Charlotte Carter - Montana Love Letter

Janelle ordered three hot dogs, three lemonades and bags of chips, then carried them all to a shady spot under a big oak tree where they sat down not far from the

gazebo.

“Be careful, now. Don’t spill on your clean blouse,” she admonished Raeanne. She’d only packed enough clothes for a couple of weeks. Once she was settled somewhere, a friend would ship her the rest of their personal belongings. Until then, clothing choices were limited and access to a washer and dryer increasingly urgent.

Sitting with her legs bent beside her, Janelle took a bite of her hot dog. The bluegrass musicians, who looked to be all in their eighties or older, ended their performance to appreciative applause. As they packed up their instruments, she spotted Adam and his friends taking their place on the stand.

“Has your dad always played guitar?” Janelle asked.

“I guess so. He and his buddies play for church services sometimes.”

“That’s nice.” Janelle had drifted away from attending church during her marriage. Raymond hadn’t been interested in religion. Now that she was on her own, finding a church was high on her to-do list. Maybe she’d join the choir, too, if she could find a sitter for Raeanne during evening practices.

But that would wait until much later, when Raeanne had regained her self-confidence and happy spirit.

The five men in Adam’s group wore Western-cut shirts and jeans and had matching red bandannas tied around their necks. Stetsons completed their outfits.

Adam’s black hat tipped rakishly on the back of his head, giving him the look of a swaggering, country bad boy. She smiled at the image, so in contrast to his actual personality.

One of the other men cracked a few corny jokes then introduced the group: Sons of Bear Lake. The locals seemed to recognize them and sent up a cheer.

The banjo player started off with some fancy plucking, and then the violin dueled with the banjo, the two of them bowing and plucking so fast both instruments were nearly set on fire. After a long run of manic scales, they finished to the hoots, hollers and whoops of the crowd. Both men were sweating profusely.

“My goodness.” Janelle laughed and put her arm around Raeanne. “I’ve never heard anything like that before.”

“That’s Charlie Brooks on the banjo and Tiny Tim playing violin,” Hailey said.

“They’re great. Both of them.”

Slowing the pace, the group played “Come, Come, Come to Me,” a hymn familiar to Janelle. She sang along with the chorus and so did Hailey. Raeanne smiled and rocked to the beat but didn’t utter a sound.

A lump the size of a boulder closed Janelle’s throat, and the burn of tears stung her eyes. She’d willingly give every dime she owned if someone could erase the memory that had stolen her beautiful baby girl’s voice, locking her in her silent world.

* * *

The Sons of Bear Lake performed for nearly an hour. When they’d packed up their instruments, Adam joined Janelle and the girls.

“So what did you think?” He sat on the grass and placed his guitar case next to him.

“You were all great,” Janelle said. “We sang along with the songs we knew.”

“Raeanne didn’t,” Hailey said. “She can’t sing.”

Adam feigned shock. “You can’t sing?”

Solemn-faced, Rae shook her head.

“Well, now, that’s a real shame.” He opened his case and lifted his guitar, strumming a few chords. “Say, I bet I know a song you could help me sing.”

Looking unconvinced, Rae eyed his guitar.

Janelle held her breath. She didn’t want Raeanne to feel pressured into talking. The therapist had told her to let speech return naturally.

“Okay, here we go.” He strummed another chord and sang, “‘There’s a bee, a bumbly bee. He goes buzz, buzz, buzz.’”

He nodded at Rae. “Come on, I need help with the buzzing bee. ‘There’s a bee,’” he sang, “‘a flying bumbly bee. He goes...’”

The faintest sound escaped from Raeanne’s mouth. “‘Buzz, buzz, buzz.’”

Paralyzed, speechless, tears sprang to Janelle’s eyes. She covered her mouth so her sob wouldn’t escape. Those were the first words Raeanne had spoken in seven months. For any other mother of a five-year-old, the words would mean little.

To Janelle they were an answer to a prayer.

“Atta girl!” Grinning, Adam ruffled her hair. “‘There’s a bee. A flying, stinging bumbly bee. He goes...’”

“‘Buzz, buzz, buzz,’” Raeanne whispered.

“Okay, one more time. ‘There’s a bee. A flying, stinging, angry bumbly bee. I’m going to—’”

“‘Buzz, buzz, buzz,’” she said, her voice stronger now.

“‘Buzz, buzz, buzz away,’” Adam finished with a flourish, shifting his gaze from Raeanne to Janelle.

Hailey grabbed Raeanne and hugged her. “You did it! You sang the song.”

To Janelle, those whispered words were a gift from the Lord. A much-prayed-for beginning.

Thank you, she mouthed to Adam.

She wanted to throw her arms around him but didn’t dare, afraid to make a big fuss for fear Rae would retreat into silence.

What a special man Adam was. She couldn’t help but wonder if God had put that deer in her path. A path that led to Adam Hunter’s door?

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