So much for trying to make amends. He started for the table when he caught Bob leaning close to Bekka as if he were whispering in her ear. Her grin lit up her whole face in a way he hadn’t seen from her in a long time. Nodding, she typed something into her phone. His number?
Stephen couldn’t watch anymore. He rushed out of the restaurant and headed down the street, not sure what to do with himself and his conflicting emotions. He had no claim on Bekka and no right to pursue a relationship with her.
If only his heart would get over her.
In the far distance, the deep blue of Lake Michigan shimmered in the sun, and he aimed his steps in that direction. Maybe he’d keep walking and never stop. Could he feel any more miserable than he did at this moment? Doubtful. His hand fell on his pocket, absent of the comforting pack he usually kept there. Man, he wanted a smoke in the worst way, but he’d tossed them in the trash, intent on quitting once and for all.
Wasn’t there a convenience store close to the tourist park? About three blocks over? Not all that convenient from his current standpoint. Hopefully, by the time he got there, he could talk himself out of wasting the money on another pack.
Stephen reached the end of the block and stopped. Straight ahead was the park where he could sit and think, at least until Ethan realized he was gone and started calling. The store was north a couple of lights. He usually thought better with a cigarette.
From behind him, a door chimed from the antique shop. “Please George, let me get one of the Beaty boys to help.” An elderly woman stood at the door, worry lining her face. “You shouldn’t…” She let out a sigh as she noticed Stephen watching her. “Stubborn old coot!”
The woman and her husband had dined at Haley’s restaurant.
Recognition must have hit her at the same time. “You’re that cellist who played with Ethan Saturday night. Am I correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grasped her extended hands in his and introduced himself. “I’m his music partner. Aren’t you related to Haley?” He remembered them sitting at one of the front tables. Ethan had mentioned they reserved the seat every week.
“Daisy Alton.” She returned the shake. “Haley is my great niece. We are big fans of Ethan’s. George, my husband, simply adores listening to him play that violin. And, he was quite impressed with your performance, too, young man. Would you have a moment to come inside and meet him?”
Wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Wrestling with himself could be rescheduled for a later time. “Sure.”
When he entered, he found the elderly man pushing an oversized wardrobe cabinet. Sweat beaded his head of snowy white hair. A tuft of white also covered his chin. Thick glasses made his eyes twice their normal size. He grunted while pushing his narrow shoulder against the side of the solid wood structure.
“Sir, please let me help.”
Daisy Alton’s triumphant smile didn’t escape him. What a clever bird.
Mr. Alton looked him over from head to foot. Stephen towered over the man by at least a foot. With a nod, he pointed at a dolly, then said. “You lift while I shove this under the edge. I just need to move it a few feet out of the way.”
“Sure, but let me do the moving, sir.”
Mr. Alton gave another bob of his head. While Stephen lifted the wardrobe, he slipped the lip beneath, then moved to the other side to push it onto the transport. “Very good. Over here, son. Right next to the window here where people can see it when they pass by. It’s a very old piece, Swedish made and carved by hand. Got it for a steal.”
Once Stephen set the piece of furniture in place, Mr. Alton turned to him with hands pressed against his narrow hips. “You’re a fine cellist, Mr. Gaines. Both you and young Ethan know your stuff.” He shook a long, wrinkled finger at him. “Come back here. I’d like to show you something.”
Mr. Alton’s walk reminded Stephen of a crane he’d spotted the other day strolling along the river banks near the farm. The store owner led him to a small room filled with various instruments, along with shelves of old records and players.
“Young Ethan has been drooling over this one for some time.” Mr. Alton removed an old violin from its battered case and played a few notes from a simple lullaby. The tone was crisp, and he could see why his friend was so enamored with the instrument.
“You can play?”
“I am but a novice.” Mr. Alton held the violin out to him.
Stephen took the instrument and gently turned it over, admiring the fine craftsmanship. “This looks very old.”
“Built 1936 in Milwaukee. Purchased her back in the 50’s from the maker who crafted this one after a Stradivari model. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“I’ll say. What’s your asking price?”
“Oh, she’s not for sale. I’ve recently had her repaired so she’s back in top playing standard. I have special plans for this one.” He returned it to the case and snapped the lid closed. “What I thought you might be interested in was this….” Mr. Alton set a larger case on the counter. Inside was a coffee brown and rather worn cello.
“Is that…a…?” Stephen gasped, not believing his eyes.
“Mittenwald, young man. Dated from the late-1800s. Been appraised and checked for authenticity. A very fine German instrument, indeed.” He handed Stephen the bow. “Sit and play a few cords. She’s been restored, and I believe you’ll be quite taken with the sound.”
Stephen found a short stool and positioned the cello between his knees. As the bow drew across the first string, he let out a deep sigh at the warm, mature tone. Before he knew it, he’d lost himself in the piece. One of the reasons he loved playing was how his troubles slipped away when the music surrounded him and filled his sagging spirit.
He finished the song. Applause caused him to open his eyes and find Mrs. Alton standing in the doorway, tears tangled in her lashes as she clapped. “Oh, so beautiful. So, so, beautiful.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He turned to Mr. Alton. “Are you hanging on to this one, too, sir?”
The old man grinned revealing perfectly white teeth Stephen doubted were real. “Not as tightly as I am the violin. If you’re interested, we can talk.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Alton waved as if shooing away a fly. “Always business, George. Come and sit with us for a while, Mr. Gaines. Bring the Mittenwald with you. Let me treat you to some cookies and a bit of my best tea. Or were you in a hurry to go somewhere?”
“No, I wasn’t going anywhere at all.” And hadn’t been for some time. “Please, call me Stephen.” He followed them into another room with several round wrought iron tables surrounding an old black pot-belly stove. Instead of the dusty smell of the shop, the scent of spicy herbs hung in the room. Everything was covered in crocheted doilies and adorned with bright flowers.
He took a seat at one of the larger tables where Mrs. Alton had set out her tea service. His stomach rumbled, and he realized his appetite had returned after his escape. He hoped Ethan would save whatever he’d ordered at the restaurant.
Stephen set the bow on the table. “Mr. Alton, how much are you asking for this?
The elderly gentlemen took his time answering while he added a bit of milk to his tea. “An instrument of this quality is certainly worth several thousand dollars, don’t you think?”
Stephen plucked a few of the strings, amazed at how right each note sounded. Someone had taken great care of it.
Mr. Alton stood. “But in the hands of a master, the instrument is a priceless treasure.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to sell it?” What was the man talking about?
“Not at all. The hands of a master makes all the difference.” Mr. Alton ambled back into the music room.
If Alton thinks I’ll pay more just because I’m a pro, he has another think coming.
By the time his wife filled the last two cups with steamy mint tea, her husband returned with the violin.
Stephen’s cell chimed the Stones’ Waiting on a Friend. Ethan’s ringtone. Without
bothering to say hello, he answered, “I’m down at the antique shop.”
“Doing what? Why’d you run off Gaines?”
“I wasn’t really hungry, so I went for a short walk. Ended up meeting Haley’s aunt in a time of need.” Stephen tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear, then drew the bow across the cello’s strings. Ah, such a sweet sound. He didn’t care to spend a few thousand, but it sure was tempting. He’d had other ideas about what to do with his savings.
“Is that…? Did George show you his music room?” Excitement bubbled in his friend’s voice. “Does he have the Stradivari out? I’m on my way down there! Stay put!” The line went dead.
“Guess Ethan is on his way.” Stephen shook his head. He’d probably leave the girls with hunky Bob. Great.
“Told you he’s been drooling over this.” Mr. Alton set the chin rest against his neck. “Glad he’s coming. I can show you rather than try to tell you what I mean.” He winked at Mrs. Alton. “For my love’” Closing his eyes, he drew the bow and managed to play a fair rendition of Over the Rainbow.
The elderly gentleman was quite rusty, but Stephen could tell he’d had lessons at some point. He missed a couple of notes, and his movements were mechanical at best. Perhaps he’d purchased the violin in hopes of eventually learning, but had failed to follow through on his training.
As Mr. Alton reached the final coda, the door to the store jingled. Had E-man run all the way?
Ethan’s gray eyes widened at the sight of Mr. Alton playing.
“Well, enough of that. I’ll not torture you any longer, son.” The old man set the violin in his lap.
“That was lovely dear.” Mrs. Alton set out a tin of butter cookies. “And one of my favorite songs.” She motioned for Ethan to have a seat while setting another cup on the table.
Mr. Alton grinned. “Good afternoon, boy. We were just talking about you.”
“Me? How so?” Ethan pecked the woman’s cheek with a friendly kiss, then took the vacant spot beside her husband. “You play rather well, George. With a bit more practice, you could join me Saturday nights.”
“You call that playing? I call it a slow death. Be honest boys. You’ll not hurt my feelings. I’ve not seriously played in twenty years. My arthritis won’t allow it.” He faced Stephen again. “Tell me the truth, if you’d just heard me play without knowing anything about this instrument, what would you have thought?”
“Umm…” Stephen cringed, not wanting to insult the old fellow.
“Let me ask it this way. If I would have told you this instrument was worth eight thousand, five hundred dollars, would you be willing to pay that? Based on how I played?”
Stephen laughed. “Afraid not, sir. I’m still thinking the violin needs more tuning.”
“Perhaps three thousand? If,” he held up a finger, “I added that it’s a hand-crafted instrument.”
“Sir, I can get a violin for less than a thousand,” Stephen chuckled.
Ethan scowled. “Not one like this.”
Mr. Alton handed him the violin. “Make whatever adjustments you feel are necessary, young Ethan. Then would you mind playing the song I was attempting when you came in? Daisy’s favorite, if you please.”
“Oh, that’s what… uh, yes sir.” Ethan tried a couple of notes and made a small adjustment, then closed his eyes. The bow danced across the strings becoming one with the violin, and he played the song note for note without even looking at a sheet of music. Stephen was sure Ethan had the piece tucked in some recess of his mind.
The violin sang with high trills and deeper vibratos, showing its true abilities in Ethan’s skillful hands. A smile spread across his friend’s face as if he were in love with the instrument.
The old man said the Stradivari wasn’t for sale. Too bad. What a wonderful wedding gift that would be for his best friend. But eight thousand? Was the old man bluffing him? Stephen looked down at the antique cello. He waited for the right moment then joined in.
Mr. Alton leaned back in his chair, eyes also closed. His hands moved to the tempo as he swayed back and forth, lost in the music.
Ethan grinned once he realized they were both playing together. They made a great team. Somehow, they’d managed to develop a sense of how to work off each other’s strengths. As Ethan’s bow danced across the strings, Stephen admired how much sweeter the notes sounded under his expert hand.
When they finished, Mr. Alton patted Ethan’s knees. “What do you think now, Mr. Gaines? Now that the hand-crafted German violin has been played by a true master of the instrument…” He held up a finger, “A master who truly loves the instrument in his hands. Would you still disagree with the original price?”
Stephen rested the cello against his leg and lifted his hand in surrender. “Not a penny of it. No offense intended.”
“None taken. If we were going on my skills, I’m afraid I’d ruin its value. I’m not practiced enough. I stand by my first quote that it’s priceless in young Ethan’s masterful hands. Quite priceless indeed.”
Ethan gently set the violin in its case. “Thank you. For your kind words and for allowing me to try it again. This is a stunning instrument, no doubt.”
Mr. Alton smiled. “People aren’t so different, you know. This violin started as nothing more than a sheet of wood. A craftsman turned the chunk of maple into an instrument.
“That’s what our upbringing does for us. We are… hopefully… crafted into a functional person by our guardians. We grow up and move along with our lives and do okay on our own.
“I can read a sheet of music and perhaps even play well enough that you’ll recognize the song. But you, son…” He turned to Ethan. “When you perform, you make the violin sing. The notes resonate as they’re meant to. That’s what the Lord does when we put our lives in his hands.”
Mr. Alton sipped at his tea for a moment. “I think that’s why I love collecting instruments. Love listening to good music. I’m reminded of our possibilities. It brings me back to what the Lord does for us when we simply allow ourselves to rest in his hands.”
“Oh man,” Ethan clasped the man’s shoulder. “That’s so good, George. I always love sitting and talking with you. I could spend all afternoon here.” He glanced at Stephen. “But we do need to get back. Haley and Bekka are heading home by now. They have your lunch if you decide you want it after all. Thanks for footing the bill.” He held out his fist.
Stephen bumped his to Ethan’s. His other hand ran over the smooth finish of the cello. But his mind focused on the piercing words Mr. Alton had said. Stephen hadn’t been crafted into such a great piece of work by his parents, unfortunately. If it weren’t for Ethan and his family, he feared he’d be a hopeless case. He’d been trying to arrange his life into something worthy of Bekka’s admiration. So far, he’d failed miserably.
Ethan believed in the Lord.
Stephen did too, for the most part. But God had never shown any interest in him. All the calamities happened in his own family. Ethan’s life always seemed charmed in some way. Not that he’d never had problems, but he usually found a way to be okay, even though the troubles. Was it because of his beliefs? The idea seemed too simple to accept.
Shrugging off this contemplation, he thanked Mrs. Alton for the tea and shook her husband’s hand as Ethan pushed open the door and led him out. He followed his friend, letting his thoughts run back over the last half hour in detail.
A little while later as they headed toward the parking lot, Ethan tugged at Stephen’s sleeve. “You doing okay there, Gaines? Something troubling you?”
“I’m fine.” He forced a smile on his face. Hopefully, he didn’t look like the Joker.
Ethan stopped and folded his arms across his chest. The probing expression on his face let Stephen know he wasn’t fooled by his mask. “Haley told me Mallory was really put out with you. Said you’ve left her hanging.”
“I tried to apologize. She didn’t want to hear it.” Stephen shrugged. “I don’t want to date anyone
right now.”
“Seriously? Why’s that?”
Stephen shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll probably return to my orchestra gig soon. Maybe.”
“As if that ever stopped you.” With a snort, Ethan laughed and shook his head. “Something’s up with you, but if you don’t care to talk, I’ll wait until you are.” He fished the keys from his pocket and hit the locks.
“I didn’t think you’d invited me here to stay, did you?” Stephen moved around to the passenger side but didn’t open his door, wanting to hear his answer. E-man was the one who’d introduced him to Mallory. Why would his friend fix him up, unless he was hoping he’d stay?
“You can stay as long as you like, Gaines. But if you stay too long, I’ll probably charge you rent.”
Stephen laughed, but it died on his lips as he considered how he’d been siphoning off Ethan long enough. Bekka was paying for her room, he should, too. Or, he needed to make a decision on which way he really wanted to go from here. Ethan’s recording business sounded more promising every day, and he’d need more investors if he really hoped to get this venture running.
“I should be paying—”
Ethan held up his hand to halt his words. “You’re helping with the video. And you’ve been a great help around the barn. Now that the recording room is ready, I can start contacting people.” He climbed in and started the engine.
Stephen got in, as well. After buckling in, he turned to face his friend. “I appreciate that, man. But… I still feel like I’m taking advantage. There must be other ways I can support what you’re doing.”
Shifting into reverse, Ethan pulled out of the parking spot. “Say, I do need a favor. I was hoping you might be willing to help me out.”
Stephen lost his train of thought. Would Ethan consider letting him become a partner in the recording studio? A big part of him wanted this. And he had some great connections. Maybe that was the reason Ethan allowed him to attend the meeting with Herchinger this morning.
He’d give up the orchestra in a heartbeat for the right opportunity. “Sure. Just ask. Anything, man.” It’s not like he’d be able to deny his friend after all he’d done for him.
Raining Fools (Madison Creek Bed & Breakfast Book 2) Page 8