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Show Ida's Sabbath 94 "I'm going," he had said, his voice thinner than himself. Ida's favorite band marched by. "Oh Louis, the Pocatello High School Band. You can't go yet." The twirling batons, the fringed epaulets, the drum major with the tall furry hat that sat low on his brow. Ida clapped and yelled, "Hooray." "Louis, don't you love i t ? " She turned to an empty space next to her, the space Louis had f i l l e d just a minute ago. "Louis?" She scanned the crowd, balloons, and snocone eaters. No Louis, no more Louis at a l l. When Ida played the same line for the tenth time, the backs of the patriarchal brethren changed to fronts, and everybody in the congregation turned to stare at Ida Rossiter, looking at her intently for maybe the f i r s t time in twenty years. Luckily, she pried herself loose from the "good enough" phrase. Everybody settled uncomfortably back to their hymn books until halfway into the third verse. Bishop Jensen leaned over to his f i r s t counselor, and Ida heard him ask, "Am I hearing things or is Sister Rossiter playing 'Ida Sweet as Apple Cider'?" " I don't know," answered the f i r s t counselor. "I never heard of that song. It must have been before my time." And suddenly, Ida thought she saw her fingers leave her hands and begin to play an arrangement of "Come Come Ye Saints" that no one had dreamed possible: Come, come ye Saints, cha cha cha, No toil nor labor fear, cha cha cha, sis boom ba, But with joy, cha cha cha, do be do, Wend your way, ba ba bee, doo doo wah. |