How Sweet the Sound

by Jacquelin Thomas

“Why are you crying?”

  Lynn just shook her head.

  Carys accepted congratulations from her tablemates, who also dabbed at their eyes. “What happened?”

  Lynn laughed. “See, I told you all,” she told the other six women. “She doesn’t even realize she got the whole room choked up.”

  Carys glanced around, spying several women who discreetly touched tissues or hankies to their eyes. She then leaned toward Lynn. “What did I say?”

  “My friend, you have no idea how many lives you touch just by being you.”

  After the tea, Carys found herself surrounded by people offering well wishes and congratulatory hugs. A young woman approached from the side.

  “Mrs. Shaw?”

  “Yes?”

  The girl took both of Carys’s hands in hers and pumped them in a double handshake. “I never thought I’d ever meet you. I got the impression, well, we all did, that the woman behind the Opportunity Fund was old or dead.”

  That earned her a laugh from Lynn and Carys. “Sometimes we feel like it,” Lynn said.

  “Speak for yourself,” Carys said. “Where are you from?”

  “Florida. A little town no one’s ever heard of in the Panhandle. My name’s Diana,” she said. “And I just wanted to thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. There was no way my family could have afforded this college or any other one and my high school grades weren’t good enough for me to earn any scholarship money.”

  “And how are your grades now?” Carys asked the student.

  Diana beamed. “Dean’s list every term.”

  “Good for you!”

  “I’m a business major with a minor in ethics and philosophy. I want to be a lawyer.”

  “I like to keep up with the Opportunity Fund students, so will you let me know how you’re doing and when it’s time for you to graduate?”

  The girl nodded. “I will.”

  After a hug, Carys turned back to Lynn who was watching her with undisguised glee.

  “What?”

  “I always wondered,” Lynn said.

  “Wondered what?”

  “Just what you did with all that trust fund money. You started the Opportunity Fund didn’t you?”

  Carys shrugged. “Maybe.” When she felt Lynn’s gaze still on her, Carys huffed. “What else was I going to do with it?”

  Lynn’s answering grin was a reward. “Most people would have spent it on themselves or on expensive toys.”

  “I’m not most people,” Carys said, wondering why she was feeling oddly picked upon.

  As she tucked her arm in Carys’s, Lynn told her, “You always did know how to get things done quietly and effectively, without turning on the spotlight.”

  Carys eyed her friend then looked at the plaque she’d been given by the sorority. “You’re the one who ratted me out to the Alumni of the Year committee.”

  Lynn tried to look innocent. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  Chapter Six

  Later that afternoon, Carys ran into Thornton at the college’s museum and galleries. A special exhibit featuring the work of a celebrated artist who as also an alumna of the school was on display. Along with visitors and other returning alumni, they roamed the exhibition rooms. Carys and Thornton paused at a series illustrating families in worship.

  Considering the first painting in the series, Thornton glanced at Carys. “Do you know the reason I never missed a Friday night chapel service?”

  “Because you enjoyed the fellowship?”

  Thornton shook his head. “Because there was always a chance I would hear you sing.”

  That made Carys laugh. “Well, you must have been sorely disappointed on many a Friday night since I spent most of my junior and senior year being a socialite. Looking back, I can see that my priorities were all mixed up. I was completely absorbed in Nate and parties.”

  “That’s not true,” Thornton said. “You were at Friday Fellowship more than a lot of people.”

  Conceding the point, Carys nodded. “I liked to sing.”

  “Past tense?”

  “Well, there hasn’t been a lot of opportunity lately.”

  “Are there a lot of soloists at your church?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Not anymore than I suppose any church has. Carl wasn’t really big on me singing.”

  “Why?”

  Carys stood there for a moment considering his question as she studied an image of a mother opening a hymnbook for a child. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice low, her tone contemplative. But soon came the realization that she did know, the reason obvious now that Carl was gone. She blinked and swallowed hard, determined not to shed another tear during the weekend of self-reflection.

  Thornton reached for her hand. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

  Carys shook her head. “Look at how reverent they are,” she said, pointing out details in the painting. “Here in the faces, the eyes. And right there, look at the way the artist used light and shadow to highlight the sense of wonder and devotion in the girl’s expression.” Carys glanced over at Thornton. “Singing was something I loved.” She said the words slowly, as if realizing for the first time how much music meant to her.

  “Yes. I know.” He reached in his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a freshly laundered handkerchief.

  The edges of her mouth turned up. “You keep a steady supply of these just for me?”

  He smiled. “Just in case.” His concern, however, remained evident to her. “Carys?”

  “I’m not going to start crying again.” But she took a deep breath then faced the sorry truth about her years of marriage with Carl. “It was, I suppose, a sort of childish game we played. Carl’s retribution.”

  “For what?”

  The kindness and concern in Thornton’s eyes seared her. She’d married a man she didn’t love and paid for it every day of her marriage. Carl’s request seemed so reasonable, especially given their children’s hectic schedules and the myriad social and civic obligations that required the support or presence of Dr. and Mrs. Shaw.

  Later on, Carl’s refusal to let her sing in the choir had seemed puzzling, churlish even. Now, however, she understood. Too late, she understood. Boy, what a succession of revelations this weekend was presenting.

  “We stayed together because it worked, like a habit you get used to,” Carys told Thornton. “I loved singing, but Carl didn’t want me to spend the time away from the children in order to attend choir rehearsals.”

  She shook her head as she realized the insidiousness of their constant game of polite one-upmanship. “I’m embarrassed now that I’ve figured it out,” she told him.

  “Would you rather talk about something else?”

  “Yes,” Carys said. It was too depressing to comprehend that Carl had withheld music from her the way she’d withheld her love from him. She’d cared for him, of course. But she’d never truly been deeply, madly or head-over-heels in love with her husband.

  They continued their stroll through the exhibit, leaving the family-in-worship displays and heading to a permanent gallery where the vibrant colors of the abstract paintings looked as disjointed to Carys as she herself felt.

  Yes, indeed, she thought. Changing the subject was a grand idea.

  “Your sermon about new mercy has really had me thinking about how much mercy and grace have sustained me through the years,” she told him. “How does that work?”

  “How does mercy work?”

  Carys smiled. “That part I understand. I mean putting a sermon together, a sermon that speaks to the hearts of so many individuals all at the same time? How do you know what people need to hear?”

  “I don’t,” Thornton told her. “But the Holy Spirit does. I’m just the vessel God uses to get his message to his people. It’s a lot like that painting back there,” he said indicating the gallery they’d just left. “The artist had a vision, something she needed to bring to life on canvas. Artists don’t know ho
w their work will be received or if people will get it. They just paint. Some people will receive the message the way the artist envisioned. Others will misinterpret it. But it’s not really a misinterpretation if they are bringing to their viewing of the painting their own experiences, then filtering that experience through the images on canvas until the piece has personal relevance.”

  Carys considered both the man and his words. “I’ve never heard a painting be compared to a sermon before. That’s a different perspective. But I see what you mean. The mother and child piece we were looking at back there really touched me.”

  Thornton nodded. “Because you found personal relevance in the artist’s statement.”

  Walking over to a large piece of sculpture in the abstract gallery, Carys sent a saucy smile over her shoulder. “This, on the other hand, doesn’t do anything for me.”

  The six-foot tall sculpture featured tennis-ball sized globs of marble climbing up three sides.

  Joining Carys, Thornton peered at the piece then read the small placard. “The artist is Pablo Diego Munoz. He calls it ‘Celebration.’”

  “Hmm, more like abomination,” Carys muttered as she rounded the art, looking for relevance. She couldn’t find any.

  “I’m sure he was following a vision,” Thornton said. “It will speak to someone.”

  “If you say so,” Carys answered while shaking her head. She strolled over to study the paintings in the room. When she felt Thornton beside her, she picked up their earlier thread of discussion. “How do you just, you know, pull words out of the air?”

  He chuckled. “It’s not quite like that, though it may seem like it sometimes. There’s a lot of preparation that goes into a sermon.”

  “Like what?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You’re really interested in this?”

  “I’m interested in everything about you, T.C.”

  The air stilled between them. Carys held his gaze. Thornton didn’t blink or flinch. After what seemed like forever, he smiled, breaking the tension, easing the moment.

  “I think you’re flirting with me.”

  It was Carys’s turn to smile. “And if I am?”

  “I like it.”

  He held his hand out to her. Carys clasped it and together they completed the circuit of exhibition rooms while Thornton told her how he prepared his messages.

  Emerging from the museum, they stood together on the sidewalk. Thornton acknowledged several people who waved or greeted him.

  “What are you doing this coming week?” he asked Carys.

  She shrugged. “Not much. I need to make appointments to have the pool serviced and the decks treated.” How pathetic was that? she wondered even as she told him. She’d lived her entire adult life as window dressing and had nothing to occupy her time except maintenance of the things beyond the view of the window.

  “So nothing pressing?” Thornton said.

  “No. Not really. Why do you ask?”

  Thornton took her hand in his. “Spend the week with me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The tone, she knew, probably sounded as if it belonged to the regal and pampered princess she’d played while in college. But Carys didn’t know what to make of his proposition. She was old enough and wise enough to know when she was being propositioned. That it came from Thornton Holloway—the Reverend Doctor Thornton Holloway—is what stunned her.

  But Thornton didn’t seem in the least bit fazed. “Stay here,” he said. “Let’s spend some time together.”

  “But…I…you… I can’t do that.”

  “You just told me you had nothing urgent waiting at home. Why not spend a week of leisure with an old friend?”

  Carys opened her mouth, closed it. Opened it again. “I know I ran a little wild and free back when we were in college, but that was then, T.C. I’m a different woman than I was then. And you, you’re a preacher!”

  He nodded. “Yes. And what does that have to do with anything?”

  Carys shook her head as if to clear it. “You must practice some kind of newfangled religion. I’ll have none of it, thank you very much. I have enough on my conscience already without adding a—” she circled her hand around, trying in vain to come up with a word to describe what he was proposing they spend the week doing “—without adding a…a dalliance to my list of sins.”

  “A dalliance?” For a moment Thornton looked genuinely confused. Then he let out a chuckle.

  “That’s not what I was talking about when I said we should spend the week together.”

  She eyed him, suspicion clouding her brow. “What then?”

  He reached for her hand, placed it in his and closed his other palm over her hand. “Just what I said. Getting to know you again. I knew a girl named Carys Chappelle. I’d like to get acquainted with the woman Carys Shaw. I have another week of vacation. I’d planned to do nothing but kick back and relax the entire time. But seeing you, being with you this weekend made me realize I’d rather spend the time renewing our friendship.”

  “Friendship?”

  Carys’s thoughts about Thornton had been a little more than of the “just friends” variety. She wanted to believe that God had a reason for leading her here this weekend. Could it be so she could reconnect with T.C.?

  “Friendship,” Thornton repeated. “You could extend your stay at your hotel. We can go to the movies, pick strawberries….”

  “Pick strawberries?”

  He nodded. “I saw an ad in the newspaper at my hotel. If you don’t like that idea, we could drive to the beach.”

  Shaking her head, Carys rejected that suggestion. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

  “That’s why they have malls.”

  Carys looked at him, really looked at him. Thornton inspired in her a confidence she hadn’t felt in a long time. He also stirred within her the hopes and dreams of a time gone by. Would it be so wrong to explore the feelings provoked by this reunion weekend?

  In many ways, she figured, it would be a lot like going on a fishing expedition. If she caught something, fine. If not, she’d spend a little time out in the sun, enjoying the process and the progression of the day.

  “It’ll be like playing hooky from life,” she said. “Like we’ve been doing all weekend.”

  Thornton smiled and nodded, agreeing with her. “Yes, like playing hooky from life.”

  Back in her hotel room, Carys made arrangements to stay an additional week then called her children.

  “That sounds great,” Sharon said after Carys told her daughter her plans. “Hold on a sec while I tell Trey. He’s over here for dinner.”

  Carys could hear Sharon filling her brother in on the news. A moment later, Trey, so called because he was Carlton Shaw III, picked up an extension.

  “Hi, Mom. We were hoping you’d hook up with some friends and take a vacation.”

  Carys raised an elegantly arched brow. “Are you two saying I need to get a life?”

  “Yes!” their voices echoed from the receiver.

  “What if I’m hooking up with a man?”

  “All the better,” Trey said.

  “Are you?” came Sharon’s quiet entreaty.

  Carys figured this was something she’d keep to herself for now. “I’ve run into some old friends.”

  “Well, good for you,” Trey said. “Hey, sis, I think the steaks are burning. I want mine medium, not charred.”

  “And something’s wrong with your hands?”

  “Hey, I’m the dinner guest,” Trey said.

  Carys laughed at the byplay between her offspring. It had always been that way. Sharon, two years older, was cautious about some things but could give her brother what-for when the occasion warranted.

  “Gotta go, Mom. Apparently, if I want to eat in this house, I also have to cook.”

  “You take care, Trey.” After he clicked off the line, Carys asked her daughter, “Where’s my baby?”

  “We were out of salad dressing so Michael ran down to the gr
ocery store, and you know where Daddy goes, his little girl is with him.”

  Carys smiled. She doted on the granddaughter who was her namesake. Following a few more minutes of chitchat and the advice from her daughter to “live it up,” Carys said her goodbyes.

  The ramifications and doubts began to assail Carys just as soon as she got off the telephone. She stared at the phone and then turned and looked unseeingly over her sitting room.

  “What have I done?”

  That night, with Thornton directing and solos presented from both Carys and Alatrice, the alumni choir brought down the house at the gala and banquet.

  “For a group with half a rehearsal under our belts, that wasn’t bad,” Phyllis said. She and Roscoe were at the same table as Carys and Thornton. Lynn and her husband were also there, along with two sisters from the emeritus class who rounded out the table of eight.

  “I think it’s time for the little girls’ room,” Lynn said.

  Roscoe nudged Thornton and groaned. “Here we go, brothers. It’s time for the dissection.”

  The men grumbled good-naturedly as they rose when the ladies did. Phyllis gave her husband a peck on the cheek. “We only talk about you because we love you.”

  As Carys, Lynn and Phyllis picked up their small handbags, one of the sisters peered at Thornton from across the table.

  “Aren’t you that preacher from TV?”

  Carys wondered how he’d respond, but Lynn and Phyllis both tugged her along.

  “Let him do his fan thing. We need to talk to you,” Lynn declared.

  In the ladies’ room, Carys didn’t stand a chance against the dual onslaught of her college friends.

  “So, what’s the deal with you and T.C.? You two have been joined at the hip this weekend.”

  “And several people commented on the disappearing act you pulled at the picnic today.”

  “Must my life be under a microscope?” Carys asked on a long-suffering sigh.

  “Yes,” Lynn said.

  “I thought we were beyond and above all that.”

  “Think again,” Phyllis said, with a grin tossed in Lynn’s direction.

  Lynn pulled out a compact and touched up her makeup. “Go ahead now. We’re waiting. Spill all the juicy details.”