“Ernesto Silva? He’s mad with the world. Just ignore him,” Angel said.
“You can tell a fool by the big, fat lumps on his head. Do you see lumps on my head? You can’t just ignore him. He’s just the kind waiting to sue somebody.”
“Silva. Does he have a wife named Gretchen and a daughter named Bella?” Caroline asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “He had a wife, but I don’t know how he could have kept her, and I don’t know about any children. They stick pretty much to themselves.”
“Yes, I think they have a daughter, but she should be grown by now. I remember seeing her years ago when she was younger. An absolutely beautiful child—got all her mother’s coloring,” Angel said.
“Hmm, I have an appointment on Wednesday with Gretchen Silva. She has a young girl named Bella who wants to study piano with me.”
Sam got up for the tea pitcher. “Just hope Ernesto doesn’t come with them.”
“Mrs. Silva brought Bella to the recital.”
“Were they the pair who came in late and sat on the back row?” Angel said.
“Yep, dressed in cotton dresses almost alike.”
“So that was Gretchen Silva. My, she’s aged since I saw her last. I remember when she came to town.”
Sam sat back down with the tea pitcher. “Talk about an unlikely pair. Ernesto’s as rough as a cob, and his wife was a beautiful blonde, seemingly more refined. She spoke very little English. I think maybe she was German.”
“Good eye for details there, Judge,” Angel added.
Sam winked at Angel. “And blondes.”
“That makes sense. She told me that her grandmammá used to play the piano in the old country.”
“Let’s see, we’ve talked about private-eye work, park-building issues, and now we’ve gone to Europe. You ladies are as hard to keep on track as Uncle Ross’s old mule.”
Angel looked at him over the top of her glasses. “You’d better quit right there, sir. Mules don’t fix your dinner and wash the dishes.”
“Excuse me, ladies. I don’t know what gets into me sometimes.”
“I do, but I dare not say,” Angel said.
“All right. Let’s agree on a few things here. I need to know what my assignments are. Now, Caroline, you want me to do some checking on Roderick Adair?”
“Only if it’s not too much trouble.”
“And if I understood you, neither of us is going to mention to anyone the possibility that Jay Johnson is our intruder—or our snooper, as Ned says.”
“That’s right. I just don’t think I’m ready to take that step,” Caroline said.
“Well, you’re probably right. Heading down that path, especially if it’s the wrong one, could be like tapping a beehive with my walking stick. All we’ll do at this point is to have Caleb continue to keep an eye on Bo.”
Caroline nodded. “Agreed.”
“Now, about this park idea. I’d like you both to think about what I said. I like the idea myself, but I know sometimes my ideas are like a whole armload of nothing. But what I like better is keeping you two ladies happy.”
“Sam Meadows, you should have been a politician. I don’t have to think about it. I’m already planning the landscaping. A park would be something quite nice to leave the town.”
“Leave the town?” Caroline didn’t like the sound of that. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Now, Caroline, when you’re eighty-four, you’ll understand.”
“I don’t like the tone of this conversation, so I think it’s time to wash the dishes and head to the studio.” Caroline cleaned up quickly, gave Sam a hug and kissed Angel on the cheek, and headed down the stone path to the studio.
As usual, she had several phone messages. Tandy Yarbrough was frantic. Betsy was curious about Kentucky. Mrs. Silva confirmed their appointment on Wednesday. And Patricia Cunningham left her number. Caroline hadn’t heard from Patricia in a couple of years.
Caroline dialed Mrs. Silva’s number first. It rang several times before she answered with a weak hello.
“Hi, Mrs. Silva. This is Caroline Carlyle returning your call.”
“Oh, yes, hello, Miss Carlyle. Thank you,” Mrs. Silva whispered.
Caroline heard a gruff voice in the background.
“Who the hell is that calling this late?”
Caroline quickly looked at the clock. It was only ten after eight.
“It’s a telemarketer. I’ll get rid of him.”
“Well, just tell that telemarketer where to stick that telephone.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Carlyle, could I call you back tomorrow? I just want to confirm our Wednesday morning appointment time at ten o’clock.”
“I’ll see you and Bella at ten on Wednesday. No need to call back.”
“Thank you and good night.”
She was getting a clearer picture of the Silvas. She dialed Betsy next, and Mason answered.
“Hi, Mason, it’s Caroline.”
“Is this the old CC who tickles the ivories and sings sad love songs?”
“Yes, would you like me to sing you one?” Before he could answer, she sang the beginning phrase of “Plaisir d’amour.”
“Stop, stop, please. I’ll get Betsy.”
“Thought that would get you moving.”
“It may take a minute; she and Josefina and Booger were just about to go swimming.”
“Swimming? Isn’t it a bit cool?” Caroline twirled the pencil between her fingers.
“Are you kidding? No, and besides, it’s the best way to get Josefina calmed down so she’ll go to sleep. And Booger’s mama needs the exercise. She’s growing a baby and an acre of butt.”
“Mason, I don’t know why Betsy loves you. You are wretched.” Caroline sang the second phrase.
“Okay, okay, I’m really going this time. And don’t you tell her what I said about her butt.”
Caroline could hear him stomping through the house on his way to the pool. “Betsy, it’s Caroline.”
Betsy persuaded Mason to watch Josefina while she talked to Caroline. “Hi, CC, what are you up to?”
“Oh, just the normal barhopping and mud wrestling.”
“Hey, sounds like more fun than you’ve had in years. Keep it up.” Betsy laughed.
“You’ll actually be happy to know that I went shopping today. I bought the dress.”
“The dress? Would that happen to be the dress for the Kentucky recital?”
“Yep.”
“Is it black or navy?”
“Yep.”
“Caroline Carlyle, I knew I should never have left Moss Point before taking you shopping. You need me, the professional shopper that I am, ’cause you’re clueless.”
“Yep, you’re right. But Angel went along. And you can thank her. The dress is icy pink, and she insisted on a push-up bra.”
“Wow, you’re living dangerously, CC.”
“And she helped me pick out a couple of cocktail dresses, a pair of tight jeans, and three new shirts. And I bought new makeup, and I’m going for a new ’do.”
“I don’t believe my ears. Or maybe it’s you I don’t believe. I won’t ask if it’s Roderick Adair who might have inspired this change.”
“Is that Josefina crying?” Caroline changed the subject.
“Sounds like that man-child I married just splashed our little princess, and she’s unhappy. They may need a referee. Got to go, CC. Love you.”
“You too, friend.”
Next call to make. Caroline did not recognize the area code for Patricia Cunningham’s number. Maybe she had moved again. Remembering Patricia was like walking down a long corridor of doors, all of which Caroline had closed. Now she was reopening this one, a room of painful and yet tender memories.
Patricia and her former husband, Robert, had been one of Moss Point’s most promising young couples when Caroline moved to town. Robert was a banker, and Patricia was a stay-at-home mom and a professional volunteer for church and community activ
ities. They had a young son, Robbie, who became one of Caroline’s first piano students. Robert and Pat had befriended Caroline and introduced her to parents of other potential students.
Robbie was an energetic and bright eight-year-old. She remembered the first time she saw the bruising on his arms and legs. She’d followed him to Patricia’s car that fall afternoon and bragged on Robbie’s lesson. “Are you beating this child to make him practice?” she teased. “If you are, it’s working, but you’re leaving lots of bruises.”
She’d never forget how embarrassed and ashamed she’d felt about that statement when she learned Robbie had been diagnosed with leukemia and begun months of treatment. She had kept him engaged with the piano by taking a keyboard to his hospital bedside. They worked on songs together. When there was little doubt that Robbie would die, she’d told him about David’s death and played what she had written of “David’s Song” for him. He was the only person, with the exception of the intruder, who had ever heard this composition.
She was amazed at how Robbie accepted his illness, the medical treatments, and his impending death. He told her that somebody had to be Robbie, and God had chosen him. He grew tired of the needles and the medicine but rarely complained.
Their long talks helped with her own grief. They talked of what heaven must be like. They spoke of dying as another stage of living. She had never had those thoughts before, but they came spontaneously as she talked to Robbie. She told him dying was like passing from infancy into childhood, and from childhood into adolescence, and from adolescence into adulthood. Just another stage of life. She prayed it was so.
She believed in heaven. Yet with her unanswered questions, she’d wondered why she was the one to walk this journey with Robbie.
Robbie died within six months of his diagnosis, and Caroline cried. She wept over David. And for herself.
And the tears flowed for Robbie’s grieving family. She had watched the months of treatment and Robbie’s death pulling the strings of Robert and Patricia’s relationship so taut they finally snapped. Their relationship ended in divorce. Robert stayed in Moss Point until he could be transferred to another bank in Mill Valley. Patricia moved back to her hometown to be with her family. Caroline had talked to her once a couple of years after she moved, and that was the last time she knew of Patricia’s whereabouts. She curiously dialed the new number for Patricia. A child answered.
“This is Caroline Carlyle, and I’m returning a call to Patricia.” She stopped there, not knowing what her last name might be now.
“Yes, ma’am. She’s here. I’ll get her for you.” This was the voice of a well-mannered young boy.
As she waited, Caroline imagined a whole new life for Patricia.
“Oh, hello, Caroline. Thank you for returning my call. You must be surprised to hear from me.”
“I am surprised and so glad. I’ve often wondered about you. And I apologize for calling so late, but I’ve been out all day.”
“No need for apology. Are you still teaching piano lessons?”
“Yes, what else would I do? Teaching is the bedrock under my feet. I’m right here, and little has changed since you moved. How about with you?”
“Lots of changes. Good changes. I was sad for so long I thought I’d never be happy again. But I am. I’ve remarried, and I have a family. For two years, I went to grief seminars until I realized I could be helping someone else through their grief because of my own experiences.”
“Sounds like you, Patricia.”
“This time the volunteering really paid off. A year ago, I met a wonderful man whose wife and infant child had been killed in a car accident. He was attending the seminar to work through his own grief and to help him deal with his two surviving children. Long story short, we got married about three months ago, and we’re living in Missouri.”
“Congratulations. I’m so happy for you. You’re proof that dawn does follow the darkness.”
“And I do hope God will be so kind to you, Caroline. He was gracious in providing a fresh start for all of us. Now we’re learning how to be family.” She paused. “You must be wondering why I’d be calling you after all this time.”
“I’ll confess I’m a bit curious.”
“Do you remember the song that you and Robbie wrote—the one you sang at his funeral?”
“Of course I remember.” What she really remembered was how difficult it had been to do.
“Do you still have a copy of it?”
“I’m sure it’s in my files. Would you like me to send you a copy?”
“Oh, that would be so good of you, Caroline. I’d like Ron, my husband, and the children to hear it. I want them to know about my Robbie.”
“I’ll look tonight and get it in the mail to you.”
“You know, after Robbie died, things just came apart at the seams. I’m not sure I ever thanked you properly for all you did for us. Robbie loved you so, and he loved your music time together.”
“So did I. His influence on me will outlive the sun. I’m sure he’s glad you’re happy now. He didn’t want you to be sad.”
“I remember your telling us all about the serious talks you had. I wish we could have held it all together, but life just happens that way sometimes.”
“It truly does. Give me your address, and I’ll get this copy in the mail to you with my permission to do as you like with the song.”
Caroline took down the address, and they said their goodbyes. Caroline turned on the teakettle and went to search her files for “Someday in Heaven.” She put her fingers right on the manuscript and made a copy before the water boiled. She was organized to a fault.
She sipped the chamomile tea and went to the piano to play and sing the song before she put it in the envelope.
Gazing in the heavens in the dark of night,
Every little twinkle gives hope of morning light.
Heaven must be beautiful, like sunrise all day long.
All the angels singing. Someday I’ll join their song.
Father, in heaven, with You I will be,
Someday in heaven eternally.
No more tears, no more fears, and no more night.
Sunlit rays, endless days, living in Your light.
Father, in heaven, with You I will be,
Someday in heaven eternally.
No more hate, no more hurt, all sorrow gone.
Angels sing, praises ring in heavenly song.
Gazing in the heavens in the dark of night,
Every little twinkle gives hope of morning light.
Heaven must be beautiful, like sunrise all day long.
All the angels singing. Someday I’ll join their song.
Someday I’ll join their song.
“Someday I’ll join their song,” she sang. Then she whispered, “Your song, Robbie.”
She closed the piano, picked up her tea, and wiped a tear from her cheek. She was glad the music had returned to Patricia’s life. She hoped it would return to hers.
May wore on into June and the heat became oppressive. Caroline’s days were filled with planning and practice and a couple of short calls a week from Roderick. She was surprised at how comfortable she was becoming in their conversations.
She did research for the journal articles she was writing. She was smart enough to wed her program notes with her articles.
Tuesday was Caroline’s lesson day with Dr. Martin. She assumed Dr. Martin would press her for her decision about moving to Athens. The hour’s drive to the University of Georgia gave her time to think about her response. She parked in front of the music building and made a quick dash through the drizzle, into the building, and down the long hallway. She removed her raincoat and stared at the brass plate as she opened the studio door. Dr. Annabelle Martin.
With polite greetings shared, Caroline started right to work. As she played, Dr. Martin rose from her chair, crossed the room, and stood in front of the window. Caroline glanced at the woman’s silhouette against the gray sky. She was
tall, slim, and statuesque with deep-set blue eyes and small angular features. Her wavy white hair, held softly back from her face with a tortoiseshell headband, brushed the tops of her shoulders. Her leathery skin suggested she was in her seventies. Her slender fingers were unusually long in proportion to the rest of her hand. Her hands had that fragile look of a grandmother’s but were still strong and sure at the piano.
Midway through the lesson, Annabelle walked over and sat in her straight-backed chair next to the piano. She placed her right hand over Caroline’s hands and stopped her playing. “You and I must talk. I know you drove over an hour to get here, but we need to have this conversation. And don’t worry; you won’t have to pay for this. This lesson’s on me.”
“Any time spent with you is worth paying for, Dr. Martin.”
“Let’s see, you’ve been studying with me for the past five years now?”
“That’s correct.”
“And you’ve been teaching privately for about six years?”
Caroline nodded in agreement.
“You are a remarkable balance of performer and teacher, and it’s time for you to come to the university full time and work on your doctorate.”
“I am truly considering it.”
“Time’s up for consideration. It’s time for a decision. You’re what? Twenty-nine?”
Caroline again nodded in agreement.
“Yes, the time is now. You could teach undergraduate-level students and become a staff accompanist while you study.”
“The university would be quite a change for me. Remember, I live a very simple life in a sleepy little town.”
“All the more reason you should be here. You’re too young and too gifted to be living in a sleepy little town.”
“But I like the people there, and they depend on me.”
“Oh, I’m certain they like you, but is this really what you want to be doing ten years from now?” Dr. Martin touched a nerve. “You’d have so many more opportunities here on the university campus—opportunities to teach, to perform, to travel in circles where people would really appreciate your musicianship.”
Caroline looked out the window. “But there’s no one else in Moss Point to teach piano or voice.”
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