The Wicker Tree (2 page)

When she was at home in the simple colonial house she had always regarded as her mother's, now hers by virtue of inheritance, and in which no trace of her father remained, she liked to look forward to what she would make of it when she and Steve were married, when they had kids. That was a dream that always distracted her, but looking at her watch she realised she must concentrate. She'd read that Scotland could be cold, real cold, with snow and ice. She'd packed her skiing underwear and now she added several sweaters. Parts of Scotland, she was advised, were also plagued with midges, kind of miniature mosquitoes you could hardly see. She had already packed some insect spray. The news that the Scots' favourite food was sheep's stomach alarmed her and she checked that she had put the Imodium in her toilet kit.

Beth took a long last look at her living room, at all the familiar things she and her mom had collected. The very special collection of Tiffany glass on the illuminated shelves. The photographs of herself and Steve together when she had been elected Homecoming Queen. Her Grammy for Best Female Country Vocal Performance for 'Trailer Trash Love', her favourite song and the one for which her mother had written most of the lyrics. The gold and platinum album plaques had all gone to the palace in Dallas with her father. She didn't miss them.

Confident that she had forgotten nothing, especially her brand new passport, she gave a fond farewell hug to Vashti, her housekeeper, and carried her own suitcases across the porch. Beth detested flashing her money around and despised what her father had done with his. But a few luxuries she did allow herself. True to her career as a recording artist, she liked to travel by limo, and one was now and almost always sitting outside her house, like a beached white whale, waiting for her to do some shopping or to visit Steve at the Dragon X Ranch or to go to the Cowboys for Christ church at Osceola, off Route 171.

Benny, Vashti's husband, who drove the limo, was, according to his wife, 'the laziest nigger in Texas.' It always slightly shocked Beth to hear Vashti use that word. Beth regarded PCness as next to Godliness. But his wife's accusation just made Benny chuckle. Officially, he worked for a limo company with the grand name of Buckingham Livery and Hire, but when Beth was at home she liked to have him always available. Steve pointed out that it would be much cheaper to buy the limo and hire Benny to drive it.

'That would mean I had a chauffeur,' protested Beth. 'That's not me at all. This way, I just hire the limo when I need it.'

Steve seldom argued with Beth. Their friendship was based on being very comfortable in each other's company. It always had been. As kids they held hands a lot, not caring who laughed at them. Steve still lived with his pa, a widower and a working cowboy, a rarity now in Texas, who had originally been a hand on the LBJ Ranch when President Johnson and his wife, Lady Bird, were in retirement. Steve had somehow never been too dazzled by Beth's career. But he was proud of her voice and was one of the very few people around her who understood her view that it was her voice and not her career that was the more important.

Benny drove the limo at about forty-five miles an hour. He considered any speed in excess of that inconsistent with a Cadillac's dignity. Beth watched out the left-hand window as they started to approach Osceola down Route 171. The Church of Christ's Second Coming, recently renamed Cowboys for Christ (and part of a growing brotherhood of such churches) was located just two miles short of the little town. Now what she saw on either side of the highway was flat open country, just shrubs and occasional clumps of pine trees. Beth was looking to see if a rider leaving a long trail of dust from a track that ran parallel to 171 could be Steve.

She knew it should be, because when she phoned him, just before leaving home, he said that if Benny was driving at his usual speed, he'd beat them to the church on Old Johnson, his pa's favourite quarter horse. Sure enough, as rider and horse got closer to the road, she could see that it was indeed Steve, his hat laid back on his shoulders, his tousled blond hair all over his face so that he had to hold his head well back to see.

Now the church was coming into view, just off the road, nestling in a clearing of a small pine wood. It was built on the classic log cabin principle, only the logs looked Wal-Mart shiny and new. There was a corral close by where some cowboys were just finishing a morning of showing off their ropin' skills. Further on was a car park with several hundred vehicles, everything from old, rusty pick-ups through heavily chrome-plated Humvees and SUVs to fancy European automobiles and even occasional Fords and Chevies. Steve had joined the road now and was riding beside the Cadillac, shouting down at Beth through her open window.

'Looks like we're the last to get here. What are you singin'?'

'The Magnificat.'

'Yeah? Do I know that?'

'Maybe not, Steve. But I think you'll like it.'

'What happened to Amazing Grace?'

'This is my new deal, honey.'

'OK. So do the band know this piece?'

'Not doing it with the band. Holly Dempster – she'll play piano for me. Like I said, this is my new deal. I am just going to use my voice.'

'Can the folks stomp and holler?'

'Don't think they'll be inclined, Steve.'

'Well you go for it, girl. Pa came on ahead. He's got my bag and my passport and my ticket. This trip of ours got him all worked up. If he could come too, he'd be there in a New York minute.'

Steve clapped his heels into Old Johnson's flanks and the horse took off towards the church, leaving the long white Cadillac alone to make the majestic arrival for which it had been designed.

Benny would not have dreamed of letting Beth walk from the car park, which she would much have preferred to do, so he drove straight up to the church's main door, reserved usually for funerals and weddings. Beth sighed as she saw the outside broadcast truck of a local TV station, its lines already hung up to the church, its auxiliary generator humming. The video guy was wandering around looking, Beth always thought, like some weird mutant of the human race that had great black cameras growing out of its necks and shoulders.

There were fans crowding in as she got out of the car but, thankfully, Big Bill Marlowe, the guy to whom she (and her father) owed so much, was there to greet her and take charge.

'C'mon guys, give Beth a break,' he said in a voice that was not that loud but nonetheless penetrated the hubbub around them. 'This is a church service, not a gig or a concert, you know. The service will be on your car radio, on TV. Anyone being a regular worshipper at this church will hear Beth inside.' He lowered his voice. 'How many will you sign, Beth?'

'Twelve,' she said. She always said twelve. It was her lucky number.

Two minutes later they were inside the church and she was being greeted by Brother Kenny, the pastor. He took her and Big Bill into his little office. Worshippers were still streaming in to be met by a couple of elders who kept the tally of who was or was not a bona fide member of the congregation. Some serious fundraisers for the President had taken place at this church. He'd even been there himself and said a few words when he was still Governor of Texas. Even so, it was probably not an obvious target for terrorists but, since 9/11, people liked to see real good security wherever they went.

Beth sipped some hot coffee that Brother Kenny had waiting for her and listened to him with the attention she had always given to anyone producing or directing her, whether for a live gig, a music video or a recording.

'Beth, we're real glad you are agreeing to go – and take Steve with you – on this Redeemers' mission. Ever since this church became associated with the Redeemers we've wanted to encourage young people to go out and preach the word of God to heathens everywhere. To have you go to Scotland is such a fine example to other young people. Because you could've just given money – and I know you've done that too.'

Beth felt what he had just said was a tad redundant. She knew all that, so did Big Bill. Where was she to sit? When was she to sing? Where was Holly so she could have a last word about the music? Where was Steve going to be sitting? She wanted him near her. At what time was the Redeemers' bus coming by?

Kenny might have read her mind because he just smiled and produced two photocopied sheets giving the Order of Service and the seating plan of the church. The bus was scheduled to come by in an hour and a half's time. Beth had the grace to look apologetic. She leaned forward and briefly squeezed Brother Kenny's hand. It was a little gesture her mom had taught her. Warm, intimate, friendly, but not in any way sexy. Useful.

'Holly will come and fetch you when it's time for you to sing that hymn of yours,' said Brother Kenny, leaving to start stage-managing the service.

She was alone now in the office with Big Bill, who looked like he had something special he wanted to say to her. He got up to his feet, hesitated, then shut the door, drowning out '
I'm riding down the trail
with Jesus, yes I am.
' Then he sat down opposite her and looked at her with that special look of his, head on one side like an old hound dog, eyes a little bloodshot but serious, sincere. Although he was no more than forty or so, still he seemed pretty old to Beth, who'd always called him Big Bill, cause her mom had started it to distinguish him from Beth's father, also a Bill. Her Daddy was small and round. Folks called him Fat Billy, though not to his face. Whereas Big Bill was tall and lean and dignified, built like a true cowboy, except he was really a venture capitalist born with more in his trust funds than you'd find in the treasuries of many a foreign country. She respected Big Bill as much as she despised her father.

'Just thought we'd talk about this trip of yours, Beth. Of course, I agree with Brother Kenny. You are doing a wonderful thing here. But I'm not sure you realise the risk you're taking. Sure, I know you got Steve to look out for you, but he's just a kid too.'

'We're not kids, Bill,' said Beth sharply. 'Kids our age are ready to fight for our country.'

'That is my point exactly. There's a war going on out there. I checked with the Redeemer people. They had to admit, valuable as you are to them PR-wise, they do not plan to detail anyone to act as full-time security guard for you like you'd have on a tour.'

'Bill, I discussed all this with them. I do not want a guard. I do not want any publicity once the main gig in Glasgow is over. Steve is my special guy. You know that. He'll take good care of me. We'll just be two young people, me and him, over from Texas with this message of hope for these poor people who have seemingly lost their faith.'

'Have you any idea what Europe is like these days?'

'Sure. The Redeemers gave us a whole lot of info about the Godlessness in Scotland, the strange beliefs they have, like we're all descended from animals and slimy things out of the ocean. A lot of Yankees believe that stuff too you know, even folks in this state. They really do. We know we got a real big hill to climb with these folks.'

'Did they tell you what the Reverend Pat Robertson said about the Scottish people? He said too many of those poor lost souls are gay, wearing those skirts and all… Do you know something? My dear grandma used to sing songs from a book called
Gay Ditties
. They've stolen that lovely word from us. God help me, I do resent that.'

'They're called kilts. Have you ever been there, Bill? To Europe?'

'I have not. Like President Nixon said: "I don't care what religion a man has, as long as he's got a religion." In Europe religion is mostly dead. They're lost people. To be frank with you, I don't want to spend

any of my precious time on earth with lost people.'

'Bill!' Beth cried. 'You're trying to discourage me? You of all people. You gave me my start. You paid for my dad to take me to Nashville and for those first recordings. I just can't believe this.'

'You're throwing away your career,' said Bill sadly. 'I'm not saying this just because I invested in you. I think you know that. But because you've been doing great. You're on a roll now. Go away for a year and maybe it'll be, "Beth who?" Aren't you at all scared of that?'

Beth wasn't scared at all. Although she had kept this to herself, she had decided to re-invent Beth, the singer, in the service of her voice. Maybe this was the moment to start breaking this to Bill. She leant forward and put her hand over his big hairy paw and squeezed gently before withdrawing it.

'You are a very dear man, Bill. I love you like I was your own daughter. When I come back, after Steve and I get married, I'm going to sing like you'll hear me sing today. Maybe there won't be no more Grammy awards. But I think people will pay to hear my voice. And if they won't then I'll sing for my little old self and Steve and, I hope, you Bill, and my other real good friends.'

The door to the office had opened a little and Holly was peering through.

'Oh, excuse me,' she said and stood there speechless for a moment. She recognised Bill as the rich, legendary drinker and womaniser who had been saved by Jesus some ten years ago and was now seldom out of the society pages of the newspapers. Holly wondered for an instant about him and Beth, and if she was interrupting something.

'I'm supposed to fetch you now, Beth. Is that OK?' she said hurriedly, as if she'd suddenly remembered her errand.

'Sure, we're all through here,' said Big Bill, rising to his feet. It sounded a bit abrupt, although he was smiling. But Beth had remained seated. She tugged for a few seconds at the hand she had squeezed.

'Bill?' her voice had lowered and he turned to her quickly while Holly went back out the door to wait in the passage.

'Yeah, what is it Beth?'

'I don't owe anyone anything, do I? My dad's paid off. You recovered yours some time ago, I guess. The label… Well I fulfilled my contract. The option to continue was open. I've let it go… I told them I'll come back to them if they still want me in a year's time. They didn't like it. But I'd say they were smart, they were cool. They gave me a nice six-figure kiss goodbye. So who do I owe?' She raised her voice: 'I'm coming Holly.'