Page 89 of Texas Splendor
She lifted her head, trying to make out his features in the shadows. “Earlier you said something about bugs on paper—”
“Oh, that. I was talking about those sheets of music you gave me for Christmas. I’ll let you teach me how to read them.”
She came up on her elbow. “Don’t you know how to read music?”
“Nope.”
“But that song you played—”
“Told you … it was my heart breaking. And I hope I never hear it again.”
She sat up completely, drawing the blankets around her bare shoulders to ward off the chill of the room. “Austin, I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know if I can explain it.”
“Try.”
He placed his hand on the back of her head. “Cuddle up against me first.”
She nestled her cheek against the crook of his shoulder as his arm came around her, his hand trailing from her shoulder to her elbow. She spread her hand over his chest, her fingers toying with the light dusting of hair that sometimes tickled her nose.
“Don’t know where to start,” he finally said into the silence.
“At the beginning would be nice.”
“Explaining things with words has never come easy for me. I don’t know if what I say will make sense.”
“I’m a patient listener.”
“You are that, Sugar. All right. I’ll try.” He cleared his throat. “I reckon I was about seven the first time. We were herding cattle north along the Shawnee Trail.”
“You were herding cattle when you were only
seven?”
“Mostly I followed Dallas and picked up cow chips for the campfires at night. Anyway one night I’d been sleeping under the chuckwagon. I heard this noise. It sounded like the wind, but there was no breeze that night. It was still as death, like something was waiting. So I got up. Cookie—that’s the man that played the fiddle tonight—was fixin’ food for the men about to come off the two o’clock watch. I asked him if he’d heard anything. He wanted to know what it sounded like. I couldn’t describe it. He always kept his fiddle nearby so I picked it up … and played what I heard.”
“Just like that?” she asked in awe.
“Just like that.”
She lifted her head. “How could you do that?”
“All I can figure is that all those nights I watched my ma when I was a boy stuck with me.”
She’d never heard of anything like it, but she couldn’t discount the fact that the song he had played earlier had been flawless.
“Cookie taught me a few notes, a couple of songs, but he doesn’t have your patience. Then one Christmas, Dallas and Houston gave me a violin, but I was sixteen before I found out it had been my ma’s.”
“But you told me you couldn’t play. Why did you lie—”
He rolled her over, rising above her, cupping her cheek. “I wasn’t lying, Loree. I’ve always heard the music in my heart … but I lost the ability to do that when I went to prison. It was like the music just shriveled up and died. I thought I’d never hear it again. How could I play the violin if I couldn’t hear the music? Then lately, I started going crazy because I’d hear snatches of music—when you’d look at me or smile at me. But I couldn’t grab onto it, I couldn’t hold it. Then last night, you told me that you loved me and I heard the music, so sweet, so soft. It scared me to hear it so clearly after I hadn’t for so long.
“Tonight, I hurt you—again. I was going to let you go, Loree. I was gonna take you back to Austin. But I heard my heart break … and I knew that’s all I’d hear for the rest of my life. Don’t leave me, Sugar.”
Joy filled her and she brushed the locks of hair back off his brow. “I won’t.”
She saw his broad smile in the moonlight.
