Page 62 of Night Songs

But, of course, that was only the fear talking.

In the daylight, the unassuming yellow ranch looked like any other modest family home. You’d never suspect people were making music in its rooms. The studio itself was just a soundproofed basement with instruments and microphones scattered about. That first day, Martha and I set up while Don’s regular guys got situated. They all had the same long hair and beards, and it was hard to tell them apart.

The first song we recorded was “Lullaby for a Demon Child.” The sound felt off for some reason, and instead of stuffing my concerns like I’d done with Clayton, I told Don it wasn’t right. So he asked me what weshould change, and we did another take, and I realized there were voices missing. I could hear their absence. The song needed to be three female voices harmonizing together.

I was lucky Tima was in town because she spent most of her time touring. I went over to her house that night and played her the song and described how I heard it in my head. We sang it through a few times, and we could both feel it. We really had something.

We got in Tima’s car and went over to Mom’s uninvited. She had a whole new crop of girls living in her house, but we still felt like herrealgirls come home. It was late, and she was already in her curlers and robe. We sat on the back porch like old times, and we sang it for her. It took a bit of cajoling, but eventually she agreed to sing with us on the record.

The next day at the studio, we all gathered around the mic. I’d decided I only wanted voices on the track. So all the boys and Martha were hanging out in the makeshift booth with Don. He had his doubts about recording a country song with no instruments, but bless his heart, he was willing to walk into the fire with me.

I asked him to turn out all the lights, and the studio plunged into darkness.

I sang the first line, and then Tima came in with her voice, and then Mom. Then we all sang together, and repeated the round. Goose bumps prickled up my arms and a shiver ran through my shoulders.

Baby, don’t be ’fraid

When I leave too soon

Baby, don’t be ’fraid

I’ll be your moon

The studio faded away, replaced by a dark, log-lined room lit only by the moon, and us three women rocking babies in our arms. The sound was round and berry-tart with that vein of mournful truth running through.We consoled our babies for the suffering they would have in this life and perhaps the next.

When it was over, the sound lingered in the air like smoke from a candle. The booth was quiet, and some of them boys looked like they’d seen a ghost.

Don said, “Well, goddamn, Lou. I mean…goddamn.”

19rhea

1995

We started the southbound trail in mid-August in windblown, craggy Maine. I’d never been that far north before, and it had a crisp, head-clearing quality perfect for the beginning of our great trek.

On day one, we scrambled up a rocky mountain with full packs weighing heavily on our shoulders and black flies swarming our sweat-coated faces. With each trudge, I thought,I have made a terrible mistake, but I was too afraid to say it out loud. I didn’t want Micah to think I was soft.

By day three, I had decided to quit. We hadn’t even made it off the first mountain yet. My feet were like raw meat from my new hiking boots, and my soul ached for a hot shower. I had imagined Micah and I having these endless, roving conversations while we walked during the day and wild, passionate tent sex at night, but we’d barely spoken or touched since we started the trail. Reality was starting to seep in, and I didn’t like it.

That evening, lightheaded from exhaustion and despair, I studied Micah across the small fire he had built, and for a moment, in a flicker of light, with his head tilted at just the right angle, I saw him once again as a stranger. I was all alone in the wilderness with this man, and we barely knew each other. A tight flush crept along the back of my neck, and I shivered in the cool night.

Our eyes met, and he started to shake with silent laughter. At first I thought this was some sort of psychotic episode coming on, finally revealing him as the killer I had missed, and I should run away now while I still could.

But the laughter was also infectious, and I started to laugh, too, the tension releasing from my shoulders against my better judgment.

“This sucks,” he said, when he caught his breath.

“Oh, thank god,” I rasped.

“I’m sorry, you just looked so miserable. I couldn’t help it.” He exhaled slowly into a low whistle. “I feel bad, because this was my idea. I’m supposed to make sure you have a good time.”

I kept laughing and shook my head. “No, no, it’s not on you. I’m the one who thought I could do this.”

He smiled more soberly. “You can. I know you can. We just have to get through this first part. From what I’ve read, it only gets easier.” He looked me in the eye. “Will you hang in there just a little longer? I think it’ll be worth it.”

Leaving the trail had been a seductive thought; its promise was the only thing that had kept me going that day. But the Micah I recognized had returned, and I knew I wanted to be with him. To be the kind of person who stayed, the kind of person he saw when he looked at me.

Fifteen weeks later, our trek led us back to Tennessee.