Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  “Oh, Caroline, this cannot be. Bella would not do such a thing. I never leave her alone except when she is in her room listening to music or sleeping. She would not go out by herself, not at night.”

  “Gretchen, please don’t fret. No harm has been done.”

  “No harm? Oh, yes, there’s been much harm. She has made damage to your fence. She has frightened you. How can you say there has been no harm? And for Bella, something terrible could have happened to her. It’s all my fault, my fault.”

  “No, Gretchen. It’s no one’s fault. It’s the desire of a young girl who wants to play the piano. That cannot be bad. The incident I want to tell you about involved Ned and Fred Pendergrass.” Caroline took a sip of her tea. “They had decided, without telling anyone, to come here late one night and sit in the shrubs waiting for this intruder. They meant well, thinking they were protecting me. They heard the snooper—that’s what they called our intruder. Anyway, they heard the intruder coming through the fence and attempted to get to the opening with a rope. Fred fell, making a loud noise, and this frightened the intruder away.”

  Gretchen leaned over, putting her head in her hands.

  Caroline leaned toward her. “I was playing the piano, heard the noise, but I had no idea it was Ned and Fred, so I called Sam. He called the police and came down with his shotgun. They all arrived about the same time only to find out that Ned and Fred had created the disturbance.”

  Caroline decided not to tell her about Sam’s gun going off and breaking the window. It wasn’t necessary and would only frighten her more. “Gretchen, our mystery has been solved. Bella heard Ned and Fred’s voices yesterday, and I think she associated them with that night when she must have really been frightened.”

  “This is too much.” Gretchen looked at Caroline

  “It’s truly okay. Now that we know, we can prevent it from happening again. There have been no signs of the intruder since that evening. I felt early on that the intruder meant no harm. There were opportunities to vandalize or to steal, but no harm was done. I’m so glad that it was Bella and that she’s safe. I want you to know that I have told only Sam and Angel.”

  “This is all my fault, Caroline. It’s all my fault.”

  “What do you mean it’s your fault? But think, I would never know about Bella and her gifts if she hadn’t done this.”

  “If Mr. Silva knew this, I can only imagine what he might do.”

  Caroline’s thoughts quickly mobilized her anger toward this vicious man, and she tried to hide her emotion lest Gretchen think she was angry with her or Bella. “Then Mr. Silva will never know. There’s no need for him to know.”

  “He’s right; I should not take Bella out.”

  “No, no, Gretchen, he is wrong. You have every right to take her anywhere.”

  “If I had not taken her out, then this would not have happened. Bella loved to listen to the music. It calmed her. We listened to the records I brought from my grandmammá’s collection back home. We listened to them over and over, and Bella would hum the melodies. I had wanted to learn to play the piano, but my life gave me no opportunity, so I wanted Bella to have the opportunity. I told you I saved money to buy this small keyboard. We would play the keyboard at home when Mr. Silva was away.”

  “Does he know you have the keyboard?”

  “No. He would be very angry I spent grocery money on such ‘nonsense,’ as he would say.”

  “He would be wrong. Music is the furthest thing from nonsense. I believe it is Bella’s language.”

  Gretchen sat back in her chair with her arms folded and tightly clenched. “The keyboard brings us so much joy. She would not touch it at first. So I studied the book and started playing tunes. Then Bella finally touched the keyboard for the first time and played the tunes she had heard me play. I knew she had a gift. But then one day—it was a beautiful spring day—we took our walk down through the woods.” Gretchen pointed to the woods beyond the fence.

  “We walked to our favorite spot. There is a small wooden structure in the thickest part of the trees and underbrush. Maybe some young boys built it. It was one room with a door and two openings like windows.” She used her hands as she described the opening. “It became our favorite place. Bella and I cleaned it up and gathered scrap wood to create a floor. We made cushions and pillows and curtains, and I was saving money to buy paint. We go there and sit on a quilt we spread over the floor. We do our needlework and sing, and sometimes I read to Bella or tell her stories about the old country.”

  Caroline noticed the tense muscles in Gretchen’s face relax a bit.

  “But Caroline, the real reason we go there is because we can hear you playing. It is so quiet, only the sounds of the forest and the birds singing as you play. We call this place our parlor, and we think it the finest parlor in all of Moss Point. There was no way for me to know that our joy in listening to your music could cause such harm.”

  “Gretchen, please believe me, there has been no harm. Really, only good things will come from this. Trust me, only good.” Caroline was glad Gretchen had one peaceful place.

  “Bella loves hearing you play. As the melodies float through the trees, she turns to the music. Sometimes she walks out the door as if she were trying to find the source of such beautiful sounds. I have followed her a short distance to bring her back to our parlor.”

  Gretchen relaxed even more and began to smile as she continued. “One day, her yearning softened my heart as I watched her take one deliberate step after another in her search of the music. She made a few steps, stopped and listened, and started toward the music again. I could not bring myself to stop her. I followed her all the way to the fence. I tried my best to explain this was as far as we could go, that the music was coming from the house on the other side of the fence and that we were not allowed to go there.”

  Caroline listened to Gretchen’s story and to Bella playing the piano, and she imagined floral curtains and lace-trimmed pillows and a homemade quilted floor in their parlor. She envisioned the two of them sitting there with yarn and knitting needles. In her heart, she wept at thoughts of their joy in such simplicity and of Gretchen’s grateful spirit in spite of the places she was not allowed to go.

  Gretchen continued. “Bella stood and looked through the cracks in the fence, and she rocked back and forth to the music. We did this only once, only once, Caroline. But Bella’s yearning was so deep.” Gretchen began to cry.

  Caroline took her hand. There were no words. For a while, they just sat silently together while the clouds gathered. Not even sparse raindrops broke the spell. Caroline watched the raindrops creating ripples on the pond surface—ripples that could not be stopped, much like the sight of Bella through the window and the sound of her unfinished song.

  “Gretchen, I know we’re both sitting here wondering about things, maybe about where we go from here. I want desperately for you to know that I’m very grateful you and Bella walked through my studio door and into my life. I want to teach Bella, and I want to be your friend. You probably think that I have a full life and many friends. And in a way, you’d be right. I have my family and friends back home, Sam and Angel right here, my students, my friends at church, and a few friends at the university. But I have very few close friends. I have allowed my pain to separate and protect me from relationships. There’s something I know in my heart about you: you know pain, and you love music. We have much in common, and I truly want you to be my friend.”

  “Caroline, how could you want me to be your friend? You’re younger, and you are educated, and you have such beauty and grace. I’m nobody, except Bella’s grandmother, and I can’t even help her.”

  “You are wrong, Gretchen. You’re a fascinating woman. I know little about your history, but I know you’re a woman of great character. You have suffered loss—loss of more than I could even guess. And yet you’re a woman of such faith, and you’re not filled with anger and questions about the interrobangs in your life. You have such a sweetness and a
gentleness and a depth about you that I don’t see often. I have so many questions to ask you about how you’ve stayed so gracious and hopeful even with such loss.”

  “You, my friend, can ask me anything, but I fear I have nothing to tell you. There is an unexplainable mystery about living, and my faith is simple. I fear we spend too much time pondering the unanswerable questions instead of appreciating what is given. My grandmammá always told me life is all about purpose—finding it and staying true to it.”

  “But you have found your purpose, have you not?”

  “Oh, yes, I have my purpose. I wake every morning and live every day to care for my Bella. She makes me smile, and she makes my heart glad I’m alive.”

  Caroline could not imagine what Gretchen’s life would be without Bella. Neither could she envision what her life was like with Bella—living in a prison, having to watch the man she married treat his own granddaughter as if she did not exist. “Gretchen, I told you before, you have been entrusted with Bella. God knew you would love her and provide for her needs. I have something else I need to tell you about Bella.”

  Gretchen hung her head. “Please, no. I think I cannot bear hearing more today.”

  “No, no, this is good, Gretchen. It’s something you’ve known for a long time, but now we have a name for what you know. And please remember, I’m no expert. I know only a little, but I know that Bella is unlike anyone I’ve ever experienced. When I heard her play ‘David’s Song’ last week, I knew her giftedness was beyond me. So I called my piano instructor at the university.”

  “She knows about Bella?”

  “Yes, she knows what little I’ve been able to tell her. Her name is Dr. Annabelle Martin. When I told her about Bella, she asked me several questions. You have given me many of those answers today.”

  “I don’t understand what this means,” Gretchen said.

  “Right now I don’t either. When I spoke with Dr. Martin, she asked me if I was familiar with the term musical savant. I’ve heard the term, and I’ve seen a television documentary about a musical savant, but my knowledge is limited and shallow.”

  “What is a savant?”

  “I don’t know that Bella is a musical savant, but I know she has many of the classic characteristics of one. This could be such a good thing. Savants are unusual people who have exceptional abilities in certain areas—like how Bella plays the piano without being taught. There are other types of savants—some gifted with numbers and others with art. Their brains work almost like tape recorders. I’ve done some reading in the last few days, and I’ll be glad for you to take the articles I’ve printed from the internet to read them for yourself.”

  “How did Bella get this gift?”

  “I don’t have the answer to that question, and from my reading, I’m not sure that the experts know for certain either.”

  “This is rare?”

  “Very rare. From what I read, Bella is probably one in less than one hundred people on earth with this gift.” Caroline knew that not everyone considered savants gifted persons, as their IQs were frequently under sixty and they might or might not even be able to tie their shoes, but she preferred Gretchen’s perspective remained positive.

  “I would like very much to read what you have read.”

  “I’ll put the articles in an envelope, and you may take them home. You must have hundreds of questions.”

  “I would just like to know what other people say.”

  “Gretchen, there may come a time when we should take Bella to the university and have her play for Dr. Martin.” She could see the tension build in Gretchen’s facial muscles. “Would you like to do that?”

  “I cannot do that, Caroline. I have no vehicle, and I do not think Mr. Silva would allow me to go.”

  “I’m not asking you to take Bella. I would take you. It’s very important for you to be together. Would it help if I spoke with Mr. Silva?”

  She watched Gretchen tense even more. “Caroline, you must never speak of any of this with Mr. Silva.” Her eyes darted toward Bella inside. “I need to get home. He’s been on a road trip and will be back this afternoon, and I must be there. And please do not ever tell him about Bella breaking into your studio and causing damage to your fence. I will save money to pay you for the repairs.” She stood to go.

  “Wait, Gretchen.” Gretchen had started toward the door. “Please wait. You mustn’t think that Bella broke in. She did not. I always leave the door unlocked. She did no harm. And the fence—the old fence is about to fall down anyway. Ned and Fred have been repairing that fence for years. Bella just moved some boards. There’s no need to repay anything. Why, if Bella hadn’t heard the music and come in, I’d never have met her. And to think that I lived just a few blocks from a musical prodigy and had no idea . . . We just need to believe there was some divine intervention here. At least that’s what I think.”

  Gretchen stopped at the door and turned to Caroline. “Do you truly believe that, Caroline?”

  “I truly do.”

  “Then I will believe it too. And I will trust that God will make a way for us and that He will let us know what way that is. But I must warn you, Caroline, that could take time. It has taken me twelve years. For almost twelve years, I have prayed constantly for His way for Bella. I’m beginning to think you are the answer to my prayer. Time will tell.”

  Caroline stood to join Gretchen, and words would not come. Playing the piano was easier. With music, words were unnecessary, and she found herself often without words.

  They went inside. Bella was still playing. She played Gretchen’s little tunes only on the keyboard, and on Caroline’s grand piano she played only the songs she had heard played there. Conversation with Gretchen had left little time for Caroline to sit with Bella and observe her.

  “Come, Bella. It’s time to go home.”

  Bella kept playing as though she heard nothing.

  Gretchen walked to the piano and gently moved Bella’s hands from the keyboard. “Come, child, we must go. Maybe we’ll stop at our parlor on the way home, and maybe we’ll hear the music in the trees again.”

  Bella smiled, and Gretchen looked toward Caroline as though asking her to play once they left.

  Caroline smiled and nodded.

  “Let me get your plate,” said Caroline as she moved toward the kitchen. “I remember. You take home an empty plate and the joy of knowing I liked your pastries.” Caroline continued talking as though Bella would understand every word. “We celebrated Interrobang Day today. We’re the only people in the whole wide world who were doing that. And who knows? We might be the only ones who even know what an interrobang is.”

  “Interrobang,” Gretchen repeated to remember it.

  “Let’s see, is it a surprising question or a questioning surprise? I don’t know. But thank you, Bella, for bringing the goodies, and thank you for playing my piano. I like it when you play my piano. No one plays it like you—just like your name: beautiful.”

  She handed Gretchen the clean plate and turned to stroke Bella’s hair again. “I have a teacher named Annabelle. I really hope you get to meet her someday. You’d like her, and she would really like you. Her name is like yours—it means ‘beautiful gift.’ ”

  “And do you know what your name means, Caroline?” Gretchen asked.

  “Not really. I was named for my grandmother.”

  “What is your middle name?”

  “You’re the second person who’s brought that up in the last few days. I don’t have a middle name—just Caroline.”

  “Well, ‘just Caroline,’ your name means ‘beautiful’ too.”

  A Muumuu and a Mooning

   Caroline and Brother Andy had survived Friday night’s rehearsal dinner for the Yarbrough wedding. It appeared Brother Andy had left his servant spirit at home, donning a take-charge attitude like he donned his navy blazer.

  Caroline was relieved to know the glue had dried on the parquet floor. Impromptu, she was asked to provide music in pla
ce of the string quartet, which would arrive tomorrow. Her trumpet fanfare had startled Grandmother Yarbrough and the guineas down at the barn. Perhaps Brother Andy was right. This trumpet fanfare just might be mistaken for the last blast of Gabriel’s trumpet, especially if the guys down at the beer hall had a few drinks under their belts.

  Caroline had moved through the evening on autopilot, grateful to get home and into bed. Once there, she hadn’t stirred an inch until dawn. As she sat enjoying her coffee, the phone rang.

  “Good morning, sunshine!” Sam crowed in his best good-morning voice. “Didn’t wake you up, did I?”

  “Have you ever awakened me at seven thirty in the morning, Sam?”

  “Well, let’s see, there was that morning back in—”

  “Okay, one time, but being sick doesn’t count.”

  “You want some pancakes? Angel’s concocted something special with peaches and some whipped cream. There might be a little of the recipe involved—you know, the peach brandy. Besides, we want to hear all about last night. Angel’s just dying to know if your feet stuck to the parquet floor.”

  “Who could turn down peaches on pancakes? Not me. I’ll bring—”

  “I know, you’ll bring the coffee. Just get yourself and your coffee on up here. Not even fresh peaches can revive cold pancakes.”

  She poured the carafe of coffee and walked briskly up the path. Sam met her at the back door. “Let me see your shoes.”

  “My shoes? Oh, they may have wet grass on them. I’ll leave them here at the door.”

  “Caroline No-Middle-Name Carlyle, either you’re getting slow, or you’re really distracted. I was checking them for glue. You know, the oak flooring out at the Yarbroughs’?”

  “You’re right, I’m getting slow. No glue. It was dry. In fact, the place was lovely.”

  “Well, Angel’s in the kitchen champing at the bit to hear all the details.”

  Caroline set her carafe on the breakfast table. “Wow, would you look at her!” She gawked at Angel’s new muumuu.