Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  “Now you know better than that, Hattie. Why, if I had gone on to glory, all the widows in Moss Point would have already lined up from here down to the library bringing Sam their finest casseroles and homemade pies. You didn’t really think I was going to let that happen, did you?”

  “Oh, Miss Angel, I know you been mighty sick, but that heart attack didn’t do no damage to that funny bone of yours.”

  Sam led Angel to the breakfast table. “Hattie, I think I see lemonade. Would you mind pouring us a glass?”

  “Please do, Hattie, and I want us all to sit down and have a little chat. You, too, Caroline.” Angel pointed them to chairs.

  “And Miss Angel, how ’bout some poppyseed cake? It’s jes’ like you like it. Never mind, I’m gonna cut a big slice for everybody. Life’s too short to pass up good cake.” Hattie sliced the cake and put it on Angel’s finest bone china and poured the lemonade into Waterford goblets.

  When everyone was seated at the table and served, Angel took a breath. “You all know I’m glad to be home. And that’s that. But it’s Monday, and as soon as Caroline makes a phone call, we can expect guests for lunch tomorrow.”

  Caroline raised her right eyebrow. “Angel, are you certain you’re up for that?”

  “Of course I am. Now, Sam, you see to it that the grass is cut and the sidewalks are swept clean this afternoon.”

  Sam saluted.

  “I’m about to change my way of eating per my doctor’s orders. But I’m sick of Jell-O, and I want one more good southern lunch before all that starts, and Hattie, I’m counting on you.” Angel continued passing out orders. “I know you’ve been cooking since I left here, but I have a special menu for tomorrow lunch. I want you to go to the farmer’s market this afternoon and get some fresh vegetables. Tomorrow we’re having fried chicken, cream-style corn, stewed okra, black-eyed peas, sliced tomatoes, and could you make some of that hoecake corn bread I like? Oh, and let’s have some sliced cucumbers and onions in a little red-wine vinegar. And for dessert, I’d really like one of those chocolate cakes you make. You know, the kind with those thin little layers.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll have it all jes’ the way you want it, Miss Angel.”

  “Oh, and we’ll eat in the dining room, and set the table for six.”

  “Yessum. Who’s gonna be here?”

  “You and Caroline, and Sam and myself, and our two special guests coming from Kentucky.” Angel looked toward Caroline, waiting for a reaction.

  Caroline looked puzzled.

  “And as for your assignment this afternoon, Miss Carlyle, unless you’d like me to, you are to call Mr. Roderick Adair and tell him that lunch will be served promptly at noon, and then you are to spend the afternoon packing, and I’ll be down at four o’clock to hear your entire recital.”

  Caroline’s mouth had dropped open. “But Angel—”

  “No buts. Sam and I talked, and we even discussed it with the doctor, and I’ll be fine. You’re going. That’s all there is to it.”

  Caroline looked at Sam. Sam just shrugged.

  “But . . . Well . . .” Caroline turned again to Angel, who wasn’t about to take no for an answer. Finally, Caroline laughed. “Well, only if I must.”

  “You must,” Angel echoed with a decisive nod.

  Caroline stood up straight, smiled big, brought her right hand stiffly to her right temple, and saluted the little general. “Angel’s back.” Then she went over, knelt at the side of Angel’s chair, and embraced her.

  “That’s right. I’m back, and it’s time to dance.” She winked at Caroline.

  The Way to a Man’s Heart

   Monday afternoon was a busy blur. Caroline made the call to Roderick Adair and learned he had contacted Acer, his pilot, to check the weather and establish a flight plan. All was set.

  She knew Mr. Silva was still out of town and felt comfortable in phoning Gretchen about the change in plans. She accepted Gretchen’s offer to come over to help her prepare for the trip.

  Bella played the piano while Gretchen and Caroline packed. Caroline dragged her luggage from underneath the bed and began pulling clothes from her closet and from her dresser drawers. Gretchen folded and put them inside the suitcase. Giggling like adolescent girls packing for camp, they were actually having fun together—Caroline in anticipation of her trip and Gretchen thinking vicariously about Kentucky.

  Caroline showed her the pink dress but didn’t have time to try it on despite Gretchen’s pleas. They made small talk before chatting about Bella and the return trip to the university, and Caroline told Gretchen all about Roderick and his sister, the psychiatrist in Boston. She invited Gretchen to stay and hear the recital at four o’clock when Angel arrived.

  Just as the courthouse clock struck four, Angel and Sam knocked on the back door. Caroline was glad to finally introduce them to Gretchen, and they even got to hear Bella play before Gretchen coaxed her from the piano bench. They made themselves comfortable, and Caroline took her seat at the piano.

  For the next hour, Caroline played with little awareness of her listeners. When she finished and stood up from the bench, they all applauded, even Bella.

  “Oh, how I wish I could be there on Thursday,” said Angel, “but this was the next best thing.”

  “That is so true. I’ve never heard more beautiful music in all my life. Isn’t that right, Bella?” Gretchen pulled Bella close to her. Bella clapped her hands again and went straight for the piano bench.

  Angel agreed with Gretchen, then pointed to Caroline. “I hate to bring this subject up, but what about the hairdo? Betsy didn’t come this weekend to help you, did she?”

  Sam rolled his eyes and pulled at Angel’s arm.

  “No. I did have a few other things on my mind,” Caroline said. “And besides, Betsy had babysitting issues.” She hoped God wasn’t counting her little white lies these days.

  Angel turned to Gretchen. “Gretchen, your hair is just lovely. Do you suppose you could help her figure out what to do?”

  Gretchen looked a bit puzzled but smiled.

  “Have you seen her dress?” Angel asked.

  “Oh, yes, it is the only thing that could rival her piano playing.”

  “But don’t you think the neckline just begs for her hair to be up?”

  “Perhaps it does,” Gretchen said diplomatically.

  Angel tapped Sam’s arm. “Could you give me that little bag in your pocket?”

  Sam reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small, red, silk drawstring bag. He handed it to Angel, and Angel passed it to Caroline. “Now Caroline, these are for Thursday night. You know Sam is partial to sapphires, and these are pink ones. The pendant and earrings will be perfect with your dress.”

  Caroline slipped them from the bag. “Oh, Angel, they’re beautiful. I’ll take good care of them and return them when I get back.”

  Gretchen was at her side. “Those are so lovely. You’re quite right, they’ll be perfect with her dress, Mrs. Meadows.” She looked at Sam. “And Mr. Meadows, you have exquisite taste.”

  Sam smiled, put his arm around Angel’s shoulder, hugged her to him, and said, “Why, thank you, and I picked this jewel out too.”

  Sam and Angel left. Bella continued to play the piano as Gretchen helped Caroline finish her packing and then played with her hair. She came up with something simple that Caroline could do herself. Finally, Gretchen looked at the clock and rushed away again just in case Mr. Silva called. Caroline walked to the street with them and watched as they walked hand in hand toward their cottage.

  Tuesday morning came early—especially early—and Twin Oaks hummed with activity. Sam walked into the kitchen to see Hattie taking something out of the oven. “Smelling good and sweet in here mighty early. Hattie, did you spend the night in the kitchen?”

  Hattie smiled. “No, I did not. Slept in my own bed but got up early to make Angel’s chocolate cake.”

  Sam joined Angel at the breakfast table.

  “Be k
ind to Angel this morning. She’s in a bit of a snit since she wasn’t up to doing all this herself. But she knows I want to help on this one. I mean that man comin’ from Kentucky to pick up Caroline in his own plane? Why, I woulda spent the night in the kitchen to see that.” Hattie delivered four one-inch-high cake layers to the breakfast table to cool.

  Sam sipped his coffee and looked at Angel. “My Angel, you’re not in a snit, are you?”

  “Just a bit, but if you went and found us some fishing line, maybe I wouldn’t be. Need some to slice these four layers to make eight. And I need it soon. Hattie is about to beat the icing, and by the time you get back with the fishing line, that icing will be light enough to float all the way to Hahira.”

  Sam gulped his coffee. “I’ll have it right back to you. And I’ll have a bowl of cereal when I get back.” He walked outside and down the driveway to the shed. He was going through junk when he heard Ned and Fred arrive. He’d called them last night to come do the mowing, trimming, and manicuring before the guests arrived.

  Waiting for them to find him, Sam grumbled to himself. “This is the dangedest mess I’ve ever seen. I just wonder what I’d see if I had ever put a light in here. What did I do with that tackle box? Fishing line. Who in the world ever heard of fishing line to cut cake?”

  He saw Ned’s shadow in the doorway.

  “Mr. Sam, you all right in there?”

  Sam came out of the shed flustered but with tackle box in hand. “Well, good morning, Ned, and you, too, Fred. I’m just fine. Just fulfilling my orders.”

  “We thought you was a-goin’ fishin’ the way you sounded.”

  “That would qualify as a winning idea, but not today.” Sam plopped the tackle box on the garden table outside the shed.

  “Too bad. The white bass are running up in the creeks right now. Papa used to take us boys when they’re runnin’ like that. Ma would make us pineapple sandwiches and leftover fried chicken and cold biscuits with some of her homemade mayhaw jelly.”

  “Well, that’s quite a menu. But if you men don’t mind, I have to find my fishing line.” Sam continued rummaging through his oversized tackle box—corks, hooks, lures, swivels, pliers, but not one roll of fishing line.

  “What you need fishin’ line fer if you ain’t goin’ fishing?”

  “Actually, I don’t need the fishing line. Angel does.”

  “Now, from what we been a-hearin’, Miss Angel ain’t able to go fishin’. We been prayin’ for her, Mr. Sam, and now she’s done come home. Ain’t God real good?”

  “He is that, Ned. She’s better, and I’m just certain that your prayers helped. But she’s not going fishing. She needs fishing line to cut some cake layers. Why, here’s that pocketknife I lost a couple of years ago.” Sam brought it out, brushed it off, and stuck it in his pocket.

  “Fishin’ line to cut cake layers? Why, I ain’t never heared of such a thing! Have you, Fred?”

  Fred nodded his head.

  “Ain’t she got a knife?”

  “She’s got a drawerful of knives. It’s just a woman cooking thing, Ned.”

  “Well, we for sure wouldn’t know nothing about that, would we, Fred?”

  Fred nodded again.

  “Mr. Sam, I don’t think there’s an inch of fishin’ line in that box of yours.”

  “I think you’re right, Ned. Now what am I going to do?” Sam closed the tackle box and saw Fred walk away toward the pea-green truck.

  “Don’t you worry, Mr. Sam. I think Fred’s done got it all figgered out.”

  Fred returned with the weed eater, pulled off about a yard of the heavy-duty filament, and got out his pocketknife to cut it.

  “Why, Fred, you’re a genius—a bona fide, certified genius, and you have saved my hide this morning.” Sam realized this was the first time he’d ever seen Fred smile.

  Fred nodded his head and kept grinning.

  “Thank you for getting an early start this morning. Got to be done before noon. Extra-special company coming today—a man from Kentucky.”

  Ned pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose. “He some sorta kin folk?”

  “No. In fact, I don’t even know him. He’s flying down in his private jet to pick up Caroline, and she’s going home with him.” He started walking up the path toward the house.

  “Must be some o’ her kin folk.”

  “Nope, she doesn’t know him either. She’s going to Kentucky to play a piano recital on the piano she had when she was a little girl. It belongs to him now. Miss Angel wants everything just right for his arrival today. Got to get back to the house. Hattie’ll be hollering any minute now. Thank you, men.”

  Ned took off his cap and scratched his head. “Mr. Sam, me and Fred are just about ready to start clearin’ that land for your park. But before we go and do that, we gonna put you a light in this shed.”

  “That would be great. Just get the yard cleaned up first.” Sam took off up the path to the house.

  “Yessir, that’s our first order of bus’ness,” Ned called after him. “But you know, Mr. Sam, folks are mighty funny. You got a shed that ain’t even got a light in it, got a tackle box and don’t go fishin’, gonna cut a cake with fishin’ line, and Miss Caroline a-flyin’ off with some man she don’t even know.”

  “I’m with you, Ned, but I need to get back to the house.”

  Sam walked the pebbled driveway, but chuckled when he heard Fred mumble, “Some folks just strange, Ned. And he thinks I’m a genius.”

  Caroline wondered if she had slept at all. The whats and what-ifs had kidnapped sweet sleep. What if the piano was in terrible condition? What did Roderick look like? What if her feelings for him made her more uncomfortable? What would the house be like? Would there be anyone else at the house while she was there? Would she finally meet Liz? What if Angel got worse and Sam needed her?

  She rose early, grateful for the hum of Ned’s lawn mower. She liked knowing someone else was up. Jumping into some shorts and a T-shirt, she headed toward the big house. She knew they were up because she had heard Sam in the shed. She took the pot of coffee.

  Hattie met her at the back door. “Good mornin’, girl. You think we out of coffee?”

  “I just wanted Angel to have a good cup this morning. We don’t like the judge’s sludge. Brought enough for you, too, Hattie.”

  Angel sat at the breakfast table slathering chocolate icing on the thinnest cake layers Caroline had ever seen. “Good morning, Angel. I’ll trade you a cup of good coffee for a taste of that chocolate icing.”

  “Mornin’, sweetie. That’s a fair trade, but don’t tell Hattie.”

  Hattie handed Caroline a spoon. “Tell Hattie? You think Hattie ain’t got ears? Why, I got ears, and I got eyes in the back o’ my head too! Have a whole spoonful, honey. They’s a-plenty.”

  Caroline dipped the tip of the spoon into the icing and tasted it. “Hattie, how do you do that?”

  “It’s all in the butter, honey. Why, you can have the best chocolate in the world, but if you ain’t got good butter, and you don’t beat it until next Tuesday, then you ain’t gonna have good icin’. That’s enough. Hand me that spoon.”

  “I thought you’d be practicing this morning,” Angel said.

  She went to the sink to wash the spoon. “No, I closed the piano last night about nine and decided the next note I’ll play will be in Kentucky. I just came to bring you some coffee and see how you’re feeling this morning. I’m worried that you’re doing too much too soon and that I won’t be here to take care of you. You still sure you’re up to all this?”

  “I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and confined to this chair. I’m just so glad to be home. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  “We’re all glad you’re home. Twin Oaks isn’t the same without you.”

  “That’s the truth if I ever heard it.” Hattie slammed the refrigerator door.

  “Are you packed?”

  “All packed—clothes, books, and pink sapphires. I ha
ve a few little things to do this morning, and I’m heading out to the airport about eleven thirty. Wanted to see you first, though. Oh, I don’t think I thanked you for calling Mother Martha. It helped. I don’t know what you said, but she’s calmed down. Of course, I did get a call from Thomas last night, giving me his brotherly advice that I won’t dare repeat.”

  “Oh, Thomas means well. He’s just glad there’s a man involved, and I am too. And I’m glad your mama’s calmed down. Actually, I think Sam helped more than I did. He told your dad he had checked Roderick Adair out and thought he was first-rate. I guess we’ll all get to see in just a few hours.”

  “Now, Caroline, I done heard lots o’ tales about them Kentucky gentlemen. They’re into either horses or mint juleps. I jus’ hope he ain’t short and fat. I guess he’ll be okay, though, if he’s got his teeth and hair.” Hattie laughed out loud. “Missy, you jus’ watch yo’ step, and you keep him in his place.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Miss Hattie. Gotta go! I’ll call you if we’re going to be late.” Caroline left with empty coffeepot in hand.

  Sam walked into the kitchen and over to the table where Angel was smearing the last bit of icing on the cake. “Do I get to lick the bowl?”

  “Do you get to lick the bowl? What if I said no?”

  “Well, then, I wouldn’t tell you that you’re sweeter than Hattie’s finest chocolate icing.”

  “In that case, here’s the bowl and spoon. I’m all done.”

  Sam laid a folder down on the table as he took the bowl.

  “What’s in the folder?” Angel asked.

  Sam grinned. “Something very interesting. Your curiosity antennae waving yet?”

  “Sam, I know that look. What’s in the folder?”

  “It’s something James just faxed me.”

  “James? Caroline’s brother James?”

  “Yes. He and I have been working on a little project.”

  “You have, have you? Is he helping you with the legal work on the park?”

  “Yes, he’s been helping me with that, finding out how we can deed this property to the city and still maintain some control over it. But what’s in this folder has nothing to do with property.”