Caroline looked puzzled. “Are you saying that Bella might be this child, that she’s really Gretchen’s granddaughter?”
“Could be. The Silvas stick close to home, and they’re not involved in church or the community, so I can’t say for sure.”
“That’s interesting. Gretchen may not attend church, but it’s obvious she is a woman of faith. And Bella? Well, I can say Bella is not a normal twelve-year-old. She never spoke a word. Completely detached from the whole scene. Gretchen answered for her when I asked a question.”
“If she can’t talk, what in the world makes Mrs. Silva think she can learn to play the piano?” Sam asked.
“I didn’t say she couldn’t talk. I said that she didn’t talk. I don’t know if she can talk or if she’s just too shy.”
“That’s odd,” Angel said.
“Well, it gets a whole lot odder. Apparently Gretchen has a small keyboard that Bella plays, and she was desperate for Bella to show me she could play. So Gretchen tried by going to the piano and playing something herself. She coaxed and begged Bella to play, but Bella sat like a statue, never moving or responding.”
“I think a good whack in the right place might have been an encouragement,” Sam growled.
“Not in this case, trust me. Gretchen gave up and apologized for wasting my time. We put our teacups in the sink, and I showed her the pansy teapot my grandmother gave me. We were standing in front of the curio with our backs turned to the great room when I heard the piano.” She paused, even now disbelieving what she’d seen and heard. “Bella was playing ‘David’s Song.’ I was so shocked I dropped the teapot.”
“That’s the song you heard someone playing the morning of the break-in?” Angel asked.
“Yes. The same one. Here’s this twelve-year-old girl sitting at my piano, rocking back and forth, playing a song note for note the way I play it. She has to be the one. It answers some questions and leaves about a hundred more.”
“Has she ever studied piano?” Sam rattled his tea glass.
“Gretchen says not, which means that Bella has some kind of extraordinary gift. It’s like—it’s like she’s this human tape recorder and that playing takes her to some other place.”
“What did Gretchen say about all this?” Angel asked.
“She was as shocked as I was. She kept saying ‘Bella, you have a new song.’ So apparently she’s never heard her play this song before.”
“But that implies she’s heard Bella play something before,” Sam analyzed further.
“That’s true. I just need more time with Bella. They rushed away before I could ask questions. Frankly, I don’t even know where to start. Gretchen’s such a sensitive woman, and I don’t want to create problems for her. I have this feeling she has more than her share of those.”
Sam pronounced his verdict. “You can be assured there’s more to this puzzle, and it’s going to take time to even get the pieces out of the box to lay on the table to see how they fit together.”
“I think you’re right about this Mr. Silva, Sam. When Gretchen looked at the clock and found out it was eleven twenty, she nearly panicked. She hurried home to get there before he did. But she promised to call and bring Bella back.”
“Today’s a red-letter day. Our mystery has been solved.” Angel got up from the table.
“One mystery solved and several more surfaced,” Caroline said. “This child’s the biggest of them all. This rare and mysterious ability. Nothing like I’ve ever seen, and I want to reach her.”
“That should be easy for you. Maybe music is her language,” Angel said. “And you’re absolutely convinced she’s our prowler?”
“I am. I truly am. I know there are big holes in this story, but I have a feeling about all this.”
“Is your feeling strong enough that I can call off the posse?”
“Yes.”
Angel turned from the sink. “Oh, my, if Bella is the intruder, just think what might have happened if Ned and Fred had actually caught their snooper. Why, all the gunfire must have scared that poor girl out of her wits!”
“Proof again. The good Lord takes care of fools and children. And apparently, He took care of both that night,” Sam said. “I can read the headlines of the local paper now: ‘Mysterious Musical Genius Child Captured by the Pendergrass Twins.’ ”
Caroline hung her head. “This story’s like peeling an onion, layer after layer of mystery and intrigue. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Remember, I was so stunned I dropped the teapot.”
“You mean the irresistible force and the immovable object thing?” Angel asked.
Caroline nodded in agreement. “Well, Gretchen apologized all the way out the gate for not staying to help me clean it up. As soon as she got home, she called and made the strangest request. She didn’t have time to explain, but she said not to throw the broken pieces away and that she’d call me. So now I just have to wait.”
“Another puzzle piece,” Sam said.
They managed to finish their meal in the midst of all the news. Sam pushed his chair from the table, folded his arms across his chest, and threw his head back as though he was about to announce his ruling. “Well, it seems to me, Miss Caroline Carlyle, with Roderick Adair and Bella Silva, two unusual and mysterious persons have walked right into your life. I’m interested to see what you’ll be doing with these intruders.”
Caroline stretched out on the sofa with a book and a light blanket. She had the phone next to her. She stared at it as though her vibes would make it ring. She desperately wanted to talk with Gretchen, but what she knew of Mr. Silva dashed those hopes.
I wonder how he makes a living. How and where did they meet? What goes on in that house that would make them such private people? I’m not imagining that pain in Gretchen’s eyes.
The phone rang. It was James again. She had forgotten to call him back. She gave him the full story about Bella. “Hey, big brother, do you remember how you would always tell me what to do when we were growing up?”
“Yeah, I remember. But I mostly remember how you hated it.”
Caroline put her book down. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I just told you I hated it, but I was really relieved. According to this birth-order theory, you’re supposed to be the child who has the most problems making decisions. But I think that got pushed off on me.”
“Sounds like you are in a decision-making mode, sis.”
“Not exactly in the mode, just hovering and considering.”
“Just do it?”
“Moving to the university is not that simple.”
“What’s not simple?”
She fluffed the pillow under her head. “It’s a big change. I have a life here. I mean Sam and Angel and the studio. And the church . . . And who’d teach my students? And then there’s the whole financial thing.”
“You need a reality check, sis. Sam and Angel aren’t going to live forever, and then where will you live? There are churches on every street corner in Athens, and someone will show up in Moss Point to teach your students. You don’t owe any of these people anything, Caroline. You’re twenty-nine years old, and unless you plan on being Moss Point’s old-maid piano teacher for the next forty years, you’re going to have to make a change sometime.”
“Slow down with the summation, big brother.”
“And finances? Seems to me your skills are more marketable in the university setting, especially with a doctorate. Take this opportunity.”
“You’re talking to my head, James. When’s my heart supposed to catch up?”
“What’s the real issue? Your heart or the fear in your gut at the thought of change?”
“You always get to the point, don’t you?”
“I work at it. Dancing around an issue’s a waste of time. Just do it, sis. If you need some financial help for a while, you know you can count on me.”
“Thanks, James. Actually, I think I’m really okay in that area, but it might be a good thing for you to review my finances. That wou
ld take you all of about ten minutes.”
“You got it. Just let me know. Caroline, don’t take too long to make this decision.”
“Things were simpler when we were growing up and I just listened to you, fussed a bit, and then did what you told me. Why is life so complicated?”
“Life’s simple, Caroline. It’s the living that gets complicated. Gotta go. I’m glad your prowler is a twelve-year-old girl. I won’t have to clean my shotgun and camp out in Moss Point now.”
“You’re the best, oldest brother. Good night.”
Caroline went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, then returned to the great room and turned out all the lights. She instinctively headed toward the piano. Stars embossed the night sky, and a full moon peeped between the limbs of the oak trees. She still had images of Bella rocking back and forth as she played. She sipped her tea, put the teacup down, and began to play. Music was her language, a language that had no requirement to reference anything outside itself. The music itself was enough. It must be the same way for Bella.
Caroline played more freely than she had in weeks. The intruder’s threat was gone, and so were the constraints in her playing. One piece flowed into another until the pendulum clock struck eleven, calling her back to real time. She sat for a moment, took the last sip of tea, which had cooled, and put the cup down again. And then she played “David’s Song” up to the measure where the music always stopped for her and now for Bella.
On her way to bed, she paused to read the card in the yellow irises again. “Music . . . when words aren’t enough.”
Anticipation
Several days had passed since Gretchen and Bella left the studio in such nervous haste. Caroline’s fascination migrated toward worry by Sunday.
Hoping for any sign of them, she drove by the Silvas’ house every time she left her studio. She honored Gretchen’s request not to call, but wondered . . . What if they were in trouble or need? What was more noble: to honor Gretchen’s request or to discreetly do some checking?
Monday morning and Caroline could wait no longer. Mr. Silva would probably be at work. She picked up the phone and dialed the Silvas’ number. If he answered, she would apologize for dialing a wrong number. If Gretchen answered the phone, she would quickly inquire about their safety.
Her palms began to sweat as the phone rang for the sixth time. She was about to hang up when she heard Gretchen’s voice.
“Hello?”
“Gretchen, it’s Caroline. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
Caroline could hear the television in the background. “Can you talk right now?”
“No, but my husband is leaving on a run Wednesday. I’ll call you then.”
Caroline heard his gruff voice in the background above the television.
“Who’s that on the telephone?”
“Just a wrong number.” Gretchen answered him and hung up without saying goodbye.
“Well, then,” Caroline said to the empty room. She stood a moment, pondering, then sat at her desk and put in a call to Dr. Annabelle Martin.
No answer. She left a message and went to the piano.
Hours of practice passed before the phone rang.
It was Annabelle. “Hello, Caroline. I hope you’re calling to tell me you’ve packed your bags and you’re moving to Athens.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not calling with an answer. I’m calling with a question.”
“Oh, Caroline, be impulsive for once. Don’t think about it too long. Well, if it’s not about that, did you call to schedule another lesson before your Kentucky recital?”
“Actually, I would like to schedule another lesson, but I’m quite stymied over a situation here in Moss Point, and I really hope you can help me.” She told of the mysterious intruder and of her experience with Bella.
“This is extremely interesting.” Annabelle revealed an unfamiliar excitement in her voice. “Has the girl studied piano before?”
“No, she’s twelve, and she’s never had a piano lesson.”
“Do you have any indication of her IQ? Do you think maybe she’s autistic?”
“I have almost no information about her, only what I’ve observed.”
“Start from the beginning with your observations. They could be very, very important.”
Caroline flipped the pages in her day planner. “Well, she’s twelve and a strikingly beautiful girl with haunting silvery-green eyes that look beyond what I see. She is nonverbal and almost nonresponsive, certainly nonresponsive to me. She responded slightly to the woman who brought her here, and I say ‘woman’ because there is some question about the relationship between the two. Gretchen could be Bella’s mother or her grandmother.”
“You mentioned her eyes. Do you think she has visual impairment?”
Caroline hesitated. “I don’t think so, but Gretchen does seem to lead her all the time. That’s interesting. I’ll be more observant.”
“Tell me about Bella at the piano—all the details.”
“Apparently she’s been playing simple songs that Gretchen plays on a small keyboard. When Gretchen tried to get Bella to play my piano, Bella sat like a statue in her chair, but when we went into the kitchen, Bella moved from her chair to the piano. She stood there in the curve of the piano, and I thought she was looking at the strings.”
“Did she touch the strings?” One question led to another.
“I don’t think so. I wasn’t paying attention. But then, the next thing I knew she was playing one of my compositions.”
“Could she have had access to a manuscript?”
“Impossible. I’ve never written it down. But she played it note for note. I guess she has memorized it from hearing me play it. But the way she moved, she played as though she were under a spell. Her body rocked front to back in rhythm with the music.”
“Did she play anything else?”
“No. It was close to noon, and Gretchen ran out rather quickly. I think the situation at home is not a pleasant one. She promised to call me on Wednesday, and I hope to see them then.”
“This rocking, swaying motion—does she do this all the time?”
“I observed this only when she played the piano.”
“And she never spoke?”
“Not in my presence.” There was a pause. “Annabelle, are you there?”
“Oh, yes, I’m still here. Just thinking.”
“I know what you mean. These thoughts have been rolling around in my head like marbles in a glass jar.”
“Caroline, do you know the term savant?”
“I think I’ve heard or read something about that. They’re usually very good with numbers, if my memory serves me well.” Caroline wrote down savant on her notepad.
“Some savants are phenomenal with numbers, but others are near prodigies in music and art. I’d suggest you get online or come to the university library and do some reading.”
“Do you think Bella might be a savant?”
“I’m unsure, but she’s exhibiting some of their basic characteristics. I’d be most interested in meeting her myself.”
“That would be great. Could you come here Wednesday?”
“No, I don’t think that’s wise. You do this next meeting yourself. They have a rapport with you. Meantime, you begin your research. Don’t tell anyone else about this until you and I talk again.”
“Agreed. I’ll get on with the research, and I’ll call you after my next visit with Bella.”
“Her name is Bella? Do you know what bella means?”
“No, do you?” Caroline asked.
“Bella means ‘beautiful.’ Her name couldn’t be more appropriate. Handle her as you would an irreplaceable and fragile piece of art, Caroline.”
“I’ll do my best. Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome, and thanks for giving me the possibility of this experience. We’ll talk soon. Goodbye.”
Caroline turned on the teakettle and her comp
uter. Before Wednesday morning she would have a better understanding of what a savant is. Surely there was a key somewhere to unlock the secrets behind those silver eyes.
Caroline’s last meeting with Tandy was Tuesday morning. If she could make it to Saturday dusk, this wedding would be over and she’d be eternally grateful Tandy Yarbrough had birthed only two children. She still smiled when she thought of Rachel’s wedding and Tandy dripping in watermelon from her dyed hair to her dyed satin shoes.
This morning, Tandy was ready to nail everything down, including the groom’s mother, who according to Tandy gave new meaning to the word bodacious. The wedding would be held outdoors at the Yarbrough residence. Landscapers had installed fountains, flowers, and a reflecting pool—everything Tandy had seen in the last twelve months of her favorite magazines. White tents and white tulle and the smell of gardenias would probably drift all the way down to Mill Valley.
A string quartet was coming in from Atlanta, and Caroline’s responsibilities were to play the piano for the reception and to direct the music and musicians for the grand entrances of all the members of the bridal party.
“There will be a special tent for the string quartet on the patio. That way, the bridal party can come from inside the house across the patio. Ned and Fred Pendergrass have built an arch for the bridal party to walk through, and a stage so the bride and groom can be seen.
“My two sisters from Dothan, Alabama, are coming in tomorrow, bringing two hundred more yards of tulle. And poor Polly—she’s just got to hire some extra help. She’s got gardenias coming from all over, and you know she can’t put those out too early or they’ll turn brown.”
Caroline waited for Tandy to turn blue from lack of oxygen and wondered what the woman would do with a concrete slab covered in parquet flooring in the middle of her yard next November. Thoughts of potential wedding disasters skipped through her mind: slipping on white satin, tumbling into the reflecting pool from the parquet dance floor, rain-soaked tents and wilted tulle. Caroline understood completely why Tandy’s eldest daughter, Rebecca, and her husband had moved to Arizona and why Rachel and her groom would be settling down in Alabama.
Return of the Song Page 16