Knight Music

by Darlene Franklin

  The music minister—Josh Redding—called the choir to order.

  “You’ll have to tell me all about your first week on the job later.” Ty found a spot next to Joe in the choir loft—one of only five men. Down in the first row, he spotted Mrs. Perkins and a couple of women from his Sunday school class. “Michelle’s not in choir?”

  “She doesn’t like to sing.” A faint smile crossed Joe’s face. “Unless it’s country karaoke.” Ty must have looked surprised because Joe said, “Long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  Josh handed out music, simple SAB arrangements. Ty leafed through the pages and found a few places where the men split into two parts. Easy enough. An older woman took her place at the piano. Did the orchestra play for the choir? Did they use a recording? Piano? He couldn’t imagine anything too elaborate with this group.

  “Joe, why don’t you introduce our guest.”

  Ty looked up as two dozen pairs of eyes fastened on him. He smiled as Joe put his hand on his shoulder. “This is my cousin, Ty Knight. He’s here for a visit, but we’re hoping to convince him to make Ulysses his permanent home.” Murmured greetings welcomed the announcement.

  “I understand you play the violin?” Josh tilted his head at him.

  “I have my instrument right here.” Ty patted the case.

  “Wonderful. Now we have a string quartet.” Josh smiled and handed out the rehearsal schedule for the night.

  The man next to him extended a hand. “I’m Hugh Classen.”

  “He teaches art at the high school,” Joe said. “He’s one of my best customers.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Ty turned his attention to the rehearsal schedule and arranged his music in the order listed.

  “And my name is Max,” a bearded man on Joe’s other side said.

  The choir, though smaller in number than most he had heard, held a good blend of voices. One of the men tended to hang on to the melody line about two octaves below the sopranos, but everyone else sang their parts. Ty had forgotten how much fun choral singing could be, although he still played with a small community orchestra back home. That is, he had until he moved out West for his new start.

  The choir special for Sunday included a solo, and Ty watched Sonia through the glass to the sound booth. She was cute when she concentrated that way, puckering her lips and scrunching her eyebrows close together. The choir stood for a final run-through of the number before they dismissed.

  ❧

  “So you favor a hands-on approach to teaching.” Ty walked with Sonia to her car after the rehearsal.

  She flung her hands upward, as if to say, What else do you expect? “It is art, after all. How else can someone learn to draw? Timid students, who make a few lines here and there before asking for reassurance, often don’t continue. It’s easier to teach someone who has a little more confidence.”

  They reached her car. Ty shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I was wondering. . .”

  Sonia paused in unlocking her car door, the light September wind curling dark strands of her hair about her face. “Yes?”

  “I have discovered something to do in Denver when you’re dead. More precisely, something to do here in Lincoln County on the weekends. Believe it or not, there is a wetlands sanctuary near here, over in Limon.”

  She caught her breath. “Wetlands? Really?”

  “Would you like to check it out with me this weekend? Maybe find some Canadian geese settling into their winter digs?” He looked away, across the parking lot in the direction of the highway. “I thought it might be a good place to sketch. Practice that assignment you listed for your class.”

  A smile ghosted Sonia’s lips. “I saw your name on the class list for Saturday morning. Have you bought all your supplies?”

  “Yup. Paper, pencils—drawing, charcoal, and colored—ruler and eraser. I can’t wait.” He rubbed his hands together. “So, what do you say? Can we go on Saturday? Or if you’d prefer, we can go on Sunday afternoon. There’s no Bible study this week.”

  “Saturday afternoon sounds good, after the adult class.” Did I just agree to a date? A pleasurable tremor passed down her arms.

  “Great.” When Ty smiled like that, he could run for man of the year. “I guess I’ll see you again at class on Saturday morning.” He walked away, whistling the tune of the choir’s Sunday selection, his violin case gently bumping his thigh in time to the music.

  Seeing him in choir sharpened some of her questions. Would someone who wasn’t a Christian do that? Sonia sensed Ty didn’t know the Lord and decided to make it a matter of prayer.

  On Friday, Sonia sent out information to her Denver contacts about a master’s studio she would hold on Tuesday nights. She also went over her plans for her Saturday classes one last time, the first for children, another for teens and adults. The high school art teacher, a guy named Hugh Classen, had signed up with several of his students. Other names she remembered from church. She was touched to see Nel among the registrants and pleased beyond reason that Ty had also decided to take part.

  Was Ty a renaissance man—one who could claim some degree of skill in every area, from finance to music to art—or did he have a personal interest? She pushed aside the question as ridiculous. Since he was new to the community, as she was, he might want to meet as many people as possible.

  Someone knocked on the door to the studio. “Come in.”

  Joe entered. “Are you all ready for your big debut?”

  “So-so.” She twiddled her hand. “I think I was less nervous the last time I had a booth at the Cherry Creek Arts Festival.” Which was why she planned to wear her brightest red paisley skirt with a yellow peasant blouse tomorrow. She wanted to look confident even if she felt intimidated.

  “I get that way the first time I offer a new class.” He walked around the room, taking in the child-sized art easels with jars holding tempera paint. A stack of plastic aprons waited on the shelves. In one corner she had assembled a rainbow of children’s toys, everything from brown teddy bears to red trucks to yellow balls. “Interesting setup you have here.”

  Sonia flashed a smile. “For this first session, I just want them to have fun. They get to choose something in their favorite color and paint that. And I’ll talk some about color.”

  He nodded. “Fun is the key ingredient.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I know there are some parents who would love to take a class as well, but they have no one to leave the children with. Would you mind if I taught a second class for children so their parents can come to the adult sessions?”

  “Good idea. I know you were doing that before I arrived.” Sonia turned around. “But where?”

  “I have some ideas.” He explained his plan to remodel part of the back room, and they agreed to have it ready before the second session started in six weeks.

  On Saturday morning, the children arrived early and stayed late. When they got to hang their paintings on a clothesline to dry “just like grown-ups,” Joe’s niece Poppy danced with excitement. Sonia wondered if she had allowed enough time between classes.

  She was putting away the last of the children’s easels when Ty walked in. “Can I help?”

  Sonia felt herself smiling. “I need to set up for the adult class. Just a table and chairs today. The round one, over there.” She grinned. “The only Knights I’ll allow in my class have to sit at a round table.”

  “Hardy-har-har.” He lifted the table as if it weighed no more than two soda cans and soon put the room in order.

  Sonia had asked the students to bring examples of their work, if they had any. Although no experience—or talent, for that matter—was required for participation, it helped to have some idea of her students’ beginning skill levels. If she discovered a variety of abilities, she might expand to beginning and intermediate classes in the next session.

  A couple of the high school students showed real talent. Perhaps these classes would inspire them to explore a career in art and not feel it
necessary to pursue other dreams. If she could provide that ray of light and encouragement, she’d consider the class a success.

  Even though she felt like her own career had stalled. No. She refused to think of it as anything more than a temporary stumbling block.

  At the table, Ty sat next to his aunt, holding his pencil with a violinist’s grace but without moving it. Nel’s hand flowed in a steady line across the page. He caught her gaze and smiled. Maybe their trip this afternoon would encourage both of them to sketch without inhibition.

  ❧

  “I looked up the wetlands on the computer last night.” Sonia opened up a notepad where she had written a few bits of information. “Colorado originally had two million acres in wetlands. Can you imagine? Now it’s down to one million. Cut in half.” She looked out the window at the fields greening toward harvest. “Colorado isn’t a place that jumps to mind when you think of the rain forest.”

  “Are you into all that environmental stuff?” Ty cocked his head at her. “Liberal artist and all that?” He grinned wide white teeth to show he meant it as a tease.

  “Not really.” Sonia shook her head. “I recycle my pop cans when I can and buy recycled unless the price is outrageous. But I never imagined Colorado as having a big problem. There’s little law to protect the wetlands and not much by way of enforcement.” She sighed. “Something to think about. I’m looking forward to seeing what wildlife lives there.”

  “Flora and fauna.” He nodded his head. “I have no idea what the situation is like in Virginia. Probably a lot worse than in Colorado. Europeans came and cut down the forest.” He rolled his shoulders and pointed ahead. “There’s a sign for Limon. How many acres are they preserving in Limon?”

  Sonia brought up the website on her smartphone. “All of fourteen acres.” She shrugged. “That’s pretty small. But I guess it’s a start.”

  “Ah. Here we are.” Ty exited the interstate. “We’re looking for the Doug Kissel Fishing Pond.”

  “What is that?”

  “I don’t have a clue.” He grinned. “But once we find it, we follow the pedestrian trail under the railroad south about fifteen hundred feet.”

  “I’m glad Joe let us borrow his binoculars. I suspect looking for the wildlife will be like a hidden-picture puzzle, only without the key to check for answers.”

  “That’s not a problem when you have eagle-eye Ty Knight with you.” He narrowed his eyes and gazed at the passing landmarks. “Aha! There’s a sign pointing the way. It says it’s funded by CDOT. What’s that?” He found a parking place and turned off the engine.

  “CDOT is the Colorado Department of Transportation.” Sonia scrolled down her computer screen. “They’re trying to transform a retired sewage lagoon into a wetland basin.”

  By the time Sonia had closed the phone and replaced it in her bag, Ty was opening her door. The binoculars hung from his neck. He whistled at the marsh grass waving in the distance. “Hard to believe this was once a sewage dump.”

  “They even have four different unique wetland environments, all in this tiny space.”

  “Different kinds of wetlands, huh?”

  “Different kinds of plant life, in any case. Everything from willows to cattails to pondweed.”

  Ty arched an eyebrow at that. “I didn’t know weeds were ever encouraged.”

  Sonia returned a ghost of a smile. “But we’re not here as naturalists. We’ll draw however fancy strikes.” She smirked. “Even if it’s a weed.”

  They walked the pedestrian path. “Passing on the right.” A bicyclist, dressed in lime-green biking shorts, passed them. Moisture weighted the air, and Sonia breathed deeply of the scent of mossy earth and moist dirt.

  The surface of the pond looked as blue as it might have on the day of Creation, intermixed with shades of green with dashes of gold, red, and pink. Sonia reviewed her choice of colored pencils, but decided to stick with a black-and-white pencil sketch. Something plopped in the water, and she checked her list. “A green-winged teal, or duck to ordinary folks like you and me.”

  Ty put his finger to his lips and pointed in the direction of a white ibis standing only a few feet away from them. The bird stared down his long pointed beak at some spot in the water, probably searching for his next meal.

  “If we’re lucky, we might get to see coyotes and muskrats as well as mule deer. Although I don’t know if the deer will show up before dusk.” Sonia danced down the path a bit farther. “I wonder if we’ll find places to sit.” She wrinkled her nose at the trees lining the pathway. “Nothing I read mentioned poison ivy, but I wouldn’t know it if I saw it.”

  “There’s a seat up ahead.” Ty pointed to a wrought iron bench, where a white-haired gentleman helped his wife to her feet.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” the woman said.

  “I keep telling her any day we’re still together is a beautiful day,” her husband, tall and straight in spite of his shock of white hair and speckled skin, said.

  How sweet. Will any man ever feel that way about me? Sonia glanced at Ty, and he reached for her hand. They walked to the bench with their hands clasped.

  Ty didn’t sit down. “I expect the path circles the wetlands. Do you want to go all the way around first or stop here?” The lazy look in his dark eyes suggested he’d rather spend the time enjoying a quiet stroll than sketching.

  As much as the prospect appealed to Sonia as well, she needed to work. Time for both, she decided. “Let’s keep going. See if we can figure out where one kind of ‘cell’—that’s what they call the different environments—becomes another.”

  ❧

  A breeze blew across the water, and Sonia shivered ever so slightly. Ty used it as an excuse to slip his arm around her shoulders. Why this woman of all women drew him, he didn’t know. Perhaps he relished the knight’s ideal of a challenge. His lips curled a little at the thought.

  Sonia broke away from him by a couple of inches, and she knelt by the shoreline. “Here are the cattails.”

  The slender reeds did resemble the tail of his mother’s Siamese cat, soft, brown, and furry, swaying back and forth like a cat on the hunt. Sonia’s fingers tapped her sketchbook, and he could almost see the images forming in her mind.

  If today’s trip renewed Sonia’s eagerness to create again, Ty’s trip out West would double in value. Once he had seen her work, he knew her heart—a heart given over to beauty but sullied by the robbery at Joe’s store. He picked up a stone and skipped it across the water, waiting until it sank beneath the surface and ripples spread out from the point of impact. Actions always had unintended consequences.

  They walked a little farther and reached an area where the vegetation grew thicker, less marshy. Across the pond, he saw a flicker of yellow on the ground before white wings fluttered and a brown neck stretched out of the water. Sonia’s fingers beat her sketch pad in a march tempo.

  “Why don’t we stop here?” Ty sat on the closest bench and patted the spot next to him. “I see two, maybe three different birds out there.”

  Sonia joined him. “It’s so peaceful here.” She lifted her face to the breeze for a moment, and it lifted tendrils of her dark hair away from her face.

  “And beautiful.” But Ty looked at her, not at the scene in front of them.

  Ty had always admired beauty.

  Five

  Ty opened his sketch pad. In class that morning, he had drawn the candle and goblet Sonia had put on display. But his attempt was as childish and immature as “Chopsticks” on the piano.

  “Don’t think. Just let your fingers follow what your eye sees.” Sonia spoke without looking at him, her own pencil flashing over the page, at ease.

  Ty moved his pencil in a choppy, semicircular line, the water rippling across the pond. He hummed to himself, the theme from “Suite No. 1 for Hornpipe” from Handel’s Water Music. His hand moved in time to the rhythm of the lively Baroque melody. By the time he had finished the first movement, he had produced an approximat
ion of the movement of the water in front of him. Better than he expected.

  Maybe he should always draw to music. During one of his favorite classes, years ago in middle school, the teacher played Beethoven while they drew. His school required art but made music optional, an anomaly that always seemed unfair to him, since he loved music but only tolerated art.

  Half a dozen sketches covered Sonia’s sketch pad: a bird landing on the water, another taking off, another diving for food, yet two more idling side by side. The breeze lifted the corner of the page, and she flipped it over, securing it in place with a rubber band. “Looking good.” He nodded at her page.

  “What? Oh, thanks. I’ve never done anything quite like this before.” Her pencil drew a suggestion of wiggling tail feathers. “I’ve spent a lot of time in the mountains, but never out here. I never thought there was much to see.”

  “The change of scenery must be doing you good.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” A few lines added the duck’s body and head. “We’ll see.” She said the last words to herself.

  Ty laid his hand on top of hers. “Look at me.”

  Her brilliant dark eyes sought his, and his heart ached at the doubts reflected there. “It will get better. It already is. I know it.”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears.” A slight smile formed around her mouth. “And the same thing will happen for you. You’ll return home in a blaze of glory. . .or perhaps find what you’re searching for right here.”

  “I think I already have.” Refusing to consider consequences, Ty leaned forward and kissed Sonia’s full red lips.

  ❧

  Ty’s lips feathered Sonia’s own, as light as the down on the ducks in front of them, and then he pulled away. Her breath caught, and she cleared her throat. “That’s not quite what I meant.” The intended mild scolding came out like an ingenue’s hesitation.

  “I know.” He settled back against the bench. “Starting next week, I will be looking for a temporary job. Joe’s going to ask around if anyone needs an accountant.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you as a number cruncher.”