The dishes washed and put in their appropriate places Etta was now preparing for the day to follow. On the stove a ham was soaking in a large pan of water alongside a pot of split peas, they too soaking to soften for tomorrows main meal.
After seeing to Joe, Adam picked up the guitar and made himself comfortable. An easy chair had been dragged in from the drawing room and now was positioned. Pride of place beside Joe’s bed for the added benefit and ease of whomever was on ‘Joewatch’.As usual, Adam began by tuning and strumming exercises. Loosening his long, elegant fingers. All day a remembered song that he hadn’t heard, played or sung for sometime had been drifting in and out of his head to the point that he had no other option than to give vent to this musical persecutor. With a softness in his eyes and a hint of a smile on his mouth Adam gazed at his brother. Joe’s face was clearly visible. Adam had just turned his brother onto his right hand side. The usual tanned features were pale and wan. The large bruises on the left side of his face. A combination of the horses hoof and the punishing slide down the cliff had changed to pucey, green, before fading to that final yellowy, jaundiced colour and then to obscurity. Joe’s long, thick, dark lashes lay unmoving on top of his cheek bones like to two resting, long, legged black spiders.Pulling in a deep sigh Adam wished with all his mind, body and soul that he could once more see the green sparks of uncontrolled and often unnecessary anger fired in his direction. To be looked at, once again with the resent and discontent which usually preceded a bunched, knuckled fist aimed at his nose or mouth. His thoughts returned to the many times he had deliberately provoked his fiery tempered young brother, just for the hell of it, just for his own amusement. Knowing as well with a chosen word or gesture he could just as easily defuse that human stick of dynamite. As his thoughts wandered and roamed. So to his fingers plucked and picked seeking out the chords and introduction of the song that was niggling and determined to give his brain no ease.In the kitchen Etta was almost finished her day. One final task remained. Knowing that Hoss when he returned from the barn. Even so soon after eating. He would be looking for something to pick at. She therefore set a plate of cookies on the table and covered them with the decorative muslin, cake protector. One that Harriet Simms had presented her with on Etta’s last birthday. Etta had so much admired Harriet’s own, and had been delighted with the gift.The pleasant sounds of Adam strumming caused her for a moment to push out a chair from the table and sit. Waiting she hoped that he would add his voice. His mellow tones always caused a warm rush of contentment to wash over her. It soon became obvious he was in a strumming mode. Shrugging her shoulders, she stood and walked to the press to collect three mugs. Feeling sure that another drink, milk or coffee, even tea, would be required before turning in for the night. Placing them on the table she very nearly caused one to crash to the floor. Overcome by a sudden weakness that turned her legs to melted butter. Reaching out for the back of the chair she supported herself. Carefully she lowered herself to the seat and listened to the cause of her near faint. She knew well the chords of the song. Memories flooded back to her. Memories of a small girl sitting on her daddies spacious and comfortable lap. Looking up into his shining, happy face as he hummed softly the air and then sang the words…her mama too humming and singing along in accompaniment. She could hear their voices as clear as day.T’was on one bright March morning I bid New Orleans adieu
And I took the rode to Jackson town, me fortune to renew
I cursed all foreign money, no credit could I gain
Which filled me heart with longin’ for the Lakes of Pontchartain.Without realising she had stood and walked to the bedroom door. As always it was ajar.. she leaned against the door frame, once more needing support. This time it was not enough…slowly….silently, her back pressing against the wooden door jam. She slid to the floor, and there she stayed. Her knees drawn up to her chin.I stepped on board of a railroad car beneath the morning sun
And I rode the roads ’til evening and I laid me down again
All strangers here, no friends to me ’til a dark girl towards me came
And I fell in love with a Creole girl from the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

Adam his broad back, clad in a red shirt sat angled toward the bed. The arm of the guitar jutting out from the side of the chair. This sight disappeared from her view. Tears misted her eyes and she bent her head to her knees. The voices and words of the song sliced and cut through her heart and soul.

I said my pretty Creole girl, me money here’s no good
If it weren’t for the alligators I’d sleep out in the wood
You’re welcome here kind stranger, our house it’s very plain
But we never turn a stranger out at the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

She took me to her mummy’s house and she treated me quite well
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell
To try and paint her beauty I’m sure t’would be in vain
So handsome was my Creole girl from the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

She sat huddled, a small child weeping softly into the folds of her frock. Silent tears tracked from her cheeks to her chin. She wept for every wrong she had endured. Every harsh word. Every stick and stone that had been cast at her. She wept for her beloved father. She wept for her mother that couldn’t endure without his strength. She wept for the man and child. The two bodies in the grave beside the meadow. She wept for her lost life.

I asked her if she’d marry me, she’d said it could never be
For she had got another and he was far at sea
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
‘Til he returned for his Creole girl from the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

So fair thee well me bonny o’ girl I never see no more
But I’ll ne’er forget your kindness and the cottage by the shore
And at each social gathering a flowin’ glass I’ll raise
And drink a health to me Creole girl from the Lakes of Pontchartrain.

Adam unaware of the drama unfolding behind his back, sang on verse after verse. He too wrapped in memories of another time, another place, another woman.

It was only as he placed his palm to rest on the strings. The song and music played out that Adam heard the barely audible sound of the soft sobbing. At first he looked to the bed thinking, hoping that it must be Little Joe. That the air, melody and words of his mama’s favourite song would have had the power to pull him from his unconscious state. But no, the sound, sobbing and weeping, as if some ones heart was breaking, was coming from behind him.

Turning his head toward the door the sight he beheld rent through him like a arrow. Laying the guitar on the bed. He stood and walked toward the trembling, huddled figure. He squatted down on his haunches and gently placed one arm around the shaking shoulders and one arm under the crook of Etta’s bent knees. Gathering her into his embrace he. With little and no effort easily lifted her from the floor.

How the song could have rendered the woman into such a pitiable stated he didn’t know. The whys and wherefores could be dealt with at another time. He only knew that the woman needed comfort. He carried her to the chaise longe it mattered not that it was his bed. Her slim frame was feather like in his arms. Positioning himself against the arm end of the sofa he held her close. Caressing and stroking her hair. Whispering tender words and shushes. The weeping was now beyond her control. She clung to the man. Her tears of desperation soaking his open shirt front and chest. She held on to this lifeline her fingers squeezing and pinching into Adam’s shirt sleeves and arms. Adam soothed, petted and patted. His fingers drawing circles on her back then moving to stroke and smooth her hair. How long they remained embraced he knew or cared not. He held her until the weeping and sobbing played out becoming a gasping, erratic hegging. Held her until that too was replaced by a soft even breathing. He knew she had at last fallen asleep her head resting against his chest. He dared to not disturb her. He felt that it was as important to her recovery as the tears were for her relief from whatever deep rooted distress he had unbeknown brought to the surface. A state of distress that he had unknowingly awoken in her.

The fingers that had drawn the haunting strains form the strings of the guitar played gently with Etta’s soft tress’s and curls. Closing his eyes to the delicious warmth and feel of the woman in his arms Adam drifted into a comfortable sleep.

“ADAM!!”