by Karen White
As if acting of their own accord, my fingers placed themselves on the keyboard in position and began to strike the keys. I hadn’t sight-read a piece in a very long time, but I suppose it was very much like riding a bicycle, because it took me just a few stanzas to get the hang of it. At least until the tempo increased dramatically and my fingers could barely keep up. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself; it was as if I’d reached the precipice of a hill I’d been climbing for a very long time, and the momentum had pushed me over the edge.
I didn’t stop, Finn surprising me by turning the pages at the correct time, until I’d reached the end. I held down the sustaining pedal longer than I should have, allowing the final notes to linger in the room like guests at a party that had ended long ago.
It was only when I’d lifted my foot from the pedal that we could hear the banging coming from Helena’s room. I bit my lip as I looked guiltily up at Finn. “That was terrible. If I had a cane, I think I’d bang it, too.”
He surprised me by not wincing. “That was the first time you’d played that?”
I nodded.
His eyes traveled to the music propped up on the stand, then back to me. “That’s remarkable.”
The banging sounded again, and we both looked in the direction of the foyer. “I guess I should go see what she wants,” Finn said, and I would have laughed at the trepidation in his voice if I hadn’t been feeling the same way.
“I’ll come, too,” I said, sliding off the bench.
Moving slowly, like two schoolchildren on the way to the principal’s office, we made our way through the kitchen to Helena’s bedroom. Teri Weber sat on the chair by the bed knitting what looked like a sweater and looked up apologetically when we entered.
“I wanted to come and get you, but Miss Szarka insisted on using her cane.” Her knitting needles continued clicking as she gave us a forced smile. She put her knitting aside, then stood over the bed, where a tray had been placed over Helena’s lap. “Are you sure you’re done eating? That’s my grandmother’s recipe for chicken soup and I’m working on a patent for it because I swear it will cure everything from depression to toe fungus and everything in between.”
Helena responded by just staring at her, and then with studied movements used both hands to push away the bowl. It was the first time I’d really noticed her fingers, the swollen knuckles and the digits that no longer lay flat or straight. Our eyes met and I recalled Finn’s words. Helena became the music she played. For the first time, I felt sympathy for this woman, understood her grief a little more.
With tightly compressed lips, Nurse Weber lifted the tray and walked out of the room to the kitchen, but Helena’s eyes didn’t leave mine.
“That was terrible,” she said slowly, her accent more pronounced, and I wondered if this was how she betrayed her emotions, by allowing her words to slip into memories of her native tongue.
Even though I had thought and said the same thing, I felt offended. “I was sight-reading. And I’d never even heard it before—”
“Don’t . . . ever . . . play . . . that . . . again.” She paused after each word, as if having to translate in her head, her English fluency seeming to desert her completely.
“Aunt Helena—,” Finn started.
“Never. I don’t . . . want . . . to . . . hear . . . it.”
I was surprised to see the start of tears in the old woman’s eyes, and I realized that her reluctance to hear the song had nothing to do with the way I’d played it.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking down at my hands, unwilling to see this woman’s tears.
“That song is a Hungarian national treasure, and you butchered it.” Her voice had regained control, and I looked up in surprise to see that the tears were gone. But I had seen them, had seen behind them to a heart filled with emotions I couldn’t name.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, jutting out my chin. “You didn’t tell me which songs you didn’t want me to play.”
The light in her eyes flashed, making me wonder if she enjoyed riling me. “I am sure the list will grow longer, but please put the Csárdás at the top.”
“Fine,” I said stiffly. “I won’t play it again, as long as you never ask me to play Chopin’s Nocturne in C Minor.”
Her eyes flashed again, in anger or amusement, I couldn’t tell. “We will see,” she said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “We’ll see.” I moved to the door. “I need fresh air. I’m going for a walk. Be thinking about what you’d like to do when I get back.”
“It is raining,” she said, with a hint of triumph.
“I doubt I’ll melt,” I said.
I had made it to the kitchen when she called out, “The witch from Oz melted when she got wet.”
I kept going toward the front door, not stopping until I’d reached the front yard, where I turned my face up to the rain and started to laugh.
CHAPTER 12
Gigi found me on the front porch in one of the rockers and handed me a large, soft towel.
“Here,” she said. “Daddy said you might need this.”
I looked up at her through my dripping hair and took it. “Thanks,” I said, wrapping it around me and then using the corners to squeeze the ends of my hair.
She sat down in the rocking chair next to me, her bare feet barely skimming the porch. “I like to sit out here, too, when I need to work out my problems.”
I was about to ask her what problems a ten-year-old could possibly have, and then I remembered. “Does it help?” I asked.
She nodded. “And so does this.” She lifted her hand to show a paper towel wrapped around something the size of her fist.
“What’s that?”
“Chocolate. Nurse Weber made brownies.” She took one small brownie, then handed me the remaining one with the paper towel.
“You’re a very smart little girl, Gigi. Has anyone ever told you that before?”
She flashed a grin that reminded me of one of her father’s rare smiles. “Yes, ma’am. A couple of times at least.”
I laughed, then took a bite into the brownie. “Wow. Nurse Weber sure knows her way around a kitchen.”
“You should taste her chocolate chip cookies. They’re a-ma-zing. If you want, I can go pretend that I’m sad and then she’ll make some.”
I would have laughed out loud, but my mouth was full of brownie. After I swallowed, I said, “That’s all right. The brownie hit the spot.”
She was staring at me speculatively. “You remind me a lot of Aunt Bernadett. I think that’s why Aunt Helena likes you.”
I almost choked on a stray brownie crumb. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“Sure she does. If she didn’t, she’d just ignore you.”
I stared at her for a long moment. “Did you figure that out all on your own?”
“Yes, ma’am. I guess Daddy will be figuring that out pretty soon, too. He’s usually a little slower than me.”
I rocked for a moment. The rain had stopped and the sun was creeping through breaks in the clouds, illuminating the weeping porch roof and the tall grasses that led down to the dock and the creek. The creek ran wide and muddy this close to the river, reminding me of the times Lucy and I would take out a johnboat after a storm and into the swollen and unpredictable water to see what secrets had been dredged from the river’s bottom. I wanted to find a pirate’s treasure or message in a bottle or even a skeleton, but all we’d ever found had been an old shoe and a dead snake. I grew to understand that it was the expectation of the unseen that made me want to look, and after my father died, it was the danger that attracted me. But all these years later I felt the pull of the tidal creeks and the river, letting me know that although time had altered the landscape of my life, there were some things that would never change.
I turned to Gigi. “What about me reminds you of Bernadett?”
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She shrugged. “The way you talk to Aunt Helena, mostly. Everybody—not Daddy and me, of course, but pretty much everybody else—is afraid of her. But you’re not. You say what you want to say. Oh, not to be hurtful. But just because it’s what you feel you need to say.”
She paused, probably to catch her breath. Gigi spoke so fast that I had to concentrate to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.
“And I think she likes you because of the piano. The way you play it.”
I studied the river below, dully shining in the struggling sunlight, keeping its secrets hidden still. “What do you mean?”
She slid from her chair, then pressed her finger gently on the button of my blouse in the middle of my chest, startling me. Her dark gray eyes stared steadily into mine. “You feel the music here, in your heart. Your fingers might be doing all of the work, but the music’s here.”
She stepped back and settled into her rocking chair again. “Madame LaFleur says that about dancing—so I’m not going to take all the credit for coming up with that on my own.”
I was too startled to laugh. After a moment, I said, “But how could you tell? The first piece I played was a military march—one I hadn’t played in years—and the second piece was, well, it was a mess.”
Her bright smile illuminated her face again. “Because when you were playing I felt it here.” She cupped both hands together and pressed them against her own chest. “That’s what Madame LaFleur says is the way to tell when we’re exposed to truth and beauty in art.”
The heavy, dead thing in my chest stirred again like a creature startled out of hibernation. I was still trying to think of something to say when the sound of a car driving up the driveway caught our attention. I stopped rocking and stood, moving to the porch railing as I recognized the car moving slowly through ruts and puddles.
Gigi slid from her chair. “I’ll go tell Daddy we’ve got company.”
She’d already slipped inside the house before I told her not to bother, that I recognized who the visitor was and knew whom he’d come to see.
I was at the bottom of the porch steps by the time Glen had climbed from the car. “Is everything okay? Are Eve and the baby . . . ?” I felt sick, unable to finish my sentence.
He hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. “No. Everything’s fine, no need to worry about anything.” He kicked a rock with the toe of his shoe and tried not to appear as uncomfortable as he looked. “Since I didn’t have to work today, we all thought it might be a good idea for me to make sure everything was fine with you.”
“We?” I found myself leaning toward him, an old habit I couldn’t seem to stop.
“Well, your mama and Eve had voiced some concerns about you taking this job without knowing much about it, so I volunteered to drive over here to make sure you were okay.”
I took a step closer. “You were worried about me?”
“Sure I am. What do we know about this guy? And he’s dragging you all the way out here to a house where who knows what is going on. A person died here, remember? I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Hello again.”
We turned to see Finn emerging from the front door, his aloof, professional smile on his face.
Glen stepped forward with a proffered hand, and the two men shook. They seemed to be sizing each other up the way I’d seen stray dogs decide who would lead the pack. Glen retreated back toward me, while Finn remained on the porch, as if each was declaring territory.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Finn asked, making me wonder if he’d heard the part in the conversation where Glen had mentioned a person dying in the house.
“Just thought I’d drive over to see how the new job was working out for Eleanor. Without a number to call, her mama and sister were getting antsy.”
Finn moved farther out onto the porch and put his hands on the railing in a relaxed stance, but I could tell he was anything but. “Thanks for reminding me. I just bought an iPhone for Eleanor and added her to our plan so that she’ll be reachable wherever she is. I’ve got it in my briefcase and will make sure she has it before she leaves tonight.”
He straightened, and for a horrifying moment I thought he’d ask Glen to come inside. Instead, he turned to me. “Helena’s awake and she’s asking for you. She wants you to read to her now.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Do I need to pick a book?”
“No. She already sent Gigi looking for the one she wants.”
Facing Glen again, I said, “I’m fine, really. But thanks for making sure.” I paused, wanting Finn to leave us alone for just a moment.
Finn didn’t move.
Keeping my eyes on Glen, I said, “I’ll call you from my phone so you’ll have the number.” I smiled, wanting him to know that I was glad he’d come, glad that he’d thought enough to be worried about me and wanted to check up on me. I didn’t want to feel grateful, didn’t want to feel the way he made me feel, but like the tides under the spell of the moon, I couldn’t seem to stop.
“All right, then,” he said, stepping back toward the car. “We’ll see you later. Should we wait on you for dinner?”
Finn spoke. “We have dinner plans here.”
Glen’s mouth hardened slightly as he glanced at Finn. Turning back to me, he said, “Sure. We’ll see you later, then.” With a wave he climbed into his car, then turned around in the driveway and headed away faster than when he’d arrived.
I stared after him for a long time, if only to avoid meeting Finn’s eyes. Without turning around, I said, “I guess I should go see if I need to help Gigi find the book for Helena.”
When he didn’t say anything, I faced him reluctantly, forcing myself to look at him. His eyes had darkened to the color of the storm clouds still hanging around like reluctant children at bedtime. He was watching me carefully, as if half expecting me to run down the drive after Glen. Flushing, I climbed each step deliberately to show him that I would never shame myself by falling in love with my sister’s husband, or that I had once had dreams of being somebody different from who I’d turned out to be.
He stood in front of the door, barring the way, and it would have been awkward to try to walk around him, so I stopped, facing him, holding my breath while I waited for him to speak.
“You didn’t ask me which book Aunt Helena wanted.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that. I frowned up at him. “No, I guess I didn’t. What is it?” I asked, suddenly worried.
One corner of his mouth twitched. “The Wizard of Oz.”
I barked out an unladylike laugh before I could pull it back, my relief permitting me to let go. “Great,” I said as he opened the front door to allow me to go inside first. “I can practice a Hungarian accent when I read the part of the wicked witch.”
Finn laughed, an unfamiliar sound, as he followed me inside. I was hoping his change in mood meant that he’d forgotten how I’d leaned toward Glen like a flower toward the sun, how he’d seen me at Pete’s talking to the man with the sad shoulders and defeated face. But I remembered Finn’s eyes when I’d turned around and knew that he had not.
I lifted my eyes from the book and blinked at the clock on the bedside table. Although I’d seen The Wizard of Oz about two dozen times on television, I’d never read Frank Baum’s classic. I had apparently been more drawn in than my listeners and unaware that I’d been reading for almost two hours.
Helena was propped up on her lace pillows, her mouth open in a soft snore. I took the opportunity to study her without reciprocation, noticing her still-smooth skin, the high cheekbones and finely arched brows. Her hair was a pure white now, with hints of yellow, but it was still thick and full, and I realized with some surprise that she must have once been a very beautiful woman.
But it was more than the years and her attitude to
ward me that made her physical beauty recede. It was as if a shadow lingered over her like the filter on a camera lens but with the opposite effect. I drew back from her, pressing against my chair. I didn’t want to see too much, didn’t want to see what made her frown in her sleep or understand why Bernadett had stopped playing the piano. My own shadow was long and deep, and I imagined myself sinking deep enough to drown if I stepped into someone else’s.
My gaze flickered down to the foot of the bed, where Gigi had curled up on her side to listen to me read. Her narrow shoulders rose and fell in gentle sleep, and as I watched, a small smile graced her face. I knew babies smiled in their sleep but had always imagined that children past babyhood had long since forgotten how to converse with angels.
A loud snore brought my attention to Teri Weber, who’d pulled in a kitchen chair and had been furiously knitting while I read. Except now she was as prone as a person could be in a ladder-back chair, her feet straight out in front of her and her knitting draped over her lap.
Quietly, I closed the book, then spread an afghan over Gigi before removing one of the pillows behind Helena’s head so that she could lie flat. As I lifted the knitting from Nurse Weber’s hands to lay it on the floor beside her, I noticed for the first time the gramophone behind her.
It was shoved in a corner on top of a small table. I hadn’t noticed it before because it had been blocked by the open door of the armoire where the television was kept. But when Nurse Weber had brought in her chair, she’d had to close the door.
I’d never seen a gramophone up close before, and it seemed so much larger than I’d imagined. The brass horn, meticulously polished, was about a foot and a half wide and just as tall. It sat on a rectangular wood base with a brass-and-wood crank on the side. Records in thin, yellowing sleeves were piled in a deep, round sweetgrass basket. I wanted to go through them to discover what music Helena listened to but couldn’t without moving the nurse.
Unobserved, I took my time studying the room, the pale blue walls and the heavy lace curtains, which seemed from another continent, if not another era. A small dressing table cluttered with cosmetics and perfumes was pushed against the far wall, a heavy drape of purple velvet cascading from the edges of both the table and the matching stool. It was old and faded but had definitely been made for a queen.