C. Morgan - All the Living

She smiled up at him. Do you just need somebody for Sundays, or Wednesdays too?

Well, Wednesdays too, I believe, he said. But sometimes some of the boys here just pick on Wednesdays, no fiddle of course, we ain’t that far gone — he laughed — but we might could use you. If you’re free, that is.

I can be free.

Well, that’s good, that’s good. You don’t got obligations elsewhere or anything? he said, his eyes turned up to the window behind her that lighted her, burning the edges of her brown hair blond.

Nope, she said.

Okay, he said. Well, wow, that’s great. He looked around the sanctuary for a moment, his eyes searching out the front door that they had left open so that the July day penetrated the cool of the sanctuary. Aloma saw the small beads of sweat on his forehead, and when he put his large hands on his hips, she saw the sweat rings on his shirt.

As he gazed out over the empty pews, he seemed to think the better of his haste. You don’t just got that one memorized and that’s the only one you know, right? He smiled shakily at her.

She laughed, let the hymnal fall open where it would and she played one verse of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” He laughed too as he listened, and though he kept his arms crossed over his chest the whole time while they were speaking and laughing, she was pleased, and when he offered her fifteen dollars a week, she felt even better. And she thought, Orren will be happy, and she liked that.

When she stood up to go, her face was pink with pleasure and she looked more beautiful than she was. Bell unfolded his arms just long enough to grasp her hand finally with his own oversized hand.

Well, I’m pleased to offer you a job, he said.

I’m pleased to be playing piano again, she said. It’s been a little while.

Oh, how come is that?

Oh, she said and shook her hand in the air, conjuring. It’s just been a while is all. I’m rusty.

Well, you can play here as much as you need to, he said.

That’s about the best news I’ve had in a while, she said.

Well, good.

Good, she said and laughed again.

When she came home, Orren was walking up from the barn with something hanging from his right hand.

Guess what! she yelled from the back steps.

What? he yelled back.

I got a job playing piano at the church!

Paying you? he yelled.

Fifteen dollars a week, her voice a little softer now as he neared. He said nothing in response, only kept on, and that stole the slightest pleasure from her telling. As he topped the slope, she saw he was carrying a dead chicken, its head gone but its body still whole and feathered. She stepped out cautiously now to meet him on the grass.

What’s wrong with that chicken? she said.

It’s dead, he said. She glared at him.

It don’t lay no more, he said. It ain’t a meat chicken, but we can eat it. Fix it, he said and he held it out to her. There was fight in his eyes, and because it was there and because he hadn’t forgotten the other night and neither had she — especially the part where she wanted to take back her loose words — she reached out and grasped the chicken by its nubby legs and held it right up against her hip so her jeans got wet from its spillage. She didn’t know what to do with it, chicken from the grocery was one thing, but holding the deceased in her bare hands was another thing altogether.

Fifteen bucks, huh, he said.

That’s right, she said and smiled broadly. Then she turned and walked back to the house, swinging the chicken like she didn’t care.

* * *

On Sunday morning, she woke and Orren was still in bed beside her. Her eyes found the clock, there were two hours remaining before the service. She lay still for a few minutes, aware of the sun and its increase and the unfamiliar fact of Orren’s easy sleep beside her. But when she made a move to rise, he startled her, he rolled over and laid his body over hers. His head remained burrowed down in her neck as though he were still asleep, accidentally on top of her. She pushed up once at his chest, but he didn’t move.

Are you going to do something or just trap me? she said.

When they were done, he rolled back to his side and rested again. She looked over at him lying there with one hand on his chest, loose, his eyelashes drifted down.

I don’t think you should go with me to church, she said.

He opened one eye and peered at her. Did it look like I was fixing to go?

Well, I’m just saying, she said. It’d be better if you didn’t.

Why? he said darkly and opened both eyes now.

Don’t be ill, she said. It’s just that they don’t know I live with a man and it’s better if they don’t. The preacher didn’t know it when he got me to do the playing, so it would be better—

I get it, he said.

I’m not mad, she said. It’s nothing about that. It’s just, they don’t need to know.

Well, I don’t go to church.

I noticed, she said disapprovingly.

I don’t need nobody to bitch at me, he said, shutting his eyes and raising his hand to cover them.

Okay, she said and rolled her eyes and sat up in the bed, one arm holding her breasts while she looked around. Her hair stuck up in the back. You knot up my hair, she said. I hate that. He didn’t reply, but a minute later, while she was rooting through the closet for a dress, he said, The singing I don’t mind, but I can’t abide nobody telling me what to do. Shit. I went when Mama made me, but never again. No, buddy.

They’re only just making suggestions, said Aloma with a dress now in her hands.

Orren tented his hand and looked at her. That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard you say, he said.

She ignored him. It was Sunday. She hooked her bra and pulled on her dress, turning toward him as she buttoned it over her breasts.

Are you staying in bed? she said.

No, he said. I’m fixing to work. Let those other sonsabitches go to church. I got shit to do.

On the drive down, Aloma’s stomach was drawn tight with the edginess that came before playing, something she had not felt in a long time. Her brow creased and her right hand worried the stick when she wasn’t shifting and when she finally pulled into the church’s gravel lot, she had to sit still for a moment and collect herself, breathing. She’d made a point to arrive thirty minutes before the service began, but the small lot was already milling with people and she could see Bell by the front steps talking with two men. She tried not to feel very girlish and very young when she approached them and said in a voice she barely recognized for its softness, Good morning.

Morning, Miss Aloma, Bell said and the two men turned as one to look at her and she blushed and held up a hand to shield her eyes from theirs and from the morning sun, cut and shafted but not weakened by the shaked church roof.

I thought to come a bit early to practice, but I guess I’m not so early.

I don’t reckon you need to practice at all. She’s good, said Bell. This is Miss Aloma, the new piano player. Aloma waved at them, but did not shake hands and they did not offer. They nodded, smiling, and looking at her sideways without words until Bell said, Oh, I reckon I should tell you what we’re singing.

He led her up the steps and into the church where some of the women and a few of the oldest men were already seated, their Bibles at their sides.

Now, normally I would leave this up to you, he said, but I just gone on ahead and picked them this week. I’ll let you know what I’m fixing to preach on and then you can do it yourself. That’s what Leah always done and it worked fine.

Alright, said Aloma, following close on his heels up the center aisle as she had the other day. A few people turned to mark their passing. She sat on the edge of the piano bench and arranged her skirt so it fell neatly from the shelf of the bench down to the threadworn carpet. Bell, his dark eyes following the movement of her hands, said, Two hundred forty, two hundred and forty-one, and fourteen. I’ll let you know when on all of it. And then he smiled at her, but not long, and he turned on his heel abruptly so that it struck her as almost rude and she looked up, startled. She watched as he walked away. He stopped to pat the knee of his mother, who sat steel-backed, Bible on her lap, in the front row and then he passed on back down the aisle and out the door again to greet.