Return of the Song

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  He pulled his tux from the back of his closet. There had been evenings like this when he was a child—evenings when his parents’ guests would come all dressed up and have dinner and then sit and listen to his mother play the piano. He and Sarah would get all dressed up too. Their balcony seats, overlooking the loggia, were the best in the house. From there they could see her and all the guests enjoying themselves. He’d liked it best when his mother sang.

  He adjusted his tie, splashed on the aftershave Lilah had bought for him, and headed to the main house. It was ten after six. His guests would be arriving shortly, and he didn’t want to miss Caroline’s entrance. He guessed she would come down around six twenty. But when he closed his door and walked through the courtyard, he heard music and saw Caroline through the window’s reflection of the setting sun and the coral and lavender-colored clouds. This was more beautiful than the way he had imagined her coming down the steps. He’d been around beauties all his life, but Caroline was more than that. Much more.

  He entered the kitchen, and as he did Liz stepped out of her office. “Good evening, Roderick. You’re looking awfully debonair. I haven’t seen you in your tux in a while.” She came near and tried to straighten his tie that didn’t need straightening.

  “Thank you, and that’s right, I haven’t worn a tux in a while.” He removed her hands and stepped away.

  Lilah appeared as if on cue. “Roderick, everything is just lovely. Just like we planned. We’re in for a grand evening!”

  Roderick moved through the kitchen, leaving Liz in a huff and Lilah grinning. He stood at the end of the loggia. Before, he had seen Caroline through the window. Now he looked at her against the natural light of the sky’s changing colors at dusk. The softness of her pink gown, her hair pulled high on her head, falling in loose curls, and the peace in her countenance—he wanted to remember this for a long time. He stood listening, only approaching when she stopped playing.

  “Caroline, you are a portrait of perfection.” He took her hand and guided her from the piano bench.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Adair, and you’re quite handsome yourself. In fact, you look just as comfortable in this tuxedo as you do in your waders.” She smiled.

  “This gown was made for you—the color, the . . . everything.”

  “Thank you. Angel picked it out for me. She feared I’d wear my navy-blue suit, so she insisted on a shopping trip. Oh, enough about all that. But thank you. Is everything ready?” She moved from behind the piano.

  “Lilah assures me everything is just perfect.”

  Roderick led Caroline around the loggia to see the tables and talk about the evening. The white linens were crisp, and crystal bowls, filled with irises, took center stage on every table.

  They were admiring the portrait of his mother when Lilah brought the first guests into the gathering room to Roderick. He turned to greet them.

  “Well, hello, Lawrence, and I’m so glad to see you, Beth. It’s been a while. I’d like to introduce you to Miss Caroline Carlyle. She is our piano-playing angel who just landed here from somewhere in this pink cloud.”

  Roderick smiled as he saw Caroline’s face flush and her left dimple appear.

  A steady stream of guests arrived and found their places. Dinner was served. Caroline observed Lilah directing the serving. She felt as though she were on the outside looking in, watching Lilah’s choreography of dinner courses, the expensive gowns and jewelry, conversations about recent trips to Paris—and not Paris, Kentucky. She overheard commitments being made for the next fund-raising event.

  Roderick, the perfect host, made his rounds to all his guests, leaving her only for a few moments at the time. He’d seated her next to Sarah. Caroline had told Sarah at lunch about her dreams to start a Guatemalan Children’s Choir. The choir would travel the States raising money to support the orphanages back in Guatemala. Roderick, hearing this, complimented her on her idea.

  Sarah pointed out guests, discreetly explaining the social registry. “Caroline, do you see the older woman over there next to the gold satin chair? Remember her. She might be very interested in your Guatemalan Orphans’ Choir idea. She could be very helpful.

  Any other time, Caroline would have found all this very interesting, but butterflies circled in her stomach.

  Coffee was finally served after the last course. Roderick stepped to the center of the room. “Well, my friends, I hope that I have welcomed each one of you personally by now, and if I haven’t, please know that Sarah and I are warmly pleased you are here. You live in these parts, so you know the uncertainties of planning anything outdoors on a summer evening. Our plan was to have a chocolate buffet on the terrace, but you ladies are so lovely this evening, I dare not take a chance with the clouds that are gathering. But you’re not to worry; your desserts will be served at your table after our musical treat. So please enjoy. I’ll be introducing our stellar guest in just a few moments.”

  Caroline excused herself for a few private moments in the library. Sarah came to get her as Roderick started the introduction and led her to the curve of the piano, where Roderick took her hand. As he finished his introduction, he turned to look at her face and pulled her fingers to his lips. He kissed them. “Music—when words aren’t enough,” he whispered.

  Caroline sat, making adjustments to the pink cloud of skirt, and closed her eyes as she dropped her head. She took a slow, deep breath, hoping to slow the rhythm of her heart as she placed her linen handkerchief on the bench beside her. She raised her head and opened her eyes to see Lilah standing in the distance. Lilah smiled broadly and folded her hands under her chin as though she were praying. Caroline thought she saw a tear.

  She turned her head slightly to the right as she placed her hands on the keyboard. Roderick’s gaze was intense.

  Caroline began to play, quickly losing herself in the music. She was only brought back to this space and time by the applause of the guests as each piece finished. She knew she was playing well. The dynamic contrasts, the changes in tempo, the rise and fall of the melodies, the delicate passages—music she had internalized through years of practice flowed from somewhere deep inside her and out her fingertips. She and her piano were one again.

  Only conscious of her music, she was barely aware the heavens were providing the guests with a fireworks display of lightning through the window and that the thunder had been resonating like a tympani.

  When the last chord was played and released, she rose to accept her audience’s generous applause. Roderick came to her side and took her hand again, raising it slightly and steadying her while she took a bow. By this time all the guests were on their feet. Even Liz Hampton was forced to stand. As they applauded, he turned to Caroline. “You are shining brilliantly.”

  “And you’re too generous with praise and white packages.”

  He whispered, “ ‘Plaisir d’amour’? You’ll play and sing it? You promised, remember?”

  She smiled and nodded in agreement. She reached for Sarah to hand her a glass of water, sipped, and sat back down to the piano.

  “Friends,” Roderick said, “you’ll be pleased to know that Miss Carlyle will play and sing one more selection.”

  The room became quiet, and Caroline began to play again. She played through the introduction twice before starting to sing. Her voice soared with clarity, even on the nasal quality of the French vowels. At the finish, the applause returned. Roderick joined her at once.

  When the room became quiet again, she surprised him by interrupting. “With my host’s permission,” she said, looking at Roderick, “and with your indulgence . . . I can’t bear to end the evening with a sad French love song bemoaning the bitter departure of the joy of love. Instead, I’d like to close the evening with an original composition.”

  Roderick’s look indicated surprise, and guests clapped in anticipation.

  She sat once again and lifted her hands to the piano. With closed eyes and a deep wrinkle in her brow, she bowed her head and took a slow, dee
p breath, inhaling not only the air, but the remembrance of a familiar melody. She turned her head slightly toward the window and opened her eyes. Raindrops that had pelted the windows only moments ago trickled down the glass in slow motion—small droplets meeting small droplets until streams were formed, like years of her tears. They would slide away together until the window was clear again.

  Through the rivulets and the break in the clouds, stars twinkled and a full moon made its entrance from behind the midnight-blue curtain of thunderheads. One perfectly formed tear escaped Caroline’s left eye and rolled unseen down her cheek. Her fingers, poised on the keyboard, coerced warm tones from her 1902 Hazelton Brothers piano.

  The delicate melody was unfurling itself when a new and passionate melodic theme appeared. Both motifs were lyrical—the kind the listeners would be humming tomorrow—yet even more beautiful as a duet. Caroline was totally engulfed in the intensity and the passion of the music. The melodies, entwined with the intimacy only understood by lovers, built to a tumultuous crescendo.

  After the thunderous peak, the piano strings, vibrating and resonating with each other, became abruptly still. The entire room was silent. Nothing—not a listener’s sigh nor a creak in the wooden floor—dared intrude on that moment. Then the tautness in Caroline’s arms and shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her face melted into serenity. Her right hand broke the silence, caressing the first, delicate melody from the piano again. A beautiful sadness blanketed her as she brought the melody gently to a satisfying cadence. Soulful tears filled her eyes but did not spill out or blur the sight of the shining, full moon through the window.

  This was her resolution, her benediction. Her journey back to wholeness had been a strenuous one. But there truly was light at the end of her passage through the long corridor of grief.

  A holy hush settled as she lifted her hands from the piano and placed them in her lap and bowed her head. “Goodbye, David,” she whispered. “Our song is finished. My gift to you for all time.”

  This time, the moment of silence was broken by an animated ovation.

  The guests lingered and showered Caroline with garlands of praise and invitations to return for parlor concerts in their homes. She returned their generosity with her simple grace. This was not the most enjoyable part of the evening for her. She only wanted to sit in a quiet place and regain her strength.

  Finally, the front door closed for the last time. The guests were gone. She and Roderick started toward the library to join George and Sarah to say good night.

  Lilah made her way to Caroline and hugged her. “Thank you, thank you. I can’t even speak. You have brought music back into these hollow walls. Thank you, Caroline.” She walked away with a quivering chin.

  On her way back to her office before leaving, Liz went to Caroline. “You play very well, Miss Carlyle. And your gown is lovely. I wore one very similar to that for my senior prom.”

  Caroline had already noted Liz’s red, strapless, nearly painted-on dress and thought it her reward for eating celery and sweating at the gym. “Thank you, Liz. I’m glad to know we have similar tastes. You’re very kind.”

  Liz walked away without a response. Roderick had heard the interchange. “And you, Miss Carlyle, you have class.”

  They walked together to the library and sat down on the antique sofa facing the fireplace, where they chatted about the evening—Caroline’s performance, the dramatic backdrop of the storm, and the guests’ sheer enjoyment of the entire event. Roderick and Sarah recalled similar childhood evenings.

  Sarah looked again at the night’s program in her hand. “I’m not complaining or suggesting, but I noticed you didn’t play any of the twentieth-century repertoire.”

  Caroline was surprised. “Ah, you’re an astute listener, and you’re right. I didn’t tonight, but I do play it when I must.”

  “Any of the atonal, avant-garde selections?”

  “Honestly, no. I don’t play it because I don’t understand it. Maybe someday.”

  “Now, that’s the beginning of another conversation,” Roderick added.

  Caroline turned to him. “A conversation about the music or perhaps my inability to understand it?”

  “Ooh, I’d like to be in on that one, but we’ll save it for next time.” Sarah and George rose to excuse themselves, walking to where Caroline rested. She stood, and Sarah took both her hands. “You were brilliant, Caroline, just brilliant. I’m so glad you came, and I’m so happy you’ve become reacquainted with your piano.”

  “Thank you, Sarah.”

  They both smiled and hugged. “We’ll say our goodbyes tonight since we’re getting such an early start in the morning. I promise to stay in touch, my friend.”

  “Thank you for everything, Sarah. Something tells me I will need your help more than I know.”

  At long last, Roderick and Caroline were alone in the library. For the first time since her arrival on Tuesday, she felt awkward. The emotions stirring in her the last couple of days were like old friends she hadn’t seen in a long time. She was sure she’d had them before, but time had almost erased their memory.

  “You really did shine tonight, Caroline. I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed anything more.”

  Caroline ran her nervous fingers along the embossed velveteen cushions of the sofa where they sat. “Thank you, Roderick. I would hang my head and run backward all the way to Moss Point if I thought that I had embarrassed you in front of your friends. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “You’re just full of surprises. You look like porcelain, even in a rainstorm.” He touched the curl brushing her cheek. “You’re so small, but you have such a big heart, and you make so much music. You return catty remarks with kindness. You’re quite a mystery, Caroline Carlyle.”

  She turned shyly away. “Oh, mystery is good, I think. But I’ve never thought of myself as mysterious, just plainly simple and transparent.”

  “Maybe that’s what makes you mysterious. I’m not accustomed to transparency.”

  “Well, then, we’ll call it even. I’m not accustomed to private planes, secretaries and Lilahs and Acers, and trout streams and business ventures.” She turned back to him. “And would you mind if I continued the list tomorrow? I think I should turn in.”

  As they walked in awkward silence from the library to the foyer, Roderick took her fingers. Standing at the base of the stairs, he lifted her hand and studied it. “Another mystery: your hands are too small to make that much music.”

  She gently pulled away. “Music comes from the heart, and mine is big. You said so yourself.” She planted her feet on the first step.

  “You finished ‘David’s Song.’ When did you do that?”

  She faced him. “I did, didn’t I? I finished it this morning. At least I thought I had finished it. But when I played it tonight, I knew it was finished.”

  “It was beautiful, Caroline, just like the woman who wrote it. I’m glad for you that you finished it here at Rockwater on your piano. That was goal number two, I believe.”

  “It was indeed, and thank you,” she said pensively. She lifted her skirt to start her climb up the stairs.

  “Caroline.” He paused as she turned to him. He took her hand again. “Caroline, may I kiss you?” he asked.

  Caroline looked deeply into his eyes before responding, “No . . . and yes.”

  Roderick stood awkwardly still. She sensed he wasn’t often caught off guard. “Well, Sarah’s not here to interpret that answer. And I’m not trusting myself because I do not want to make a mistake, Caroline.”

  “Then trust me. ‘No’ means I don’t want to be asked for permission. ‘Yes’ means when you don’t feel a need to ask.”

  “I’ll think about that one. But for now, I’ll trust you.” He kissed her hand and released it.

  Caroline raised her hand to touch his face as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Good night, and thank you for another perfect day, Roderick.”

  She knew he stood at the bottom of t
he stairs until the door to her suite closed.

  Treasures Restored

   Caroline was strapped in for takeoff. With the exception of brief summer-afternoon showers, every day in Kentucky had been bright with sunshine; but Saturday morning brought fog and slick, gray skies. Yet only moments after takeoff, the plane pierced the gray ceiling of thick clouds and climbed to where the sun shone and the sky was blue.

  Her life was like getting through this fog into the sunlight—first, the grayness of the morning drive and then penetrating the clouds to reach the light. In Kentucky she had come to a brighter place, a place where she could see and sense with more clarity.

  She looked out the window. I played my piano once again, and I completed “David’s Song.” Made some decisions, but I don’t think I’ll share them until I’ve had few nights to sleep on them. That’s what Dad would do.

  But in spite of herself, her thoughts turned to Roderick. Even though he had treated her with sensitivity and kindness in weeks of phone calls, Caroline had sometimes wondered if he might be an arrogant aristocrat using his resources to spoil himself—a shallow person whose worth was in what he had and in what he could acquire. That had not been the case, something for which she was grateful.

  He’s warm and sincere, and he seems to handle well the weight of responsibility that comes with his wealth. Yes, he moves and works in global circles, and I don’t, but he’s grounded in Kentucky bluegrass and thirsts for the waters of his trout stream. Dad, James, and Thomas would like all that.

  Slow down. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts. It’s too much and far too soon. But he sincerely appreciates music—not just being a patron of the arts because he’s wealthy and has social standing but because he genuinely loves music. I like the way he spoke of his heritage and his family. He’s such a gentleman. And the best part: he makes me laugh. David made me laugh. I didn’t dance this trip, but Angel will be happy to hear that I laughed, really laughed.