From the Ashes

by Janet W. Butler

  Nor could he help it when he’d dug into Hattie’s homemade cinnamon rolls, found them to be the best thing away from home…and said so. He could practically see Melody’s eyes rolling, but once again, he’d only told the truth.

  And cleaning up after the feast? Well, for some reason, he relished the chance to see Melody elbow-deep in suds. When or how “domestic” cells had taken over his blood, James didn’t want to think about too much.

  “Have a seat, Mel,” he said as they entered the living room. “I can make a fire with the best of ‘em.”

  She seemed to pause, as if considering that. “But I ought to help, too, James. It’s only right, after my beating your pants off at Scrabble.”

  She realized what she’d said only too late, after it was already out, and he watched as two spots of color flared on her cheeks.

  “Sorry,” she stammered. “I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” he reassured her. While they were both in jeans — hers with a white cardigan, his with a plaid flannel shirt — she wore them far better than any other woman he’d ever seen, and he didn’t want to let his thoughts stray much further than that. So, despite his hormones going crazy, James forced out a chuckle. “You want to work? Get on your knees, woman, and hand me those matches.”

  She laughed out loud then, but she did as bidden, giving James a delightful waft of perfume when they were shoulder-to-shoulder. The combination of good wood and her scent warmed him head to toe before he struck the first match.

  “There,” Melody crowed in satisfaction, as the first flame caught. “That should start it up nicely. Now with your permission, Mr. Goodwin, I’m going to relax.”

  Smiling, she headed for a well-aged overstuffed chair not far from the hearth. Despite its fading red and brown upholstery and the stuffing that peeked out from threadbare armrests, James sensed that chair was special to Melody.

  “That looks like the best seat in the house,” he prompted her. Melody’s face grew so wistful it made his own eyes mist for a second.

  “This chair was my dad’s,” she said simply. “And it’s wonderful. It smells like his pipe tobacco, and…” She paused. “Ever have a thing that belonged to someone you loved, something that’s so ‘them’ you can almost feel them next to you when you use it?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s how this chair is for me.” She closed her eyes. “We brought this chair from the house after my parents were killed.”

  James caught his breath and didn’t dare move from the hearth. Instead, he made a great production of coaxing some reluctant tinder in the corner to flame. He didn’t even look right at her but nodded instead, encouraging her to go on.

  “I was just shy of sixteen when they died.”

  When she paused, James turned to see her staring off into the distance, as if watching movies from the past.

  “I was accustomed to my parents traveling a lot,” she went on. “My dad was a consultant and my mom went with him. When I was in junior high, I got the impression they were a bit at a loss. I couldn’t help wondering if they didn’t quite know what to do with me.”

  James nodded, resisting the urge to offer an opinion about parents who could have walked away from the young lady Melody must have been. If he kept his mouth shut, he’d learn a lot more.

  “Anyway, they were on a pleasure trip that time, a fall color tour to Vermont in October. Should have been beautiful Indian Summer weather. No one expected the nor’easter to blow in so fast that it would ice their plane over, and …”

  Her voice trailed away as he heard Hattie bustling in from the kitchen. “I hope orange spice suits everybody. Oh, James, that fire looks wonderful.”

  James snapped to attention at Hattie’s voice, subduing a sharp disappointment that Melody’s brief reminiscence was over. He covered it by straightening up to help the older woman carry the tray laden with earthenware teapot, cups, and, of course a plate of cookies. No matter how they protested, Hattie would never risk sending anyone away hungry!

  “Orange spice sounds great.” He took a napkin and wiped the worst of the soot from his hands. “I’ll go wash up first.”

  “You remember where the powder room is?” Hattie pointed to the right, and James smiled to himself. As houses went, Hattie’s certainly wasn’t large enough that he’d forgotten that.

  “Sure do. I’ll be back in two shakes.” He nodded toward the other overstuffed chair. “In the meantime, you take a seat. It’s time I did my share for today.”

  “But, James,” Hattie scolded, “are you trying to spoil me?”

  “Yep.”

  He was gone only a moment before he returned to help Melody pair up cups, saucers, spoons, and paper napkins. If the subtle brush of her fingers on his sent shivers up his spine, James hoped he was the only one to know.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Hattie had actually settled down, clearly grateful for the respite — but not too weary to shoot a shrewd glance toward her niece. Melody resumed her seat, all the while pretending not to notice, and James once again hid a smile at the interplay between them.

  “How do you take your tea, Mel?” He knelt on the floor beside the table, then sat with his legs folded Indian fashion. “Half and half with milk, like your coffee?”

  Hattie’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline, and James wanted to cringe. He hadn’t meant anything particularly intimate by that question, either, but he saw Hattie was determined to read between the lines — which, once again, her niece ignored.

  “Oh, no.” Melody waved off milk. “Not in orange spice tea. That I take straight.”

  “Not even sugar?”

  “Not even sugar.”

  “Then straight up it is.” He handed her the steaming cup carefully, lingering an extra second to make sure she had it in a firm grip. At least that’s what he told himself he was doing when he took extra time with hers, but it was time that played havoc with his own composure as well. Was it the piping-hot tea that sent a pulse through his fingers and dancing along every nerve ending? Did she pause deliberately when their hands touched? Did he see a flicker of light in her eyes, a hint of his own acute awareness mirrored back at him?

  James had no good answers for any of those questions racing through his head, though he could sworn that the moment their hands had touched, time had stopped long enough for him to discern most of the secrets of the universe. Melody only murmured thanks and concentrated on her cup, as if reading the future in the teabag.

  “And you, Hattie?” he prompted.

  “Same as Melody.” Hattie took her cup and sipped. “Imagine that, me being waited on in my own house.”

  “It’s no big deal.” He reached over and patted the older woman’s shoulder. “My mama raised me right.”

  He’d meant exactly what he said. It was no big deal, just good manners. Would Hattie get the message? Then again, was James sure what message he was sending anymore?

  He took a swallow from his own cup, hoping the hot liquid would clear his head. He was weakening, blurring his own boundaries, like a schoolboy with an unexpected crush. Only problem was that he couldn’t entertain that sort of notion. He and Melody didn’t dare mix business with pleasure, at least not the way that Hattie seemed transparently hoping they would.

  As James lingered over his tea, he leaned back against the brick surround, closed his eyes, and lost himself in the wonders of the day he’d had. He’d been made to feel welcome from the first moment in the house, and he doubted even a holiday with his folks in Europe could have topped this one.

  Home. That’s what this felt like. James couldn’t help the tingling he felt at that thought, a chill of pure pleasure and wonderment. Without looking, he could describe the picture the three of them made around the fire. Melody, nestled in the soft, beloved chair; Hattie, settling back against the throw pillows on the couch; himself, with spiced tea tickling his nose and the crackling of apple wood like a lullaby beside him. Surely one moment to e
njoy all this didn’t mean he would lose his head — or his heart.

  “Oh, dear, Hattie,” Melody murmured dryly. “Now we’ve done it. We’ve finally worn him out.”

  “Not me,” he teased back, without opening his eyes. “I’m not asleep, I’m composing.”

  “Long as you’re not decomposing, I’m happy.” Melody gave another one of those wonderful laughs, and James grinned along with it. Only then did he open his eyes, unfold himself from the floor, and set his cup on the tray.

  “But I wouldn’t be surprised if the two of you are tired by now,” he said. “We’ve had a full day. It’s time I let you people call it a night.”

  “What? Oh, no. Don’t be silly,” Hattie fussed. “It’s barely past five-thirty. And besides, the holiday’s not over yet…is it, Melody?”

  Melody’s smile faded. “Hattie, no,” she said weakly. “You heard James. I’m sure he would like to get home, call his folks, and—”

  “Oh, I covered that this morning,” he put in. One look at Melody’s face and he wanted to give her an out, but he couldn’t pull it off by fibbing. “Way too late to call them now, in any case. It’s after midnight there already. But if there’s something left to do, I’m game. Just say the word.”

  Hattie assumed a cat-swallowing-canary smile, while Melody looked as if she’d like to choke her aunt. When she smiled, it was all teeth. “It’s nothing, James. Besides, haven’t you got a sock drawer to do?”

  “I have a feeling that what your aunt seems to have in mind is more interesting than a sock drawer.” He moved over in back of Melody’s chair and laid one reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I promise, it’s okay. I’ve got time. So out with it.”

  She averted her eyes.

  “Hattie likes to hear me play on Thanksgiving night.” Her voice was halting. “The first Christmas carols. You know, like when Macy’s ends their parade with Santa Claus?”

  She obviously thought he’d consider that silly. He didn’t.

  “Best part of the parade, if you ask me,” he soothed. “No wonder she wants you to do that, and you’ve got a perfectly good baby grand sitting here—”

  “Oh, no! Oh, dear!” Hattie cut in, looking to James in visible distress. “Oh, James, how thoughtless of me. Here I’ve been entertaining a musician of your caliber, and we’re talking about having Melody play instead? I apologize!”

  “You weren’t being thoughtless, Hattie,” he said quickly. “You were being considerate.” Bending, he picked up the tray to carry it to the kitchen. “You were kind enough not to ask me to sing for my supper.”

  “You sing, too?” Hattie said, openmouthed.

  He laughed low. “In this case, it’s only an expression. Anyone hears me sing once, they don’t ask again.”

  He made the trip to the kitchen and back talking to himself. He needed to be a gentleman about it, but he also knew he couldn’t risk entertaining the innocent request to perform. The cold weather had made his fingers sore and stiffer than usual, and he knew he’d never carry off what Hattie — and now, Melody — seemed to expect. But he returned from the kitchen, ready to slip himself off the hook, only to see Hattie looking at him in unabashed entreaty.

  “James,” she said, “would you consider honoring us in that way? Would you play?”

  Trapped, he did the only thing he could think of — he stalled. Fortunately, Melody rescued him before he had to form a polite refusal.

  “Now, now, Hattie,” he heard Melody rebuke her aunt. “This day was for relaxing, not putting James on the spot. You know how I hate to be exhibited like that.”

  James could have kissed her, but somehow he didn’t think he’d carry that off too well, either. He merely held his peace and watched Hattie’s expression go pensive.

  “Well, of course,” she demurred, “if he really doesn’t want to, I’d never force the issue. You do know that, don’t you, James?”

  “Yes, I know that.” He went to the older woman’s chair and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “And Hattie, you’ve been gracious to me, and I should return the favor. But frankly, Melody is right. I’m bushed, and I would prefer not to play tonight. I couldn’t give it my best, and I hate to subject anyone to that.” With that, he ambled toward the coat closet. “However, I can provide some other music tonight — in a manner of speaking.”

  No one spoke as James reached in and took his jacket off the hanger. Then, he reached up on the closet shelf and removed something he’d stashed in there earlier, an envelope about fifteen by seventeen, a little over an inch thick.

  Small, but mighty, he thought. Not to mention mightily hard to give up.

  “What’s that?” Hattie rose from her chair as he approached them. “Looks like something official.”

  “It is.” He shouldered into his jacket, praying his smile looked sincere. “It’s for you, Mel. I’ve been…working overtime in the office, hurrying to get it ready for you.”

  Well, half of that was true. He had been hurrying, working harder than normal, to get it ready…just not originally with Melody in mind. But he’d come to a point several nights ago when he’d known what he had to do with his handiwork, and the one person who could truly appreciate it. As he held it out toward Melody, he saw her eyes widen, then mist, and knew she suspected what was in that package.

  “James…” she whispered. “Are you…sure?”

  She had to ask, and he knew it. He stayed as impassive as he could as she searched his face for the slightest hesitation, the merest hint that he wasn’t wholly letting go. But he’d learned long ago that surrender wasn’t really surrender if it was halfway, and he was willing to do it completely. Meeting her eyes, he gave her a firm, confident nod. And if his own eyes blurred for a second, and she saw that, she didn’t let on.

  “Yes, Mel,” he said quietly. “I’m sure.”

  “So what is it, already?” Hattie bustled around to peer over her niece’s shoulder. “Open the envelope, my girl, before I get any older!”

  He had to steel himself against choking up again when he saw how she took it — as if it were a sacred object made of gold, and not without fear. He understood that fear all too well. Even as he did this, James wasn’t sure if he was stepping off into the culmination of a dream…or a nightmare.

  As she lifted the top clasp and slid her fingers into the envelope to grasp the manuscript pages, he saw her hands shake and was nearly undone. He hid the trembling of his own hands only by slipping them into his jacket pockets.

  “Piano Concerto Number Two,” Hattie read off, leaning so far over Melody’s shoulder that James thought she’d end up toppling both of them. “By — James, this is yours?”

  “Y-Yes. It’s his.” Melody’s voice was so unsteady James knew he had to take over.

  “It’s my brand new piece, just finished.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve decided to have Melody give its international premiere — as her graduate recital.”

  “Oh, my!” Hattie had tears in her eyes, James could see, and swallowed hard to keep his own under control. Then the older woman threw both arms around him in a breath-stopping hug, and he wasted no time returning it. All the while, he couldn’t keep himself from staring at Melody, gone almost translucently pale in the reflected firelight; he felt the emotion in those eyes like a body blow.

  “She’ll do it proud, James,” Hattie murmured, then let him go. “I’ll make sure.”

  “You won’t have to.” Released from Hattie’s arms, he bent toward Melody and brushed his lips against her cheek. “She’s a natural.”

  He wanted to say so much more. He wanted to tell her aunt that Melody already understood his music — understood him — at a deep, fundamental level that seared his soul. He wanted to confess to both of them why he was giving this treasure away, that it was the only way the music would see the light of day the way it needed to. He couldn’t say any of that. At that moment, he couldn’t have trusted his voice to call for help if the house were on fire.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, M
elody,” was all he said out loud. Then he straightened up, zipped his jacket, pulled on black leather gloves, and headed for the porch door. “Goodnight, and thank you both for your hospitality.”

  Seconds later, on a poof of crisp outdoor air, he left behind the warmth of Hattie’s home for the swirling beginnings of a blustery snowfall. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. He’d done his part the best he knew how, gotten over the first hurdle. The bad news was this evening was only the beginning of how painful this ultimate surrender would be.

  It wasn’t until a gust of wind made him bring a hand upward to shield his face against the driving snow that James realized his eyes burned — not from the sting of the early winter storm, but from tears he was no longer holding back.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “White chocolate pretzels.”

  Melody had stomped into the dean’s anteroom Monday morning, shaking snow off her boots and hair, as Barb made that definitive pronouncement.

  “White chocolate pretzels?” she repeated. “Where?”

  “Outside, that’s how it looks. Like everything’s covered in white chocolate.” Barb grinned. “Come on, admit it. Isn’t that what the trees look like to you?”

  “Your diet’s getting to you.” Laughing, Melody sat down in the reception chair. “You’re obsessing on food. How much have you lost so far, anyway?”

  “Twenty-three pounds. Seven more to go. Close enough to get obsessive.” Barb rose from her seat, eyeing Melody closely. “You look like you could use some coffee. Am I right?”

  “Nice thought, if I’m not caffeined out for one morning. I got an early start. Hattie handed me a mug and a shovel and told me to get to work.” Melody smiled wryly. “That stuff out there doesn’t shovel like white chocolate!”

  Barb rolled her eyes. “You mean you came that close and didn’t indulge?”