“I already looked at her. I’d say she’s a sight for sore eyes.”
Angel twirled around, streamers of brightly colored ribbon trailing around her. “You like it? I call it my man-getting muumuu.”
“I’d say it’s working.” She winked at Sam and stepped up for a closer examination. The muumuu was crisp white cotton. Sewn into the front and back yokes were bold-colored buttons securing the ends of yard-long pieces of brightly colored ribbons. The ribbons streamed loosely down to the hem, and at the end of each sat a matching button weighting down the ribbon. “Did you make it?”
“Of course I made it. I had all this ribbon and all these artsy buttons, and I decided it was time to do something with them. Do you know how hard it is to find a plain white muumuu? Nigh on to impossible. I finally found one in a catalog. So while Sam’s snoozing when he says he’s reading, I’ve been cutting ribbon and sewing on buttons.”
“It’s a work of art—just like you, Angel.”
Sam chuckled. “I’m just glad she didn’t have cowbells she needed to use up. That’s my girl, colorful and always on the move. How about moving some of those hot pancakes over my way?”
“Coming right up.”
They sat down to eat, and Sam was sure to thank the Lord for peaches when he asked the blessing.
“Now tell me about the peaches, Angel,” said Caroline.
“Just fresh Georgia peaches, a tad of sugar, and a splash of peach brandy. Tossed them in the blender until they were pureed. But I confess the cream is the real stuff. None of that fat-free, nondairy whipped topping this morning. You get the first crop of peaches only once during a season, and I figure they deserve the best whipped cream.”
Sam surveyed the table. “Where’s the maple syrup?”
“It’s where it always is.”
“It’s not where it always is when we’re eating pancakes.”
Angel put both hands on the table. “Sam Meadows, you’re telling me you’re going to eat maple syrup on your pancakes when you could eat fresh peaches?”
“Well, I suppose not, now that you put it that way.” Sam picked up his fork.
“Sweetie, I’m dying to hear about last night. We saw all the guests arriving at Tandy’s when we walked down to the activity center.”
Caroline plopped whipped cream atop her pancakes. “There’s really not much to tell. Brother Andy took charge and went through the processional and ceremony, and then we left for dinner.”
“Brother Andy took charge? Even with Tandy Yarbrough and a professional wedding coordinator?” Sam had a look of surprise.
“He did. I think he feared a repeat of Rachel’s rehearsal and wedding.”
Sam wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Well, we heard your trumpet fanfare all the way down to the center. The Masons were having their First Friday Fish Fry, and half the town was there eating, and the other half was picking up plates to go. All of a sudden we heard this trumpet blast, and we didn’t know whether to stand and salute or run for cover. Why the fish were flying, the hushpuppies started barking, and the ketchup—”
“She gets the picture, Sam. So tell me about the evening.” Angel smeared whipped cream over the peaches on her plate.
“It was all rather usual. Not one thing for Delia Mullins to write about.”
“Delia Mullins needs something to write about. I always read the Moss Point Messenger just before bedtime. That way I’ll be sure to go to bed with nothing on my mind.”
“I can imagine if Delia went out to the Lawsons’ lake house for the bachelor party, or if she’d be invisible at Cuttin’ Loose tomorrow, she’d have plenty to write about.”
Angel cut into her stack of pancakes with her fork. Butter oozed. “Sounds juicier than these peaches.”
“Gracie told me Tandy booked Cuttin’ Loose for the entire day yesterday and up until noon today. The girls had pedicures, manicures, and massages yesterday. They’re all getting their makeup and hair done this morning.”
“Well, that’s enough to curl your hair.” Sam swallowed his last drop of coffee and smacked his lips.
“I think you’re right, Sam. That’s why I declined Tandy’s invitation, as gracious as it was. Are you all coming to the wedding?”
“Angel’s dragging me down there, but you’ll find the marks of my fingernails all the way down the sidewalk.”
“You’ll enjoy it once you get there, just like you always do,” Angel said.
“Yeah, like I enjoyed the mumps. But I’ll admit I did enjoy the last Yarbrough wedding. It’s hard to forget the sight of Tandy covered in watermelon.”
“Hey, this is changing the subject, but I wanted you to know I had a long talk with Gretchen Silva yesterday. I told her about the intruder episodes. I think she’ll watch Bella more closely. It’s not safe for her to be leaving the house in the middle of the night.”
“That’s for sure, not even in Moss Point,” Angel said.
“She told me she and Bella found a small wooden shack down in the middle of the woods beyond the fence, and they cleaned it and decorated it a bit. They call it their parlor. That’s how they heard my piano. Bella would follow the sound, and Gretchen allowed her to come all the way to the fence one time to hear me play.”
“This all makes sense. Sounds like you were right, Miss Carlyle,” Sam said.
“I don’t need to be right about that. What I need to be right about is this savant thing. I told Gretchen about that possibility and sent home some material for her to read. She flat-out refused when I told her we should take Bella to the university to play for Dr. Martin.”
“But I thought she wanted Bella to develop this talent,” Angel said.
“She does. But her fear of Mr. Silva is greater than her desire to help Bella. From what I gather, she has a right to be afraid. This whole thing has me in quite a quandary.”
“It’ll all work out. You just wait and see.” Angel began to stack the dishes. Sam sat silently.
“Hey, I hate to eat and leave, but I need to go. The pancakes and peaches were the best. Ought to hold me until the reception this evening—that is, if I get a chance to eat.”
“I’ll check on you and bring you a plate.”
“What would I ever do without you, Angel?”
“You’d do just fine, just like Sam would do.”
Caroline looked at Sam. His eyes were lovingly fixed on Angel, and he said nothing.
“Now scat. Sam will help me do the dishes.”
“Thanks, and I’m glad your man-getting muumuu worked. You got yourself a winner over there,” said Caroline on her way out the door.
The town matrons were disappointed; their prayers for rain had gone unanswered again. The afternoon summer breeze was cooler than usual, and the only clouds in the sky were the big, fluffy, cotton-candy kind that made ten-year-old girls want to lie in the grass and daydream. Caroline’s father always said of such a picture-perfect day, “If God made a more beautiful day, then He must have kept it for Himself.”
Caroline arrived and had the help of two of the local football stars to help unload the keyboard and stand. Potted ferns and tall palms covered the platform where the actual ceremony would take place. In the center of the platform was the arbor that Ned and Fred had built. Its latticework was covered in green smilax, more gardenias, and acres of baby’s breath. Caroline wished Ned and Fred could see the fruit of their labors, but she knew that not in a million years would Tandy invite them to this event.
Folding chairs were arranged in rows on each side of a center aisle. Each chair’s back was covered in white tulle and tied with a white ribbon and a gardenia. Caroline saw the head football coach coming through them toward her. “Hi, Coach.”
“Hello, Miss Carlyle. Anything else you need, just let me know.”
“Thank you. I will. Looks like you brought the team with you.”
“You bet. The Yarbroughs offered a hefty gift to the boosters club if the team would move chairs and park cars.”
C
aroline smiled. “Tandy always thinks of everything.”
“You’re right about that. Even got somebody to build a pegboard rack so the boys would have a place to put the car keys with name tags.”
“What can I say?”
Caroline had fully expected the decorations to be slightly beyond the edge of tasteful, but in looking over the grounds, she decided they were quite elegant. Guests were arriving, and things were going according to schedule. She checked the keyboard for power and proper settings, spoke with the musicians and the wedding director, synchronized their watches, and went inside for one last summit with Tandy.
Tandy was in the back with Rebecca and the bridesmaids making sure the three flower girls had all been to the potty one last time. Caroline found her and assured her that everything was set. The string quartet had started to play. This meant business was about to pick up, and the wedding would begin in exactly twenty minutes.
Satisfied that all was well, Caroline returned to the patio just to sit quietly for a few moments. She sat among the ferns and palms listening to the quartet playing Pachelbel’s Canon. It still amazed her that a composer could take such a simple motif and turn it into something so very beautiful and complex.
The patio door opened and the brigade of bridesmaids and grandmothers and mothers summoned her to reality. She looked at her watch—five minutes to go. She moved to the dance floor where the keyboard was located.
It was as if Someone above had orchestrated this event. The moment the string quartet finished the piece, the courthouse clock struck four o’clock. She decided to delay the trumpet fanfare until the clock had finished chiming. One, two, three, four, and finally . . . the sound of trumpets. Her horns vibrated the dance floor, filled the air in Tandy’s yard, and startled Mr. Appleby snoring on the fourth row. As she sprinted from the dance floor back to the patio where the string quartet was in position, she imagined the guys down at the pool hall, on their knees about now, confessing their sins.
Seating herself, Caroline looked at the score and gave the wedding director the cue to send in the groom’s grandmother as the quartet began to play. Grandma paused for the picture-taking and was escorted to her seat.
Tandy’s mother-in-law, Mrs. Yarbrough, was next. At eighty-six, she was decked out in a tea-length blue silk dress with hose to complement and carried an heirloom white-linen handkerchief. Years of eating without exercise had settled in her hips, and she had chosen this dress with a soft gathered skirt to disguise her roundness. As it turned out, with Gracie’s dye job, Mrs. Yarbrough’s hair nearly matched her dress.
Caroline held her breath as Mrs. Yarbrough took the arm of her escort and started down the steps. When they reached the point where the photographer was kneeling on the ground poised to take her picture, the photographer suddenly stood up and motioned to the wedding director. The wedding director sent Caroline over to see what the photographer needed.
“Stop her. Look.” The photographer pointed at Mrs. Yarbrough’s ankles.
Caroline looked and saw a puddle of blue silk hose. She quickly stepped over and grabbed the usher’s arm, pulling the pair back a few steps to handle the problem. She had no quick and brilliant ideas as to how to fix things and had decided just to point out the problem and let Mrs. Yarbrough help make the decisions. But when Mrs. Yarbrough realized she was not moving forward, she jerked the young man’s arm and pronounced to him and all the guests, “Come on, young man, take me down this aisle.”
“Wait, Mrs. Yarbrough,” Caroline said, stepping in. “Look at your ankles.”
Mrs. Yarbrough leaned slightly forward, trying to see her ankles. When that didn’t work, she tried lifting one ankle and teetered before the usher and Caroline stabilized her. “Heavenly days, what is that around my ankles?” she asked loudly enough to be heard all the way to the platform.
“I think it’s your panty hose, ma’am.”
“What? Did you say my panty hose?” The guests were beginning to turn in their seats to see what was happening, and Caroline could already see the town matrons grinning. Mrs. Yarbrough lifted her dress and leaned forward a bit further this time. “My stars, you’re right. It is my panty hose. How in the world can that be? They’re brand new. Here, honey, take this.” She handed Caroline her handkerchief.
Before Caroline, the usher, the entire wedding party, the wedding director, or the string quartet could figure out what was going on, Mrs. Yarbrough had yanked up her skirt, leaned over—exposing her naked derriere to the entire wedding party standing not more than ten feet behind her—and begun trying to pull her panty hose up. She was giving it her all, pinning her skirt tail to her sides with her elbows and attempting to pull up her hose at the same time. She bobbed back and forth like the last standing bowling pin when a strike has been rolled.
It had all happened so fast. Caroline slapped the usher on the arm. “Young man, turn your head, hang on to her, and give me your coat.” He twisted and contorted, trying to keep Mrs. Yarbrough from doing a head roll down the aisle while at the same time removing his coat as Caroline requested. She took his jacket and tried to protect what was left of Mrs. Yarbrough’s dignity.
Tandy stood ten feet away hyperventilating while the bride, eight bridesmaids and eight groomsmen, and three flower girls tried to control their laughter. The four-year-old ring bearer’s curiosity got the best of him, and he threw the ring pillow down and rushed for a closer view. Strange sounds from the string quartet indicated the viola player had lost her place, and the cellist had stopped playing altogether.
Mrs. Yarbrough’s son, the father of the bride, moved in to take hold of the situation—mainly his mother’s arm to keep her from landing on her head.
“What are you doing, son?”
“I’m trying to cover your backside, Mother. You’re mooning the entire wedding party.”
“I’m what? What did you say?”
Rumbles and snickers echoed through the crowd, and even Brother Andy pretended to have a coughing fit to cover his own laughter as Mrs. Yarbrough finally accomplished what she set out to do and wiggled her way back into her hose. She turned to her escort, announcing once again so that all the wedding guests could hear, “Young man, are you going to take me down this aisle, or am I going to have to find someone else to do it?”
Caroline handed him his coat and straightened Mrs. Yarbrough’s dress from behind, and the elderly woman started her dignified walk down the aisle, never giving thought to the commotion she had just created. The wedding director yanked the ring bearer’s arm, dragging him back to his position as members of the wedding party tried to regain their composure.
Caroline reached for her music to locate where the musicians were. The last thing she noticed before returning her attention to the ceremony was Delia Mullins standing in the bushes with her camera still swinging around her neck.
The evening finally came to a close as the bride and groom ran down the driveway in a shower of birdseed and bubbles to the white horse-drawn carriage awaiting them on the street. But the real excitement came when the guests lined up for the valet parking service. The football players positioned themselves only to find the pegboard had been emptied of all keys. Discussions of a master ring of thieves with the intent of looting and vandalizing all the guests’ homes were dismissed when the ring bearer and his cousin proudly brought two buckets of keys to the football players. They had planned to help.
It took more than an hour to sort the keys and get cars. As guests stood in the driveway awaiting their vehicles, they lamented the fact that the Yarbroughs had only two daughters and took bets on what would appear in Delia Mullins column in the Moss Point Messenger next week.
Step One and
Fifteen Minutes
Three days passed without any word from Gretchen. With Bella’s entrance into her life and with the offer from the university, Caroline felt as if she were dangling from a rubber band, and just when she felt she could stand on firm ground, someone would yank the elastic again. Sh
e’d had no idea her initial call to Dr. Martin would ignite such interest. Dr. Martin had made calls to a professor in the psychology department and to a neighbor who was a neurologist. They all wanted to meet Bella.
Two more days passed and finally the early morning phone call came. Mr. Silva was out of town again, and Gretchen wanted to see her. Caroline volunteered to come to their house, but Gretchen declined, saying it would be better if they came to the studio.
It was a warm, humid morning. The thick air hinted at an afternoon thundershower. Despite the summer morning’s temperatures, Gretchen stood silently in a flowered cotton dress and her gray sweater until Caroline answered the door.
Caroline greeted Gretchen, but before she could say good morning to Bella, Bella was on the piano bench. Bella was different today. There was the familiar rocking motion, and the music sounded the same, but there was a slight smile on her face, something Caroline had not seen before. Bella was more comfortable. She was home again—not home in the studio but home at the keyboard.
Gretchen’s quiet gentleness was not present this morning. She was more focused and purposeful. It was not long before she asked if she and Caroline could sit in the garden for conversation. Caroline made them a cup of tea and they made their way to the garden bench.
Gretchen clutched her teacup in both hands. “Thank you, Caroline, for allowing us to come for a visit. I must begin by telling you how sorry I am for my behavior. I have been very unfair with you, especially since you have been so helpful to us. We seem to always have such surprising conversations, and then I rush away without explanation and without telling you when you’ll hear from me again.”
“Oh, you really don’t need to apologize. I know you don’t have the freedom to contact me. I promise I understand, but I must tell you I do worry about you and Bella, especially when I don’t hear from you for a few days.” Caroline sipped her tea.
“You need not worry about us.”
Caroline turned toward Gretchen. “But Mr. Silva and his anger? I worry for your safety and what he might do to you.”
Return of the Song Page 22