Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 3.5 | Chapter 4-1 | Chapter 4-2 | Chapter 5
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark
If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no’s on their vacancy signs…
I Will Follow You Into the Dark, Deathcab for Cutie
Kate fled to the only place that felt safe.
Her vintage sky-blue bicycle bumped along the sandy drive between rows of massive antebellum oaks leaning graciously low. Hot, angry tears streamed along her proud cheekbones.
Kate shook her head in an effort to whip her long, loose tresses out behind her in the wind — instead, they plastered themselves to the pools welling beneath her eyes and along the trailing rivulets down the sides of her nose.
She was a hopeless wreck.
Once upon a time, she’d have said that the Mira Bella was her haven…but between the black silk ribbon beneath Jake’s pillow and his enraged outburst at Moore Street Cafe barely twenty minutes ago — the Mira Bella was no longer an option. In fact, she wished it would simply vanish from the annals of her mind, along with all those Bayport sunsets she’d spent in Jake’s muscular arms last summer.
Jerk. She sniffed, biting her cheek defiantly and picturing the black silk ribbon again.
But honestly, she truly didn’t blame him. Not now, anyway. Did it hurt? Brutally. Did she deserve it?
Probably, she decided, her shoulders stooping with regret.
Skidding through the dust to slow down, Kate hopped off the bike and walked it to a stop, dropping it to the cracked, bare earth.
Her heart skipped a beat and everything inside of her halted in breathless, reverential awe as she gazed at the tetrastyle columns rising before her. They mounted towards a single, circular window just beneath the perfectly classical pediment. There it was — a pristine Palladian white against the lush rice patties arcing for miles beyond — Luola’s Chapel.
Ancient crepe myrtles skirted the floor-to-ceiling windows and camellias fairly burst into bowers of blooms around the periphery of the Chapel. The spent blossoms pooled into puddles of ivory, blush and carnelian at their bases, as though the Chapel rested atop a lush bed of petals.
Kate had seen it nearly every summer of her life, but still — Luola’s Chapel took her breath away.
Approaching the oversized vestibule doors, Kate wiped tears from her cheeks. Nudging one of the massive panels ajar, she peered inside. Everything was precisely as she remembered. Nearly ten years, and everything was just as it had been. There was something comforting about that, she decided, her ragged breathing beginning to stabilize.
Except… visions of summers at the plantation flashed through her mind’s eye: laughter; sunshine; swaying live oak boughs with sharp, blue pieces of sky spiraling on the breeze — someone singing to her gently and stroking her hair; but Kate couldn’t dwell on that now. She choked down the swell of memories, stepped through the door.
Whitewashed colonial-era box pews led down the worn heart-pine aisle towards a gracefully elevated platform and pulpit. The baby grand — a later addition, of course — lingered silently in the corner, sunlight streaming across its lid from the lead-glass windows.
Before she even realized it, Kate had made her way down the aisle, past the platform and had slid onto the piano bench. Her fingers yearned to stroke the smooth ivory keys — she had no idea how long this aching had been mounting; she’d hardly been aware of it until now — and at last, she struck a sweet, solid, melodious chord.
Music flowed freely from her fingertips as if it had been pooling there, just waiting for release. Everything melted away… Ethan, The Sands; the years that had held her at arm’s length from this place….even Jake.
Kate found herself luxuriating in the peaceful hum as notes laced themselves into the isolated quietude of the empty Chapel. The melody was rich with longing, as a gentle, hopeful harmony rose to the surface —
“Honey chile…. dat you?”
Kate swung around, staring wide-eyed in the direction of the voice — she’d know that voice anywhere.
“After all ‘dis time, chile? An’ you jus showed up like ‘dis?”
“Mama Rae…?” Kate was incredulous.
The old woman laughed — that deep, harmonious chuckle Kate remembered fondly from childhood, “Sho’ ‘nuf, Chile. Now you git up offa tha’ bench there and come’n give me some sugar.”
“Oh, Mama Rae,” Kate collapsed into the older woman’s ample bosom, instantly enveloped in her familiar embrace that smelled equally of softening leather and some heavenly concoction of butter, cream and maple sugar.
“Mama Rae, what are you doing here?” Kate pulled back to gaze into the woman’s kind, aged face, slipping over on the piano bench to make room for them both, and desperately fighting back further tears of relief at the older woman’s unexpected presence.
“Ah, ah, Katie Marie…. you tellin’ me,” the old woman admonished, “Whut’re you doin’ way out here ‘n the boondocks? A righ’ proper youn’ lady like yo’self out here ‘n the dog days uh summer?
“And why’s yo’ hair sich a stringy mess? Laawwwd,” Mamma Rae rocked back and forth as she spoke, shaking her head at Kate and beginning to comb through her matted blonde tresses with deft fingers.
Bayport folk whispered that she was a strange old Gullah woman, but Kate had always found her homespun ways comforting and familiar. A constant reminder of her dearest Grandmother. Mama Rae had been Grandmother’s best friend since girlhood.
“Mama Rae…. I’m in such a mess—” Kate began.
“—Well, ah kin see dat. Go on—”
“—and Jake, well, I wanted to talk to him. I wanted him to know, to understand — but somehow I just made things worse,” Kate looked down in despair, “I said all the wrong things… (a pause) …lost my temper.”
“Lans, Chile… I shoulda know’d it be ‘bout some boy from thos’ streaks down yer cheeks. An’ dat temper ‘a yurs…” Mama Rae paused to shake her head again knowingly. Kate thought she saw her suppressing another chuckle, but Mama Rae met her gaze evenly — even sharply.
“Mama Rae — I know,” Kate laced her long, slim fingers through Mama Rae’s weathered, leathery ones, as she’d often done when saying her prayers at night as a little girl, “But what do I do now?”
“Only the Good Lawd kin tell ya ‘dat, baby girl, and I ‘spect if’n ya humble yerself ‘n pray, He goin’ ta hear you. You’ll know whut ta do.
“Ah always told yer Granny ah’d watch ov’r ya, ‘n make no mistake, Katie Girl, I plan ta’ make sure’s ah do.”
Here, Mama Rae reached up with a gently gnarled finger and tapped the heart-shaped locket around Kate’s neck, knowingly.
“Follow yer heart, Katie Girl. Follow yer heart.”
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