Summer of '65 (Bishop Family Book 1)
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Summer
of '65
By:
Brooke St. James
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
Copyright © 2017
Brooke St. James
All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Other titles available from Brooke St. James:
Another Shot:
A Modern-Day Ruth and Boaz Story
When Lightning Strikes
Something of a Storm (All in Good Time #1)
Someone Someday (All in Good Time #2)
Finally My Forever (Meant for Me #1)
Finally My Heart's Desire (Meant for Me #2)
Finally My Happy Ending (Meant for Me #3)
Shot by Cupid's Arrow
Dreams of Us
Meet Me in Myrtle Beach (Hunt Family #1)
Kiss Me in Carolina (Hunt Family #2)
California's Calling (Hunt Family #3)
Back to the Beach (Hunt Family #4)
It's About Time (Hunt Family #5)
Loved Bayou (Martin Family #1)
Dear California (Martin Family #2)
My One Regret (Martin Family #3)
Broken and Beautiful (Martin Family #4)
Back to the Bayou (Martin Family #5)
Almost Christmas
JFK to Dublin (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #1)
Not Your Average Joe (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #2)
So Much for Boundaries (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #3)
Suddenly Starstruck (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #4)
Love Stung (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #5)
My American Angel (Shower & Shelter Artist Collective #6)
Chapter 1
"Is your dad gonna make you play Amazing Grace?" Alice asked.
Only I didn't quite hear her. She was distracted and the words came out extremely jerky because she was focused on teasing the ever-living daylights out of my hair. She'd been doing it for the past five minutes. I'd known Alice since I was in fifth grade, and she had always been an intense hair-teaser. I cringed and did my best not to complain as she yanked, combed, and teased my hair.
I stared at Alice in the mirror once she finally stopped frantically backcombing. "What did you say?" I asked. My light brown hair usually hung well below my shoulders, but Alice had it expertly teased into a giant mass that stuck out about ten inches from my head.
"Your dad," she replied, chewing her gum. She grabbed a brush and began smoothing out the top of my freshly teased hair.
"What about him?" I asked.
"Is he going to make you play the piano tonight?"
I shrugged. "He has every other year," I said. "I don't know why tonight would be any different."
I knew I would be playing the piano that night at the Memphis Summer Social. I had done it every year since I was fifteen, and I knew this would be no different. I developed a fondness for the classic hymn when I was a much younger, and because I loved the sound of it so much, I had a natural flair for performing it. Sometimes I played it to accompany the choir, but usually I performed it as an instrumental as I would do later this evening.
My dad was the pastor of one of the largest churches in Memphis, and I had been playing piano there since I was very young. I had followed in my late mother's footsteps, and my father always loved listening to me play because he said it reminded him of her. She died when I was a toddler, so I didn't remember her playing.
Even after all these years, I still didn't know the details of her death. All I knew was that it was a freak accident with a horse. I knew my dad would be willing to tell me the rest of the story if I wanted to know, but honestly, I never felt the urge to talk about it. A few times during my childhood, someone mentioned it in front of me, and I literally stuck my fingers in my ears.
My dad remarried within six months of my mom's death, and my step-mom, Vicki, had been raising me ever since. There was no unfaithfulness involved, though it may seem that way with how soon they were married. Dad didn't even meet Vicki until after my real mom died. He was a young pastor with a two-year-old. He needed help, and he felt like God brought Vicki into his life, so he married her right away. She had been raising me ever since, and because of how young I was when she came into my life, I thought of her as my own mother.
She and my dad tried for a long time to have a baby of their own, but something was the matter with her uterus, and she couldn't. Perhaps this was why they were inclined to adopt Jacob when he was dropped on the doorstep of the parsonage. He was swaddled and left in a wicker basket, and they probably would have named him Moses had there not been a note on the inside with three words on it.
"Call him Jacob," it said, in messy cursive.
Jacob's hair was black and curly, and his skin was at least three shades darker than mine, but everyone thought of him as my brother even though we didn't quite match. Granted, we were living in a day in age where civil rights was still a very sensitive issue, but in the case of our family, it didn't really matter that Jacob's skin was a little darker than ours. We didn't even notice. He was Dan and Vicki Lewis's boy, and my little brother, and that's all there was to it.
My thoughts had turned to Jacob when I thought I heard him coming down the hall. Seconds later, I knew it was him because there came a loud rap on the door—the kind that could only come from my teenage brother. It startled me, and I gasped and jumped.
"Jacob Lewis, you should know better than to bang on the door like that!" Alice was startled as well, and she instinctively yelled at him. Her scorn was directed toward my little brother, but her mouth was close to my head, and I flinched and looked at her like she was a crazy person for yelling in my ear.
"Why are you two takin' so long?" he yelled through the door. "Mom said we're leaving in five minutes." His voice had changed, and I had to smile at the deeper sound of it as he spoke through the door.
"I’m fixing Ivy's hair!" Alice returned impatiently. "Just give us a minute." She sighed dramatically, trying to gather her wits before reaching up to gently place a headband on my head. I could feel her intensity as if the weight of the world rested on the success of this one hairdo.
Jacob knocked again. "Mom said you had to let me in!" he said. "We're about to leave, and I have to comb my hair and brush my teeth."
"And wash your face!" I heard my mom yell faintly from the far end of the hall.
Jacob knocked again—a few scratchy little finger t
aps to the door as if to let us know he wasn't going anywhere until we let him in.
"Fine, Jacob, just come in if you can't wait for five seconds!" Alice spoke in an annoyed tone as she reached behind her to unlock the door. She was sweating by this point, and her face was bright red—truly flustered. She sighed again. I knew she was nervous that she wouldn't get my hair done in time for us to leave and probably regretted teasing it up in the first place.
My little brother opened the door to join Alice and me in the bathroom, and Alice let her shoulders slump as she stared at my hair. "It's not big enough. I should have more of a base here," she said, pushing down on the top of my head and staring at my hair regretfully.
"I'm really not worried about it," I said. "I told you I was fine with wearing it in a ponytail. We can just brush it out and pull it back." I touched the top of my head. "This is fine. I can just brush it and put it in a twist or a ponytail."
She slapped my hand and shook her head impassively as she continued to comb. "I think you should wear it down—especially with this dress. Everybody's gonna be in white. You need to stand out if you're gonna be performing."
"Ahhhh-huhhh-maaaa-ziiinggg-graaaaace…" Jacob sang dramatically as he lifted the hem of his white undershirt to apply deodorant. He gave himself a satisfied smile in the mirror as if singing the song in that ultra-dramatic way was the funniest thing he'd ever done.
I couldn't help but smile at him. "You're trying to be funny, but your singing voice is so good, brother. I can't believe how much deeper it's gotten since the last time I saw you. You're such a little man."
I reached over to tickle him, and Alice pulled me back into place with a worried sigh. This caused Jacob to laugh, which was a sight for sore eyes. My brother was six years younger than me, and he was at the age where it seemed as if he grew half a foot between each time that I saw him. I loved him with all my heart and missed him while I was away at college, so in spite of Alice being so nervous about getting my hair done in time, I was happy to have Jacob in the bathroom with us. He stuck his tongue out at me when he finished brushing his teeth, and I smiled and returned the gesture.
***
We had only just arrived at the banquet hall, and already three people had come up to me asking if I would be playing Amazing Grace. It had always been my most requested song, and before I left for college, I performed it all the time. I didn't play it so regularly once I moved to Nashville. I was studying music at Belmont University, and I still played hymns—just not quite with the same reception I got when I played them back home. I had been away at college for three years now, but I played Amazing Grace twice a year when I came back to Memphis—once at Christmas, and once at the Summer Social.
"I hope you don't mind that I invited Stephen and Bobby," Alice said as we made our way into the huge banquet room. "They were already coming, of course, but I told them they could sit at our table. I hope you don't mind. I am totally gone over Bobby, and the only time I ever get to talk to him is when you're here."
I barely even heard what she was saying. I automatically began speculating how my evening would go now that I knew I'd be sitting next to Stephen Meyers. He and I had a long-time, on-again-off-again thing, and I smiled absentmindedly as I told myself that while there might be better people I could be sitting next to all evening, there were also worse.
I looked out at the room full of people. All of the men and boys were in suits and the ladies in dresses. They were standing around, talking with punch in their hands. The Memphis Summer Social was a social and banquet, and it was a given that there would be no dancing. This was a shame, because I had been listening to and playing some live music in Nashville during recent months, and I found that dancing was something I truly enjoyed. There was a live band playing jazz music at the social, but it was slow, background music that was not at all meant for moving your feet.
Mr. Woods was a deacon and elder in my father's church. He had boatloads of money and always paid for the event. It was a meet and greet followed by a banquet of gourmet barbeque—a Memphis tradition. The event was technically associated with the city, but it mostly consisted of well-to-do people who attended my dad's church. I went to it every year because it happened during the early part of the summer when I would just come home from school. It gave me a chance to catch up with my friends and family.
I was contemplating catching up with people (and the fact that Alice had agreed to let my ex-boyfriend sit at our table) when someone on the other side of the room caught my eye.
Someone I had never seen before.
A hunk.
He was wearing a white shirt and black slacks, which meant he was part of the catering staff. He was there because he was hired to serve food and drinks. My heart sank as I watched the striking young man across the room engage in a conversation with Carole Benson.
"Who is that?" I asked, leaning over to talk to Alice.
"Carole," Alice said. "Carole Benson. She got a hair cut."
"I know Carole," I said. I couldn’t stop staring at the guy who was talking to Carole. I loved his smile—loved the shape of his face and his mouth. Even from across the room, his smile made me smile. I wondered if he was as stunning up close as he was from far away.
My heart was racing. I didn't know who he was, but I wanted him to stare at me the way he stared at her right then. In that moment, I was intensely jealous of Carole Benson. I felt like I wanted to go over there and do something crazy like announce that she wet the bed until she was a teenager. This happened to be a true fact about Carole, but of course, I would never tell anyone—much less announce it. The sight of this stranger's smile directed at her certainly made me feel the urge, though.
I had to look away, and by the time I looked back at him, I saw that he had left Carole's table and was headed toward the back of the banquet hall with someone from the staff—an older woman with a stern look on her face.
I did what any reasonable person would do. I excused myself, and got up and walked over there. I had to get closer to him. I was so drawn to his appearance that I felt as though I had no other choice but to stand up and walk that way. I told Alice and the others at our table that I would be back, and then I took off toward the ladies room, which was conveniently near the place where the handsome young man had disappeared. I had almost made it to the ladies room when I heard a man's voice from the other side of a partition.
"With all due respect, I think you're wasting your time with the warning. I'm not trying to go out with any of these girls. She talked to me. She started the conversation, and she's the one who kept it going. I was just being nice—trying not to ignore her. Plus, I only talked to her for about two minutes before you came over there."
"It doesn't matter how long your conversation lasted," the woman said. "She is the guest, and you are the help, period. I don't know how things were in Detroit, but down here, these men don't like the servers talking to their daughters."
"She was the one talking to me. I was just being nice to her. She called me over there. All I did was answer her question and laugh at her joke."
"I'm not saying you did anything wrong, Mr. Bishop, but I have to warn you that these girls are off-limits—especially at this particular function. If for no other reason than to make my life easier, please don't try to go steady with the young women here. These are strict people."
"Okay, well, just so you know, I was not trying to go steady with that girl or anyone else at this party. I don't go for these types of girls. I'm here doing someone a favor. Richie came into my shop today saying how Ross could really use my help tonight. I put on this monkey suit because I like the guy. I'm helping him out."
"I know you did," the woman said, her voice much softer now. "I'm not saying you did anything wrong. I just saw how that young lady was looking at you, Mr. Bishop, and I could foresee nothing but danger in that situation. That's a dangerous look she was giving you. Their fathers think they're these innocent little angels, but half the time it's the gir
ls who are being forward. Just an open invitation."
"Well, for the record, Mrs. Shelley, neither of us was being inappropriate. She wanted to make a joke about the punch, and I laughed at it, that's all."
"I do appreciate you standing in to help us tonight, believe me, I do. Just do me a favor and steer clear of all the young ladies who throw themselves at you tonight. Remember they come with daddies… We're coming!" she added, obviously yelling to someone else.
Another person joined them in the hallway, saying there was need for more brisket at his table. I heard them agree to go get it, and before I had time to think or react, Bishop and the older lady came around the corner right where I was standing. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with him—only a few feet away. The lady was standing next to him, but I just stared at Bishop. I wanted to look away, but I caught myself feeling stunned and speechless and unable to move or even think after I made eye contact with him.
He had dark hair and eyelashes that framed these light blue eyes. They were so penetrating that it seemed as if they were staring straight into my innermost being.
I was simply awestruck by his appearance.
It was his smile that had made me follow him over here, and at the moment he wasn't even smiling, and I was still speechless. Now it was his eyes. His eyes were mesmerizing. I vaguely wondered if he was famous and thought that if he wasn't, he should be.
"Miss Lewis, how nice to see you," the older lady said in a friendly but flustered way. She took the one she called Bishop by the arm, and pulled him down the hall. "I'm looking forward to hearing you play the piano!" she called from over her shoulder as she retreated down the hallway toward the kitchen.
She scurried off with him, and I heard her mumbling something about keeping him in the kitchen on account of the ill affects he had on young women. It took me a few seconds to realize she was referring to the affect he had on me.