Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  Hear her play? Caroline would be satisfied if she could hear her speak.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Carlyle, to take up so much of your time, but you must teach my Bella. She is a very special child. She can already play the piano. Bella has been denied many things, but she must not be denied playing the piano.”

  “What does she play?”

  “Let us show her, Bella.” Mrs. Silva stood and guided Bella to a standing position. “Bella, you have practiced and practiced. Now it’s time to show Miss Carlyle what you can play.”

  Caroline moved from the piano bench and took the chair where Mrs. Silva had been sitting.

  Mrs. Silva led Bella to the piano. “Sit here, my beautiful Bella. Sit here and play for Miss Carlyle.”

  Bella never moved. She could have been a Bernini statue. Flesh-colored marble, silken hair too beautiful to be real, eyes that never moved, and a fragility that said, “Don’t touch.” Caroline sensed a purity and an innocence in this girl. She also sensed the great love and almost palpable aspirations this mother had for her.

  “Please sit and play, Bella.” Mrs. Silva coaxed Bella, but not forcefully. Then she turned to Caroline. “I’m so sorry, but she’s never played a real piano before, and I think she’s very frightened.”

  “Just take your time.” Caroline was intrigued.

  “Bella, would you like me to play first and then you will play?” Silvery-green eyes met silvery-green eyes. “Please, Bella, I’ll go first.” Mrs. Silva sat down to the piano. “Oh, my, Miss Carlyle. I fear I’m like Bella. I haven’t touched a real piano since I left the old country.”

  She ran her hands lightly over the keys, then played a simple melody with her right hand and basic chords with her left. After a few measures, she stopped and turned to Bella. “Oh, Bella, it’s a real piano. It’s so lovely and so much better than our little keyboard. You must play.” Mrs. Silva began the piece again.

  Caroline guessed it was from a “Teach Yourself to Play the Piano” instruction book she had seen advertised on television. She listened and watched Bella as Mrs. Silva played. Bella swayed to the music, her knees becoming her own keyboard as her right fingers played the melody and her left hand formed the chords.

  “Now it’s your turn, Bella. If you don’t play now, you may never have the chance again to play such a fine instrument. You must show Miss Carlyle you can play. She must see she would not be wasting her time to teach you.”

  Caroline knew Bella was not the typical twelve-year old and that her mother’s love was genuine. She surmised that Mrs. Silva’s life had been plagued with disappointment, and she dreaded adding to that heap. Caroline’s father had wanted her to be a doctor. She had the brains, but not the stomach or heart. She could no more deliver bad news to a patient than she could formulate the words she needed to say to Mrs. Silva now, but she knew it was better to say it today than six months after accepting Mrs. Silva’s money.

  “Mrs. Silva, I can see how much you want Bella to learn, but I don’t think she’s quite ready. Perhaps after she learns to use the computer you could bring her back and we could try again.” Unable to bear the look in Mrs. Silva’s eyes, Caroline focused on the Cherokee roses covering the fence. The words “This is never going to work” would not slip past her tongue. She had softened it as much as she could and still be truthful.

  Mrs. Silva rose from the piano. “Oh, my beautiful Bella, maybe one day you’ll know what playing a real piano is like. We must go now. We have taken enough of Miss Carlyle’s time.” She took Bella’s hands once again and led her to stand.

  Bella stood in front of her chair looking at the piano. Mrs. Silva picked up the lemonade glass and napkin and then turned to get her teacup.

  “Oh, please, Mrs. Silva, you don’t need to do that. I’ll take care of it later.”

  “Please, let me help. We’ve taken up so much of your time, and a woman with your talents should not be serving someone like me.”

  Her words pierced Caroline’s heart. She had been taught that all persons were of value because God had purposed them to be and they should be treated with equal respect. The thought of disappointing Mrs. Silva and Bella would disturb Caroline’s tender spirit for days.

  What can I say? I can’t have Mrs. Silva leaving this studio thinking that she’s lesser than . . . lesser than me? A single, twenty-nine-year-old woman living in somebody else’s backyard hiding behind my piano?

  Caroline picked up the tray and her teacup, and she and Mrs. Silva walked quietly toward the kitchen. She put the tray beside the sink and turned to take the cup and glass from Mrs. Silva. As she did, she noticed Bella had moved to the curve of the piano. Bella stood with her hands clasped behind her back and studied the strings and hammers.

  “Let me show you my favorite teapot.” Caroline tried to reconnect with Mrs. Silva. They walked to the glass curio in the breakfast nook. She opened the curio door and removed the teapot carefully, trying not to bump the cup and saucer next to it. Crackled from age, the porcelain teapot was white with sprays of pansies. The rim of the top and the handle were trimmed in gold. “This is my favorite because Grand Ma’am gave it to me. I loved my grandmother as you loved your grandmammá. We had tea parties, and she always used this teapot.” She handed it to Mrs. Silva.

  “Oh, my, it is so lovely.”

  Caroline glanced at Bella, who had made her way to the piano bench and was standing in front of the keyboard sliding her fingers across the keys. “Grand Ma’am always told me that pansies were the symbol of friendship. So the next time you come to visit, I will make us a pot of tea in this teapot to symbolize our new friendship.”

  Caroline watched Mrs. Silva’s cheeks flush. “You would invite me to tea, Miss Carlyle?”

  “I would invite you only if you would call me Caroline and you would allow me to call you Gretchen. Friends usually call each other by their first names.” Caroline knew this might not be the wisest move, but somehow she had to brighten this woman’s spirits.

  “Oh, but you and I friends?”

  “Of course. I have only one friend who shares my love of tea, and she’s heard all my stories. I would love to hear more about your life in the old country and especially about your grandmammá.”

  “That would be quite nice, Miss Carlyle.”

  “Remember, it’s Caroline and you’re Gretchen, if that’s okay with you?”

  “It is wonderful. I have a new friend who says that friends call each other by their first names.” Gretchen spoke as though to herself. “Would it be permissible for me to bring Bella? She cannot stay alone.”

  “Having Bella here would be fine. After all, young ladies need to learn the fine art of tea drinking.”

  Gretchen handed the treasured pot back to Caroline.

  Music.

  The piano.

  Caroline froze. She hadn’t felt such shock since she learned of David’s death—that feeling when the heart is pumping so hard yet the blood seems to curdle and the body turns icy cold, the hands are sweaty, the room spins, and everything is too much to comprehend.

  Caroline dropped the teapot onto the stone floor, shattering it.

  With no thought of her treasured teapot, she turned from the curio and looked toward the great room. The bank of yellow climbing roses through the alcove windows framed Bella’s silhouette at the piano.

  Bella was playing “David’s Song.”

  A Duet of Intruders

   Caroline stood motionless. Gretchen started toward the piano, but Caroline took hold of her arm and stopped her. Gretchen remained still.

  Caroline deflected her own bombarding thoughts to experience this moment. Bella sat at the piano, rocking back and forth, playing “David’s Song.” It could have been a recording. Playing it over and over, Bella always stopped at the same place—the place Caroline stopped because there was no more music.

  When Bella began the piece for the third time, Caroline and Gretchen started around the counter toward the great room. Bella never stopped
even as they approached her. Caroline stood at the curve of the piano to see Bella’s face.

  Gretchen moved behind Bella and wrapped her arms around the girl’s narrow shoulders. They both rocked back and forth as Bella played and as tears filled Gretchen’s eyes. “Oh, my beautiful Bella, I knew you could play. I knew you could.” She covered Bella’s platinum hair with kisses.

  At last, Gretchen took Bella’s arms to stop her from playing. Bella put her hands in her lap and made some whimpering sounds, and Gretchen sat down beside her. They continued to rock together. “Bella, you have a new song. I’ve never heard you play that song before. You have a new song.”

  Caroline knew she must look ashen. How can she play like that? She has to be the one. Bellas’s the Peeping Tom. But this stunning young girl only wanted to play the piano. How do I tell Gretchen?

  “Oh, Gretchen,” she whispered. “You were so right about Bella. She does have a gift, and I was wrong in saying that she’s not ready to study piano. But we do need to have a talk.”

  Gretchen looked nervously at the clock on the marble-topped table next to the piano. This clock was kept in plain sight so Caroline could stay on schedule when teaching or practicing. It was eleven twenty.

  “Oh, you’re right, Miss Carlyle. I mean Caroline. I have much to tell you about Bella, but I’m afraid I must go. My husband sometimes comes home for lunch, and he would be frightfully angry if Bella and I were not there.”

  “Yes, but I need to spend more time with Bella. When can you come back?” Caroline was anxious to explore this girl’s extraordinary abilities. What explanation could there be for this one who didn’t speak or use a computer or read music but who could play a piece note for note after hearing it only once?

  Gretchen behaved very nervously and tried to move quickly to the door. “I’m not sure, and please don’t call me. I’ll call you. It’s much better that way.”

  “You promise to call me?”

  “I promise. Thank you, Caroline.” Gretchen led Bella briskly toward the gate.

  “We’ll have tea when you come back.” Caroline stood at the door.

  Gretchen stopped and turned. “Oh, Caroline, your teapot. I should stay and help you pick up the pieces.”

  “Oh, no, please don’t give that another thought.”

  “But it was your very favorite. I’m so sorry, and I’m so sorry that I must get home.” Gretchen picked up her pace on her way out the gate.

  “Bye,” Caroline said under breath. She remained in the doorway trying to make sense of all this.

  Before she picked up the shattered pieces of her teapot, she called Angel. “Hello, Angel, is it too late to make plans for lunch if I’m tossing the salad and bringing the soup?”

  “That’s a deal. I was about to call you. Sam has news for you.”

  “Tell Sam I have some news too. This lunch is going to be more than soup and salad. What time?”

  “Let’s see, it’s eleven thirty. Make it noon straight up.”

  “Bye, Angel.”

  She looked at her favorite teapot scattered over the kitchen floor. She dreaded the cleanup, not just because the teapot was a treasured heirloom, but because she feared injuring her hands. She cautiously picked up the largest of the shards. Some of the pieces were large enough she could still see the pansies, and the lid was only chipped. But the teapot was destroyed. She was on her way to get the broom and dustpan when the phone rang.

  “Caroline, this is Gretchen. Please do not throw the broken pieces of your teapot away.”

  “Gretchen, you sound out of breath. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I am fine. Just the brisk walk. I have no time to explain. I must not be on the phone. Just do not throw the broken teapot away. Put the pieces in a box. I’ll explain later. I must go.”

  Caroline heard the click before she could even say goodbye.

  Sure I will. Broken pieces of my life. Broken pieces of my teapot. I’ll just sweep them all up and put them in a box. Guess a box beats a garbage heap.

  She found a box and did as Gretchen had requested.

  Sam met Caroline at the back-porch door. “Looks like you could use some help.” He opened the door and took the bowl of salad balanced on the top of the soup pot.

  “Sorry I’m running late. I had to clean up a mess, and you’ve never been more right in your life, Sam. I need help, all right.” They walked to the kitchen, where Angel was pouring tea.

  “Did I hear you say you had a mess to clean up? You didn’t spill the soup, did you?”

  “No, my favorite teapot met your studio’s stone floor.”

  “Sounds like you had an object lesson on what happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object.” Sam sat down to the table.

  “Yep, both cannot exist, and my teapot doesn’t exist anymore. The one my grandmother gave me.” She and Angel took their seats at the breakfast table, and Sam pronounced the blessing.

  “I’m so sorry about your teapot, Caroline. I know it was one of your treasures.”

  “The teapot’s in pieces, but I still have my memories.”

  “That’s my girl,” Sam said. “I just don’t know how you can stay single. I mean a girl with your attitude who can make homemade soup like this? An unclaimed blessing, I’d say.”

  “I’m not certain I like the idea of being an unclaimed blessing.”

  “Speaking of that, I have a preliminary report on Mr. Roderick Adair.”

  “That didn’t take long.” Caroline felt herself pulled in the direction of Sam’s conversation. Years of summations before a jury had enabled him to coax a listener the way a snake charmer brought a cobra out of a basket.

  “It’s just a preliminary report. I don’t have the full dossier yet, but we have enough to know we’re not dealing with Ned and Fred Pendergrass here.”

  Angel slapped his hand. “Sam, you should be ashamed.”

  “You’re right. I am ashamed. Guess it was just my way of saying that your Mr. Adair doesn’t drive a pea-green pickup.”

  Caroline raised her right eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘my Mr. Adair’? I don’t even know the man.”

  “Well, if you must get to know a man, he’s certainly the kind to get to know.” Sam winked at Angel.

  “Just get on with it, Sam. Tell her what you found out.”

  Caroline continued to eat her soup, trying not to appear too interested.

  “Mr. Adair is landed gentry. Comes from old money.”

  “So, he’s a spoiled rich kid.” Caroline smeared butter on her corn bread.

  “Well, you’re right about the rich part, wrong about the kid part, and I don’t know about the spoiled part. I’d says he’s about thirty-eight based on his schooling. Adair’s grandfather amassed quite a fortune in land, and then Adair’s father was apparently a very shrewd businessman who leveraged their wealth to acquire companies. Roderick and his sister are the sole heirs.”

  “He has a sister? Umm, I wonder if this Liz is his sister.”

  “I can’t answer that. Give me a few more days. I do know he doesn’t have a wife. Ran across an engagement announcement, but a wedding never took place. He spends his time managing the family’s investments.”

  “Sam, how in the world did you find out all these things?”

  “I have my ways. A few phone calls and the internet.”

  “But you don’t even use the computer.”

  “Don’t have to. I know people who do and who can get the information.”

  “Just don’t tell me, Sam. I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Probably not, but there is one thing you do need to know. Mr. Adair is a very sophisticated businessman who has access to information too. What I’m trying to say here is that he’s not the kind of man who would invite you into his home if he didn’t already have the scoop on you.”

  “Oh.” Caroline swirled the butter on her corn bread with her knife.

  “That’s not all Sam’s trying to say. I think Mr. Adair liked wha
t he found out. He liked it enough to make plans to get acquainted with you.”

  “Oh, really?” Caroline felt uncomfortable. “Maybe he’s just a kind and generous man who thinks he’s granting my dying wish to play my piano.”

  Sam and Angel gave each other their knowing look.

  “Let’s just hope he’s a kind and generous man who doesn’t have expectations,” Sam said.

  “Oh, let’s hope he does.” Angel giggled.

  “Enough about that. You think you have interesting news? Well, I have shocking news. I know who our intruder is. Something happened this morning that would have startled that Civil War statue on the square.”

  Angel stopped eating and turned to Caroline. “Well, don’t stop with that.”

  “I had an appointment with Gretchen and Bella Silva this morning. You know that Gretchen wants her daughter, Bella, to study with me this fall. This was the first interview.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s Ernesto Silva? Why, that skunk! He’s been a scamp since the day he showed up in Moss Point.”

  “Sam Meadows, watch your language and just listen.”

  “You’re right; I shouldn’t speak of a man in those terms. I do apologize, but just the thought . . .”

  “And when is an apology followed by ‘but’? You’re either sorry or you’re not.”

  “You’re right again, my Angel. I truly am sorry. Go on with your story, Caroline.”

  “No, Sam, the intruder isn’t Mr. Silva, and I’m glad, especially with the impression I have of him. Anyway, Gretchen and Bella came over this morning. I did my usual tea and cookies while we got acquainted. I learned Gretchen was born in Austria and grew up with all the social graces. But apparently that stopped when she got married.”

  “I can believe that,” Sam interjected.

  “She has this appreciation for the piano and for music because of her grandmother, and she’s convinced that her daughter has talent for the piano.”

  “Daughter? How old is this Bella?” Angel put her spoon down.

  “She’s twelve.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t even bring this up. Oh, fiddlesticks! I’ll just say it. There was talk several years ago about the Silva girl. She was maybe fifteen. Well, the town scuttlebutt was that she was pregnant. She dropped out of school, and no one saw her for months. Some of the Pink Lady volunteers at the hospital saw her after she had a baby girl. But once she left the hospital, she disappeared again. Word was she ran away.”