Sweat trickled down the bare skin of Christy’s back as she made her final bow of the evening. The band played the title song from her latest single and kept the crowd of fair-goers on their feet and applauding so loudly the din threatened to drown out even the pounding thump of Terry’s electric bass. It felt good to be liked, even though she’d never meet most of the people in the audience. Security would keep the people away from her tour bus until the band had loaded up and they left the fairgrounds. Security always kept the people away, and to Christy, it seemed as if the uniformed guards were also keeping her away from her fans. Before, when she sang gospel and bluegrass, she could go where she wanted, talk to anybody, and never give it a second thought. Now that three of her singles were on the country charts, Harry, her manager, had arranged for her protection at every performance.
She knew Harry was right. One of his singers had been attacked by a fan and injured a few months ago, and he’d played it safe since. It was strange, she thought, that people could like you so much they would hurt you just to get a souvenir. The singer in question hadn’t been all that well known, but the guy had still tried to rip off her top.
The stage curtain came down, and Christy went from one band member to another, giving them each her usual thank you hug. It was a tradition she’d started as soon as she had a full-time band.
Back in her tour bus, Christy stripped off the boots, tight leather pants, and white lace corset top, and eased her tired body into sweatpants and a T-shirt. Dave would soon be steering the bus down Interstate 40 on the way to Nashville and a one-week recording session. Christy padded on bare feet from her tiny bedroom to the refrigerator for a soda and a sandwich. She never ate before a show.
In an hour, the band had loaded up and they rolled out of town. Christy lay in her bed and listened to the droning song of the wheels on the asphalt and the muffled chatter from the front of the bus. The guys would have a few beers before turning in, but they were careful to keep the noise down so they wouldn’t wake her. Christy was their special girl; that’s what they told her, anyway. It was hard to really trust what they said. She was their paycheck. If she didn’t perform well, they’d be playing backups for demo tapes again. She laughed to herself. She was just a farm girl from the mountains of Tennessee, and they treated her like a real celebrity.
She liked all the guys in the band, but Terry Majors, the bass player, was her secret favorite. Terry had been a mystery since he’d joined the band. He was one of the best bass players in the business, and Harry had said she was fortunate to have him. Terry was good. He was really too good for her, and Christy couldn’t figure out why he’d joined her fledgling group.
He was also a loner. At first, Christy tried to get close to Terry. There was something about the tall, slender, dark-haired man that pulled at her. When he looked at her, she read something in those brown eyes that sent a shiver down her back. That same mystique pulled at other women, too, but Terry had never been seen with a woman. All her efforts resulted in nothing. When they performed, she’d often catch him watching her and smiling, but as soon as the curtain came down, Terry retreated into his shell.
Only once, in a dingy little diner outside of Shelby, Mississippi, had they spent any time together off stage. The greasy spoon was the only place open at that time of night. The other guys piled into a booth ahead of Terry and Christy, so they sat at a table by themselves. She’d felt his presence and felt her body respond. They’d talked and he seemed to relax a little, but as soon as they got on the bus, Terry went back into his own world. After a while she stopped trying.
Christy Nell was born Christine Elizabeth Snelling on a little farm just outside of May’s Peak, Tennessee, a tiny little community nestled in a valley of the Great Smokies. Christy was the third of three girls born to Everett and Constance. As were most people in May’s Peak, Christy’s family was poor, but proud, and had a great love of family and friends. Family and friends were important in times of trouble. When her father hurt his back, the neighboring farmers all pitched in to harvest his crop. When Mr. Adams’ little boy got lost in the woods, Christy’s father led the search party that found him. When Christy’s mother died, her widowed grandmother stepped in to fill the void. Granny was the only mother Christy really remembered.
Christy got her first new dress on her fifteenth birthday, but new clothes didn’t come just for birthdays. In this case, the reason was the annual summer revival at the Church of Christ in May’s Peak. The revival was a weeklong affair that ended with a big Sunday service. People from the surrounding communities would attend and stay the week with members of the May’s Peak congregation. At least a hundred visitors were expected, and the little church would never accommodate that many for the activities. Her father’s farm was chosen as the site for the huge tent Pastor Jackson rented in Knoxville. It would be pitched in the pasture beside the barn. The small creek that ran through the pasture would serve as the font for the many baptisms that would take place during the week.
Lay ministers from as far away as Chattanooga and Atlanta would make the trip to speak during the daytime meetings. Every night, a gospel sing would take place inside the tent. Each congregation would send their best singers, and there might even be a professional group or two who’d kept the ties to their rural roots. Rumor had it the Crestwood Quartet would even be there. Everybody knew about the Crestwood Quartet. The group had formed in nearby Bar’s Ford, and had gone on to record many best-selling albums of gospel music.
Christy and her sisters, June and Evelyn, were going to represent May’s Peak at the sing on Monday night. That distinction was worthy of a new dress for each. Christy’s grandmother would never have it said that her granddaughters sang well but looked a little tattered. She sold eggs and took in some sewing from the town folk to earn money for the flowered cotton material, and Christy’s father cut and polished the mussel shell buttons. After a month of sewing and fitting, Granny was satisfied her girls looked just right. Christy was overjoyed. All her other clothes had been worn by both her older sisters before being passed down to her.
The first day of the revival was exhilarating. People arrived throughout the morning, and by noon, the pasture was filled with cars and the tent filled with people milling around and getting reacquainted between sermons. There were just two other girls in May’s Peak of Christy’s age. The revival brought twelve more. They spent every free moment together talking in whispers about being women and everything that meant, and watching the equally large number of boys who came with their parents. All these girls knew many marriages resulted from these revivals, and they watched their older sisters to see just how courting was really done.
The preaching during the day was to cleanse the souls of the devout and convert the less faithful. The gospel sing was for a different reason. Although the songs were hymns and bluegrass songs with a religious theme, the sing was really pure entertainment. Most of the revival attendees were subsistence farmers. They had plenty to eat and a place to live, but little cash money for extras like records or books. The sing was free and everybody stayed.
That night, after a supper of fried chicken prepared by some of the May’s Peak women, the sing began. Christy and her sisters were scheduled at the beginning of the program, and followed a boy’s trio from Wabash. Pastor Jackson introduced them as the Snelling Sisters. Christy sucked in a deep breath and followed June onto the rough-sawn lumber stage. They would sing “Rock of Ages”.
Christy looked out at the mass of people under the spreading canvas and her heart nearly jumped from her chest. She hadn’t counted on so many, and they all seemed to be frowning. Finally, she spotted a kindly looking man in the first row who smiled when she caught his eye. Christy locked her eyes on the man as soon as the piano accompaniment began.
Their performance was good except for when Evelyn faltered a little on the second verse, but Christy was pleased. The crowd had applauded for a long time, much longer than for the trio from Wabash. The friendly man in the front row had watched her through the whole song, and gave her a smiling nod of approval when they had finished.
Partway through the performances was a half-hour break for refreshments. The women who hadn’t helped with supper had spent the afternoon making cakes, cookies, and candy. At the back of the tent was a long table of the same rough planks as the stage. It was loaded with crocks of steaming coffee, hot chocolate, iced tea, and cold milk as well as plates heaped high with sweets. Christy selected a glass of tea and two cookies. On the way back to her seat, she came face to face with the man who had watched her sing.
“Miss Snelling, I just wanted to tell you how much I liked your singing. Your sisters are pretty good, too, but you’re the pick of the litter.”
Christy blushed. “Thank you, Sir.”
“No. Thank you. By the way, Honey, what’s your name?”
“Christine, Christine Elizabeth, Sir.”
“Well, Christine Elizabeth, after everybody gets done singin’ what they planned, some of us’ll get together and just sing whatever we want. It’ll be kinda late, but it’ll be lots of fun. Would you like to join in?”
“I’ll have to ask Granny if it’s alright.”
The man smiled and winked at her. “Well, you just go an’ ask her then. I want you to sing with us.”
Christy ran to find her grandmother. Imagine! Being asked to sing with the adults. That had never happened at any revival she’d ever attended. Usually, any child under sixteen was whisked off at ten to the homes in which they stayed, girls in one room of the house, and boys in another. One adult stayed in each house to chaperone. Having the children safely in bed freed the adults to enjoy the impromptu portion of the sing, and saved a lot of worry by the mothers of girls not yet old enough to be with boys by themselves.
“Granny, Granny. A man asked me to sing with them after everybody gets done. Can I?”
