Lost Melody

by Lori Copeland

  Tears blurred Jill’s vision. If she could heal, wouldn’t she have healed herself and her own mother a long time ago? When she was fourteen she’d begged God to heal Mom; his answer was no. “I wish I could help, but I can’t.”

  The look of defeat on the mother’s face sent a blade of pain knifing through Jill’s heart. She couldn’t stay there, not another minute.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tears spilled over her cheeks as she turned and fled to the porch. Her fingers fumbled to get the key in the lock, but she finally did. Inside the house, she managed to get the door closed before she collapsed on the bottom step leading up to her apartment. Her sobs echoed up the stairway.

  Chapter 21

  Saturday, December 3

  “We’re renting buses,” Nana announced Saturday morning.

  Jill stared over her coffee cup, her eyes bleary and burning. Not much sleep again. No dreams, only the haunting memory of vague stares and a drowning feeling of helplessness.

  “Buses?”

  Nana’s red head nodded. She wore a liberal amount of extra-bright blue eye shadow today. “The girls and I were talking last night about that woman out front, the one who didn’t have a ride. There are probably lots of people in the Cove in the same position. The residents at Centerside Nursing, for one thing. I checked into the price, and we decided it’s well worth the expense.”

  “I thought we’d just take Mom with us in the car.”

  “What about the others?” Nana planted her elbows on the table and held her cup in front of her mouth. “They have to have a way out too, don’t they?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” The memory of the nurses hovering in the hallway outside Mom’s door yesterday made Jill hesitant. What would they say when Nana pulled a bus up to the front door and started ushering their residents out? “Where will we take them?”

  “We talked about that.” Nana looked slightly uncomfortable. “Do you have any idea how long we’ll need to be gone? I mean, is it a matter of hours or days?”

  Numbly, Jill shook her head.

  “Pity.” She reached across the table to pat Jill’s hand. “That’s all right, though. We figured we’d take everyone to a shopping mall in Halifax for the day. They can get some Christmas shopping done if they want. There are restaurants, so we don’t have to worry about feeding them, and we’ll be able to return them to the Cove fairly quickly afterward. They’ll probably want to get back and check on their homes.”

  “What if …” Jill hated to say the words. She swallowed. “What if they don’t have homes to come back to?”

  Nana seemed unconcerned. “In that case, the government will have to step in and do something. They do, you know, if there’s a large-scale emergency.”

  The doorbell rang. Jill closed her eyes, her insides tangling into instantaneous knots. Was it anxious believers, curious gawkers, or insult-lobbing skeptics?

  With a determined set to her jaw, Nana rose. “You stay here. I’ll handle them.”

  Feeling like a coward, Jill huddled over her coffee cup and let her grandmother face the music alone.

  A moment later, she returned. “Look who I found on the front porch.”

  Relief washed over Jill in waves at the sight of Greg. She jumped out of her chair and threw herself at him. “Oh, Greg. I’m so glad it’s you.”

  “Now that’s the kind of greeting a man loves to get.” A quiet laugh lightened his words as he returned her energetic hug.

  “Have a seat.” Nana pulled out a chair for him. “I’ll scramble some eggs.”

  Greg shook his head. “I didn’t come for breakfast. I’ve got some work I need to get done at the office before a noon meeting.”

  “On Saturday?” Jill asked. “You’re a workaholic.”

  “I take after my dad. But I do have time for a cup of coffee.”

  With a final squeeze around his waist, Jill released him. She poured his coffee and refilled Nana’s while they settled at the table, then slid into her own chair. Two of the three people she loved most in the world were right here. She searched Nana’s face, then Greg’s. One believed her dream, and the other didn’t. The question that had hounded her in the dark hours of last night had to be addressed, and she couldn’t think of anyone whose opinions she valued more than theirs.

  “Could I talk to you two about something?”

  “Of course,” Nana answered instantly.

  Greg’s eyes widened a fraction, as though wondering what new insanity she was about to spout, but the expression was gone as quickly as it came. He covered her hand with his. “You can talk to me about anything, Jill.”

  She smiled her thanks for his support, but then fell silent a moment. How to phrase this without sounding crazy? Well, crazier than usual. She stared at the dark liquid in her cup. The overhead light reflected off the glassy surface. Finally, she blurted her question in a rush.

  “Do you think this dream comes from God?”

  Neither answered immediately. Jill rushed on, her thoughts taking form as the words tumbled out. “I’ve prayed and asked God to take the dream away, and he didn’t. Last night I prayed for him to take away this crazy compulsion. Instead, I feel more strongly than ever that I have to warn people, even if nothing happens. Why would that be, unless …” She bit her lip, “unless the whole thing was his idea.”

  She risked an upward glance. Nana’s expression was thoughtful, as though weighing her answer. Greg averted his eyes, focused on the vinyl placemat in front of him. Disappointment shafted through her. She knew his answer without hearing it.

  “I think your dream is a gift to the people in the Cove.” Nana’s words were slow, ponderous. “And my personal opinion is that all good gifts come from God.” She cocked her head. “So yes, I think so.”

  Greg’s head shot up. “How can you say that? Why would God choose Jill to deliver a message like this?” He cast an apologetic glance her way. “I love you, and I think you’re incredible, but why you? Your faith isn’t any stronger than most people’s.”

  She couldn’t take offense at his words, because they were true. “I know that. In fact, for the past year I feel like any faith I once had has been in shreds. That’s what I’m trying to understand. Why me?”

  “Because you’re willing,” Nana said. “That’s what God is looking for, isn’t it? People who are willing to do as he asks?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say I jumped eagerly into this whole thing.” Jill waved a hand vaguely toward the front room, which until yesterday had been covered with painting supplies and yard signs.

  Nana’s shoulders shrugged. “Sometimes we need a good shove.”

  Greg’s struggle showed in the deep lines on his forehead, his frown. “I’m just not convinced. Seems to me if God really wanted to send a warning, he’d send an angel to announce it in the town square or something.”

  Jill hid a sigh behind her coffee cup. Ripples disturbed the hot surface. If she couldn’t convince her own fiancé, how in the world could she expect anyone else in the Cove to believe her?

  Nana’s stare speared Greg for a moment, then softened when it turned her way. “Jill, listen to me. No one can answer that question for you. Only you know if this warning comes from God. You need to pray about it, and then do what you feel is right. That’s all any of us can do.”

  Greg nodded, though reluctantly. “I guess that’s true.”

  Jill toyed with the handle of her cup. She had prayed last night for hours. Her determination to see this thing through was stronger than ever. Did that mean God was behind the warning? If only she could be sure.

  There was one more question she wanted to ask, but she was almost afraid of the answer. “Are you planning to be here when I talk to the reporter this afternoon, Greg?”

  He looked startled. “Me?”

  “You don’t have to say anything, but you are my fiancé.”

  His mouth opened, then closed without a word. He looked like she’d just backed him into a corner and wav
ed a machine gun in his face. She knew he didn’t want to be associated with her. He was embarrassed to be seen with the town loon.

  “The girls and I will be here.” Loyalty rang in Nana’s voice.

  Greg raised his head, and his brave smile held a touch of resignation. “Me too. If you want me here, I’ll be here.”

  A wave of gratitude washed over her, and left her eyes stinging. He would come, even though he didn’t believe in her cause. He’d risk the disapproval of his friends and supporters, even his father, just because she asked him to.

  She couldn’t do that to him.

  She got up from her chair and circled around to stand behind his, then bent over and wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Thank you. I can’t tell you what that means to me. But you don’t have to. If Nana and the others will be here, I’ll have plenty of supporters.”

  The breath left his chest with a whoosh. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She planted a kiss on his cheek and straightened. Her hand lingered on his shoulder, and he covered it with his own.

  “Just do me one favor, will you?” He twisted around to look up at her. “Don’t tell the CBC reporter God told you to warn people to evacuate the Cove.”

  Nana stiffened in her chair, outrage apparent in her rigid posture. “And why not, if it’s true?”

  Jill had to hand it to Greg. He rarely lost his composure, even in the face of a powerful force like Ruth Parkins.

  “Because it won’t help her case any if she starts saying she’s hearing voices,” he replied, his expression calm. “People will start comparing her with Charles Manson or David Koresh.”

  “Or Joan of Arc,” Nana shot back.

  As if that was any consolation. Jill’s hand dropped to her side. They burned Joan of Arc at the stake for heresy.

  “That was terrific, Mariah. Exactly right.”

  The child’s grin broadened under Jill’s praise, and she repeated the right-handed finger exercise, chanting the name of each key as she touched it.

  “C. D. E.” She hesitated while her thumb searched for the F. A smile lit her face when she found the right note. “F. G-A-B-C.” The last four notes followed in rapid succession.

  “Excellent.”

  “What about this hand?” Mariah raised her left, her feet swinging beneath the piano bench.

  Jill’s chest tightened. “It’s the same, only in a lower octave, and you use different fingers for the keys.”

  “Okay.” The little girl turned an expectant gaze toward the lower register, awaiting a demonstration.

  The time had come. She couldn’t expect the child to know how to do an exercise she’d never seen. Jill’s fingers twitched as she lifted her left hand from her lap and held it poised over the keyboard. Breath caught in her chest, she lowered her hand to the keys. The smooth ivory touched her fingertips with the gentle kiss of a long-lost lover. Oh, they felt so good. Slowly, but without hesitation, she ran up the scale as expressively as if it were a Beethoven concerto. A muscle twinged when her middle finger crossed over to the B, a mild reminder of the damage that had been done, but not terribly painful. Unable to stop herself, she descended the scale and then raced upward toward middle C again.

  A smile took possession of her lips. A simple scale was a long way from real playing, but at least it was a step. Her hand fisted, and she pressed it to her lips to stop a triumphant laugh from bubbling out.

  “Like this?” Unaware of the chasm Jill had just leaped across, Mariah placed her fingers where Jill’s had been and stumbled through the exercise.

  “Exactly like that.” Jill beamed at the girl, and Mariah preened. “Don’t worry about speed yet. That will come. Instead, focus on tempo. Each note should be held the same length of time as the one before. Let’s try it again.”

  Relishing her own sense of accomplishment, Jill turned her attention to her student.

  Eleven o’clock came and went with no sign of Kaylee. Jill paced from the piano to the window a dozen times, but no amount of straining her eyes toward the end of the street produced a glimpse of Becky Fontaine’s car. At eleven-fifteen, Jill looked up the phone number and called. No answer. She left a message and paced some more.

  At eleven thirty, when Kaylee’s lesson would have ended, Jill grabbed a piece of notepaper and wrote a quick note. Kaylee had been so excited last week she wouldn’t have forgotten about her lesson. Something must have come up, and her mother forgot to call. She paper clipped the note to the front of the new lesson book, slipped it in a bag, and headed for her car. The Fontaine’s house was out of her way, but she had time to swing by on her way for a short visit with Mom.

  The Fontaine home was a tidy single-story house in a quiet neighborhood. A gigantic inflated Santa Claus riding a motorcycle dominated the front yard, tethered to the ground with cords and stakes. Jill left her car running in the driveway, intending to dash up to the front door and hang the bag on the knob.

  The muted sound of piano music from inside the house made her hesitate. She recognized a piece from her CD, only played with less expertise. Kaylee must be home. Maybe she had forgotten about her lesson. Jill pressed the button for the doorbell.

  The music didn’t stop, but a few seconds later the door opened. The pleasant expression of inquiry on Becky’s face faded. “Jill. Uh, hello. What are you doing here?” No sign of the flighty, friendly smile from last week.

  “I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d stop by to deliver Kaylee’s piano lesson book.” She held up the bag. “She missed her lesson this morning.”

  Becky shot a quick glance over her shoulder before slipping outside. She shut the door, but kept her hand on the knob behind her. “Didn’t my mother-in-law tell you?”

  She hadn’t seen Alice Fontaine since Thursday, when they finished painting the rest of the signs. “Tell me what?”

  “We’ve decided to hold off on the piano lessons for now.” An awkward smile flitted across her lips. “We have so much going on already, you know? You have to draw the line somewhere.”

  Stunned, Jill took a backward step. “You can’t let her quit.” She pointed toward the closed door, the piano music coming from inside. “Surely you know how talented she is. She has to be encouraged.”

  “We’re not saying she can’t play, but lessons aren’t going to work out right now.” Becky’s gaze shifted away.

  Realization hit Jill with the strength of a boxer’s punch. This wasn’t Kaylee’s decision. Her parents were forcing her to quit piano lessons, not because of a busy schedule, but because of Jill. They didn’t want their daughter spending time with the town loon.

  “I see.” Her mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton balls. “I bought this for her. She might as well have it.”

  She thrust the bag toward Becky and didn’t wait for her to take it. The book fell to the concrete as Jill whirled and made her escape without looking to see if Becky picked it up. She put her car in Reverse and zoomed into the street, wiping tears from her eyes so she could see to drive.

  Chapter 22

  THE CAFÉ ALWAYS PACKED A good lunchtime crowd on Saturdays, and today was no different. Even at two o’clock, every table was occupied. Greg made for the only empty stool at the high counter, nodding at the diners as he wound through the room. He had avoided his favorite haunt yesterday, not certain of his reception after the confrontation between Jill and Rowena on Thursday. When Rowe turned and caught sight of him, her welcoming smile dismissed any hesitation he might have felt.

  “Welcome, Councillor.” She swiped at the counter with a wet rag and slapped down a clean paper placemat. “Missed seeing you yesterday.”

  “Busy day.” Greg slid into the chair and smiled an absent greeting at the man seated next to him.

  Rowe waved the young waitress away, planted her elbow on the counter in front of him, and rested her chin in her hand. “How about a bowl of my special beef stew to warm you up?”

  “Tempting, but I’ve been thinking
about one of your thick, juicy cheeseburgers all day.”

  She grinned and asked with a saucy southern twang, “Ya want fries with that?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Calorie splurge, huh? Not that you need to worry about that.” Her admiring gaze dropped toward his chest and continued down to his waist, then cut back up with a flirtatious twinkle. “Not like me. Everything I eat goes straight to my thighs.”

  She turned toward the grill with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips. The man next to Greg laughed. “No evidence of that, Rowe.”

  Greg busied himself by peeling a napkin from the dispenser, for the first time uncomfortable with Rowena’s boisterous flirting. Jill’s accusations echoed in his mind. Could there be any truth to them? He didn’t think so. Like he’d explained the other day, that was Rowe’s way. She treated everybody the same.

  A hamburger patty hit the grill with a sizzle, and Rowena returned to set a glass of ice water in front of him.

  “I’ve been scheming for you, honey.”

  Startled, Greg looked up into her face. “Huh?”

  “You know. Campaign stuff.”

  “Oh.” He gave a weak laugh. “Yeah. The campaign.”

  “We need to decide on a slogan and logo pretty soon.”

  “You think I need a logo?”

  “Definitely. Not a cutesy cartoon picture or anything like that. Just a certain color scheme and font that people will come to associate with your name. And the slogan should be something catchy, but still make a statement about what you stand for.” She sketched in the air with a hand. “Say Yes to Greg Bradford. Say Yes to the future.”

  The man next to him nodded. “That’s not bad.”

  “Not bad?” Greg shook his head admiringly. “It’s good. I like it.”

  “I’ve got some more ideas, too. I figured you and I could talk on Monday, when it’s quieter around here. Say around ten in the morning. That work for you?”

  “Sure. Thanks, Rowe. Look forward to it.”

  Dimples creased her cheeks. “Stick with me, darlin’, and this election’s in the bag.”