Ben shook his head. "If I try, I might ruin it for good." He smiled a little. "It's like us, Suse—too old to really fix up much; just got to keep cranking it, and let it go downhill at its own pace."
Susan folded her knitting and got up. She came around the table, and he put an arm around her waist and pulled her into the chair beside him.
"It'll go soon, won't it, Ben?" she said softly. "Then we won't have any music. It's a shame ... we all like to listen so much. It's peaceful."
"I know." He moved his arm up and squeezed her thin shoulders. She put her head on his shoulder, and her grey hair tickled his cheek; he closed his eyes, and her hair was black and shining again, and he put his lips against it and thought he smelled a perfume they didn't even make any more.
After a moment he said, "We got so much else, though, Suse ... we got peaceful music you can't play on a machine. Real peace. A funny kind of peace. In a funny-looking town, this one—a rag town. But it's ours, and it's quiet, and there's nothing to bother us—and just pray God we can keep it that way. Outside, the war's going on someplace, probably. People fighting each other over God knows what—if even He knows. Here, it's peaceful."
She moved her head on his shoulder. "Ben—will it ever come here, what's going on outside? Even the war, if it's still going on?"
"Well, we were talking about that this morning down at the hall, Suse. I guess it won't. If rifles can stop it, it won't. If they see us from the air, we'll shoot at 'em; and if we get 'em we'll clean up the mess so if anybody comes looking for a missing plane, they won't give Smoky Creek a second look. That's the only way anything can come, honey—if they see us from the air. Nobody's going to come hiking over these mountains. There's noplace they'd want to get to, and it's sure no country for fighting."
"If the war is over, they'll likely be around to fix up the bridge and the road. Won't they?"
"Maybe so. Sooner or later."
"Oh, I hope they leave us alone."