Carnal Innocence

“Do what in front of all these people?”
    “Why, play a few tunes, darlin’.” His lips curved. “What did you think I was talking about?” As his smile spread wickedly, he lifted a brow. “Why, Caroline, I’m going to start thinking you have a one-track mind.”
    “Yours certainly takes some interesting curves.” Blowing out a breath, she combed fingers through her hair. “You want me to play?”
    “Probably nearly as much as you’d like to be playing.”
    She started to speak, then stopped and shook her head. “You’re right. I would like to.”
    Tucker gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll go fetch your fiddle.”

c·h·a·p·t·e·r 29
    S he was welcomed into the little band, but dubiously. People settled back politely, very much, Caroline thought, as a class might when they were about to listen to a boring but respected lecturer.
    It occurred to her that she’d grown accustomed to ovations when she took the stage. Obviously too accustomed, she thought now as her nerves began to jump. This little patch of grass beside Sweetwater Pond wasn’t Carnegie Hall, but it was a stage of sorts. And her current audience was reserving judgment.
    She felt ridiculous, absurdly out of place with her gleaming Stradivarius and Juilliard training. She was ready to babble an excuse and crawl away when she saw young Jim grinning at her.
    “Well now, little lady.” Old Mr. Koons ran his fingers down his banjo strings and made them twang. He couldn’t see more than three feet in front of himself, but he could still pick with the best of them. “What’s your pleasure?”
    “How about ‘Whiskey for Breakfast’?”
    “That’ll do her.” He tapped his foot for time. “We’llget her going, missy, and you just come on in when you’ve a mind to.”
    Caroline let the first few bars roll by. It was a good sound, full and cluttered. When the rhythm had caught, she tucked the violin on her shoulder, sucked in a deep breath, and cut loose.
    And the feeling was good—full and cluttered. As fun was supposed to be. The hand clapping from the audience kept time sharply. There was plenty of hooting, and when someone picked up the lyrics, they were given a shout of approval.
    “I do believe that fiddle of yours is smoking,” Koons told her, then took a moment to spit out a chaw. “Let’s keep her going.”
    “I know only a few,” Caroline began, but Koons waved her protest aside.
    “You’ll pick her up. Let’s try ‘Rolling in My Sweet Baby’s Arms.’”
    She did pick it up. Her ear and instinct were keen enough. When the trio segued into the blues, then bounced back with a raucous rendition of “The Orange Blossom Special,” she was right there with them.
    She lost herself in the pleasure of it. Even so, she noted Burns watching her—and watching Dwayne. She saw Bobby Lee cuddle Marvella into a dance when they slowed things down with “The Tennessee Waltz.” The music poured through her, but she noted that Tucker had his head together with Burke in what looked like a private and very serious discussion. And she saw Dwayne, sitting gloomily, a bottle at his feet and his eyes on the ground.
    Things were happening, Caroline mused. Even as the sun was lowering, the carnival rides whirling, the shadows lengthening, things were happening. Beneath the whistles and the laughter, nerves were jangling as fast as Koons’s banjo strings.
    And she was just another player, after all. Just one more player in the odd, uneasy game. Fate had dropped her down into this messy stew of heat and murder and madness. She was surviving. More, she was doing. Thesummer was half over and she was whole. She was even beginning to believe she was healed.
    If she left Innocence with only that, it would be enough. Her gaze shifted back to Tucker. It would be enough, she thought again with a slow smile. But it didn’t hurt to hope for more.
    “Well, kick me in the head and call me addled.” With a wheezy laugh, Koons laid his banjo over his lap. “You sure can make that fiddle dance, little girl. You ain’t no la-di-da neither.”
    “Why, thank you, Mr. Koons.”
    “It’s time we went and had ourselves a beer.” He got creakily to his feet. “You sure you’re a Yankee?”
    She smiled, taking it for the compliment it was meant as. “No, sir, I’m not. I’m not sure at all.”
    He slapped his knee at that, then hobbled off, shouting for his daughter to get him a beer.
    “That sure was some pretty playing, Miss Caroline.”