Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  Dr. Martin touched Caroline’s chin and gently turned her face until blue eyes met blue eyes. “Well, if you moved, it would give someone else an opportunity to come to Moss Point and open a studio, wouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Dr. Martin stood up. “Listen, I’ve already talked with the head of the department about you. I recorded your lesson today so he can hear you play, and I truly think you may receive an invitation and possibly even an incentive to come here. You certainly will if I have anything to do with it.”

  “I should be on my knees in gratitude to you, Dr. Martin. I realize that you’re sticking your neck out for me, and I’m most grateful, but the only thing harder for me than change is making decisions.”

  “I’m not asking you to make a decision today, but time is running out. We can talk when you get back from Kentucky.”

  Caroline gathered her music, putting it in her bag. “I’ll think about it seriously and will give you an answer then.”

  “And Caroline, I know how much you want to play your infamous 1902 Hazelton Brothers instrument again. I only wish I could be there to hear you. Dear one, I hope the experience is all that you want it to be. Enjoy yourself and make beautiful music.” Dr. Martin hugged Caroline just the way her grandmother used to.

  “I will do my best.” Caroline put on her raincoat and picked up her bag. As she closed the studio door, she lifted her eyes to the brass nameplate again. The letters blurred until Caroline imagined it read Dr. Caroline Carlyle.

  Shatterings

   The mid-June morning’s humidity left no doubt of summer’s arrival. Caroline spent her days reading and practicing and her evenings wrestling with the decision about the university opportunity. Sam and Angel and her parents had all said they supported her decision whatever it might be. She grew sorry she ever mentioned the opportunity to her brothers. They had practically packed her up and moved her already, and she wasn’t certain she was ready to go. Unready to make any kind of public announcement yet, she continued to line up her students for the fall just in case she stayed.

  Caroline was playing the piano when she saw Gretchen and Bella Silva walking the path up to the terrace.

  Mrs. Silva was a striking woman. She had the complexion of a thirty-year-old, but the platinum hair pulled back so severely and the sadness in her eyes suggested an old soul. Her gray sweater covered a simple cotton dress, probably homemade. She held Bella’s hand, encouraging her along, but neither of them talked.

  Bella also wore a cotton dress of light cream-colored fabric with sprays of tiny roses. Her blonde hair was pulled high on her head in a ponytail with long curls swinging from side to side as she walked.

  Caroline observed them as they paused at the door. Mrs. Silva adjusted the ribbon in Bella’s hair and brushed the disobedient curls along her hairline away from her face. She said something to Bella but got no verbal response. She took Bella’s hand again and reached for the doorbell.

  Caroline waited for it to ring before moving from the piano to answer the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Silva, and hello, Bella.”

  “Hello, Miss Carlyle. It is so lovely to see you again, and thank you so much for seeing us.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to your visit.” Caroline stretched the truth. “I was so glad you came to the recital. Did you enjoy hearing the children play, Bella?”

  “Oh, yes, we both did.” Mrs. Silva did not give Bella opportunity to answer. “The selections were so very beautiful and reminded me of my childhood.”

  Caroline had never seen such silver hair, silvery-green eyes, and flawless fair complexions. “Please forgive me, and come in. I just enjoy looking at the two of you, mother and daughter. You look like spring personified, especially against that bank of climbing yellow roses on the fence.” She noticed the blush on Mrs. Silva’s face and the slight downward turn of her head.

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Carlyle.”

  Bella never changed expressions.

  Caroline closed the door and led them to the two chairs next to the piano bench. It was a comfortable setting and offered a perfect view of the garden through the large windows. She preferred sitting at the piano when she talked with prospective students and parents. Before she sat, she offered to take Mrs. Silva’s sweater.

  “Thank you, but no, I prefer to wear the sweater.”

  Caroline noticed the muscles in her face tighten. “Could I offer you a cup of tea, and maybe a glass of lemonade for you, Bella?”

  “Oh, we would not like it if we were any trouble to you, Miss Carlyle.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. The water’s heating, and the lemonade’s already made. Perhaps you’d prefer a glass of lemonade?”

  “It would be my pleasure to share a cup of tea with you, and Bella will have the lemonade.”

  Caroline wondered why Bella never answered for herself. “Would you prefer Earl Grey or Darjeeling or maybe an herbal tea?”

  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  “Well, then it will be Darjeeling.” Caroline made her way to the kitchen. With only a counter separating the kitchen from the great room, she continued to observe her guests as she poured lemonade and steeped the tea. Mrs. Silva and Bella sat noticeably erect and still. Their simple beauty and unflinching modesty were refreshing.

  Mrs. Silva turned toward the kitchen. “They say Darjeeling is the champagne of teas, you know.”

  “Yes, I know, and I’ll confess that I save the Earl Grey for guests who enjoy it. Would you like some cookies, Bella? You’ll find I always have cookies.”

  “No, thank you, I do not think she would like a cookie.” Mrs. Silva paused. “It is probably the oil of bergamot.”

  “I’m sorry, the oil of what?”

  “The oil of bergamot in the Earl Grey tea. Usually tea drinkers have a taste for it and prefer it. Or if they are like you—and me, I might add—they just cannot abide it.”

  She realized Gretchen’s meekness and good manners would have forced her to drink the Earl Grey tea had it been Caroline’s choice. Guessing it was the same meekness and good manners that denied Bella the cookies, she put a few on a plate anyway.

  She returned, set the tray of tea and cookies on the marble-topped table next to the piano, and handed Bella her lemonade. Still no response. “Mrs. Silva, do you prefer milk and sugar in your tea, or maybe lemon?”

  “I’ll have it just like you.”

  “Are you sure? I’m a tea sipper who likes just a bit of sugar.”

  “That is the way I like my tea also. If you have good Darjeeling, it needs only a hint of sweetening.”

  Caroline served Mrs. Silva her tea with a linen napkin.

  “Oh, my, it has been a very long time since someone made me tea and served it in a real china cup.”

  “That’s one of life’s pleasures. I only drink tea from china cups. Isn’t that absurd?”

  “Quite the contrary. Tea just seems to taste better in bone china.”

  “My friends know how I am about my tea and my teacups, so I have quite a collection of them. I learned years ago not to save them for some special occasion that may never arrive. So I use them every day. And while I’m confessing, I’ll admit this cup’s my favorite.”

  Caroline offered the plate of cookies to Bella, whose eyes had followed Caroline’s every move since she returned with the tray. Bella quickly looked at Mrs. Silva, whose slight nod sent the girl’s hand quickly to the plate. She took one cookie and held it in both hands in her lap. Her eyes moved back to meet Caroline’s. Caroline had never seen eyes like hers.

  “Bella, I’m crazy about cookies. I like baking them, I like eating them, and I really like rewarding my students with cookies after good lessons. You’ll find that my cookie jar is usually full.”

  Caroline waited for some response from Bella. There was none.

  Mrs. Silva responded for them both, “We like cookies too. I have taught Bella how to make the lacy cookies that we made in the old country.”
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br />   “You mention the old country, and your accent is almost musical. So tell me, where did you grow up, Mrs. Silva?”

  Just as Mrs. Silva started to respond, the phone rang.

  “Oh, please excuse me; I’ll only be a moment.” Caroline went to her desk.

  “Good morning, sis. You’re on my mind this morning, so I just decided to pick up the phone and see what’s up.”

  “Oh, hello, James. I’m actually interviewing a potential new student for the fall term. Could I call you back in a while?” She brushed cookie crumbs from her mouth.

  “That won’t work. I’m headed to the courthouse, and I don’t know when I’ll be finished. I know you can’t talk, but you could ease my mind if you’d just say yes or no to a few questions.”

  “That would be fine, I think.” She saw Bella take a bite of her cookie.

  “You’re still interviewing students. What about the university? Never mind. We’ll talk about that later. Have you been bothered with the prowler again?”

  “Yes, only once. But not for a while now.”

  “Is Sam staying on top of this?”

  “Oh, yes, and generally according to the same plan.” She wondered how her part of the conversation must sound to Gretchen.

  “You mean the sheriff’s still watching the hobo?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, but I’m thinking it might not be the right one.”

  “You think you know who it might be?”

  “Yes, I do. A student, perhaps.”

  “A student. Do you think you’re in any danger? Is he a pervert or something?”

  “Oh, no, everything’s fine. You might want to know that Sam and Angel are thinking of making a park out of the undeveloped land next to Twin Oaks.”

  How thoughtless! When she remembered Sam’s concern over getting Mr. Silva to agree to zoning issues for the park, she lowered her voice.

  “Does this have anything to do with your prowler?” James continued.

  “Well, partly, but there’s certainly more to their thinking than that. It’s wonderful of you to call, but I really must go now.”

  “Are you one hundred percent okay?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of that, and goodbye.”

  “Bye, sis, I’ll call later.”

  Caroline returned to the piano and resumed her conversation. “You were about to tell me about the old country.”

  “Are you certain you have time for this, Miss Carlyle?

  “Yes, I’d find it very interesting.”

  “Where should I start? I have many ripe remembrances. I was born in Austria and came to the United States after I married Mr. Silva.”

  She calls her husband Mr. Silva.

  “During all my years in my father’s house, we were surrounded by beautiful music of the piano. My grandmammá lived with us, and after our evening meals, we gathered in the parlor. Grandmammá would play until her fingers could play not another note. And then we had such wonderful music in our church. It was a cathedral.”

  “Those must have been memorable times.” Caroline remembered her own family gatherings around the piano.

  “Oh, they were. They were such sad and yet beautiful times. When Grandpappá died, Grandmammá was never the same. The part of her that did not die with him retreated to a cold corner of her heart.”

  “They must have had a great love,” said Caroline, fully aware of cold corners in one’s heart.

  “Oh, yes. When she first came to live with us, she told us stories of her life with Grandpappá. They loved each other so much, but her sea of joy turned into a well of despair when he died. And even near the end of her life when she told no more stories and no longer recognized any of us, she still played the piano. Grandmammá had two great loves: my grandpappá and her piano.”

  “I understand that.” Caroline identified with Grandmammá more than Mrs. Silva would ever know. “That’s very interesting. There’s fascinating research on music and the brain—seems to be a curious connection, especially as we age. But you never learned to play, as I recall.”

  “Oh, no. I always wished to learn, but there was not money for such things when I was a girl. I had grand hopes that Grandmammá would teach me, and she tried. She was better able to play the songs she had known all her life than to teach them to a silly young girl. Besides, teaching me was like planting an edelweiss with a plow.” Mrs. Silva looked straight into Caroline’s eyes. “You cannot imagine me a silly young girl, can you, Miss Carlyle?”

  “A silly young girl?” Caroline was taken aback. “Oh, I think all women were silly young girls at some point.”

  “I was a silly young girl, but I grew up quickly.”

  “That sounds like another interesting story.”

  “Oh, it is, but I’ll not tell it today. I’ve already taken too much of your time, and I want to speak with you about my Bella. Bella is like Grandmammá. She has real talent.”

  “Has she studied piano before?”

  “No, no, no.” Each no got softer.

  “But you say she has talent?” Caroline’s fascination was growing.

  “I fear it is another story,” Gretchen said. “I’m so sorry to take so much time.”

  “We’re doing just fine, Mrs. Silva, and I’ve always been a sucker for a good story.”

  “Sucker?”

  Caroline realized Mrs. Silva wasn’t familiar with such slang. “I’m sorry. My seventh-grade English teacher would be appalled at my use of such language. It means that I’ve always enjoyed listening to a good story.”

  “Did your mother tell you stories as a child?” Gretchen sipped her tea.

  “As a matter of fact, she did. I begged her to read the stories over and over again, especially the fables.”

  “Aesop’s Fables?” Gretchen looked at Bella.

  “Yes, Aesop’s Fables. Do you know those?”

  “Every one of them. Bella loves them too. And Bible stories. I have read them all hundreds of times to her.”

  Bella’s silence and stillness had not gone unnoticed. Caroline turned to her. “Which one was your favorite?”

  “They were all her favorites.”

  The doorbell rang, and Caroline excused herself once again. She took the package the delivery person handed her and put it on the table. As she turned, she watched Mrs. Silva straighten Bella’s ribbon and brush cookie crumbs from her face. Mrs. Silva leaned over and whispered something in Bella’s ear and then sat back down in her chair.

  Caroline picked up her day planner on her way back to the piano.

  “I apologize for the interruptions. Just books I had ordered.” She sat down at the piano. “You probably have some questions about my piano instruction.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ve talked very much. But you’re right, we should talk about the reasons we are here.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. You were simply answering my questions. So now I’ll answer yours.” She reached into her day planner for the information. “I have papers for you to take home, but I’d like to talk through some of the items.”

  “Very well.”

  “Today’s interview is the first step in the process. It is important for the student and the parent to understand what you can expect from me and what I expect from you. It’s critical that the student wants to learn to play the piano, and I emphasize student here.”

  “Oh, my Bella wants to learn to play.”

  “It simply isn’t enough that the parent wants the child to study, and I usually discover that fairly quickly. My students have weekly lessons, each being forty-five minutes. The first fifteen minutes are at the computer, where students learn fundamentals and theory at a pace that I design for each student. The last thirty minutes are at the piano. Bella, do you like to use the computer?”

  “Bella has never used a computer,” Mrs. Silva answered quickly.

  “Oh, I see.” There were growing reasons this would not work, and Caroline dreaded the answer she would be forced to give them. She took a sheet from
her day planner and handed it to Mrs. Silva. She felt very uncomfortable talking about costs. “This sheet will explain the costs and payment plans. It also details how I handle missed lessons.”

  Mrs. Silva took the paper without looking at it and placed it in her lap. “Bella’s never sick, and she would never miss a lesson.”

  “But sometimes you might be out of town for a holiday, or there could be circumstances.”

  “Oh, no, we never leave town, and there could be nothing more important than Bella’s piano lesson.”

  “Another requirement is a piano. I’m assuming you have a piano.”

  Mrs. Silva looked at Bella sadly and then dropped her head. “No, Miss Carlyle, we do not have a piano.”

  “Do you have access to a piano?”

  “Not a real piano.”

  Mustering up courage to let Mrs. Silva down as gently as possible, Caroline said, “It would not be ethical of me to take your money if she cannot practice.”

  “Oh, she can practice.” Gretchen took Bella’s hand.

  “But you said you don’t have a piano.”

  “We do not have a real piano, but we have a small keyboard, and that is what she plays.”

  “A keyboard?”

  “Yes, it is small, but it has twenty-two white keys and fifteen black ones. Is that not enough?”

  Caroline quickly surmised it was three octaves and tried to be diplomatic without encouraging false hope. “I’m assuming this is a small, battery-operated keyboard with lots of buttons and fun sounds?”

  “Yes, but Bella only plays the keys. She never experiments with the buttons.”

  Mystery heaped upon mystery. “How old are you, Bella?”

  “She is twelve.”

  “Mrs. Silva, I’m not certain this will work. I hear your passion for the piano, but I’ve not heard this from Bella. Computer skills are necessary for my piano-teaching methods. And as I said, I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking your money for lessons when Bella doesn’t have access to a piano. In my experience, that will not work.”

  “Oh, but my Bella must learn to play. God has given her a gift. You must hear her play.”