She checked off the students and their families as they arrived and noted that Jay Johnson was not present.
Just as she was about to take her position in the curve of the piano for her traditional welcome and acknowledgments, the doorbell rang again. She opened the door to Polly, peeking between the stems of purple and yellow irises in a large crystal bowl draped with yellow silk ribbon. Assuming the florist was vying for equal space in Delia’s column next week, she ignored the gift card nestled in the greenery and placed them on her desk. She was thanking Polly and seeing her to the door when two more guests arrived dressed in simple, homemade cotton dresses.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Silva, I’m so glad you decided to come.”
Gretchen whispered her apologies. “We’re so sorry. We did not know there would be so many people. Maybe we should leave.”
“Please come in. You’ll enjoy the music and refreshments. And it’s Bella, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is Bella,” Mrs. Silva responded.
Caroline embarrassed herself by looking too long into the silvery green eyes of her new guests. “Bella, come, sit right here. They’re almost front-row seats.”
Gretchen grabbed Bella’s arm. “Oh, no, we could not do that. Please. No, we would like to sit in the back.”
“But Bella could see better up front.”
“No, no.” Gretchen led Bella to the very back row. Bella never spoke and clung to Gretchen until they took their seats.
With a smile, Caroline returned to the piano and made her welcoming speech. The program started with the youngest students. Except . . . Will Peterson, the first pianist, could not be found. His younger sister took pleasure in announcing to the crowd that her brother was in the bathroom. As if that pronouncement had called him, Will, with tie askew and white shirttail poking through his partially zipped fly, appeared and hurriedly slipped to the piano. He looked at the keyboard and moved not a muscle.
Caroline waited.
Will looked at her and got the raised right eyebrow in return. He looked back at the piano and still did not move a muscle.
Caroline approached the piano to rescue the seven-year-old boy. She rarely taught students under third grade but had made an exception in Will’s case. All year long, his performance and progress had made her proud of her decision. As she stood next to him and shielded him from the eyes of the audience—mostly parents holding their breath and realizing this could be their child—Will poked his shirt inside his pants and zipped his fly.
Caroline reached over and straightened his tie. “You look great, Will, and your playing will be even better.”
Will never looked up and sat frozen with his hands in his lap.
“Will, are you all right?” she whispered.
He gazed at her with flushed cheeks and big brown eyes fringed with lashes that a teenage girl would pay for. “Miss Caroline, where is middle C?”
Caroline disguised her chuckle and pointed out the key in question. As she walked to her seat, Will was playing at a lightning speed, finishing almost before she could sit down. He took his bow and, at the same tempo he had played his piece, sprinted to his seat next to his mother. The crowd applauded loudly to drown out their laughter, and Caroline called up the next student.
Before she knew it, the last student had played, and the race to the tea table began. The adults admired the display while the kids were quite taken with the fruit tray. Martha had cut a pineapple in half lengthwise, scooping out the flesh to create a bowl and leaving the greenery to become plumage. To the other end of the pineapple, she’d attached a peeled potato that had been soaked in yellow food coloring and carved to look like the head of a tropical bird. The adults thought it too beautiful to eat, but the boys delighted in spearing the melon balls, grapes, and strawberries with the fancy toothpicks and eating the entrails of this pineapple parrot.
As the party wound down and guests departed, Linda Johnson appeared in the middle of the room. Caroline had worried that Jay did not show, so seeing Linda was a relief. “Linda, we missed Jay. Is everything all right?”
“Caroline, I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say. We just couldn’t get Jay to come. I don’t know what’s going on with him! We seem to have lost control.”
“It’s not so uncommon for students to get last-minute jitters, but Jay knew his piece so well. He would have made himself and me look good.”
“I don’t know. It’s more than jitters. He’s a good kid, but lately he’s turned into a little monster. He’s not doing well in school, he’s started lying, and lately he’s been slipping out of the house at night.”
“I had no idea things were so serious.”
“Serious enough we’re looking for a child psychologist. I’ve told Jay he will not be allowed to continue his piano lessons until he apologizes to you himself.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll do better over the summer. He’ll be ready to start back in the fall.”
“I hope so, for all our sakes. Anyway, I just had to come and tell you what happened and tell you again how sorry we are.”
“Apology accepted, and I’m glad you came. Stay and make my mother happy by having something to eat.”
The crowd dwindled. Gretchen and Bella were the last to leave. Caroline kept her eye on them and realized they’d had no interchange with anyone else in the room. She was standing at the door when they approached with Bella still clinging to Gretchen’s arm and standing slightly behind her. Gretchen graciously and articulately thanked Caroline for allowing them to come. She mentioned many of the names of the pieces and recalled growing up listening to her grandmammá play them in the old country. Bella never spoke.
Watching as they walked silently away together, Caroline sensed a real story behind those silvery green eyes, their meekness, and Gretchen’s obvious knowledge and appreciation of music.
Caroline sent Sam and Josefina to the big house to finish watching The Jungle Book while the cleanup started. Ned and Fred, arriving like clockwork, removed the chairs and returned them to the church. They didn’t refuse to take Martha’s platter of goodies with them.
Another Saturday-afternoon spring recital. Students wringing their hands, mothers holding their breaths, and fathers wishing they’d been fishing. She had seen her mother glowing from the compliments. Caroline realized once again why she spent her time teaching.
Caroline’s mother, Betsy, and Josefina accompanied her to church, followed by lunch at Café on the Square. Mabel had promised to hold them a table and plenty of fried chicken.
Sam sat at the head of the table. “Well, I do believe that was the best recital yet.”
Angel swallowed her bit of macaroni and cheese before agreeing. “Yep, another fine one. And you girls remember, Martha and I are still the ‘Hand and Foot’ champions, and we’re a bit disappointed you didn’t provide a trophy or something. I think we need to up the stakes next year. It’s high time the losers pay.”
“Just get ’em a plaque, would you?” Sam pointed his knife at Martha. “All right, Martha. I’m taking a right turn in this conversation, but I think it’s an appropriate question for a cook with a biscuit pan no one is allowed to touch. What do you think of Mabel’s fried chicken?”
“Well, let me put it like this, Sam: Mabel’s fried chicken would make you slap your own grandma. And from the looks of that chicken leg in Josefina’s hand, I think she would agree.”
“That good, huh?”
“Her fried chicken is up to par—par being my fried chicken, of course. But I’d like to challenge her chicken and dumplings.”
“Sounds like a trial to me, and consider me the self-appointed judge,” Sam said.
They finished their meal, and Sam grabbed the check from Caroline.
“No, Sam, this is my party.”
“You’re wrong, dear. It was your party, but now it’s mine.”
“Thank you, Sam.” Caroline hugged him, knowing that arguing with Sam was like arm-wrestling with Mabel.
As they walk
ed to their cars, Betsy said, “Before we get away, Angel, remember that you promised to take Caroline shopping. You won’t forget our discussion, will you?”
“What discussion?” Caroline raised her right eyebrow.
“In due time, Caroline, in due time.” Angel grinned at Martha and Betsy as they took their seats in the car. They drove to the studio, and Caroline helped load Betsy’s car with silver trays, leftovers, luggage, and the not-to-be-forgotten punch bowl. She waved goodbye, glad they had come and grateful now to be alone. Almost before they’d pulled out, she’d undressed and put on her robe to nap for a couple of hours on the sofa.
She woke to the comfort of her quiet studio. Needing a lift, she headed for the kitchen to put on the teakettle. She dropped a teabag of Darjeeling into her favorite cup and headed to the desk for her day planner.
The irises—she had forgotten the irises Polly delivered yesterday. She laughed to herself. Got to give it to Polly. She’s counting on free advertising.
Caroline parted the stems to remove the card and take it from its envelope. It read “Music . . .when words aren’t enough. Enjoy what you have created in your students. Roderick Adair.”
She sat down at her desk, running her fingers over the card and savoring the irises. How did he know? And how did he get them delivered before the recital?
“ ‘When words aren’t enough’?” She was smiling when the teakettle whistled.
Deductions, Drapes,
and Dresses
Sam knew how to take his sabbath: hibernating in the library napping and reading the paper. Still, he heard Angel walk down the hall toward the kitchen. “Did you talk to Caroline this afternoon?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“Well, yes. I don’t think she should stay in the studio this evening.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’ll give her a call. Would you like something to drink?”
“What about a tall glass of water with a big bowl of ice cream? Maybe Caroline would join us.”
Angel called Caroline from the kitchen phone. “Hey, sweetie, Sam and I are about to have a scoop of ice cream with the peach brandy. How about joining us?”
“Sounds great. I’ll bring the cookie tin.”
“You mean you still have cookies?”
“Angel, I’ll have cookies until GiGi Nelson lets her red hair go gray.”
Angel chuckled. “That long, huh? Bring your nightgown, and you and I’ll play Scrabble when Sam turns in early tonight.”
“Would you like me to bring some pimiento cheese sandwiches?”
“Mabel’s fried chicken is still clucking for Sam and me, so we’re eating light. Besides, we’re old enough to have ice cream for supper. I’m dipping it now.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Sam, get yourself in here. I’ve dipped the ice cream and Caroline’s on her way,” Angel yelled after she hung up, not realizing that Sam was standing in the kitchen.
“This fast enough?”
She squeaked as she whirled around. “Sam Meadows, I do hope you enjoyed turning my one last gray hair white. I didn’t hear you come in here.”
“You mean after all these years, you can’t sense my presence when I enter the room?”
“I’ve never had to do that. Your voice generally precedes you. Put the ice cream on the table, and I’ll get the ice water.”
“You know, with all the excitement, we haven’t been thinking too much about this intruder problem. I’ve had conversation with Caleb, and we need to talk seriously with Caroline. I promised Rogers Carlyle that I would take care of Caroline, and I intend to keep my word.”
Caroline hoped Sam was up for a conversation. She had some ideas about this intruder, and holding them inside was like holding her breath. She popped through the kitchen door about the time Angel grabbed the decanter of peach brandy.
“Just in time,” Angel said.
“Didn’t want to keep Sam waiting. He gets fussy when he has to wait for his ice cream.” Caroline took her place at the breakfast table.
Angel shook out her napkin. “Seems like we need to have a blessing or something. I mean, this is your supper, Sam.”
Sam prayed his usual prayer in oratorical King James English, and before the “n” on “Amen” had stopped resonating, he asked, “Where’s your bag? Didn’t see it when you came in.”
“I didn’t bring it.”
“Now, Caroline, I just think you’re much safer up here. Why, Angel and I’d hear the chimes from the grandfather clock every half hour wondering if you’re safe.”
“Then you’ll sleep much better tonight because I know who this Peeping Tom is, and I can assure you I’m in no danger.”
Sam put down his spoon. “I’m all ears.”
“I learned a very interesting bit of information Saturday afternoon. You remember Jay Johnson didn’t show.”
“I remember, but I saw his mother there.” Angel rationed drops of peach brandy over the ice cream.
“Yeah, Linda came late and sat out on the terrace until the recital was over, and then she came in to explain that Jay refused to come.”
“What do you mean ‘he refused to come’? He’s eleven years old. The way I look at it is eleven-year-olds don’t have refusing privileges. That’s what’s wrong with this country—unruly children controlling things. Seen enough of those in my courtroom to prove my point.”
“Sam, shush and let Caroline finish.”
“Linda says Jay’s been giving them a hard time. Getting in trouble at school. He’s started lying to them, and they think he’s been slipping out at night.”
“So, you think that Jay is our culprit?”
“He could be. Jay’s a gifted musician with a good ear. He’ll struggle to learn a new piece until I play it for him. But once I play it for him, he plays it near perfectly. And then Linda said they’ve caught him slipping out at night, and they don’t know where he goes.”
“Adolescent boys are curious, all right, but I can’t quite figure why he’d come through the fence and just sit there,” Sam said. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”
Caroline reached for a cookie. “Well, I’ve thought about it. I think it’s just a safe place for him to come and hide when he slips out at night. Jay may be curious, but he’s not the bravest kid I know.”
“Pass me a cookie please.” Sam took one out of the tin. “Okay, I might buy this theory, but answer this: why did he come into your studio in the middle of the morning, play your piano, and then run out when you came home?”
“I think he was skipping school and needed a place to hide. Then he ran out to keep from getting into trouble.”
“I don’t know.” Sam hem-hawed. “I’m not sure I buy all of this. Does he really play the piano that well?”
“Yes, he plays well—maybe well enough to play what I heard.”
Angel swallowed her last bite of ice cream. “You would be the only one to know that. So what do we do?”
“Don’t move so fast down that track, Angel. I’m not convinced. Caleb still has his eye on Bo Blossom.”
“But what makes Caleb think it might be Bo?” Caroline asked.
“The same things that made us suspicious from the beginning. Bo’s lived here for years, and no one knows his real name or anything about his background. Not one person in this town has ever had a meaningful conversation with him. Caleb had the deputy keep an eye on him for a few evenings, but Bo gave the deputy the slip every time. It’s like he disappears into thin air come dark.”
Angel pointed her spoon at Caroline. “So, here’s where we are. Caroline, you think it’s an eleven-year-old student.” She pointed at Sam. “And Sam, you think it’s the hobo from only God knows where. But we do know a few things about this intruder.”
“Would you listen to that approach? My wife should have been the judge. She’s right. So, what do we know?”
Caroline perked up. “We do know he’s caused no one harm, and he’s not destroyed or stolen any property. He play
s the piano very well, and it seems he’s very persistent.”
Sam piped in. “We also know he’s strong enough to rip boards off the fence, and that he’s not afraid of the dark.”
“And don’t forget, we know that Ned and Fred scared the living daylights out of him last week,” Angel said.
Caroline looked at Sam. “I think I was in more danger with you and the deputy and the Pendergrass twins than I am with this Peeping Tom.”
“Can’t argue with that, can you, Your Honor?” Angel shook her finger at Sam.
“Sustained.”
They stacked the ice cream bowls, and Caroline convinced Sam and Angel she’d be safe in the studio. She promised to lock the doors—and no playing the piano after dark.
The last thing Caroline and Angel had done before Caroline left was make plans to go shopping this coming week. Monday was good, so Monday it was. They’d look at some window coverings for the studio. But Angel was really making good on her promise to shop for new clothes for Caroline.
She stood at the back-porch door and watched Caroline until she made the curve around the daylilies. She looked forward to the shopping trip. Caroline was the daughter she had always wanted.
Her eyes brimmed with tears and she gave a shaky sigh. She hadn’t expected to still be grieving over her barrenness when she was eighty-four.
Sam joined her on the porch, standing silently beside her. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. Angel moved closer in a familiar way and looked up at him.
“Now, what’s behind those tears, my love?”
“Oh, just thinking about the children we couldn’t have.” The spit-and-polished veneer of her smiling face could not cover her wounded heart all the time.
Sam put both arms around her and pulled her even closer so that her soft white hair brushed his chin. “I’m so sorry, my Angel, but God took our sadness to heart and brought us Caroline.”
“Yes, He did.”
Angel kept her thoughts of Caroline’s future to herself. Holding Caroline here in Moss Point was like holding a breeze in a bag. She wanted Caroline to be happy, even if it meant moving away. After all, how many more years could she and Sam have?
Return of the Song Page 11