The Christmas Violin

by Buffy Andrews

  She looked into the mirror and touched her lips, remembering how good it felt to kiss him. Willow crawled into bed, nudging Max over. She picked up the book laying on the nightstand. It was a romance she had started the day before and it was getting to the good part – or at least the part she hoped was good. The part where the guy and the girl get together.

  The Old Woman

  The old woman pushed the metal cart toward the small granite teddy bear grave. She heard the nearby traffic and a couple of car horns. She was alone in the cemetery. Most people didn’t come this late in the day.

  When she got to the grave, she stared at the small Christmas tree. She placed her hand over her fluttering heart. The tree was prettier than she had remembered. She pushed the metal cart to the right of the grave so it would be out of the way. She took out the box of ornaments and, using her walking stick for support, lowered herself to the hard ground.

  She removed the plastic gold violin ornament from the box. Using twine she had found in the trash, she tied the ornament to a branch, knotting it several times to make sure it wouldn’t fly off, even in a strong wind.

  She tried to imagine what the young woman would think when she saw the ornament. Would she like it? Would she know that someone who cared about her had left it?

  The old woman looked at the other ornaments in the box, trying to decide if she should put more than one on and…

  Peter

  Peter hopped out of bed before the alarm went off. He hadn’t greeted a morning with so much enthusiasm in a long time. He planned to stop by the cemetery and then head to check out office space across town. Then there was lunch with a client and then an afternoon of meetings.

  Willow

  Willow grabbed Max’s leash and walked outside. She would never have expected that a dog, or any animal for that matter, could come to mean so much to her. But Max did. He had made the months following Luke’s death a little less lonely.

  The Old Woman

  (no text)

  Peter

  Peter stood in front of Camilla’s grave. He reminded himself that he needed to replace the flowers in the vases cemented to the base on either side of the black granite stone. Maybe poinsettia bushes would be nice.

  He reached down to pick up a gum wrapper that had blown toward him. It made him think about Camilla. She loved gum. She always put two pieces in her mouth at a time and as soon as the gum had lost its flavor, she’d take the wad out and replace it with two more pieces. When they were dating, he always made sure he kept a stash of gum in the console of his car. His thoughtfulness was another reason on Camilla’s long list of why she loved him so much.

  Peter ran his hand through his hair. “I met someone, Cam. I like her a lot. I know you wanted me to move on and I think I’m finally ready to do that. I’m not angry anymore that you’re gone.”

  Willow

  Willow took her violin from the car. Despite being at the cemetery, there was a smile on her face. She was thinking about Peter. She slammed the door and started toward the grave, looking down at the ground as she walked.

  When she looked up, she screamed like she was being attacked. She ran to the body slumped over on her son’s grave, in front of the small Christmas tree. Willow checked the old woman’s neck for a pulse, but there was none. She was dead.

  What the hell, Peter thought, rushing toward Willow, taking out his cell phone as he ran. He dialed 911 and knelt beside Willow, also checking for a pulse.

  Willow gasped, noticing the plastic gold violin ornament tied to the small Christmas tree. She touched the ornament and tears soaked her cheeks. Her dad had given her the ornament, the first one that would become a collection, the Christmas after she started playing. She turned it over. In black marker, was written, “Keep playing, love Daddy.”

  Movement 3

  Hope

  Peter and Willow

  Peter and Willow and the caretaker stood in front of the mahogany casket with paneled sides, pillared corners and brass handles. It matched the one she had bought Luke – only larger.

  Weeks had passed since Willow found the old woman dead on top of Luke’s grave. She learned from the caretaker that the old woman had made the cemetery her home for as long as the caretaker could remember.

  Willow and Peter had done some investigating and learned that the old woman was a regular at the soup kitchen in town. They talked to Big Feet and Charlie and anyone else who would talk – but no one had much to say. They didn’t even know her name, so Willow gave her one.

  When no one claimed the body, Willow asked if she could bury the old woman beside Luke. She had learned from the caretaker that the old woman had cared for Luke’s grave so she thought it was only right that she be buried beside him.

  Willow had asked her minister to say a few words at the graveside service.

  “Some people come into our lives unknowingly,” the minister said. “They touch our lives in ways we never could have imagined. A kind word. A good deed. A smile.”

  The minister paused and looked at Willow. “A violin ornament.”

  A tear slid down Willow’s cheek. Peter, who had been holding her hand, squeezed it.

  “This woman didn’t have much. In fact, we’ve come to learn in recent weeks that she had very little. But what she did have was a kind heart. She died while giving Willow a gift, a gift so precious that she couldn’t possibly have known its worth.”

  Willow sniffed.

  “Into your hands, omerciful savior, we commend your servant,” the minister said. “We humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints of the light.”

  Peter released Willow’s hand. She picked up her violin and played the concerto she had written, the one she had started when her dad died. When she got to the third movement, she smiled at Peter. It was full of promise and hope – everything they both needed and had longed for. And when the concerto ended and they walked away from the grave, Willow and Peter were ending one song and beginning another.

  Willow had told Oscar to look into concert opportunities. The moment Willow saw the violin ornament dangling on the branch she knew she had received the sign she was looking for. Willow remembered the cold night she had dumped her entire collection of violin ornaments in the trash. She’d had too much to drink and broke down while looking through Luke’s baby book. She sobbed thinking about how there would be no more entries. She wouldn’t record the date he lost his first tooth. There would be no school photos to paste on the pages. Her heart hurt so much that all she wanted to do was make it feel better. That’s when she saw the box of ornaments and decided to throw them out, as if throwing them out would ease her pain.

  It worked – temporarily. But when she woke up the next morning with a massive headache and realized what she had done, she ran to the curb to retrieve the ornaments, but they were gone. She thought she’d never see them again – and she hated herself for getting rid of them, especially the one her father had given to her the first Christmas after she started to play the violin. But she had been so angry and all she wanted to do was discard everything that reminded her of why Luke was dead.

  Peter helped her see that Luke wasn’t dead because she played the violin; in fact, it’s why he came into her life in the first place. He helped her see that while life wasn’t always fair, it was still pretty damn good. After all, they had met. They were dating and getting to know one another, something neither of them would have considered doing a few months ago.

  It was a new beginning and with a new beginning comes a new ending. Maybe this ending would be a happy one.

  Encore

  The caretaker watched as workers set the heart-shaped grave marker next to the teddy bear stone. It was a breezy spring day and he could smell the world waking up from its winter nap. As soon as the truck pulled away, the caretaker lumbered over to lo
ok at the stone. He could feel his face heat up and he blinked, trying to keep the tears from coming. The name on the stone was: A. Blessing.

  If you’ve enjoyed Buffy Andrews’ The Christmas Violin,

  we know you’ll love her debut novel The Moment Keeper

  – available now from Carina UK www.CarinaUK.com

  Read on for a sneak peek of the fabulous first chapter…

  Chapter 1

  “But you promised. You promised you’d be there for me,” says Olivia, tears exploding from her swollen eyes.

  Cole runs his fingers through his dark, curly hair. “I know what I said. But. It’s just that I’m supposed to go to college and…”

  “So college is more important than me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Look, Lib. I love you. You know that. I’m just not ready for this.”

  “And I am?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. We’re both not ready.”

  “Well, it’s a little too late for that realization. You should have thought about that two months ago when you convinced me to have sex with you.”

  Cole punches the bed and stands up. “Damn it, Lib. That’s a cheap shot. You’re not going to pin this all on me. You wanted to do it, too. It’s not like I forced you.”

  “Just leave. Leave.”

  “I don’t want to leave you like this. I want to talk about our options.”

  “Options? There are no options. I’m pregnant. With your child. You don’t want it. You’ve made that clear. Look, this is my problem. Not yours. So just go. Now.”

  Cole grabs his varsity jacket and takes two steps toward Olivia before she backs away. “Look, Lib. I can’t talk to you when you get like this. Can we talk later? When you calm down.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. We did it once. Once. And I got pregnant and you want out. Well, I’m giving you your out. There’s the door.”

  “Lib, if I could go back in time and change that one moment I would.” Cole walks out the bedroom door and Olivia throws one of Daisy’s squeaky toys at him. The rubber bone hits Cole in the back but he doesn’t turn around.

  Olivia flops on her bed and pulls her boney knees up to her heaving chest. Tears soak her blue satin pillow. Her cries feel like a knife twisting in my heart. I want to comfort her. To hold her in my arms and tell her that things are never as bad as they seem. That I understand her pain and that she needs to be strong.

  But I can’t.

  All I can do, all I have ever been able to do, is watch and record the moments of her life as they unfold. I’m her moment keeper. It’s my job to record her life story, to capture and hold every moment she ever lived so that when she dies I’m able to play them back for her, one after another.

  Olivia spots her purple fuzzy bathrobe draped over the footboard of her cherry bed. She pulls the belt out and sits up, wrapping it around her right hand. I know what she’s thinking. I always know. It’s part of being her moment keeper. I always know what she thinks and feel what she feels. Her joys and sorrows and fears become mine.

  Of all of the moments I’ve recorded in Olivia’s life, this is the most difficult yet. She’s thinking about killing herself, about using her bathrobe belt, wondering if it’s strong enough or if she should use one of the leather belts in her closet.

  It takes me back to the day my life ended – the day I killed myself.

  The moment I pulled the trigger, I knew it was a mistake. But it was too late. I was dead and there was no turning back.

  I had thought about the moment forever. Pictured it in my mind again and again. Like it was some damn movie that never ended. Just played over and over and over.

  I thudded to the floor, sinking in a pool of blood. Someone reached for my hand and told me to come. She wasn’t talking talking but thinking what she wanted me to hear. Her name was Wendy and she knew that my name was Sarah.

  She was iridescent and flowing and not well defined. Sort of shaped like a person but not quite. More like a ghost. Don’t ask me how, but I knew she was friendly. I knew that she wanted to help me.

  She was pulling me, pulling me. But it wasn’t me, me. That me was bathed in blood on the cold bathroom floor where I shot myself just seconds before.

  We flowed away from the blood-splattered bathroom toward a vertical thin line of light. Wendy told me I had a job to do. Job to do? I almost laughed. Can a dead person laugh? Maybe not quite.

  I heard voices and looked back. The Ace of Hearts Grandma gave me floated in the expanding pool of blood.

  I felt Wendy tug and I turned to see the vertical thin line of light widen and suck us in like a strong vacuum before sealing completely.

  I was surrounded by hundreds of iridescent beings and then I realized that I was one, too. We stood, er, floated in the middle, surrounded by all of these beings or spirits or whatever they were. Wendy put her hands on my head and held them there.

  A tingling coursed through me as I heard Wendy in my mind. She explained that I, like her, was a moment keeper. She told me that she would show me the moments of my life, moments she had collected since my birth.

  What I saw brought me great pain and joy. There were days upon days spent in Grandma’s arms or by her side. And days upon days of my dad coming home smelling like he’d bathed in whiskey. I begged Wendy to stop when a moment was too painful, but she just kept going. I began to see how one moment was tied to another and another and how they intertwined to form the tapestry of my life, a life that ended much too soon at my own hands.

  Wendy said it was my turn to be a moment keeper, my turn to record the moments in someone’s life just as she had recorded those in mine. She was moving on to a place where time didn’t exist, a place where only happy moments were allowed and the bad ones were left behind.

  I pleaded with Wendy to stay, to help me. How was I to know how to do this moment-keeper thing? What if I screwed it up? Missed recording a memory? But she just wrapped me in her warmth and somehow I knew I would be all right. She had given me one last gift – the confidence and understanding I needed to do what I had to do. And when she released me from her embrace, she was gone and I was on earth beside Olivia.

  CARINA™

  ISBN: 978 1 472 05483 8

  THE CHRISTMAS VIOLIN

  Copyright © Buffy Andrews 2013

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher, Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author and all the incidents are pure invention.

  This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l.

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