I was incredulous. I could hear muted men’s voices and then laughter, as if there was a meeting of sorts going on behind the windows.

“No. Not exactly.” She listened for a second. “They’ve started earlier today. It fluctuates. Sometimes it’s eleven-fifteen or eleven-thirty. They like to visit and are slow to begin sometimes. But I don’t mind waiting. This is a nice spot, and when it’s not too cold I’m happy to just sit on this wall and think. When it’s warm Henry comes with me and we have a picnic. But he gets bored, and I don’t enjoy it as much when he’s here. Maybe because I can’t relax.”

The piano began playing and Millie sat up straighter, tipping her head in the direction of the music.

“Oh, I love this one.”

I could only stare at her. This was one of her favorite sounds? Then voices were raised, and the sound seeped out the slim opening and floated down to the place where we sat, and I forgot about the fact that my suit coat was a little tight across the shoulders and my knuckles were sore from yesterday’s sparring session. I forgot about all of it because Amelie’s face was lit up by the sound of men’s voices, singing in worship, mellow and smooth, lifting and lowering over the words. They weren’t professional. It wasn’t a barbershop quartet or the BeeGees. There were more voices than that, probably twenty or thirty male voices singing praises. And as I listened I felt it deep in my belly.



“There is no end to glory;

There is no end to love;

There is no end to being;

There is no death above.

There is no end to glory;

There is no end to love;