The Song of David

“Well, Henry said okay. So I’m planning on it. But we won’t be bringing any bags of hair back home.”

Millie’s brows furrowed and she looked as if she wanted to argue, but stepped toward me instead, felt for her walking stick that was leaning against the wall, and changed the subject. “Did you drive? Because I’m thinking we should walk. The church is around the corner.”

I eyed my shiny red truck wistfully and then forgot it when Amelie slid her hand around my arm.

Other than a few scattered snow flurries that dumped in the mountains and frosted the valleys, Salt Lake City was enjoying the mildest winter we’d had in years, and though the temperatures plummeted here and there, in comparison to normal February temperatures, it was almost balmy.

We walked east towards the mountains that ringed the valley. The mountains were the first thing I noticed about Utah when my family moved from Dallas my junior year in high school. Dallas didn’t have mountains. Salt Lake City had staggering, snow-covered mountains. I’d spent more than a few weekends in them skiing, though I was careful about how much skiing I did when I was training. Unfortunately, I always seemed to be training.

Amelie lifted her face as if to soak up the sun.

“Can you see anything at all?” I wondered if the question would offend her.

“Light. I can differentiate light from darkness. That’s about it. I can tell where the windows are in the house, when the door is open, that sort of thing. Natural light is easier for me than artificial light. And the light doesn’t illuminate anything else, so it’s really only good for orienting me in a room with windows, if that.”

“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.