“Ah, you found it. Anytime you wish to talk to the cockpit, just pick up the phone and mash the red button. Are you buckled in tight?” asked Roderick.
“Yes, I’m buckled in and ready to go, Captain.”
“The flight will take a little over an hour. I’ll join you in about fifteen minutes. Acer won’t need me then. Prepare for takeoff.”
Caroline put the phone away. The roar of the engines signaled their takeoff. Through the window, she spied Sam standing beside her car, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun. He grew smaller and smaller as the distance separated them.
What am I doing? she asked herself, fighting a sudden touch of panic. I’m on a plane to Kentucky to spend several days at the estate of a man I just met today. I mean, really, after two months of phone conversations, and I’m flying, and he’s the copilot. His world—not like mine. None of this is like me. I’m uncertain and confused, but it’s too late now. I’m suspended midair between the reality of my everyday life, my sadness, and my daydreams. She closed her eyes and took a breath. Lord, help me. Don’t let me fool myself into thinking I might be happy again.
She retrieved a book and some journals from her tote bag. She was two pages into the article when the cockpit door opened. Roderick joined her, taking the seat across the table opposite her. He could view the trip monitor and see the cockpit.
Not counting the brief moments in her studio, it was the first time they’d been alone.
“Doing okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
He picked up the book on the table. “You’re seriously focused on this savant thing, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Bella’s so remarkable and so rare, and I still can’t figure how she ended up in my studio.”
“Well, that question might not produce an answer.” He put the book down.
“I’ve had several of those in my life, but I have a way of dealing with them.”
“Like Miss Scarlett, you just think about them tomorrow?”
“Hardly. When I realize the question is unanswerable, then I start asking questions around it—questions that will produce answers. Those answers can usually be acted upon. Then, after enough action, somehow the larger question is either answered or it just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.”
“That’s quite a philosophical and practical way of dealing with tough issues. Ever thought of being a businesswoman?”
“You must be kidding! That requires a skill set I don’t have.”
“Like what? Musicians are good with numbers. You’re a teacher, so you must be good with people and problem-solving. And you’re a performer, so you know when the show starts and when it’s over. Sounds like you’re well equipped to me.”
She closed the journal and put it on her bag. “You overestimate me. And besides, I really love what I do. I get instant gratification for most of it, and frankly, I like that.” She frowned. “Sounds awfully shallow of me, doesn’t it?”
“I think ‘shallow’ is hardly the word I’d use to describe you.”
Her face flushed. “Let’s see. What about . . . what about the schedule? What do you have planned?”
“We land in Lexington about three thirty, and then there’s a half-hour drive out to Rockwater. I thought you could take a couple of hours to get settled, and we’ll have dinner about six or maybe six thirty. And don’t worry. I’m not cooking. Acer is.”
“Acer cooks? He flies your plane and then cooks your dinner?”
“It’s not exactly like that. Normally Lilah takes care of the house and cooks when I’m home. But when you didn’t show yesterday, Acer and I went down to the stream and caught some trout. We thought we’d show off our catch tonight, so I gave Lilah the night off. But it wouldn’t surprise me if she joined us for dinner. She’s rather curious about you.”
“You and Acer cook, and I’ll make a friend of Lilah, and we’ll do the cleaning up.”
“Not this time. You’re a guest, and you won’t be cleaning up. No dishpan hands for a concert pianist. My job is to spoil you luxuriously this trip.”
“Luxuriously? Never been spoiled that way.” She paused. “Okay, that’s tonight. What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow’s up to you. You can have as much time at the piano as you’d like. Maybe between rehearsals I could show you around. Perhaps a walk. Or if you want to go for a horseback ride, Acer would be happy to take you. I’m the rare Kentuckian who owns a horse farm in bluegrass country but doesn’t ride.”
“I think I’ll join you for a walk. At this point I don’t want to take a chance on a horse. With my luck, I’d wind up with a cast on each arm.”
Roderick laughed. “You’re right. Maybe just a long walk tomorrow. Do you play backgammon or Scrabble?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Which one? Backgammon or Scrabble?”
“Whichever one is on the table, and the game is on.”
“That won’t endanger those beautiful little hands of yours.”
Caroline embarrassingly moved her hands from the table to her lap.
He quickly added, “That is unless you beat me. Then I may break a couple of fingers—but I’d wait until after Thursday night. I’d prefer not to disappoint my invited guests.”
She laughed.
“Now, Miss Carlyle, about Thursday? You set the schedule. Just let Lilah know when you’d like to eat and rehearse and rest. Or if you’d like a good invigorating massage, Liz can call someone for you. She offices at the house during the workday. Lilah has a cottage and lives on the property. By the way, I’m certain Hattie and Lilah are related.”
“Oh, you mean she’ll talk to a box of oatmeal?” Caroline giggled at the thought.
“Yes, and then cook it to perfection.”
“Then I’ll feel right at home.” Caroline was glad for this information. “How many will be attending Thursday night?”
Roderick sat on the edge of his seat and put his palms together. “I think about sixty. Liz should have an accurate count tomorrow. They’re coming for dinner at six thirty, and your program will start at eight o’clock.”
“You’re having dinner for sixty?”
“That’s the plan. Lilah takes care of that with the caterer. Then after the recital, we’ll have coffee and a chocolate dessert bar on the terrace.”
Caroline imagined his terrace wasn’t exactly like hers. “Sounds lovely. If I plan the day on Thursday, does that mean I don’t get to plan Friday?”
“No. You may plan Friday also. Although I’ll remind you that the stream is full of trout this year, and you said you like to fish.” Roderick chuckled.
There was a playfulness about him when he laughed. She wondered if he did that much. “Why are you laughing?”
“I was just picturing you in my waders. Maybe you should let me know tomorrow if you’re thinking about fishing. I’ll get some waders your size.”
The questions and answers flowed across the table for the next half an hour. She was growing more comfortable by the minute. Then came a call from the cockpit.
“Gotta go. Acer needs me. We’ll be landing shortly.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He stopped at the counter, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out a small carton of ice cream with a wooden spoon attached to the top and tossed it to her. “Here. I think I heard Angel say you like ice cream.”
She caught the carton and grinned.
“Good catch!” As he pulled the door to the cockpit open, he turned. “Oh, and if you get settled in time, some hushpuppies would be great with our trout tonight.” He closed the cockpit door.
They landed at the private airstrip just outside Lexington. Acer secured the aircraft, unloaded Caroline’s bags, and put them in the back of the dark green Bronco while Roderick did the necessary paperwork inside. It took just a matter of minutes. As they drove away, Caroline asked, “What about the airplane?”
“What about it?” Roderick responded.
“Do you just leave it the
re?”
“Well, we don’t drive it home. Bruce will clean it up and move it to the hangar. It’ll be ready for our return trip on Saturday.”
“Oh, that’s dandy,” she said hesitantly. Her life was so simple. She was independent and accustomed to doing everything for herself, but the picture of how Roderick lived was coming more and more into focus.
The drive was different than the winding roads through the countryside around Moss Point. There were fewer trees along the roadside, and the grasslands were like green velvet covering rippling slopes of land divided by white wooden fences. “Why in the world do they call this the bluegrass country when the grass is so very green?”
“That grass isn’t green. Can’t you see how blue it is?” Roderick turned to look at her in the back seat.
She gazed out the window. “Blue, you say?”
“You arrived a few weeks too late. Had you been here six weeks ago, you would have seen blue. Bluish-purple buds appear on the grass in the early spring and give a rich blueness to the grass. That coupled with these wide blue skies make for Kentucky bluegrass.”
“So, tell me, where are we?”
He pulled out a map and handed it to her. “We’re driving out Route 68 going northwest from Lexington toward Paris.”
“Paris? You mean when I get home I could tell my friends I’ve been to Paris and I wouldn’t be lying?”
“I suppose you could, and if we had time to drive out east of Lexington, you could tell them you also went to Versailles.” He turned in his seat to look at her. “But I seem to remember you told me you were an Anglophile. So was my dad. He preferred living in the English manor my grandmother had built in town, so we lived part of the time in Lexington. My sister owns that now since my parents died.”
She folded the map and put it away. “Does your sister live in the house in Lexington?”
“No, she actually lives in Boston where she and George work, and they just come here for holidays and the summer and to get away from the city. But they’re in the process of moving to the Raleigh-Durham area. George will be teaching at Duke, and they hope to start a family. They’ll be here tomorrow. If their plans haven’t changed, they’ll leave Friday for North Carolina and house hunting. But I think they’ll spend most of what’s left of the summer here in Lexington.”
“I can see why they’d want to stay here. What I’ve seen is more beautiful than I expected. So, tell me about where you live.”
“Well, as much as my father loved everything English, my mother had a passion for everything French. So my father built her a French chateau in the countryside. I’m more of a Francophile like my mother, and I’d say I’m a country boy. I like my privacy, and I really like the trout fishing.”
“But you don’t care for horses?”
“No, I prefer cars,” he said. “I’ve kept the stables and some of the horses, but I have no interest in riding them.”
She noticed a change in his face. “I’m sure there must be a story there.”
Acer slowed as they approached a bridge, and Roderick said, “Now look to your left as we cross the bridge. Up that stream about two miles is where we caught your dinner.”
“Then we must be getting close to your place.”
“Next entrance.”
Acer turned left off the paved road a few hundred yards past the bridge. He stopped at the iron gate to punch in a code. There was no sign of a structure beyond the gate. Green grass rolled to the horizon, interrupted only by patches of trees whose size hinted they had seen centuries of life on these hills.
They came to a covered bridge. “Oh, could you stop? Please stop.” Caroline moved to the edge of her seat.
Acer put on the brakes, and Roderick turned around quickly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I just want to see this.”
“See what?” asked Acer.
“The bridge and the stream.”
The vehicle stopped just shy of the bridge, and she hopped out and started toward the water. The banks were of clean, green grass right to the water’s edge.
Roderick followed. She saw a large window-like opening in the covered bridge. She climbed back up the bank and walked toward the structure. “Why would anyone build a covered bridge over the stream?”
She noticed the change in Roderick’s face—a sadness in his eyes and a slowing of his speech. “My mother loved to ride horses, and Rockwater’s famous for afternoon rain showers. My dad built it for her in case she got caught out in the rain and couldn’t make it back to the stables. She wanted openings on each side to feel the breezes and smell the rain.”
“Your father must have loved her very much.”
“He did. We all did. See the meadow over there?” Roderick pointed through the window toward the sun. “If you’d been here to see the bluegrass, you would’ve seen acres of yellow daffodils covering that meadow. Mother planted thousands of daffodils, and they still bloom every spring.”
“It’s so very peaceful and quiet here. I can understand why you prefer this over the city.” Caroline leaned out the window and inhaled the Kentucky air.
“I’m glad you think so. It’s home, truly home.”
“Well, let’s go see your truly home, but I don’t think it could compare with this.” She walked toward the Bronco.
They drove slowly through the meadow. The two-story house emerged in the clearing atop a slight hill. It was of brown and gray stone, but not cold stone; the ivy growing up its walls warmed its façade. The road veered slightly to the left and crossed another wooden bridge over a small creek. Roderick explained the house was positioned in the curve of the stream so the creek wound from the back of the house around the west side and across the front grounds to the bottom of the terraced gardens.
Beyond the bridge, the road appeared to head away from the house through a thick grove of trees. Just beyond this thicket, the road veered back to the right, and the house appeared again. The front gardens were terraced in three levels with winding walkways and raised flower beds lined with aged timbers. She spied two garden benches in choice locations, and a closer look revealed it wasn’t ivy that covered the exterior walls. It was Carolina jasmine in full bloom. The fragrance greeted her as she stepped out of the vehicle.
“You’ll find that my mother not only had a passion for horses, but she was obsessed with roses and daylilies. We’ll take a walk later, and I’ll point out some prizewinners. I think you’d enjoy that.”
“I would. The garden bench is just beneath the piano bench on my list of desirable places.” Caroline made a three-hundred-sixty-degree survey of the house and gardens before approaching the steps.
Acer retrieved her bags as Roderick led her across the stones and up the two steps to the oversized, curved wooden door. Its convex curve paralleled the semicircular shape of the stone landing. Large grayish-green junipers filled the concrete urns flanking the entrance. Roderick turned the wrought-iron handle and opened the door. “Welcome to Rockwater.”
Caroline stepped onto the marble floor into a foyer larger than her whole apartment. Directly across the room in front of her, positioned in front of massive windows, was her piano. This thirty-foot wall of glass framed a scene of rolling hills. Mature hardwood trees filtered the afternoon light and silhouetted the piano against the backdrop of a manicured garden. The piano lid was up, and just in the curve of the piano sat a small table supporting a brass urn holding at least two dozen white irises. She wasn’t certain if it was just the sheer beauty of the setting or if it was the sight of her piano again, but an unswallowable lump rose in her throat.
“And there, madam, is your piano.”
She couldn’t speak.
“Caroline?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit overwhelmed. I never thought I’d see the piano again, and then to see it in this setting. It’s as though the house were built for this piano.”
“Perhaps it was. Would you like to play it?”
“You know I want to p
lay it, but not now. That would be very rude of me. I’ll get settled first.” Caroline fought back not only her tears but her urge to feel its keys.
“Your choice, ma’am. Then I’ll show you to your room.”
“Lead the way.” She took her eyes off the piano long enough to look at the white irises again. He had remembered.
“You have a decision to make.”
“A decision? Is it an important one?” she asked with a smile.
“ ‘Important’ is a relative term, you know. It might be an important one—it’s to decide on your suite. There is a guest suite upstairs and one downstairs, and you must choose.” He turned to Acer. “Just leave her bags here, and I’ll take them when she makes her decision.”
“Then I’m off to the kitchen—things to do,” said Acer. He walked toward the piano and took a right. Caroline saw the arched entrance to a very spacious dining room to her right and guessed the kitchen must be somewhere near. To her left stood the entrance to the gathering room and the staircase leading to the second floor. The arched doorway was symmetrical to the dining-room entrance.
“Let me tell you about the house. You see the dining room there. And the gathering room is here to our left.” He led her to its entrance. “The piano is normally in that corner, but we’ve rearranged the furniture so the foyer and loggia could serve as your concert hall.” He led her through the foyer and pointed to the right. “Down this way is the kitchen and morning room. I built my suite a few years ago. It’s just off the courtyard behind the tall shrubs there.” He led her to the window behind the piano.
Caroline could barely see the structure. “You don’t live in the main house?”
“No, I wanted a smaller space with a tin roof. I like to hear the rain, and I didn’t want to disturb the design of the house. So I built something for myself. I office there too.”
“Your mother designed the house?”
“Yes, right down to the towels and washcloths. Now, down this hallway beyond the gathering room is the library, and just beyond the library is one guest suite.”
“Roderick—I mean, Mr. Adair—could I speak with you for just a moment?”
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