by Anna Schmidt
“Ah, here she is now,” Oliver Franks, the choir director, announced.
Nola walked straight to the pump organ across from the choir loft at the front of the chapel. “Good morning, Oliver. Mr. Starbuck.” She removed her gloves and set them down along with her purse as she slid onto the polished organ bench and positioned her music for the prelude.
“Harry has agreed to favor the congregation with a solo this morning,” Oliver said. “And not a minute too soon since Minnie has come down with laryngitis and won’t be in church today.” Oliver’s wife, Minnie, often sang a solo while the ushers accepted the offering.
“I’m so sorry to hear that Minnie is ill,” Nola said and meant it. Minnie Franks was a good neighbor and friend. The two women shared a great deal in common, including their concern over the influence of the actors’ colony on the young people in the village. “Is there anything I can do for her?”
“Not a thing. She’ll come around,” Oliver assured her. “Now then, Harry here has suggested ‘Holy, Holy, Holy,’ and I completely agree that the hymn was made for a rich baritone like his.” Oliver opened the hymnal and set it on the organ in front of Nola. “Shall we give it a try?”
During this entire exchange, Harrison Starbuck had said nothing, but Nola was keenly aware that his eyes had never left her face. She adjusted the hymnal and pulled out several of the organ’s stops. Then she raised her hands high over the keys and struck the opening chords. But when Starbuck touched her shoulder, she missed the timing and the organ screeched to a halt. She glanced first at his hand still resting on her shoulder and then up at him.
The scoundrel was smiling jubilantly. “Perhaps a bit less pomp and circumstance?”
“It is a hymn of praise,” she reminded him stiffly.
“Sometimes praise can be whispered as effectively,” he countered.
“Perhaps you would prefer no accompaniment at all.” She could see Oliver nervously wringing his hands as he observed the exchange.
“Interesting idea,” Starbuck said as he leaned past her and struck a key, his face close enough that she could see the smoothness of his freshly shaved jaw. He hummed the note, then stood straight and tall and faced the empty pews.
“Holy. Holy. Holy.” He sang each word as if it stood alone, allowing the sound to build without increasing the volume. And then he paused as the third holy echoed across the rafters. When all was silent, he continued. “Lord God Almighty.” This he held as if sending up a plea for God’s attention.
Nola could not help it. His fresh interpretation of the old standard was mesmerizing and for that moment she completely forgot who was offering the hymn. Her fingers found the notes and ever so softly, she began to play as he sang, “Early in the morning, our song shall rise to Thee.”
Starbuck looked back at her and nodded and indicated with hand gestures how the rest of the hymn should build. When they came to the final phrase, instinctively, Nola lifted her fingers from the organ keys, allowing his voice to carry the final words without accompaniment.
“God in three persons,” he sang softly, his inflection filled with wonder, and then “Blessed trinity” with the emphasis on blessed.
“Oh, my,” Oliver gasped as the last note died away. “Oh, that was just splendid.”
And hard as she tried not to take pleasure in the moment, Nola found herself beaming up at Harrison Starbuck.
But her smile faded when his eyes locked on hers for he wasn’t smiling at all. He was studying her as if she’d suddenly turned into a completely different person. And then it was as if he tore his gaze from hers as he accepted Oliver’s compliments.
“In the theater, the actors are well aware that often they are made to look better than they are by those who support them.” He gave Nola a little bow. “We make a fine team, Miss Nola. Are you satisfied with the arrangement or shall we try it your way?”
Was Starbuck mocking her? He knew very well that what he had done was magnificent. Nola stiffened. “I doubt there’s time for testing other arrangements,” she said, deliberately looking at the gold brooch watch she had pinned to her jacket lapel. “And if you’ll forgive me, gentlemen, I should like to run through the prelude and review today’s congregational hymns before people begin arriving.”
“Of course,” Oliver said. “Nola always uses this hour to rehearse. She’s so busy during the week. I’m afraid we have intruded on your time, my dear.”
“Not at all,” Nola assured Oliver. “The prelude today is a standard that I’ve done many times before. Mostly,” she added for Starbuck’s benefit, “I rely on this time to make sure the organ is working well and to warm up for the service.” And not waiting for a response, she turned her attention to the music and began to play.
To her relief the two men moved up the aisle and she assumed they had gone outside to give her privacy while they enjoyed the warm spring morning. Reverend Diggs arrived and nodded to her as he went through his own preliminary preparations for the service. He placed his notes on the pulpit, marked each hymn page with a bookmark and then headed into the small side room where she knew he would don the black robe he wore for services.
She sounded the final chords of the prelude and then leaned back, stretching her shoulders and splaying her fingers as she lifted her arms high above her head.
“I never appreciated how gifted a musician you are,” Starbuck said.
Nola whipped around to find him sitting alone in the last pew, one long leg crossed over the other and his arms stretched along the back of the pew in a posture that seemed to announce ownership over his domain.
“Thank you,” she replied rigidly and scanned for some way to occupy herself as a means of escape. In her peripheral vision, she saw the long legs unfold, saw the polished shoes beneath the tailored black trousers move down the aisle, and felt her breath grow shallow.
“Seriously,” he continued as he propped one foot on the platform that held the organ and rested his elbow on his knee, “you should think of doing a concert—classical music.”
“I do not perform for profit,” Nola said and was surprised when instead of being rebuffed Starbuck leaned even closer and grinned.
“Who said anything about paying you?” Then he pushed himself upright and turned to join other members of the choir who were beginning to fill the pews across from the organ.
As she walked back to the tearoom after church, Nola was still trying to work through the range of emotions that had come with the morning’s service. It was not the sermon that had touched her. The truth was she had barely heard Reverend Diggs’s lesson for that day and during the closing prayer she had asked God’s forgiveness for her inattention.
No, her consternation came from the fact that in spite of her reservations about Harry Starbuck, she could not help but relish the experience they had just shared with the entire congregation. She had been thrilled by the silence that had filled the little chapel as his last note floated to the rafters and out the open windows. And yes, she took some pride in the way she had improvised the hymn to complement his voice and style.
She was humming softly to herself when Harrison Starbuck fell into step beside her.
“Lovely day,” he acknowledged as if they had been conversing already. “Weather like this will bring out the tourists earlier than usual.”
Ah, so he was taking a circuitous approach to bringing up the subject closest to his heart—the idea of buying her property. Well, he wasn’t fooling her.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to quite a profitable season,” she assured him. “I might even consider expanding the services of the tearoom.”
To her surprise he nodded thoughtfully. “That’s an idea,” he said almost absentmindedly.
They walked along in silence for several more steps and Nola was keenly aware of others taking note of Starbuck appearing to walk her home.
“Was there something you wanted?” she asked finally.
He glanced down at her as if he’d quite forgotten she
was at his side. “Yes, as a matter of fact. May I come in for a bit, Nola?”
It was the last thing she had expected. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.
“I’d like to ask a favor,” he added.
“As I have said repeatedly, my rooms are not available to rent to your actors and my home and tearoom are not for sale. Nothing is going to change that.”
He blinked down at her and then grinned. “I can see where you might think that’s what this is about, Nola, but actually it’s something altogether different.”
Nola could not help wondering if there might not be charm schools for men like Harry Starbuck. That smile, that twinkle in his eye, the dimples that punctuated each cheek. No wonder half the women in town were constantly on the lookout for him.
“So, please may I come inside?” he asked.
“I have another engagement.” It was only partially true, for Nola had no other plan than to make herself a cold lunch and eat it while she went over the latest batch of bills for the tearoom. She mounted the steps of her house and realized with relief that Starbuck was no longer with her.
“Pretty please?”
She turned and saw that he had swept off his hat, placed it over his heart and was on bended knee at the foot of the porch steps. Across the street two women from the church had stopped, their gloved hands covering their mouths as they obviously placed their own interpretation on the scene playing out before them.
“Get up, Harry,” Nola ordered. “This is not one of your plays. People are staring.”
Starbuck got to his feet but he was grinning as he turned and bowed toward the women across the street. When he turned back to Nola, he gave her a boyish shrug. “Might as well let me speak my piece, Nola. That way you can put to rest the rumors that we’ve started.”
We’ve? Nola was speechless. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she muttered.
“Never took credit for being one,” he agreed amicably as he mounted the steps and indicated one of the wicker rockers that lined the wide veranda. “Shall we sit out here or go inside?”
“You will state your business and be on your way,” Nola muttered as she plopped herself down in the first rocker, forcing him to take one that was hidden from the street by a trellis lush with rosebuds ready to burst into bloom.
“Well?” She sat on the edge of her seat, back ramrod straight, gloved hands folded on knees pressed together under the smooth challis of her skirt.
He lounged, one ankle crossed over his knee, straw hat pushed back to fully reveal his clean-shaven face. “You are a talented musician,” he began.
Nola sighed. “I told you I do not play except at church.”
He ignored this. “I was chatting with some folks after services and Oliver mentioned that you’ve done some composing.” When her eyebrows shot up in surprise, he added, “Oliver also said you had planned to attend the conservatory in Boston but then your father died.”
“There was a time when I had thought…” Nola stopped herself in midsentence, horrified at what she had almost revealed to this man.
“You had hoped for a career in music,” he guessed and leaned forward, elbows resting on knees as he searched for more. “You were going to but then your father…”
“My family’s history is none of your business,” she said tightly as she focused all of her attention on her clenched hands to avoid meeting his eyes.
“I remember now, Nola. Even after the whaling industry collapsed your father refused to give up. He made one last run but his ship was caught in a storm and all were lost at sea. That left your mother—and you—to manage the family. When she died you took over that parenting role even though your brothers were older by three years. You see? I know a great deal about you. Yes, now as I recall…” He frowned as if trying to retrieve a long-buried memory.
She looked up at him, curious in spite of herself. “What?”
“Well, it’s just coming back to me how your brothers were always at every school or church function. And your younger sister as well.”
Nola brushed the memory aside. “As was I. What’s your point?”
“They were there with the rest of us—the young people, the children. You were always with the adults.”
Nola fidgeted uncomfortably. “As usual you have moved us away from the topic at hand.”
Again he continued as if she had not spoken. “You gave up your dreams and ambitions for them.”
Someone had to take responsibility, she wanted to shout at him. What did he think? That it was easy? Keeping them all together? Making sure there was some money coming in so the others could get through school and find lives of their own?
To her utter dismay, Nola felt the grief over her own lost youth that she had effectively stuffed inside for years threaten to explode.
“Nola?”
Starbuck leaned even closer, his hand hovering an inch from hers, his eyes watching her with concern.
“Please do not presume to understand anything about the choices I have made in my life. And now I must ask you to please leave,” Nola whispered.
He stood up but did not make a move to leave. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he said quietly. “Here’s what I came to say. You know the play I’m working on for the opening of the cabaret? Well, today during church it came to me that the message of the play would be more powerful if it were told in the form of an operetta. Time is short but I think if I set the lines to old classics—even some old hymns—it might just work, at least for the preview at the cabaret. Would you be willing to read over what I’ve written and see if you can perhaps suggest some classics that might work?”
She drew in a breath but said nothing. Did he truly think he could win her trust by asking her advice on his play?
“I’m not trying to pull anything over on you here, Nola, by flattering you. I was genuinely impressed with the way you adapted the accompaniment to fit my solo this morning. You have a natural gift—in the business we often refer to it as a natural ‘ear.’”
She soaked in his words, examining each for any hint of trickery.
He stood up and when she heard the creak of the top porch step, she risked looking at him. “Hey.” He half turned then added with that trademark boyish smile, “What could it hurt to have a look at it?”
Nola sat stone still.
“Okay,” he said, putting on his hat. “How about this? I’ll drop off a copy tomorrow. You take your time, but I’d be grateful for any thoughts you might have.”
And then he was gone.
Chapter Four
Try as she might to make sense of the bills, the orders and how she could possibly stay open for business with no staff, Nola’s mind kept wandering back to the church service that morning and to Harry’s request that she take a look at his play. Under other circumstances she would have been flattered. But how could she possibly trust him? He had one agenda and that was to acquire her property. She had to keep her wits about her and realize that everything Starbuck did or said was somehow tied to business.
“Hello? Nola?”
Nola’s spirits lifted at the call of her friend, Rachel Williams. With everything else on her mind, she had forgotten that Rachel was stopping by. “In here,” she called as she hastily stacked the business papers and set them aside, realizing she’d been so disconcerted by Starbuck’s request that she’d left her front door wide open.
“More rain coming,” Rachel said as she entered the parlor and accepted Nola’s hug. “My hip is acting up again.” Using her cane she limped over to a chair.
“Have you had lunch?” Nola asked.
Rachel eyed the untouched tray on Nola’s desk. It had enough food on it to serve three people. “Perhaps I could just share yours?” Rachel suggested.
Nola laughed. “I’ll get an extra place setting. We can eat there by the fireplace. No need for you to move,” she assured her friend.
Rachel watched as Nola bustled about setting places, bringing the laden tray over so Rachel
could make selections from its contents of small sandwiches, sweetbreads, fruits and cheeses. After Nola had poured glasses of iced tea for each of them she hovered, trying to decide if there was anything else she could do to make her guest welcome.
“Stop fussing about, Nola, and sit,” Rachel said as she spread a linen napkin over her knees and reached for a cube of cheese. “Now tell me what the trouble is.” Nola started to protest but Rachel held up one finger. “A woman does not prepare mounds of food for herself if there isn’t something troubling her. It’s that cousin of mine, isn’t it?”
“No. Yes. Not really. Actually he has the perfect solution to my troubles. He is willing to buy me out.”
“So I heard. Ridiculous idea. The man has his finger in far too many pies if you ask me. Of course, no one did, least of all him.” She studied Nola closely. “You aren’t seriously thinking of selling to him, are you?”
“I don’t want to—I don’t want to sell at all. I mean, what on earth would I do?”
“You could travel?”
“I suppose,” Nola replied without much conviction.
“But the truth is this is your home—not just the building itself, but ’Sconset. So don’t sell.”
“If only it were that simple. You must have heard by now that I’m short staffed?”
Rachel nodded.
“Well, even with business being as slow as it is now, Judy Lang and I can’t manage alone. Anyone locally who might be available is already employed for the season.”
Rachel popped a finger sandwich into her mouth and chewed it slowly. “John Humboldt and I shared a lovely dinner just the other evening,” she said.
Nola was used to Rachel’s flights of fancy that seemingly had little to do with the subject at hand. She knew that Rachel was mulling over an idea that she would share in time.
“Our server was a lovely young man—a musician. He and his young family rent one of the cottages here in ’Sconset.” She glanced at Nola.
Nola understood that there was a point to all of this, one she was not yet grasping. “That’s nice,” she ventured.