“Elliott is roughly five years younger than me and eight years younger than Matthew. Mother miscarried a baby girl between Elliott and me, so she took special care of him when he arrived.”
“Reading between the lines, you mean spoiled rotten?”
His grin hitched up on one side. “Most certainly. And Mother always kept him close, so we never spent much time together, as your family has done.”
“I can’t imagine not having a positive relationship with my family.”
“It’s why I’ve sought it elsewhere.” He took a sip of tea, his expression pensive.
“With Wes’s family.”
“I believe that’s where I first started understanding how beautiful family could truly be…why it was so sought after.”
“And your mother?” Her own mother came to mind. Strong of mind and heart, but a peacemaker above all. “Did she realize the brokenness inside your family?”
“Oh no.” He ran a finger around the rim of his cup as a frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. “She’s always been the controlling sort, liking things just so and such, but when father died, the buffer between her and my brother and me disappeared. It was almost as if she took out her grief on us by attempting to mold every facet of our lives.”
Poor Henry. So much loss and sadness. Julia leaned closer, her hands wrapped around her warm cup. “How long ago did your father die?”
“Ten years now. I was nigh on twenty, Matthew was twenty-three and engaged, and Elliott had just turned fifteen. For Matthew and me, losing Father was like losing one of our closest friends because he understood us.”
“I’m so sorry, Henry. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
A hint of pain flashed in his eyes before he dropped his gaze back to his tea, brow crunched into a V. “I was like a boat without an anchor, drifting from one wave to the next in search of something to direct me, to steady me.” He stirred the tea then placed the spoon down without taking a sip. “I met Stephie Lukes during one of my first considerable composing jobs, only weeks after Father died.”
“Stephie Lukes? The actress Stephie Lukes?”
He rolled a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m not the limelight sort, but I was more so back then than I am now. We began seeing one another and, like the young fool I was, I imagined it was true love.”
“Oh no, Henry.”
“It wasn’t until we’d been together for two years that I learned she’d been secretly seeing my younger brother as well, and when I confronted her, she told me in no uncertain terms that her affections had long since been attached to him, but she didn’t want to hurt my fragile heart with the truth. Then the disaster erupted before the whole world because of her fame.”
“How horrible.” Just having people in her town know what happened to her, to know they made their own judgements about her situation, was hard enough. But to have your broken heart displayed in the media? She slid her hand across the table and covered his. “I’m sorry. Betrayed by both of them.”
He stared down at her hand covering his, unmoving. Had she made a wrong move? Just as she started to pull away, he brought his other hand up, warming hers in between both of his. “Yes, especially my brother. But I should have known, you see. The signs were all there in hindsight. And Elliott had always been the competitive, jealous sort. I should have seen it.”
“I think we have that in common. We take people at face value then are surprised when they’re not as forthright.”
His gaze locked with hers, offering something like a caress over her features. What was he thinking?
“Yes, exactly. I wish I’d learned my lesson then, but my muddled-up mind didn’t.”
Julia braced herself.
“In true form, I retreated into my music, occasionally venturing out to join local orchestras but keeping a low profile with various projects. I was making a name for myself…then I met Beatrice.”
His fingers rubbed against hers, sending warmth gliding from her hand up her arm.
“We met in the local orchestra. She was a cellist and had an Eastman. Beautiful instrument.”
Her smile softened at his mental derailment, and she involuntarily squeezed his fingers. Brokenness reflected in his expression. “After six months of seeing one another, my mother confronted me about the relationship. Beatrice was, apparently, married to the pastor of a nearby rectory.”
Julia gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand. “No!”
“Indeed.” His words edged with regret. “I had no idea. Of course, we never saw one another on a Sunday, but I assumed it was due to her spending time with her family.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was right.”
“What happened?”
“It became the talk of the town. My mother was horrified. I was labeled a homewrecker.”
“And you retreated back into yourself.”
His thumb traced a circle over her knuckles, almost as if the repetitive motion soothed him. “I would have, had Wes not been there. You see, even before he knew Christ, he was the best mate a man could have. He wouldn’t allow me to beat myself up too much. Drew me back, reminded me of my music. And his parents reminded me of my faith. I began attending church with the Harrisons and staying more at Rose Hill than home. When Wes fell into similar heartbreak, I was ready to return the favor, because by then, I’d healed. With their help and the Lord’s, I’d healed.”
She’d only heard bits and pieces of Wes’s heartbreaking story, all caught in the limelight during the pinnacle of his acting career, but the weight of Henry’s confession proved the gravity of the wounds. A sweet compassion swelled through her for this tenderhearted, wounded man and for the scars he bore with such gentleness. “How long ago?”
“Since Beatrice? Four years.”
Four years. “And have you been with anyone since?”
His gaze locked with hers, holding her captive with its intensity. “I prayed the next choice would be the forever choice or not at all. So no, I haven’t dated anyone since then—except Stella, my violin, but I’m hopeful she won’t be the only woman in my life.”
She couldn’t pull her gaze from the wordless message in his eyes. Her breaths pulsed shallow, uneven, and her mouth seemed to take on a will of its own. “And have you met that forever choice, you think?”
Was that her breathless voice?
His stare beckoned her, held her in place in anticipation of an answer. How could she have been so bold as to ask? They were still new friends, yet, not so new. He didn’t respond, and the old insecurities resurrected with a vengeance. A forever choice? What had she been thinking?
“I think so.”
His whispered words pushed through the dizzying insecurity-fest going on in her head right into her pulse. “What did you say?”
“I have no expectations at this point, Julia. I know you’re still healing, and your life is on the brink of a transition.”
She gripped the edge of the table with her free hand. He was saying what she thought he was saying—what she’d hoped he’d say.
“But I’ve never met anyone like you, so kind and genuine.” He shifted his fingers to take her hand in a more secure hold, searching her eyes. “I have no immediate expectations and would never pressure for anything you’re not ready to give. But I want you to know that I am ready when you are…if you want to try.”
Her smile resurrected, pushing away the niggling fears from only seconds ago. “I’m not sure when I’ll be ready…but…I know that when I am, I want it to be with you.”
∞ ∞ ∞
“Henry, this work is amazing.” Wes entered Henry’s room shaking his phone in Henry’s direction, earbud cord swinging from his neck. “I think it’s your best ever.”
Henry twisted around in his desk chair, a rush of pride in his new creation straightening his spine. “Imagine what it will sound like in full orchestration, then.”
“I know I’ve told you this before, mate, but you have a remarkable gift. I’m happy th
e world is beginning to recognize it.”
The compliment offered by someone he respected so much nestled deep, buoying his spirit with another burst of confidence. He’d not slept since returning to his room last night after his conversation with Julia, and the long day of research had started to take its toll as evening fell, but hope lingered around him—hope for something better than the counterfeit relationships he’d known before. And yes, music permeated most of his working hours, but a new, more precious understanding kindled in his wounded heart.
To have someone like Julia in this journey of life? The thought humbled him. It felt almost too wonderful to believe. Too massive a blessing for words…and maybe even for music. Somehow the idea swelled into an all-encompassing silence of pure gratitude. Could it be true? For him?
“Are you going back to Millie’s house tomorrow?”
“Saturday. Julia has some meetings today with the movers as well as a visit to her college for reenrollment, I believe.”
Wes’s brow rose, and he crossed his arms. “Well, well. It seems as though things are moving along.”
“Better than I’d imagined, especially with the start we had.” Henry pressed his palms down his thighs, stretched out his back, and attempted to hide the starry-eyed look he felt sure he displayed for the whole world to see. Perhaps he could excuse it by saying he needed sleep. “So much so that if I didn’t have another project to return home for and the job interview, I’d try to stay on another month.”
Wes groaned, slacking against the frame. “The distance is not pleasant.”
“I should say not.”
“But you can make it work, if she’s the right one.”
Henry’s gaze shot to his friend’s. “She’s the right one.”
Wes’s brows made an almost imperceptible shift. “You’ll make my fiancé the happiest woman in the world if that’s true. Not only will she think she instigated it all, but she’ll know her sister’s heart will be well taken care of.”
“I would do my best.”
Wes drew one of the nearby straight back chairs closer and took a seat. “And you’d be an instant father, you know.”
Another thought that had kept him awake throughout the night. “I know.”
“It’s an adjustment, Henry, but Eisley’s children have taken hold of my heart as if they’d always lived there. It’s remarkable how God not only fit Eisley into my life but her children too.”
“I’m not in a hurry. I made it clear to her that I would be ready when she was—if she was.”
Wes leaned forward, staring up at his friend. “You’re a good chap, Henry. You deserve a woman who will recognize that.”
As Wes stood, his hand hit the desk, and a few of Millie’s pieces of sheet music scattered to the floor.
Wes chuckled and bent, with Henry, to collect the pages. “Why are you keeping these? Aren’t they rubbish musically?”
“They are.” Henry took the sheets and glanced over the notations. “But I feel there’s something special about them. Why would Amelia have kept them all these years if they weren’t important?”
“Have you seen the shows on the telly about hoarders? I don’t think there has to be a reason, just an…obsession.” Wes shuddered and reached down to pick up another stray piece of sheet music that had floated farthest away. “And I’m no musician, but putting notes and letters together is confusing enough without adding patterns you cannot play. It’s almost as horrid as the idea of combining letters and numbers in math. Heresy.”
Henry grinned and snatched the final sheet from his hands. “Standing before millions to act out imaginary lives is much more boggling to the mind, in my opinion.”
Wes’s laugh trailed behind him on his way to the door. “I have an early start in the morning, so I’m off to bed. Good luck with your research.”
“Goodnight.” Henry turned back to the scattered sheets lying on the desk in front of him, and something in Wes’s words clicked into place. Notes, letters, patterns…
He bent over the desk and studied the closest piece of music, lightly penciling in the letters of the melody under each note. Nothing unique there. The notes created a simple melody without any clues to subterfuge.
He dropped to the chords beneath with a few single notes interspersed, marking each chord, then the single notes. No matter how hard he studied, they didn’t make any secret sense. He sighed and dropped back into his seat, staring at the stubborn paper. What did he expect to find? Some hidden message?
He groaned and glared at the pages.
Sitting in his relaxed position gave him a distorted view of the pages, where the chord names from the bottom line mingled in with the top-line melody names. He titled his head in examination. Combined, they created…words. Nonsensical and disjointed words on their own, but what if each chord beneath represented a letter not available in the musical octave? He sat up, returning to the pages.
What words could he decipher with letters A through G?
Dead, café…
But wait, if Lucas designed this and he was a German, perhaps he’d distinguish between B-flat and B-natural in his native way? Which would mean…which one was which? Oh yes. B-natural would denote the letter H!
He took that knowledge and applied it to the pattern. New words emerged. Beach, dead, café, had, head…
His breath held, and he shifted the desk lamp closer to the papers, pencil at the ready. Perhaps the G-minor chord represented a…He studied the letters in the melody above. An S? Maybe for Gestapo? No, that didn’t seem right. He pressed his fingers into his forehead and growled.
This was ridiculous. A secret code? Really, Henry?
But his gaze fell back to the chords. What if G-minor represented R?
G-E-R.
And A-major stood for M.
G-E-R-M-A…
And the last chord, G-minor with an added seventh, was N.
He immediately jotted these letters beneath their chords as they appeared, unearthing more words. Real words. He blinked and made more conjectures based on some trial and error. The musical rests were punctuation, and it appeared that E-major with its added seventh equaled the letter—he counted seven letters from E in the alphabet— L. He grinned and imputed a few more deductions, plus a history guess at O based on context and reread the message.
GERMANS ARR_ _E AT OMAHA BEACH _N T_ _ _EE_S. F _ _ R DEAD AT CAFÉ MEET_NG _ LACE. AGENTS A_A_T_NG…
“The same chord near N-G every time has to be I.” He input the changes.
GERMANS ARRI_E OMAHA BEACH IN T _ _ _ EE_S.
Arrive. A-major with an added seventh represented V.
GERMANS ARRIVE AT OMAHA BEACH…
His throat tightened.
FO _ R DEAD AT CAFÉ MEETING PLACE.
He matched the chord and letter sequence to finish out the message, his fingers clenching the page. This was unbelievable.
GERMANS ARRIVE AT OMAHA BEACH IN TWO WEEKS. FOUR DEAD AT CAFÉ MEETING PLACE. AGENTS AWAITING INSTRUCTIONS IN PARIS AT THE BLUE HAVEN HOTEL.
Henry sat back and stared at his work, running his hands through his hair as he reworked the code on the page in his mind. The sheet music wasn’t playable because it was never meant to be played.
It was meant to save the Allies.
Chapter Nineteen
J ulia had just finished putting on her pajamas and unraveling the braid she’d had in her hair when a knock sounded at her apartment door. She snatched her robe from her bedpost, wrapping it around herself, as she made her way through her living area to the door. The clock on the side table read eleven fifteen. Who would come calling this time of night?
Henry’s face appeared in the small crack in the door. She couldn’t hold her smile. She hadn’t seen him all day, but he’d left another note on the communication board this morning.
Courage is not the absence of fear but rather the assessment that something else is more important than fear. – Franklin D Roosevelt.
Thank you for making my s
anity more important than your fear today as you defended me from the ferocious three-inch vermin while also trying to navigate a motor vehicle. I am amazed by your everyday courage.
Everyday courage?
Courageous was the last thing she felt most days, but somehow Henry seemed to disprove many of her self-doubts. Lack of courage being one. Lack of beauty being another, especially after looking in the mirror while wearing her polka-dotted maternity pajamas.
A blonde, purple-polka-dotted whale.
“You’re still awake.” He whispered the words while searching her makeup-free face without one grimace.
“Did you need something?”
He pinched a roll of papers in his hands. “Actually, I think I’ve discovered something of interest to you.”
Oh, she just loved the way he spoke. She tightened the belt of her robe—or tried to— and opened the door wider. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I have some leftover brioche that needs to be eaten.”
He stepped back for her to exit her room and patted his flat stomach, his smile growing into a laugh. “I have a feeling I need to get back into running if I’m to continue an acquaintance with you, dove.”
The endearment appeared to surprise him as much as her. It pooled over her like cream cheese icing over a cinnamon roll.
He cleared his throat and diverted his attention, pointing the papers toward the stairs. “Kitchen?”
Julia bit her bottom lip to steady her grin. “Kitchen.”
Once she’d retrieved two raspberry cream brioches and started steeping some tea, they sat at the small table in the back of the kitchen. Henry spread some of Aunt Millie’s sheet music in front of them, his eyes lit with an excitement much too energetic for eleven fifteen at night. He gave off mad professor vibes complete with erratically spiked hair.
“I think I know why your aunt kept these seemingly unimportant sheets.” He tapped the nearest one.
Julia picked up a piece of the brioche and popped it into her mouth. “I’m all ears.”
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 18