Caroline was more interested this morning in her ten o’clock meeting. “Dad, fill me in on the Whitmans.”
“Well, all I know is they had the piano until their daughter graduated from college.”
“But didn’t they give the piano to her when she married and moved to Atlanta?”
Mama put down the dish towel. “Yes, they did, but there was talk that the Whitman girl and her husband divorced not long after they married. Keep that in mind before you go bringing up things that are best not talked about.”
“Why is this so important to you, Caroline?” her dad asked. “I thought you were happy with the instrument we bought you. You picked it out. Just what are you planning to do if you find the piano?”
Caroline noted the disappointment in his voice. “I wish I had an answer. I don’t have a plan. It’s just something I have to do. That piano was such a part of me for so long, and to think that it’s somewhere on this planet, and I don’t know where . . . I just have to know, Dad.”
“I suppose that’s reasonable.” He emptied his coffee cup.
“There’s one thing for sure. I won’t be buying it, not if its owner has any knowledge of its value. Could be well worth anywhere from forty to forty-eight thousand dollars depending upon its condition.”
“We’d buy it if we could,” her mama said. “But don’t count on your dear old dad and mama this time.”
“Do you mean I can mark that one off my Christmas list?”
Her dad rose from his chair. “Good luck, little one. You’re so much like your mother. No doubt you’ll find your piano, and only the Lord knows what you’ll do then.” He walked to the sink with his cup. “Well, I’d love to hang around for another cup of coffee, but there’s a project calling me to the shop.”
She knew her dad was heading to the shop to give her time alone with her mom. She asked, “Hey, Dad, is this project your reason or your excuse for leaving the table?”
He hastily turned to look at her. “Aha, you caught me, didn’t you? I’ll confess. This one’s an excuse—but it’s for a good reason.” They smiled in silent agreement, and he closed the door.
Excuses were never allowed in the Carlyle household. An excuse, according to her dad, was only the skin of a reason stuffed with a lie. And a lie, or something even akin to a lie, was not acceptable under the Carlyle roof. Caroline might have hesitated to answer, but the question “Is this a reason or an excuse?” always brought the truth.
“Is Dad okay? He seems a little distracted.”
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s just wishing we’d never had to sell your piano so you wouldn’t be looking for it. He hurts for you, Caroline. He knows how you loved your piano and how much you loved David, and how they both disappeared from your life. We’re both hoping you find it and that somehow it will bring you some closure. We just want you to be happy.”
“I know, Mama, and I don’t want you to worry. If I find the piano, great! If I don’t, at least I tried.”
Caroline squeezed her mother’s hand and started to talk about family things—Julia’s latest purchase, her father’s health, church matters, and a bit of town gossip. They chatted about Caroline’s upcoming student recital in May—when she would have it, what she would wear, and the refreshments she would serve.
“You know I’ll be there to help do the baking and decorating as always.”
Then came the question about Caroline’s summer plans. “I’m planning to continue my private study at the university, teach some master classes in Moss Point, attend a conference, and then do some writing for a professional journal. But I promise I’ll spend several days here with you.”
Caroline loaded the car, said goodbye to her parents, and left for her meeting with the Whitmans. She drove down the street, stopped in the shade, and dialed James’s number.
No answer. Had James changed his mind about going to the office? Had she lost her chance to unload her secret on someone? The phone rang eight times before he answered.
“Hey, Julia.”
“No, James, it’s Caroline, and I’m so glad you picked up.”
“What’s up, sis?”
“Something important, I think, but I’m not sure. I don’t want it to be important, but . . .”
“You’re talking in circles, Caroline. Just tell me what it is. I’ll help you decide whether or not it’s important.”
“Okay, but you must promise you won’t say anything to Mama or Dad. It would just cause them to worry, and it may be nothing.”
“Now you have me worried. Where are you? You want me to meet you somewhere?”
“No, I’m on my cell phone a few blocks from the house. I’m on my way to see the Whitmans, and I really didn’t want to talk at the house.” Her fingers strummed the steering wheel.
“Caroline, I’m really getting worried.”
“Okay, here goes. But I don’t want you to think I’m losing it. I’m telling you the facts as methodically as I can. I know you don’t like all that emotional stuff, so I’m telling you straight. Thursday morning I had breakfast with Sam and Angel up at the big house. After breakfast, as I walked back to the studio, I . . . I heard something very unusual.” She paused.
“What do you mean ‘unusual’?”
“I could hear someone playing my piano in the studio.”
“That’s not so strange. You are a piano teacher.”
Caroline lowered her voice as though someone might overhear her. “But whoever was playing it was playing a song that only I know. Let me back up. I wasn’t able to sleep Wednesday night, so I got up to play the piano. I worked on this song maybe for an hour or more. I got frustrated and just struck the piano keys with the palms of my hands, got up, and went to the window . . .” Her voice trailed off as she remembered.
“Can you speak up? I’m having trouble hearing you.”
“Okay. Well, when I looked out, I saw a shadow moving and heard the bushes rustling next to the window, but I didn’t think too much about it then. I figured it was a cat or the wind blowing the shrubs.”
“Sounds possible.”
“But when I heard someone playing that same song yesterday morning, my heart nearly stopped. I came through the front door of the studio and whoever was playing ran out the terrace door. James, I did not imagine this.”
“No one said you’re imagining this, sis, but let me ask you . . .”
Caroline rolled her window down a bit. “I don’t have time for your lawyer’s interrogation. I just need you to help me think through this.”
“You’re sure about the shadow in the middle of the night?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sure there was a shadow, but a shadow of what, I don’t know. I wouldn’t have given it another thought if it hadn’t been for what happened the next morning.”
“Did you tell Sam and Angel or call the police?”
“Nope, no one. I didn’t know what to say. It makes no sense, and I didn’t know how to explain it. It was ‘David’s Song,’ and no one knows it but me. It’s not even finished. But what I heard coming from the piano in the studio was exactly as I played it Wednesday night. I mean right down to slamming my palms down on the keyboard. It’s just too bizarre.”
“And you’re certain that someone ran out of the studio when you came in?”
“Yes, the piano playing stopped. And when I entered the room, the terrace door was still moving from someone’s hasty exit.”
“Did you see anyone?”
She imagined James making notes on his yellow legal pad. “Well, no. It all happened so fast. The phone was ringing. I was frightened, and I wasn’t thinking very rationally at that point.”
“If someone had meant you harm, the phone might have frightened him. Did he take anything?”
Caroline rolled her window down a bit more. The humidity and the tension caused her to perspire. “No, nothing. My purse and keys were right there on the counter. My laptop was on the desk. Nothing was disturbed. I really don’t think anyone meant me harm
.”
“I think you’re right, but it still leaves a lot of questions.”
“Yes, and I think I’ve considered them all. I don’t know what to do now. Do I keep my secret or what? Any advice, big brother?” Caroline was ready for his answer.
“Well, it’s time to make Sam aware of what happened. He’s a wise man. He knows the town, and he’ll know what to do. But, Caroline, you need to be cautious for a while. Lock your doors; be aware that someone may be watching you. Vary your comings and goings.”
“I am neurotically careful, but my schedule is so set and predictable that it’s difficult to vary my routine.”
“I’ll be thinking, and let me know the minute that anything out of the ordinary happens.”
“I will, and remember I’ll play the Georgia Tech fight song at your funeral if you tell Mama and Dad,” Caroline said. She knew that mentioning the university’s archrival would change the tone of this conversation.
“You do, and I’ll sit straight up out of my coffin and tell the entire congregation you tried to pay the filling-station attendant for the air he put in your tire.”
“Seriously, you can’t tell.”
“I promise. Bye, sis. Keep me informed.”
“Thanks, James. Love you. Bye.”
Caroline drove across town to the Whitmans’. The neighborhoods had changed so little, she decided, as she parked and rang the bell.
Harriet Whitman greeted Caroline cordially and invited her into the kitchen before she called her husband in from the garden. “It’s really good to see you, Caroline,” she said as the two women sat at the breakfast table. “Carl and I were trying to recall how long it’s been.”
Caroline hoped Harriet didn’t offer coffee. “I’m not able to get home as much as I’d like, but I visit every chance I get. So, how have you and Mr. Whitman been?”
Carl Whitman slammed the back door as if on cue.
“You can see that Carl’s doing just fine,” Harriet said. “He retired last year from thirty-eight years at the post office, and I haven’t been able to keep him out of the garden since.”
“After nearly forty years of shuffling envelopes and selling stamps, pulling weeds seems like a vacation,” Carl said while washing his hands and grabbing for the dish towel.
Harriet jumped up and snatched it away. “How many times do I have to tell you, Carl? Don’t dry your hands on the kitchen towel.”
Carl snickered, dried his hands on a paper towel, and sat down at the table.
Hoping to change the mood, Caroline jumped in. “I suppose my mother told you why I wanted to come by to see you.”
“Yes, she did,” Harriet said.
“Lately, I’ve just been so curious about this piano. I remembered you bought it for your daughter when she started piano lessons.” Caroline took out a pad and pencil from her bag.
“It was such a beautiful piano, and Kelly did take lessons, but I’m sorry to say she never really excelled the way you did. Oh, she learned to play a little bit, just enough to play what she liked. And since no one else around here played the piano, we just gave it to her when she got married. That was almost two years ago.”
“Does she still play?” Caroline asked, trying to find out if she still had the piano.
“I’m sure she would if she had a chance, but she no longer owns the piano. You see, when she got married, she and her husband moved to Atlanta. But they were only married about a year and then got a divorce.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No need to be sorry,” Carl said. “The worst thing she ever did was marry that good-for-nothing, lying—”
“Carl.” Harriet reached across the table and touched Carl’s arm.
“And the best thing she ever did was to leave him.”
Harriet patted Carl’s arm. “It was most unfortunate, but she’s getting on with her life now. We’re just so grateful there weren’t any children involved.”
“He was such an irresponsible, smooth-talking scoundrel that it’ll take Kelly years to get over the financial problems he left sitting on her lap. He should be in jail. Now he’s moved on to dazzle some other poor girl.” Carl seemed unable to stop himself.
“Well, you didn’t come to hear about all our problems, Caroline. The truth is we don’t have such good news for you.”
“I’m so sorry about all this, but any bit of information might be helpful.”
“Kelly was left with such tremendous debt after the divorce that she had to sell the piano along with her house and some other possessions. I called to tell her you were coming so I could get as much information as possible.”
“Thank you. Is the piano still in Atlanta?”
“When I talked to Kelly, she was unsure. She sold it about a year ago to a dealership in the metro area. She needed the cash and sold it for half its worth. She naturally lost track of it after that.”
Caroline grimaced.
“But I do have the number of the dealership and the name of the man who purchased it from Kelly. She was certain the man would remember the piano. Seems he was quite enchanted with it. I have the information for you here on this card.” Harriet handed it to Caroline.
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Whitman. I’m sorry to bother you with this, and I hope it didn’t bring up too many bad memories.”
“You’re welcome, Caroline, and I wish you luck. Would you mind letting me know if you find it?”
“I’ll be certain to do that, and thank you so much for your time.” Caroline noticed that Carl remained quiet and never rose from the table to see her out.
Caroline dialed Betsy’s number as she drove away. “Hey, I was hoping you’d be home. I just left the Whitmans’. Is it too early to come on over?”
“No, it’s not too early, but your meeting didn’t take long. Did you find out about the piano?”
“Not much. I’ll tell you about it when I get there. Is Mason at home?”
“No, he and Josefina are at his parents’ house. He’s helping his dad with some outside painting, and his mom wanted to see Josefina. So it’ll just be you and me for lunch. I’ll fix us a sandwich.”
“See you shortly. Want me to stop at the store for anything?”
“Pickled okra, maybe.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m kidding you, CC. Just come on over.” Betsy had stopped calling Caroline “CC” at Caroline’s request when they entered junior high. But once Josefina came along, CC returned.
Caroline was disappointed that she might miss Josefina. Three years ago, she had gone with Betsy and Mason to Guatemala to start adoption proceedings. During a previous trip to Guatemala with David, she had met three nuns who ran an orphanage. Somehow, staying in touch with these nuns and Reyna Morris, Dr. Morris’s widow, had been important to her after David was killed. Caroline had actually made two trips to Guatemala with Betsy and Mason. Reyna hosted them both times and served as interpreter with the nuns.
All three of them had bonded with Baby Josefina on the first trip. Even Caroline ached when they returned to the States without the brown-eyed baby girl. Weeks later, with thirty thousand dollars in hand, the three of them had returned to bring little Josefina home.
Caroline pulled into the driveway and reached in the back seat for the bag of candy she always brought her godchild. Betsy met her at the door and led her to the patio. “It’s a perfect day for lunch around the pool, don’t you think?”
Caroline agreed. They chatted over sandwiches. They didn’t have much catching up to do since they talked a couple of times a week. Caroline told her about her visit with the Whitmans, and Betsy told her the scuttlebutt about Kelly’s divorce.
“What’s the deal? Am I going to see my godchild or not? I brought a whole bag full of candy kisses.” Caroline reached for the bag.
“Sorry, I called Mason right after you called. His mom took Josefina with her out to the lake and won’t be back until early afternoon. Didn’t know you’d be here so early.”
“Oo
ps, sorry for the change in plans. I’ll see her next month when you come with Mama for my student recital.”
“Sounds good. Just give me that bag of chocolate. I need it.” Betsy grabbed the bag of candy and ripped open the top.
“Wow, what is it with you? You ate your sandwich, half of mine, nearly a whole bag of potato chips, and now you’re wrestling me for chocolate?”
“I can’t believe you, Caroline Carlyle. You’re really out of it today.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I tell you on the phone I have a surprise. You don’t even ask, like you forgot or something. That’s not like you. Then I ask you to bring a jar of pickled okra on the way over. I’m eating like there’s no tomorrow, and you don’t get it.”
“Betsy, you’re not . . . ?”
“Yes, I am, so mark your calendar for late October.”
Two Preachers and a Hobo
Caroline treasured April Sunday mornings. She poured her second cup of coffee and headed for the garden just to sit a spell. She thought every soul had a home on this earth—a place to rest and experience true beauty. Her soul had two homes: the piano stool and her garden bench.
The garden was her cathedral, and the white wrought-iron bench was her pew. Here she sat and watched water trickle over the rocks and fall into a pool exploding with life. The seasons brought change. Wild irises, hoarding their yellow blooms till April, fringed the pond. May’s black tadpoles—like wriggling musical notes, her father always kidded her—would grow legs, lose their tails, and become green bullfrogs. Water lily leaves became parasols for the goldfish in June. July sun would squeeze the color from the roses as if to punish them for their spring flamboyance, but their life and color would return with the cool mornings of October.
This garden was her wondering place, where she could imagine what happened to ladybugs in the winter and where butterflies hid in a thunderstorm. Where life was ephemeral. She might take her doubts and fears to church, but not to the garden. Here she read poetry and hummed arias. Here she created lyrics and composed melodies. It was her place, and she would not miss it on this last Sabbath in April.
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