From the Ashes

by Janet W. Butler

  Then he froze, stiffened, and broke off the embrace almost as quickly as he’d begun it. Looking her in the eye, he shook his head.

  “Whoa, Mel.” His voice was gravel. “Easy does it here.”

  Away from his warmth, Melody shivered, wishing now she’d fetched her coat from the dean’s anteroom earlier. “I’m okay,” she lied. “If you are.”

  “I’m…not.” He drew a deep breath. “Mel, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

  “Forgive you? For what?”

  “You have a short memory.” His smile was bleak. “We agreed to use this chemistry differently. Remember?”

  Right then, Melody didn’t care if their agreement had been carved on tablets from Mount Sinai. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. How could she tell him? How could she begin to tell him?

  “That was your idea, as I recall,” she said dryly. “Maybe I feel differently.”

  James’s mouth twisted. “You can’t always trust feelings, Mel. You’ve got to think ahead. And you’ve got to be aware of what kind of message you were sending there. What you were promising.”

  “Promising?”

  “Oh, yeah. Promising.” He laughed harshly. “I have eyes in my head, and I have red blood in my veins. And though I’m not planning on violating my own principles, I’ll tell you, what you were doing to me is the kind of thing that could make a man throw his principles out the window. I don’t want to do that, Mel. Not with you.”

  Her cheeks burned as she turned away from him. “I see.” And she did, all too well. Her inexperience was showing, like a ragged slip beneath the hem of a designer gown. “Okay,” she stammered. “So maybe I’m not very good at ‘chemistry,’ as you call it—”

  “Oh, honey, don’t ever think that. You don’t know how good you are.” He reached up and stroked her cheek. It was all she could do to keep from clasping that hand and never letting go. “But this can’t happen again, and you and I both know it. It’s a mistake, pure and simple. I won’t have a job after January, not here. They won’t let me near you again. They won’t take the risk of ruining their rising star, and I don’t blame them.” His voice broke for a moment. “Mel…the bottom line is, I’ve gone down in flames, and I won’t have you bogged down by trying to resurrect what’s left of me from the ashes. You deserve better than that.”

  With that, he turned and strode toward the outer door, and Melody leaned heavily on the wall. He’d dealt the blow kindly, but he’d dealt it nonetheless, and she had no one to blame but herself. He was following the book, exactly as a teacher should — ironic, since there was no way he’d be her teacher now. And now that she’d have given the world for him, if anything, the gulf between them was so wide she despaired of finding a way to cross it.

  Standing silent, she steeled herself against the desire to cry. He didn’t need that right now, and she wasn’t about to let herself burden him with it. She would hold her head up. She would get through this the way she’d gotten through all the other rough spots in her life, without making him feel obligated to take care of her when he already had enough on his plate. She was doing pretty well at it, too, she thought. She had just about convinced herself she could pull it off, that she could stand dry-eyed and let him go his way, when he pulled a deadly ace from his sleeve.

  He paused, one hand holding the outer door half open, and Melody saw him partly in shadow, partly in the light of the snowy outdoor scene behind him. To her dismay, the light gave her enough clarity to see — to feel — the moment that crooked smile came over his face one last time.

  “Oh, Mel, I nearly forgot.” His voice was warm now, once again the voice of her teacher, her mentor, her friend. The only change was a deep undertone of sorrow. “One more thing.”

  “Yes?” she said, suddenly hopeful. Maybe he would be able to open up, after all. “What is it?”

  “Merry Christmas.”

  Then, the music building door shut behind him.

  But Melody didn’t hear just the door closing. She heard it as an echo of all the losses she’d ever faced — of her parents’ death, her Professor’s leaving, and now…

  All the strength she’d thought she had, Melody quickly discovered, was a sham. Alone in the silent corridor, with no one to see or fret over her, she wept. Sobbed out, in a painful wave of grief, all the tears she’d held back in those losses, and more. Tears for herself, for James, for the music that would never be…but mostly, for the future they no longer had.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ”Are you sure you’ll be all right, my girl?”

  Melody clenched her teeth. Her emotions were in enough turmoil for Christmas Eve as it was without Hattie pestering her, as she had, with that question all day. After fourteen or fifteen times answering it, Melody figured, any other niece would have been ready to mouth off. But Hattie had on a splendid baby-blue dress — and a girlish sparkle in her eyes — for the evening ahead, and Melody wouldn’t let her aunt go out with unpleasant words between them.

  “I’ll be fine.” She forced a game smile. “I’ve got a prize-winning tree here, a crackling fire, and It’s a Wonderful Life coming on TV later. What more could anyone ask for on Christmas Eve?”

  Hattie raised one eyebrow, and Melody caught her breath. They both knew what more she could want. But apparently, she wasn’t going to get it this year. Then, with pure mischief in her eyes, Hattie shrugged. “Popcorn, of course.”

  “Pop—?” The doorbell cut Melody off before she could say anything more, and she sprang up to answer it. “I’ll get that,” she ordered instead. “You go hide and make a grand entrance.”

  “Grand entrance, my foot.” Hattie pushed past her niece, laughing. “It’s my date. I’ll answer the door.”

  A moment later, a round, white-haired man entered the parlor, hat in hand, and smiled cheerfully at both of them. Had he worn a beard, Melody thought, he’d have made a perfect Father Christmas.

  “Well, Harriet, are you ready?” he asked.

  “I certainly am, Richard.” Hattie had her coat on her arm. “But first, we have to pass muster with my niece. Melody, you remember Richard Lawrence.”

  “I do.” She nodded. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” he said simply. “So you have no objections to my stealing your aunt for the evening?”

  Melody grinned. “Well, now, should I? Maybe I ought to ask what you have planned, young man.”

  He laughed. “Nothing you’ll have to worry about, dear. Joseph House will be full of chaperones!”

  Melody smiled at both of them, glowing with pride inside. They might joke about their trip this evening, but in reality it was a mission of mercy. Increasingly, both Hattie and Richard’s friends were being forced to move into assisted-living quarters like Joseph House provided; they were the lucky ones, Melody knew. But many of them were also lonely on Christmas Eve, with their children not due in until the next day, and when Hattie told her about the party tonight, Melody knew it was a stroke of genius on the part of the caregivers. Not to mention the glow of holiday magic it put in Hattie’s eyes as well.

  “Don’t tempt me,” she teased them. “If I thought I could keep up with the two of you, I’d get gussied up and come along.”

  “Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” Hattie said sweetly, but her meaning was unmistakable, and Melody grinned wider at that.

  “Yes, ma’am.” She gave her aunt a quick hug. “I won’t bother to wait up for you, then. But remember, girls who come in too late on Christmas morning get lumps of coal in their stockings.”

  Hattie managed to make a snort sound ladylike. “I’ll chance it.” Then she turned to Richard with the air of a queen. “Now, you get the chance to play gentleman.”

  With that, she left Richard to help her into her coat, and moments later the regal Miss Harriet Rowland went out on her date — her one and only annual date, as far as Melody knew. Her only surprise was how quiet the house became once the cheerful couple swept out the door.

  So this wa
s what an empty nest felt like, she thought. Small wonder Hattie kept pushing her toward the altar. She wanted a few more small bodies around the house for a few more years, kids she could spoil as she’d subtly spoiled Melody in all the nicest ways…

  Abruptly, she shivered. Opening and shutting the porch door had let in a swirl of damp, cold air, and the fire sputtered. Slowly she ambled over, bent down, and opened the fire screen, then added another bunch of fatwood. She’d need another log in a while, too, but not quite yet.

  Too late, she remembered the last time she’d fussed so much over a fire — or, rather, over one certain man who warmed the room with his mere presence.

  Quickly, she shut the fire screen again.

  She knew what would help. A bubble bath. It was early yet; the movie wouldn’t be on for hours. She could soak for as long as she wanted without Hattie teasing her about being pruny. Then she’d make that popcorn, too.

  But to her dismay, James’s presence was with her now, as it had been all day. How a man could be physically in Ontario, yet rattling around Chicago making a nuisance of himself, she didn’t know, but James was pulling it off. She’d prayed extra hard at the early Christmas Eve Mass, saying all the right words, being willing to let go, but to no avail. Indeed, if anything, James’s presence was stronger after they’d come home than when they left, the ache in her heart a little sharper. Maybe she wasn’t as good at letting go as she thought she was.

  She turned that thought over in her mind as the tub filled with scented bubbles. After their parting words in the music building corridor, she hadn’t heard a whisper from him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t with her every minute, as if their spirits were already bonded on some deeper level that could outlast disasters like that scene in the lounge. From what Hattie knew, which was only the barest detail, she clearly considered the whole thing a lovers’ spat they’d patch up easily.

  “Oh, no, don’t go there,” she muttered to herself, slipping down into the bubbles. “You know what James said. You don’t need a flashing neon sign to believe that he meant every word. You’d better just get over him.”

  That was the only sensible way to go, Hattie’s romantic heart notwithstanding. Whatever she and James might have had, it would never be the same again. He no longer had a job, and even for the brief time he’d be back to settle things up, he might well be distant and bitter. She’d have two long months to pick up the pieces, and no escape until the recital was over.

  If she had a recital left.

  Drawing another deep cleansing breath, she went to work, grabbing a loofah from the side of the tub and scrubbing her skin until it was pink, then ducking beneath the bubbles like a kid in a wading pool. Only when the water had cooled down so much that she’d have to start over with hot again did she finally give in and get out. She toweled off quickly, then reached for her yellow terry robe from the hook behind the bathroom door, only to find it missing.

  “Right,” she muttered. “Of course it’s not here, pinhead. Hattie tossed it in the laundry this morning, and it’s still in the dryer.”

  Still muttering to herself, Melody wrapped up in a towel and headed for the laundry alcove tucked away behind the guest powder room. She opened the dryer door, slipped into her robe, tied its belt, and was ready to leave when she saw one side of the corner linen cupboard open.

  “Uh-oh. This will never do.” Chuckling, she opened the cabinet, restacked a pile of towels on one shelf, took out two red and green trimmed ones to replace the regular towels in the main bathroom…

  …and stopped dead at what she saw beneath them. Wedged under the stack of Christmas towels on the bottom shelf was a rectangular box wrapped in silver paper.

  She couldn’t explain the wave of goose bumps that ran over her as she touched it. The room was warm, the hallway warmer yet, and she was snug in the robe. Yet the moment she got her hands around that package, Melody shivered like a blast of cold air had swept through upstairs. It wouldn’t be the first time her aunt had stashed a present and forgotten it, but Melody didn’t want that to happen again. Not to something this pretty. Someone was going to get something very special.

  Carefully, she set it on her bed, then sat cross-legged before it. The box was light but bulky, about twenty-four by thirty inches, and had a matching tag, a tiny snowflake-shaped folded card. Unable to contain her curiosity, Melody read it. Swallowed back the heart that leapt into her throat. Then read it again, numb.

  To James, from Melody.

  What was all this about? She had bought James a small gift, a navy tie with musical notes embroidered on it in red and silver. She still had that present, stashed in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. She’d planned to give it to him surreptitiously before he left for Christmas break.

  Frowning, she picked up the box and shook it, but it made no sound whatsoever. If Hattie had taken it upon herself to wrap that tie in a box this size as a decoy to make James laugh…

  Then she saw the square envelope on the floor with her name written on the front. She must have dropped it as she’d set the package down. Scrambling from the bed, she grabbed it with fingers that suddenly felt all thumbs when she went to break the sealing wax on the back and open it up. A single sheet of paper drifted out onto the bed; Melody picked it up quickly before she lost her nerve.

  My girl, she read, I know what you’re thinking. No, this isn’t a mistake. This is something I need to do, for reasons obvious to anyone who sees you and James together.

  Melody felt a lump in her throat. Hattie had obviously written this before she and James had parted on such ominous terms.

  I can see no better way to express this, she read on, than this gift, the one your mother used to express the same thing to your dad so long ago. May it have the same magic for you.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered, in a sudden swirl of emotion that threatened to swamp her. She no longer cared that her fingers trembled as she slit open the paper on one end of the package, eased the box out, and opened it.

  Then she lost the ability to speak.

  With tears welling in her eyes, Melody raised one corner of a patchwork coverlet, cradling it against her cheek in awe. The years had faded the crimson color before her, and a few stitches had raveled, but those imperfections only proved it was the real thing. A real thing she’d last seen in the parlor at home a week before her parents died. She’d been scarcely able to comprehend the awful reality of their deaths, much less think about what earthly possessions she might have wanted to take along from the house. But Hattie had taken the time to remember, among the many wrenching decisions that had to be made, the one material item that could serve as comfort in the future.

  “Oh, Hattie,” she choked. “I don’t know whether to bless you, or—!”

  As her voice broke completely, Melody dove into the box full-tilt. Grabbing handfuls of the well-worn material, she buried her face in its warmth, overcome by Hattie’s romantic heart and how she’d never forgotten that story.

  Melody knew it verbatim, of course. It was family legend how Bill Rowland was crazy about Jeannine Foster, how they had what used to be called an “understanding.” Bill was still dragging his heels about making the “understanding” official when he was drafted into the Army. Overnight, a kid who’d never been away from home for longer than two-week summer camps was on his way to Germany — and to the worst case of homesickness anyone could remember. Each month it worsened until, with Christmas coming, the family began to cross their fingers that he wouldn’t get desperate enough for home to go AWOL.

  Only Jeannine did more than cross her fingers. She used the discount she earned working at the five-and-dime to buy yard goods and thread and batting. The first the family heard of her plan was when Bill called home raving about his Christmas present from her, a handmade quilt to help him through the long winter of the heart.

  She’d taken a bold step for a woman of her time, Melody knew. In those days, ladies waited for men to make the first move. Instead, Jeannine had
had the courage to call her man’s bluff. She’d put her heart right out where he could see it. And what came of her bravery?

  Melody smiled. Virtually the moment Bill touched American soil again, he’d proposed. They were married as soon as his hitch ended, and lived the kind of love few people had for years, much less decades — all because Jeannine wouldn’t settle for an “understanding” that was only halfway.

  Suddenly, the heirloom looked different to Melody than it ever had before, and she began to grasp Hattie’s message. If she was her mother’s daughter, she wouldn’t let James walk away without a fight. She needed the courage to cling to the vision of what could be between them, and refuse to settle for less. She’d have to prod him to open his eyes and get a glimpse of that vision for himself.

  Her pulse quickened. Had he begun to see it already? He’d moved priceless personal treasures into the studio. He’d accepted her invitation to their home, charming Hattie shamelessly. He’d readily admitted to being attracted to her. Surely at least the gift of his concerto had been a shared vision.

  Bolting from her bed, Melody raced for the hallway phone. She couldn’t mail herself to Canada or hop a late plane, let alone a bus, to show up on his parents’ doorstep — considering she knew only that their doorstep was somewhere close to Niagara Falls. But she had one more option, and this was the season of miracles, after all.

  With shaking hands, she dialed a series of numbers, then waited breathlessly while the search went on for a Michael Goodwin. And though she knew it was synthesized, she found herself thanking the voice that gave her the number.

  Pressing down the switch hook, she drew one more steadying breath, then went back to her room and wrapped the quilt completely around herself. As she dialed the Canadian number with one hand, she clutched the quilt tight with the other. When a woman laid her heart on a long-distance line, she needed all the blessings she could get.