Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  “Oh, please, could we not talk about that? Could we just talk about Bella today?”

  Caroline had planned to follow Gretchen’s lead in the conversation, but she hadn’t known their talk would take this path. While Caroline was forming her response, she noticed Ned and Fred coming up the path with paint and buckets in hand. They stopped just shy of the terrace to open the paint.

  “Yes, Gretchen, not because I want to or because I think it’s the right thing to do, but because I value your friendship and I trust you.”

  “Thank you, Caroline. I really do not mean to complain. We have a very good life. We have a house and food, and I have my Bella. And I’ve always known she is special.”

  “Does Karina know that Bella is special?”

  “I do not know. I think mothers know things, but she has not seen Bella since she was four months old.” Gretchen looked again at Caroline.

  “Do you know where Karina is?”

  “I get a letter from time to time. She mails them to one of her old friends, and Lisa brings the letter when Mr. Silva is out of town. I’ve not seen my daughter in twelve years, and I am not allowed to speak her name in the house.” This was the first time that tears filled Gretchen’s eyes.

  Caroline put her arm around Gretchen. “I’m so sorry, Gretchen. I can tell how much you love her.”

  “I do, and I have taken care of Bella for her. Bella went to school for a short while, but she is not like the other children. She is special.” A gentle smile replaced Gretchen’s tears. “The other children learned to read and write and play games, but my Bella . . . she makes music. Her music will make many people happy.”

  “Have you taken Bella to a doctor to see why she is so special?” asked Caroline, carefully choosing her words.

  “Oh, no. Bella is not sick. She is a happy, healthy child. She loves being with me. We listen to beautiful music all day long, and you should hear her sing.”

  “She sings?”

  “Oh, yes, she makes beautiful songs. She sang first. That’s how she talks. She talks with her music. Oh, but when I saved up enough grocery money to buy the keyboard, I learned she can play the piano. God taught her how to play and sing. We make beautiful music when Mr. Silva is not at home, and we have a special place we go sometimes, a beautiful place, and we can sing and make music with hearts that are free.”

  Caroline had a rush of desire to take Gretchen’s hand and promise her a better life, a life filled with music and freedom and laughter. Gretchen had answered many of her questions in the telling of her story, but Caroline knew in her heart she had only waded in ankle deep in this mire of mystery.

  “Hi, Ned, I’m enjoying the garden with my friend, Mrs. Silva.”

  “Oh, good morning ag’in, Miss Caroline. We come back to do the job. Did you tell Mr. Sam what I asked you to?”

  “I haven’t seen Sam this morning, so all is well.”

  But all is not well. Here’s a woman living a few blocks down the street as a virtual prisoner who has convinced herself she’s living a good life. She has lost a daughter and is nurturing an autistic child who is possibly one of a hundred people like herself on the whole earth. All is not well.

  “Well, then, that’s good. We just gonna start paintin’ these here windows. But who in the world’s making that beautiful music in there? I thought it was you, Miss Caroline.” Ned shielded his eyes from the sunlight and looked in the windows he was about to paint.

  The music gave way to a traumatized scream—a scream that Caroline had heard only once before, accompanied by the calamity of an overturned cooler of RC colas.

  Gretchen jumped from the bench and ran through the garden, across the terrace, and into the studio. Caroline was right behind her. They found Bella standing rigid in front of the piano, staring at Ned and Fred through the window. Gretchen embraced Bella but could not calm her.

  Caroline, acting on a hunch, stepped back onto the terrace and asked Ned and Fred to move away from the window to a place where they couldn’t be seen. They were so startled that Fred nearly turned over a bucket of paint trying to escape the screaming.

  Bella’s cries turned to a whimper. Gretchen held her, rocked back and forth as she hummed a Brahms melody. Bella slowly quieted down and started humming with her.

  Caroline stepped back in to see Bella cradled in Gretchen’s arms. She knew, in that very real but unexplainable place deep inside herself, that her life was about to change.

  Making Things Right

   Caroline was convinced her hunch about Ned and Fred was right, so she did not discourage Gretchen from leaving. She assumed Bella recognized their voices and associated them with screaming and calamity the night the Pendergrass brothers had secretly attempted to catch the snooper.

  Gretchen once again left the studio in a hurry, but this time she held a box containing broken pieces of a china teapot along with the hand of a fragile but gifted young girl. And with Mr. Silva on the road for several days, his absence would give Gretchen and Bella more freedom.

  Caroline quickly made notes of her morning’s observations to go over with Dr. Martin. Her notion was that Annabelle knew much more about savants than she had let on. But that was Annabelle’s style—briefly introducing a new piece or a new idea, backing off, and seeing where Caroline would take it.

  After lunch, Caroline breezed through the side door of the Moss Point Methodist Church. Preparation for choir rehearsal and Sunday services were regular Wednesday activities, but today she needed an extra hour to experiment with the keyboard for the Yarbrough wedding on Saturday.

  Reverend Bixley was leaving as she entered. “Well, hello there, Caroline. Am I going to miss your practice session this afternoon?”

  “Yes, unless you’re prepared to make a hundred-and-eighty-­degree turn toward the sanctuary.”

  “Oh, dear one, you do make heads spin and turn, but I’m afraid I’d better keep my heading. Must make my hospital rounds and a nursing home visit before the prayer service.”

  “Guess I’ll see you Friday evening for the wedding rehearsal?”

  “Oh, yes, the wedding rehearsal.” Brother Andy smiled a knowing smile. “I imagine I’ll have a few unspoken prayer requests this evening, and my guess is they’re all praying for rain.”

  “Surely you’ve taught your parishioners not to waste God’s time for such. As for myself, I’m praying for sunny skies and dry ground. Have you ever known of anyone getting electrocuted while playing one of these electronic keyboards?”

  “Can’t say as I have, but I’ve heard of stranger things. Don’t fret. I’ll be there to administer the last rites. Tandy Yarbrough didn’t rent a grand piano?”

  “No, she has string players coming from Atlanta, and her trumpet-playing nephew can’t make it this year, so I’m to create a trumpet fanfare on this keyboard. That’s why I’m here to practice.”

  “Well, just play it really loud, and maybe those guys down at the Waterin’ Hole will think it’s Gabriel’s last blast, and they’ll clean up their ways. Why, I can see the bartender and J. T. Barns on their knees right now.” Brother Andy’s chin wiggled when he laughed. “You do it up right, Caroline. I’m counting on you.” He left through the side door.

  Caroline was grateful for a pastor like Brother Andy. No one laughed and loved life more than him.

  She spent the next hour turning dials and knobs on an instrument foreign to her. There would be a trumpet fanfare like none other Saturday evening.

  Sam was determined to have fresh peaches from the first gathering, and he hoped there just might be a homegrown tomato or two at the market. “Angel, are you ready?” His booming voice reached the bedroom. “All the peaches’ll be gone if we don’t get there before July.”

  Angel stepped into the hall so he could hear her. “I think I’ll be ready by dark.”

  “Instead of standing here in the kitchen watching the clock, I’m headed down to check on Ned and Fred. I’ll meet you at the car, and when I honk, you’d better hop.�
�� He loved teasing his Angel.

  “Now, Sam Meadows, you know what Mama taught me about running to the car just because a boy honked his horn.”

  “Yeah, and it didn’t stop you sixty years ago.”

  Sam headed to the studio to see if Ned and Fred had finished the job. He rounded the corner and stepped up on the terrace. “Good afternoon, Ned. I’m glad you’re still here. I wanted to talk with you about something.” Sam could smell the fresh paint.

  Ned stood up from his painting. “We’re still here, Mr. Sam, but we’re just about done.”

  “I’d like you and Ned to take a look at these few acres,” Sam said, pointing to the wooded area on the other side of the fence. “I need to know what it would take to clean it up, do some landscaping, and make a park.”

  “You and Miss Angel want a park?” Ned wiped his brow.

  “It’ll be a park for the city. I’ve pondered for a long time, and it’s the right time to do it. You think you could take a look, and tell me how much of the work the two of you would like to do?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Sam. We’ll take a good look and get back to you. Fred’s done gone ’round the corner to the spigot to wash up the paintbrushes, and I’m peelin’ the last of this here blue tape off the windows. Looks brand-new, don’t it?” Ned pointed to his finished job.

  “Just like the way the Pendergrass boys would do it. I would’ve brought a check if I had known you were finished.”

  “Now, Mr. Sam, we got to have a talk about that. Me and Fred done decided that, really and truly, we’re the ones who caused all this mess, and it’s our job to make it right.”

  “What are you talking about, Ned? It was my gun that blew a hole in this window.”

  “For true, for true, Mr. Sam. But if Fred and me hadn’t decided to be heroes that night, you woulda not been down here with your shotgun, and Miss Angel and Miss Caroline woulda not been scared nearly to death. This was all our doin’s, and the only thing to do is to make it right. So, there, you got yourself a new window, and our conscience is clean ag’in.”

  “Ned, I thought your daddy taught you to respect your elders.”

  “He did for true, Mr. Sam. And you know we respect you. But sometimes there’s right, and then sometimes there’s righter. And it’s righter for us to fix this window this time.”

  “You’re a good man, Ned. Your daddy would be proud of you.” Sam saw Fred coming around the corner drying his hands. “And he’d be proud of you, too, Fred. Ned and I’ve just had a discussion about my paying for your work today.”

  “See, Mr. Sam, Fred agrees wi’ me.”

  Fred nodded his head and stood quietly. Finally, he said, “Tell ’im, Ned.”

  “What Fred wants me to tell you is what happened this mornin’. We brought our paintin’ stuff around here to the window, and we thought Miss Caroline was playing the piano. Then she called to us from the garden, and we was talkin’ to her. All of a sudden, we heard this screamin’ like somebody was crackin’ knuckles and pullin’ hair. Come to find out, we had scared this little girl nearly to death. She was the one makin’ the music. So Miss Caroline and this other pretty lady come runnin’ in here like scalded apes . . .”

  Fred punched Ned hard in the ribs with his elbow. Ned turned to see the scowl on Fred’s face. “You’re right, Fred, that wasn’t a nice thing to say about Miss Caroline when she’s the only one that ever calls us gentlemen.”

  Sam still was amazed at how these two communicated without words. “Keep going.”

  “Well, anyways, they come runnin’ and grabbed the young lady and finally got her to stop hollerin’. Miss Caroline run out and asked us to move around the terrace so the girl couldn’t see us. Fred nearly turned the bucket of paint over tryin’ to get outta sight. Fred, he don’t like screamin’ women.”

  Sam sized up the situation, explained the possibility that Bella was the snooper, and swore them to secrecy. He knew this secret would go to their graves unless he released them from their promise.

  “Seems like we come near killin’ a pretty little girl when we was tryin’ to be heroes, and then come pert near scaring her to death today. We gotta make that right, too, Fred. I don’t know how, but we gotta think of somethin’.”

  “Well, I’m going to leave it with you boys. I’m taking Miss Angel to get some fresh peaches. Fresh peaches are just like opportunities—you have to grab them when you can.”

  Sam walked toward the driveway. He got in the car and blew the horn, and they all watched Miss Angel put a skip in her step as she approached the car. Sam leaned over across the front seat to open the door for her and pecked her on the cheek when she got in. He noticed Ned’s face turn red at the sight.

  “I see you’re still not paying attention to what your mama taught you about boys pulling up to the house and honking the horn,” Sam said.

  “I know. The whole town’ll be talking about me. Did you see Caroline?”

  “Her car was gone.” Sam pulled out of the driveway.

  “I forgot. It’s Wednesday. She’s probably at the church.”

  “You know, Angel, we’ve gotten so used to having Caroline around, and we like it. But I’ve been wondering if we’re being selfish.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same things. Her whole life revolves around this studio, the church, and an occasional visit to the university. That’s a small world for a young woman like Caroline.” Angel opened the glove compartment for a tissue.

  “We’ve lived long enough to know that nothing stays the same. There’s just something with this Roderick Adair and now Bella entering her life. I have a sense things are about to change.”

  Angel wiped perspiration from her brow. “Don’t think it’s a coincidence, huh?”

  “No, don’t think so. She’s been on a sheltered, safe path for the last six years getting her bearings back. Six years is long enough. And besides, you don’t want to close up the acorn when the oak tree starts to sprout.”

  “Oh, Sam, everything you’re saying is true, but it doesn’t mean I’m ready to talk about it all now. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Okay, how about the taste of a plump, fuzzy peach?” Sam smiled at Angel.

  “That’s much better. After all, a girl my age can’t have too many more springs and first crops of peaches. Why, I’m not even going to peel the first one. I want to bite into it just like it came off the tree.”

  Sam loved this woman. Her joy was his joy. Her delights were his delights, even the ones that came as fuzzy, fresh peaches.

  Caroline pulled into the driveway just as Sam and Angel returned.

  Angel opened the car door. “Hi, sweetie, we have fresh peaches. The first ones arrived at the market today.”

  “I guess that means summer’s officially here even though the calendar says it’ll be another week or so.”

  “It surely feels like summer.” Angel wiped her brow. “Why, if this muumuu keeps sticking to me, I’ll be the talk of the town for running around in my birthday suit.”

  They walked up the driveway together. As they neared the path to the studio, Caroline heard her phone and ran to catch it.

  “You’re running like that ring’s from London,” Sam called as they watched Caroline disappear around the studio.

  He and Angel walked arm in arm on up the path. He helped her up the steps and onto the porch and put the bags of peaches on the table. “Now, Angel, why don’t you sit right here and let me get us a glass of that lemonade you made this morning.”

  “Why, I think that’s a fine notion you have there, handsome.” Angel sat down in her favorite wicker rocker and fanned herself with the newspaper lying on the table. Sam left her with the hum of the crickets in the late afternoon, the tune from the ice cream truck coming down the street, and the smell of fresh peaches filling the air.

  He returned quickly with two tall glasses of lemonade, an idea in mind. “You know what I think I’d really like?”

  “You mean more than sitting here in the coo
l of the late afternoon drinking lemonade with me?”

  “Well, the only thing that could improve on that is a sprig of mint in this glass of lemonade.” Sam set his glass down on the wicker table next to his rocker.

  “That’s the second fine notion you’ve had in less than five minutes. You keep coming up with ideas, and you’re going to set a record. Want me to go pick some?”

  “No, what about you sitting right here? I’ll take Caroline a few peaches and pick a few sprigs of mint on my way back.”

  “Sam Meadows, you don’t give two whits about a sprig of mint. You’re just plain nosy. You want to know who called Caroline, don’t you?”

  “I married a smart woman, and I’ve been caught again. But you did say on the way home you wanted Caroline to have some peaches, and you know she’ll be going back to the church for rehearsal in a little while.”

  “You’re right. Time’s wasting. Get gone before my lemonade disappears. Get a basket.”

  Angel had collected baskets for years. There were two requirements to make it into her collection. First, it had to have a handle, and second, it couldn’t be made in China. The back-porch baskets had carried flowers, greenery, fresh vegetables, acorns, and pinecones for decades.

  Sam grabbed a basket from the baker’s rack, chose a few large peaches to fill it, and started out the door.

  “Wait, Sam.”

  Sam turned quickly to answer her. “Do you need me, my Angel?”

  “Of course I need you, but I was mostly interested in one more look at that basket of peaches.” Sam, relieved at her playfulness, came back from the door and set the basket of peaches on the table.

  Angel stopped rocking and stared at the basket. “Now that’s a work of art. Makes me want to get out my brushes and oils again.”

  Sam had never tired of looking at Angel. He even looked at this basket of peaches differently after he saw how she looked at them.

  “You can go now. That weird little camera thing inside my head has done its work.”

  “Taking pictures again?”

  “Click, click, got you too,” Angel said, shooing Sam out the door.