What Music They Make / The Cape

Just as Evangeline places her third vessel, the jangling bell over the front door peals and the wind flurries in on wailing tendrils before the door closes with a bang. Deliberate footsteps clomp on the wood plank floor and everyone turns towards the entrance to see standing under the Nehi Soda sign: A tall figure in a long, dark, double breasted coat that reaches down to the tops of his wet boots. Hands shoved in his pockets, collar turned up, his face obscured by a dark gray pork pie hat with a black ribbon. To store's occupants he appears as impassive as a cigar store Indian. His head slowly swivels to take in the entire store. He comes to a stop when he sees Lula Mae. Evangeline turns to find the young girl's gaze solemnly locked to the stranger's. She is about to move to Lula Mae's side when the newcomer turns and speaks to her uncle who stands by the storeroom door,”Good evening. Forgive the intrusion, but would ya'll be kind enough to direct a humble visitor the way to the Red Tide?” His smile gleams eerily from the shadow formed by his hat brim and the harsh light from the one overhead electric light still burning – a bare bulb, swaying slightly and now flickering ominously in the deep gloom. The stranger doffs his hat. His hair appears as short, packed tight, glistening waves that rumple across his skull like freshly furrowed rows in bottom land. As the light strikes the tall man's eyes, they flare briefly with an amber hue. “My apologies, gentlemen – and ladies. The weather is no excuse to forget my manners. I am Hawkshaw, at your service, I'm sure. We're strangers to hereabouts and would be much obliged for your gracious assistance.” One rocking chair groans as it's load rolls off of it's seat. Wallace weaves slightly as he crosses to the front window and leans heavily on the frame, looking out. Holding his hat in front of him, the new arrival continues to regard them calmly as the wind rattles the windows. Thad adjusts his glasses, sways slightly, then hesitantly shuffles forward as if his body was reluctant to follow his head,”Would you care for something hot to drink? We have some coffee if you care to -” Hawkshaw waves him off, gently,”No, than you kindly, coffee isn't something that I -” “Or another warm beverage?” Thad scrapes to a halt in front of the pot-bellied stove, the yellow-white light and heat wavering from it's seams make ripples through the murk. Combined with the light thrown from the rain drenched windows, the interior of the store seems submerged. Time and tide have slowed into an eddy. Thad starts to reach for the coffee pot on the top when - “That your boat out there, Mr Ferryman?” Wallace calls from the window. Corky rises unsteadily from his chair and crosses to the window for a glimpse. “Sayers & Scovill, nineteen-nineteen, seventy horsepower, six cylinders”, Hawkshaw rattles off easily. “Got her second hand.” “No backseat driver's, I guess.” Corky hiccups. “You'd be surprised,” Hawkshaw says. Wallace turns from the window and looks him up and down,”This is a pretty tight-knit community. Nothing transpires around here without my notice. What’s under the tarp? Another coffin?” Corky hiccups. Only then does it register with the others that there is another bulk lashed to a rack on top of the already imposing vehicle. “Made a few adjustments, myself”, Hawkshaw shrugs diffidently. “Besides, they kind of came with the deal. We're the evenings entertainment, a trio of roving minstrels is all. Just asking for some of that hospitality the South is so famous for and we'll be on our way.” Thad, still gawking at the stranger pours himself a small amount of coffee and shuffles forward abstractedly,”I don't know why, but I – have you ever passed this way before? And are you sure you wouldn't care for something hot -” Hawkshaw demurs,”No, thank you kindly. If you'll just point me -” “On a night like this, a man could use something a little stronger,” Wallace says as he boots Corky in the rear,”Don't just stand there. Get our guest a real drink.” Corky stumbles to the table and upsets the spittoon much to Thad's dismay. Evangeline starts to laugh, but stifles it as she sees Lula Mae's impassive stare. Hawkshaw and Wallace are so focused on one another that they barely register the occurrence. Hawkshaw,”It was my understanding that ya'll was for prohibition.” Wallace freezes. Then, turns slowly and squints at him,”And to whom would you be referring?” Evangeline notices the change in Wallace's diction and bearing since the arrival of the visitor. “The South has it's own peculiar institutions,” comes the cool rejoinder. “A proud and time honored one being…. Moonshine?” Wallace leans heavily on the last syllable. “Absolutely. Never afraid of a little white lightning,” the response is calm, but the tone flattens out. The two tall men seem to be engaged in a stare down. Thad rattles a spoon nervously in his cup, Corky has stopped sopping up his mess to watch. Evangeline can feel the air thicken and charge as if the tempest outside had seeped into the store. She looks to Lula Mae. Her eyes are fixed in the mid-distance and she is making subtle rocking and swaying motions as if dancing to some music only she can hear. Wallace smiles and unexpectedly breaks the stalemate and crosses to the jug,”Well, tonight must be your lucky night because, you're right. Wardin' off any potential maladies brought on by foul weather is always a concern of this community.” He hoists the jug onto his arm and takes a slug. The steps up to Hawkshaw as he slings it around and holds it out in front of him. Thad stops stirring, and Lula Mae ceases her gyrations. “Medicinal purposes only, eh?” The taciturn musician never takes his eyes from Wallace's face. “Something like that”, Wallace chuckles.