Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  They turned toward the voice. “Oh, hi, Liz. It’s time you met Miss Carlyle. Caroline, this is Liz Hampton, my administrative assistant.”

  Caroline had never been more wrong in her life. Liz was not built like a gorilla, nor was she dressed in a gray uniform with a nightstick and key ring. She was a tall, athletically slender, brown-eyed blonde dressed in a camel-colored pants suit with an ivory silk blouse. She wore heavy gold jewelry at her neck and wrists. Caroline extended her hand to Liz and wanted to withdraw it when she saw Liz’s long slender fingers covered in gold rings and her acrylic nails perfectly shaped and painted a deep crimson. Women like Liz made Caroline feel smaller than she was. “Hello, Liz, what a pleasure to meet you after these weeks of phone conversations.”

  Another necessary white lie.

  Liz shook Caroline’s hand and forced a smile. “Yes, it is indeed a pleasure.” She turned away from Caroline to Roderick. “I need to speak with you.”

  “Well, speak.”

  “Here, in front of Miss Carlyle?”

  “Yes, right here’s fine.”

  Liz moved closer to him. “Your sister called and wondered if you had plans for tomorrow.”

  “Tell her I’ll phone her later this evening.” He took Caroline’s arm.

  “I could save you the call if you tell me what your plans are,” Liz insisted.

  “Thank you, but that’s fine. I’d like to speak with Sarah myself.”

  “I could answer her question, and then you could speak with her at your leisure.”

  “That’s one way to handle it, but it’s not the way I will handle it. Thank you, Miss Hampton. Is there anything else?”

  “No, that was all.” Liz’s face tightened.

  Having dismissed Liz, Roderick led Caroline through the loggia to the left. The library was just beyond the gathering room. Caroline was beginning to envision the U-shaped design of the house. A glassed-in loggia lined the inside perimeter of the structure such that all rooms upstairs and downstairs opened to a view of the courtyard. French doors were positioned unobtrusively along the glass wall for entrances into the courtyard.

  Caroline peeked into the library as they passed the door. The walls glowed a deep crimson with wood paneling beneath a chair rail. Built-in bookcases flanked the windows to the front of the house. Freestanding bookcases lined other walls. The furniture was large and overstuffed for comfortable reading. Occasional tables sat covered in books.

  “Feel free to browse if you like to read,” Roderick said.

  “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that. Are you a reader?”

  “We’re all readers. My parents were not fond of television, but stacks of books were always within an arm’s reach. We read in the evenings when I was growing up.” They continued their walk toward the guest room. “Here is your first option.”

  The spacious room with sage-green walls was inviting. Oil paintings of white flowers lined the walls: magnolias, lilies, roses, and peonies—only white. Next to the bedroom was a sitting area with a pair of green-and-white floral upholstered chairs and one large matching ottoman facing the stone fireplace. A crystal vase filled with white irises sat on the hearth. The same floral fabric covered what Caroline assumed was a window until Roderick pulled the drapery cords, revealing a French door opening to a walled garden.

  More jasmine covered the stacked-stone walls of the garden, and moss crept between the pavers covering the ground. Urns held white impatiens and hanging baskets of asparagus fern created a canopy above their heads. At one end of the private garden sat a fountain built from the same stones as the house and an iron gate opening into the courtyard. A wicker sofa provided seating for the cool, almost damp, surroundings.

  “This is very lovely. It’s so peaceful and calms my soul. I think I would have liked your mother.”

  “Just like you, music and the garden were her passions. Shall we go upstairs?”

  “Having seen this, I think going upstairs would waste your time. And after all, Acer may need you in the kitchen.” She stepped back inside and glanced over the room again.

  “Acer can hold his own. Besides, you need to know your way around. Let’s go.” They retraced their steps back to the foyer and up the winding staircase. “The other suite is directly above the one I just showed you.”

  This entire side of the second floor opened to a balcony overlooking the loggia below and the courtyard just outside. “My father’s office . . . another guest room.” He pointed them out as they walked passed the closed doors. They made a right turn at the end of the balcony. “Feel free to look around at your leisure.”

  Roderick opened the door to her second choice. Until Caroline saw this room, she’d thought white was white, but this room revealed shades of white. The walls were ivory with stark white wood trim and molding. The bed linens were a softer white and the white sheers seductively covered the windows, letting in the gold of the late afternoon sunlight and the reflections of the blue sky. There were touches of that same blue and gold in the paintings and accessories.

  The room was laid out the same as the one below with the sitting area and fireplace at the end of the room. Instead of a matching pair of chairs, she saw a chaise lounge covered in a buttery yellow silk and an adjacent chair in a pale powder blue. Airy yellow and blue floral pillows sat on the lounge and chair. On the stone hearth, yellow irises filled what appeared to be an antique white bowl and pitcher.

  Roderick left her gazing around the room and went to the French door beside the stone fireplace. He pulled aside the sheers and opened the glass door. She followed him. A private balcony just above the room below overlooked the walled garden and the courtyard. From here, Caroline could see Roderick’s living quarters and then miles of bluegrass and trees stretching just shy of forever.

  “How am I to choose? Do you have a quarter?”

  “A quarter?” He fumbled in his pocket.

  “A quarter, a nickel, anything that has heads or tails. Heads, and I spend my time in a sea of green with a private garden and direct entrance to the courtyard. Tails, and I spend my time right here overlooking it all.”

  “Would you like me to flip the coin?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Roderick flipped the coin and without looking at it said, “It’s tails, and looks like that pretty head of yours will be in the clouds.” He made the choice. “I’ll get your bags and be right back.”

  Caroline stood on the balcony until Roderick returned with her bags.

  “You’re welcome to join us at your leisure, but if you’re cooking hushpuppies, then you should be down by six o’clock.”

  Caroline smiled. “I’ll see you at six thirty.” He was about to close the door when she said, “Roderick, thank you for the irises. They’re quite lovely—almost as lovely as knowing you remembered.”

  “You’re welcome. I wanted you to feel at home.”

  Caroline unpacked her bags and surveyed every detail of the room and bathroom, still trying to believe she was really here and that her piano was just downstairs. She pulled out her cell phone and called her parents and Angel to let them know of her safe arrival.

  She next walked out onto the balcony to take in the amber skies. The sun headed toward the horizon on the other side of the house. She was glad, for it meant the rising sun would wake her in the morning.

  Liz, briefcase in hand, walked across the courtyard below. They made eye contact. Just as she lifted her hand to wave, Liz turned her head abruptly and walked purposefully toward the gate. Caroline guessed she was leaving for the day.

  When she could wait no longer, she went downstairs. She approached the piano looking at the familiar curves and scrollwork. She ran her hand along the edge of the raised lid and leaned over to see the tiny inscriptions and tuning dates her own piano tuner had made. She sat on the bench and slowly raised the lid covering the keys. The ivory was still in mint condition, and the warm tones of the wood shone through the polish.

  She recalled standing
excitedly on her tiptoes, looking out the picture window when the deliverymen had arrived at the Carlyle house with the piano twenty years ago. She remembered, too, seeing through that same picture window the white truck that had come to take the piano away years later. Parting with her piano had been like a death—but a death holding hope of a reunion. And here she sat looking out another window in a faraway, beautiful place, feeling its keys underneath her fingers again.

  The piano and a picture window. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and began one of the pieces she had been preparing. After only a few phrases, she opened her eyes again to see Roderick standing in the courtyard, listening and looking at her. But it didn’t matter. She was home again at her piano.

  And so she played.

  Condensed Versions

   The sun would not rise soon enough for Caroline. Lying in bed, she played the entire recital with the white matelassé coverlet as her keyboard.

  She recalled a two-week bout with asthma when she was in the sixth grade. The illness had kept her from school and from playing the piano; nevertheless, she had kept up with her studies and had learned a Bach two-part invention studying the music and practicing the fingering on the bedsheets. She had played it near flawlessly when she was able to play the piano again.

  When lying still became unbearable, she looked at the clock. Six fifteen. Surely the sun would rise before long. There was a tea box with an assortment of teas, a hot pot to heat the water, packets of honey and sugar, and a teacup on the wicker chest across the room. Lilah had thought of everything—or maybe it was Roderick. She slipped out of bed, reached for her robe and slippers. The night-light in the bathroom was sufficient so the stillness of the early morning was not disturbed with lamplight. She poured the bottled water into the hot pot and turned it on.

  Minutes later, steam rose from the cup of Darjeeling in her hands as she walked to the window. She pulled the sheer away from the pane. The eastern heavens were a slight pink, and yellow rays shone across the heavy dew blanketing the bluegrass. Only four mornings in Kentucky, and she wouldn’t miss a sunrise. She jumped into her sweats, brushed her teeth, twisted her hair up with a clasp, grabbed her teacup, and went out onto the balcony. She arranged the wicker sofa’s cushions to her comfort and settled in.

  The yellow sky gave way to blue, and untamed creatures woke to another day. The squirrels played chase in the large tree shading Roderick’s quarters. The birds warbled, warming up for a day of chirping. A couple of hummingbirds heading for their first sip of the morning zoomed past her. The coolness made her glad for her sweatpants and shirt.

  Across the courtyard through the windows, lights drew her attention. She felt like a visual eavesdropper watching Lilah moving around the kitchen to start breakfast.

  The slamming door coming from Roderick’s quarters interrupted the morning’s quiet. It was Roderick, dressed in sweats.

  “Good morning, Mr. Adair, and how is your world this morning?” Caroline cradled the teacup in both hands and stretched to see over the stone wall of the balcony.

  He looked up to see her. “My world is mighty fine this morning, thank you, ma’am. I hope yours is too. Did you rest?”

  “My world? Nigh on to perfect, I’d say. And yes, I rested. I was just too up-and-down excited to sleep. I didn’t want to miss the sunrise over bluegrass that happens to be lime green.”

  “I see you have a cup of something.”

  “Made myself a cuppa tea.” She rose and leaned over the balcony. “You know, we’re not required to have this conversation long distance this morning. If you’re going for a walk and wouldn’t mind the company, I’d really like to go with you.”

  “Can you keep up?” He smiled.

  “I’ll try.”

  “How long will it take you to get ready?”

  “How long does it take to come down these steps to the courtyard?”

  “Depends on if you’re stepping or sliding.” He walked toward the steps to meet her.

  She put her teacup on the wicker table and started down the stone steps to the courtyard.

  “Be careful,” he said. “Those steps are covered in moss, and it’s damp this morning.”

  She attempted to tame the hair blowing in her eyes. “Should we tell Lila we’re going for a walk?”

  “Good idea. I’ll ask her to delay breakfast for a little while.”

  “Wait just a minute. How far do you walk? And how long will it be before breakfast?” Caroline surprised herself with her boldness.

  “Remember, it’s your day as the tour director.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Can we get to the trout stream and back in an hour?”

  “In an hour, we can get there, take a twenty-minute swim, and walk back.”

  “If that’s true, maybe Lilah could have breakfast ready in about forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll tell her.” He disappeared into the kitchen. She could see them both laughing. He stuck his head out the door. “Want a cup of coffee to take with you?”

  “No, thank you. One cup of coffee, and you’d send Acer back to Moss Point with me, and we’d be flying on my own steam instead of the plane’s.”

  “By all means, skip the coffee, then.”

  The walk through the grounds revealed the stream that wound around the house and under the bridge out front. Flowers and herbs filled raised beds, and trees were pregnant with fruit to be harvested later in the summer. Roderick pointed out a swing under an oak tree and told Caroline how he and Sarah had played there as children.

  “Do you always walk in the mornings?” she asked.

  “No, I usually jog.”

  “Don’t let me hold you up!”

  “You’re not holding me up. You’re adding to my enjoyment of the morning.” He meant it too.

  “The morning is my favorite part of the day. I’m so glad it’s morning somewhere all day long.” She began to hum a sweet melody.

  “I’ll have to think about that one.”

  Caroline’s humming gave way to lyrics as though singing to herself: “Gazing in the heavens in the dark of night . . . Every little twinkle gives hope of morning light . . . Heaven must be beautiful like sunrise all day long . . .”

  “That’s a lovely tune.”

  “Thank you. I wrote it for a student of mine a few years ago. Hadn’t thought of him in a while, and then his mom called me not long ago.”

  “Lucky student.”

  “Not so lucky. He died with leukemia. But he did a lot of living in his short life, and he certainly taught me something about living and dying.”

  “I still think he was lucky—lucky to have you as a teacher.”

  Roderick asked questions about her childhood, and she responded with stories about James and Thomas and her solid-as-a-rock father and her good-as-gold mother. She told him about her parents’ sacrificial provision of piano lessons and a college education for her, describing how she came to have the piano that now sat in his loggia.

  When he asked about her college days, she described herself as a serious student determined to make her parents’ sacrifices worth it. She told him about Betsy and their lifelong friendship.

  He then asked the question he’d been building up to. “Surely, Caroline, there must be a young man in your life.” Her delay in answering told him the question had moved her to a painful place.

  “There was a young man in my life. We met at Betsy’s wedding eight years ago. David was full of joy and big dreams for making the world a better place. We were different in so many ways, but we were on the same page with the things that really count.”

  “That’s important.” Roderick bent down to pick up a stick and tossed it into the woods.

  “I guess you could say I was his anchor, and he was my sail.” Caroline became quiet.

  Roderick waited before asking, “You keep using the past tense?”

  She stopped walking and turned to him. “David was killed in an accident in Guatemala six weeks before we were to be married
.”

  “Oh, Caroline, I’m so sorry.” He looked into the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

  “So am I.”

  Roderick wanted to brush the loose curls away from her face as if that would brush away her sorrow. He truly was sad she had been hurt, but he was glad she was here.

  Caroline turned and started walking again. “My life really changed. David’s death sort of disabled my motivating mechanism. Sam and Angel were longtime friends of my parents. They invited me to come to Moss Point. I had no other plans, so I went. That was six years ago. They’ve cared for me as if I were their own daughter.”

  “You’ve been there all this time?”

  “Yes. Been playing the same phrases over and over again for the last six years—school starts in September, then the Christmas programs, church every Sunday, spring recitals, a summer break, and then it starts all over again. Sort of like visiting Aunt Maggie when I was a little girl. I loved listening to her recording of Van Cliburn playing Rachmaninoff.”

  She stooped to pick a dandelion. Roderick watched her twirl it in her fingers.

  She blew the dandelion into the cool morning air. “There was this one spot in the second movement of the first concerto where the old long-playing album was scratched. Every time the needle passed this point, it would stick. I guess the needle deepened the groove through the years. I can still see Aunt Maggie walking over and gently bumping the lid of the stereo with the heel of her hand. The needle would magically jump to the next groove and the concerto continued.”

  “That’s a good memory,” Roderick observed.

  “Yeah, the memory is better than living your life in such a groove. But with Bella, and Dr. Martin wanting me to move to the university, I think my lid has been thumped.”

  “Sounds like the second movement is about to start, but the question is, are you ready to get out of the groove?”

  Caroline stopped and looked him straight in the eye. “Are you always this inquisitive before your first cup of coffee?”

  Roderick noticed her raised right eyebrow. “And what makes you think I haven’t had a cup of coffee already?”