Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  “We’ll see tomorrow. Good day, Caroline.”

  “Goodbye, Roderick. Safe landing.”

  Sink or Swim

   Roderick rose early on Saturday morning, ate a quick bite, and gathered his gear to start his half-mile walk to the stream, his sanctuary—the place he longed for when he was in London or Boston or somewhere in between. A haven where phones did not ring and crystal-clear water washed away the grime of doing business. He could stand knee deep for hours listening to the water rushing over the large smooth stones and the birds chattering overhead.

  He controlled the family’s fortune, the businesses, and the boardrooms. He did it with polish and with certainty; but here in the middle of the creek, he had no control. He could not stop the water with a suggestion as he could stop a merger with a phone call. He knew not if he would catch a trout or a crappie or anything when he popped his fly into the eddy underneath the overhanging limb. He liked the mystery of not knowing and not controlling.

  He saw the light on in the kitchen and stopped at the main house first. “Lilah, are you here? Lilah? I’m home and heading to Blue Hole.” He didn’t see her in the kitchen, but he heard the honeyed tones of her voice in the loggia.

  “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child. Sometimes I feel—” Lilah stopped midphrase as she came in. “Well, good morning and welcome home. Are you wanting some breakfast? I can have some toast and eggs in five minutes.”

  He hugged the woman and kissed her brown cheek. “You’re always trying to take care of me, but I’ve had my coffee, and I’m off to see if the fish are biting.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee. “And if I know you, you don’t care if they’re not biting. Go and make peace with yourself. I’ll be leaving shortly. Your lunch is in the refrigerator.”

  “Thank you, Lilah. You’re the best.” He left through the kitchen door and grabbed his rod leaning against the wall. As he walked the path to his favorite spot and then spent the morning in the water, he thought of his conversation with Caroline. He had never known a woman who liked to fish. He wondered if he’d have the opportunity to bring her here.

  True to his ritual, he ended his fishing about sixty yards downstream from where he’d started, where the water formed a large, deep pool and only a narrow stream trickled next to the bank on the opposite side. He disassembled his fly rod, put it carefully in its case, and perched himself on the rock above Blue Hole. It was quieter there, the water still and deep. He heard the buzzing of the dragonflies and watched the water spiders doing their dance on the glassy surface.

  Blue Hole, a reservoir of cool water and warm memories, was where his father had taught him to swim. Roderick remembered as a six-year-old walking with his dad to the stream on a Saturday morning like this one. They were dressed in their swimming trunks and carried only two towels—no fishing gear this time. John Roderick Adair Jr. was of medium build, with deeply tanned skin and graying thin hair, but to young Roderick he was larger than life. His father had climbed atop Beckoning Rock and reached down to pull him up. With legs dangling several feet above the water, they sat on this very boulder.

  John said to young Roderick, “Rod, this is where I learned to swim, and today I’m going to teach you to swim. But I’m not going to teach you the way my father taught me.”

  “Why, not?”

  “You see, my father walked this same path with me when I was about your age, and when we got to this very spot on this rock, he told me he wanted to teach me to swim. I was ready. Then Father picked me up and threw me in the water and told me to sink or swim.”

  “He just threw you in?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “After I flailed around for a while, I realized he meant what he’d said. I yelled, but he didn’t move. I screamed, and he offered no help. I finally gave up my own fight with the water and made it to that rock over there and climbed up. Then I realized I’d have to swim back across to get to Father.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Yes, I did it because I had no choice. He didn’t teach me to swim. I taught myself. He gave me a good talking-to on the walk home. He told me life was a lot like that swimming lesson—sometimes you just had to jump in and sink or swim and not to expect any help from anybody.”

  “But we have lifeguards at the club pool. They teach swimming,” said young Roderick, wondering about his own swimming lesson.

  “Yes, and they do it right. Your grandfather was wrong, Rod. Life’s not that simple. That’s why I have no plans of throwing you in Blue Hole and letting you flop around coughing and spitting till you figure out how not to drown.”

  Roderick remembered his relief at that moment, and he remembered his father’s words.

  “I’m getting in first, and I’ll be there when you jump in. You remember that. You don’t have to jump into anything by yourself, but be sure the people you jump into the water with are interested in keeping your head above water as well as theirs. You remember that, son.”

  Roderick had learned to swim that day, and he hadn’t forgotten the lesson.

  Angel called Caroline early to invite her to breakfast, but Caroline politely declined. She planned to stay in all day in shorts and T-shirt, no makeup, and read and practice.

  “Well, how about you let me come over and listen, then?” Angel wheedled. Caroline agreed and invited Angel to come down around ten o’clock.

  Angel arrived, on time, at the back door with a pink sweetheart rose fresh from the garden. “Here’s a blossom that had your name on it this morning.”

  “Thanks, Angel.” Caroline took the petite flower and added it to the vase of violets on the counter.

  They sat down in the chairs next to the piano. “Tell me, sweetie, are you getting anxious about this trip to Kentucky?”

  “Maybe, a little. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made a poor decision. Mama thinks I’ve gone off the deep end. I put off giving her all the details as long as I could, but I had to tell her yesterday. She wasn’t really listening when I mentioned it while she was here for the recital.”

  “Oh, joy!”

  “I’m sure my phone will ring several times in the next few days—my family checking on my sanity. Would you like some tea and cookies?”

  “No, thanks. Did you tell her that Sam had checked him out?”

  “I told her, but I don’t think she heard it.”

  “I’ll give her a call. We’re due a conversation anyway. So, do I get to hear the whole recital this morning?”

  “If you’re willing to sit and listen, you’ll get the whole dose.”

  “Lovely. Then I’ll get myself all comfy in this chair right here, and I’ll tune everything else out and just enjoy what I hear coming from those little hands of yours.”

  Angel positioned herself in the chair where she could see Caroline’s hands and where she could see the Cherokee roses on the fence line. She inhaled the familiar melodies as she thought about this young woman whose dreams had disappeared over a mountainside in Guatemala. She watched Caroline become one with the instrument, never faltering or hesitating. As an artist, Angel understood right-brain activity and knew that about now, Caroline had moved to that place where time does not exist and physical realities are replaced by the act of creating. It was an indescribable place, and Angel had been there many times, paintbrush in hand, here in this very studio. She missed painting, but the joy of having Caroline in the studio was greater than her sadness over blank canvases.

  As Angel listened, she thought of how the years had passed with only routine activities. Void of major tragedies or much excitement, just daily days. Sam called these the “in-between times.” He thought if he wasn’t dealing with a serious problem, he was just living in between them, for surely they’d return. They had been living in the in-between times for several years, but the scent of change had been in the air the last few weeks. With Bella’s entrance and Dr. Martin’s invitation to move to the university and Caroline’s finding her piano, some kind of change
was inevitable, and Angel would embrace it even if she couldn’t welcome it.

  The phone rang, heralding them back to present space and time. Caroline stopped playing and went to her desk, and Angel sat a little straighter in her chair. Caroline expected it to be Mother Martha. “Hello, this is Caroline,” she answered.

  “I’m so glad. That’s exactly the person I was calling,” Roderick said.

  “Oh, good morning. Or is it still morning?” Caroline looked at her father’s clock on the table across the room.

  “It is still morning, but the best part of the morning is gone.”

  “I hope you spent the best part in the trout stream,” she said, looking at Angel and raising her right eyebrow.

  Angel rose from her chair, smiled broadly at Caroline, and blew her a kiss as she slipped out the kitchen door. She knew when to make an exit.

  “Could you hold for just a moment?” Caroline cupped her hand over the phone and told Angel they’d talk later. “I apologize,” she said as she returned to the conversation. “Angel was just leaving, and I needed to say something to her.”

  “Angel? This is your neighbor?”

  She twirled the phone cord around her index finger. “Yes, she and Sam own this property, and I live in the studio Sam built for Angel many years ago. She’s an artist, but with some minor changes, this studio has become the finest recital hall in Moss Point. It’s home for me, and they’re like family.”

  “I’d like to meet them someday.”

  “I’m certain they’d like that. Sam’s a retired judge and self-appointed protector for Angel and me.”

  “I’m sure that’s so. You’re fortunate to have a Sam and an Angel in your life.”

  “I am indeed. I’m curious: did you harm the fish population this morning?” She took the phone and sat down cross-legged on the sofa.

  “You really know how to get quickly to the heart of things, don’t you? And no. No harm done. But it didn’t seem to matter until you asked me. I don’t want you to think that I’m no fisherman.”

  “At least I know you’re not a liar. Most fishermen would have lied and told me about the big one that got away.”

  “Well, I guess I could tell you about that one.” He paused while she laughed. “Caroline, I’ve been thinking, and I’ve realized I may have been very insensitive about something.”

  “Insensitive?” Caroline grabbed a pillow from the end of the sofa.

  “It came to me as I stood in the trout stream this morning that I’ve put you in a rather odd position. You had only wanted to play your piano again, and I asked you to come for several days and play a recital while you’re here. You’re a young, single woman, and you know nothing about me.”

  “That’s true. But we’re really in the same sort of position, aren’t we? You know very little about me, only that I have a strong desire to play my piano again. I’m sorry—I said ‘my piano.’ It’s your piano. And you don’t know if I’m capable of playing a recital or not. And the worst part is that you’ve invited me to stay in your home, and for all you know, I could be the next Lizzie Borden.”

  Roderick laughed. “You mean the ax murderer? Maybe we’ll put you in the apartment down at the stables just in case.”

  “No need to worry. It’s nigh on to impossible to get an ax on board a plane these days.”

  “But you’re flying in my plane.”

  “My, we are in a pickle, then, as my mother would say.” Caroline paused. “Roderick, I was so driven by my desire to see the piano that I prematurely accepted your invitation. Then when I thought about it, I did have some serious misgivings. I shared them with Sam. He did some checking and decided you were safe. And frankly, I don’t believe you would have invited me if you hadn’t done some checking on me yourself.”

  I can’t believe I’m being so transparent with this man.

  “You’re right. I made a few calls prior to contacting you. I knew of your study at the university and had someone do a little nosing around there. And then I had a conversation with Polly, your local florist. If you ever need an agent or a publicist, you should hire her.”

  Caroline grinned. “So maybe we’re not in such a pickle.”

  “I’m very happy to hear you say that. The invitations were mailed a couple of weeks ago, the menu is planned, and I don’t know how to play the piano. But you’re sure that you’re comfortable?”

  “I think so.”

  “Would you be more comfortable bringing someone with you?”

  “That’s a good question. Could I think about that for a day or so?”

  “Yes, it’ll give me another reason to call you. But while I have you on the phone, I wanted to go over the plans again. Acer and I will fly down a week from Monday, arriving around noon. He’s checked on the small airport there, and it’s sufficient for landing and takeoff. Is there some place we could have lunch?”

  “Oh, yes. Let me make those plans. Could I pick the two of you up at the airport?”

  “That would be helpful. Renting a car in Moss Point proved to be impossible. Of course, I could call Polly,” he said jokingly. “I’ll call you from the plane before we land.”

  “I’ll be here awaiting your arrival.”

  “We’ll have a quick bite, and we should be back at Rockwater by three o’clock, which will give you time to get settled and play your piano before dinner.” Caroline noticed he called the piano hers. “We’ll make our plans for the week over dinner, subject to change, of course. I want you to have as much time to practice as you would like, or maybe to relax. And I do hope there’ll be a few hours for walking or riding or fishing before we fly you home on Saturday.”

  “You’ll be there for the week? No trips to London or Boston?”

  “No, I’ve blocked out the week. I have an office at home, and with phones and internet, the world is atop my desk and just a few keystrokes away.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother. I’m quite good at entertaining myself. Just give me a book and show me the way to the piano.” Caroline pulled the sweetheart rose from the vase and twirled it in her fingers.

  Roderick paused. “I called Sarah and told her about Bella. She and George are flying down for your recital, and you’ll have opportunity to talk. I think Sarah will prove to be very helpful to you.”

  “I’m counting on her experience with children with autism to educate me.”

  “Sarah’s written a number of papers and articles on autism. You’ll find that she’s quite respected in this field. She’s anxious to hear your story and would jump at the chance to meet Bella.”

  “Hopefully there’ll be more to tell before I speak with her. Thank you again for your interest in Bella. And here again, I’ve done all the talking. Today was supposed to be my day for listening,” said Caroline apologetically.

  “There’ll be ample time for talking and listening. Well, I think all is set. Think about bringing someone with you if you’d feel more comfortable. And Miss Caroline Carlyle, I’m growing more anxious to make your acquaintance face-to-face.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Adair,” Caroline said playfully, “and likewise.”

  “Goodbye, Caroline.”

  She hung up the phone with a decided smile on her face. She would be going to Kentucky alone, she decided right then and there.

  Then her eyes settled on the framed photograph—the one of her with David when he’d received his master’s degree. She picked it up and held it closer.

  What would you think about this, David? You know how I have loved you, and I feel almost disloyal and unfaithful in even thinking about another man. Have I mourned long enough? Am I ready for this? Would you approve?

  She placed the frame back on her desk and stared at it for another moment before returning to the piano.

  After practice, her afternoon was spent reading and making her packing list. In between activities, she had time for a daydream or two, especially during the midafternoon rain shower. Just before sunset, with fingers curled around her te
acup and towel in hand, she went to her favorite garden bench, dried off the seat, and planted herself there for a few minutes. She watched the water tumble over the stones into the pond and dreamed of a trout stream in Kentucky.

  Gretchen called early Tuesday morning with news that Mr. Silva was on a run and would be gone for four or five days. Caroline immediately phoned Dr. Martin to make arrangements to bring Bella and Gretchen to the university. The timing seemed divinely appointed, and the meeting was set for Wednesday. They would go up and back on one day, and Caroline would have the weekend for last-minute preparations before leaving for Kentucky on Monday.

  After Gretchen’s call, Caroline and Angel left for Atlanta to pick up her recital dress and to do some last-minute shopping. She was glad for the distraction.

  Mrs. Kramer greeted them at the shop’s entrance, seated Angel, and excitedly went to the back for Caroline’s dress. She insisted Caroline try it on. Caroline stood on the riser in front of the mirrors. The alterations had been done to perfection.

  “Caroline, Gracie never came up with a new ’do, did she?”

  “Angel, you saw it. Even GiGi thought it was awful.”

  “Well, I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but your hair has to be up. Not up severely, but just softly. The neckline of that dress just begs for it. Pull it up a bit so I can see.”

  Caroline did.

  “Yep, I was right, it must be up.”

  “You’re really a lot of help, Angel. First you talk me into buying this dress, then you send me to Gracie for a new hairdo that won’t do, and now you tell me my hair has to be done up. Could you help me?”

  “Me? You see my hair, don’t you? Not one little thin white hair on my head longer than two inches. Maybe three if I stretched the curl. That ought to tell you what I can do with hair.”

  Caroline let her hair down. “Where’s Betsy when I need her? She was always the one who fussed with my hair. I never gave it much thought.”

  “Call her. Maybe she could come for the weekend and figure something out. She’d enjoy seeing you.”