| |
TWO WEEKS LATER, LINDY sat in Mr. Atkinson’s sunny kitchen taking the last bite of one of the mouth-watering sourdough pancakes which were his specialty. It’d become a tradition for her to share a late breakfast with him on the first Sunday of the month. It was always sourdough pancakes made using the starter he’d perfected over the years. Today, he’d added fresh blueberries to the batter.
She shoved her chair away from the table and patted her stomach. “I won’t eat another thing today,” she said on a groan. “You’d think I’d realize by now not to eat so many of your pancakes.”
“Ha! You’ve said the same thing for five years.” He pushed himself up from the table and carried his plate over to the sink. His steps were still certain and agile considering his age. Louie padded after him, sniffing for leftovers.
Lindy cleared the remaining dishes and wiped down the table while Mr. Atkinson filled the sink with sudsy water.
He’d always been her neighbor. He’d told her once that he and his wife had lived in this same house since they were newlyweds. Lindy had dim memories of Rose Atkinson. She recalled a white-haired woman reclining on a lounge chair in the garden, a colorful patchwork quilt draped across her legs. Mrs. Atkinson had a soft, paper-thin voice that made Lindy think of angels. She passed away when Lindy was five. Since then, Mr. Atkinson had lived alone. He had a son and daughter living out of state. When they brought their families to visit during the Christmas holidays, the antics of his grandchildren were all he talked about for months afterwards. During the rest of the year, he enjoyed a weekly poker game with his cronies, took short morning strolls around the neighborhood unless his feet bothered him, and tended to his garden.
He seemed to be happy enough, but Lindy sensed a loneliness in him that, lately, corresponded with her own. After his driver’s license had been revoked two years ago, she’d gladly volunteered to drive him to his doctor appointments and his weekly shopping. She also helped him with spring cleaning, and she took Louie for long walks almost daily.
True, the man could be a nuisance sometimes, peeping from behind the window curtains whenever she had a visitor, and forever asking nosy questions. But she usually found his behavior more endearing than aggravating. He’d told her once that he thought of her as a granddaughter, and he worried about her, especially since—in his words—that flibbertigibbet of a mother of hers had taken off for New Mexico.
As Lindy stood beside him, drying the breakfast dishes, she sneaked an occasional peek at his profile. Her mouth softened in a tender smile as she observed his white hair and age-worn hands. Impulsively, she reached out and touched his arm. He turned to her, his bushy eyebrows raised in question. “I’m so glad I know you, Mr. Atkinson,” she said softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. Her smile expanded to a grin when he quickly swiveled back to the sink to hide his beaming expression.
“And I’m glad I know you, Lindy-girl.”
They finished their task in contented silence. Afterwards, he suggested they take their coffee into the garden. “This might be our last warm day. I want to soak enough sunshine into my old bones to last through the winter.”
Lettuce, squash and green beans grew in abundance in his garden. While Lindy perched herself on a stone bench, he carefully kneeled down in the rich soil and snipped here and there with a pair of garden scissors, gradually filling a canvas bag with vegetables for her to take home. Louie made happy grunting sounds as he rolled around in the compost pile in one corner of the garden. Lindy shook her head and smiled ruefully; she’d have to give the dog a bath later.
“How’s that new student of yours doing?” her neighbor asked too casually as he shook out the dirt from a head of lettuce.
“He’s amazing.” Genuine enthusiasm rang in her voice. “Sam has wonderful musical expression. He’s a special boy.”
“I haven’t seen that guardian of his around.”
Lindy turned her head away, pretending interest in a butterfly fluttering amidst the late-blooming roses. She hadn’t seen Devin either. Not since two Sundays ago when she’d met his girlfriend. Or was she his fiancée? Janelle had implied as much, although Devin had introduced her only as a “friend.”
If she really was his fiancée, then Lindy wished him luck. It’d taken less than five minutes of conversation with the other woman for Lindy to understand Janelle was the type only interested in a man’s wealth and the expensive things he could buy for her. And if Lindy could see that so quickly, why couldn’t he? Men, she thought, were so blind, especially when caught in the web of an attractive woman who understood how best to flaunt her feminine assets.
Lindy had returned home from church that Sunday feeling dispirited. She didn’t remember saying goodbye to Devin and Sam, but she must have. She’d kept her cool, and she was glad of that.
But the depth of her reaction to the incident had bothered her. Was she jealous of Janelle? And why should she be? She still wasn’t sure she even liked Devin. It didn’t make sense.
“Bert says her nephew usually works late on Thursdays,” she said after several seconds ticked by. “The hardware store is open until nine o’clock on that night. She picks Sam up from his lessons.”
“Humph.” Mr. Atkinson finished his task and slowly rose to his feet. After he shuffled towards her, Lindy handed him his cup of coffee that she’d placed on the bench. He sat down beside her and took a sip. He smacked his lips together. “You inviting me to the recital this Thursday?”
“Don’t I always invite you to my recitals?” she said, her expression teasing.
“Will he be there?”
“Yes, Sam will be there. He’s playing one of his own compositions.”
Her neighbor huffed. “You understand I’m not talking about the boy, young lady.”
She mimicked his huff. “You’re incorrigible. I assume he’ll come to the recital. It’ll upset Sam if his guardian isn’t there. Bert and Jo will come for sure. It’s all they talk about.”
“Ah, yes. The Wakefield sisters.”
Lindy glanced at him. He was staring into the middle distance with a thoughtful expression. “You know them personally?” she asked.
“Since I was a young man of twenty-five. Every eligible bachelor in King’s Valley knew of the Wakefield sisters. They were the prettiest girls in town. Still are. ’Course, if Rose were still alive, they’d move to second and third place.”
Lindy studied the pattern her sandaled foot made in the dirt. “I’ve wondered sometimes why they never married.”
“Jo was married once,” Mr. Atkinson said with a preoccupied air.
“She was? I’ve heard no one mention it. And I’ve been to their home. There aren’t any pictures...”
Her neighbor hesitated for a moment before saying, “I shouldn’t tell you this, but it was a long time ago, and I trust you’ll keep it to yourself.”
Lindy nodded her head, brimming with curiosity. She waited with growing impatience as Mr. Atkinson sipped his coffee and studied the horizon.
“My buddy, John Richards, and I moved here in our early twenties and opened a cabinetry business together. Bertha was around sixteen then, Josephine seventeen, and they were already the talk of the town. The Wakefield name was a big name then. They were the closest thing to royalty in this town.” He chuckled. “John and I heard about these two girls, and we wanted to meet them. We tried to sneak into the country club dance, but that didn’t work out too well. That’s another story. So, John dreamed up a plan to visit their house on a sales call, see if there was any cabinetwork needed. We almost lost our nerve when we discovered where they lived.”
Lindy could understand their reaction. Bert and Jo still lived in the house their grandfather had built in the late 1800s. It was a mansion, really, located on the oldest and most exclusive street in town. The imposing two-and-a-half story structure reigned over the other impressive homes in that neighborhood.
As a little girl, the Wakefield mansion had fascinated her. Walking home from school one day, she stood outside the front gate, hands grasping the wrought iron bars, her enormous eyes taking in the building’s grandeur. She stood there for so long that, eventually, the massive front door swung open, and Bertha Wakefield beckoned her to come inside for cookies and milk.
“Well, we both took a deep breath and knocked on the door,” Mr. Atkinson said now. “They had a butler! He escorted us into the parlor. Unfortunately, the butler sent Derek Wakefield down to meet us.”
“Bert and Jo’s brother,” Lindy said. Devin’s father.
“Yep. He was a good deal older than his sisters and already running the family business. Their father had died, and I think the mother spent most of her time in Europe. Anyway, it became clear Derek believed any would-be suitors of his sisters were only after them for their money. Turned out the butler was more of a bodyguard, because he practically threw us out of that house at Derek’s order.”
“So, he wouldn’t let any man date his sisters? That’s crazy! He got married.” Any pity she’d imagined for the man disintegrated. Poor Devin, having such a brute for a father.
Her neighbor nodded. “Yes. Did you know his wife proposed to him? But that’s another story.” He laughed with glee at her astonished face. “Anyway, while John and I stood in the parlor, we glimpsed Josephine and Bertha walking in the garden. Our chins must’ve dropped to the floor. Those girls were stunning. Josephine in particular. She had long auburn hair that shone like copper in the sunlight. I can still see it.” He sighed wistfully. “Well, to make a long story short, John and I both fell in love with her. But he was the lucky one. He got a chance to meet alone with Josephine, and she fell in love with him. They drove up to Reno to get married on a weekend when her brother was out of town. They intended to keep the marriage a secret until John could somehow win over Derek. About six months after they’d married, John had an accident with the saw at our cabinet shop.” Mr. Atkinson squeezed his eyes tightly together, his hands clenched on his knees. When he opened his eyes, he said in a rasping voice, “He died, and that’s all I can say about that.”
Lindy settled her hand over his. “I’m sorry.”
He sat up straighter, keeping his gaze forward. “By that time, I’d gotten engaged to Rose. I didn’t see Josephine for a couple years after that.”
“What a sad story. I’d never have guessed Jo had experienced something so tragic. She seems happy.”
“It was a long time ago. I bumped into her in town once, about two years after John died. She told me then she’d never marry again. We saw each other occasionally through the years, but we socialized in different circles. Jo knows, though, that I’m the only person besides her sister who knows about John. Her brother never caught on.”
“And why hasn’t Bert ever married?”
Mr. Atkinson slowly rose to his feet. He rubbed his stiff shoulders. “Bert was always a flibbertigibbet,” he said with an indulgent smile. “Pretty as a bluebird but incapable of perching anywhere for long. I’m sure she had a few romances in her time, though, away from her brother’s eye.”
“Perhaps she stayed single in solidarity with her sister.”
“Who knows?” He patted Lindy’s shoulder. “It’s time for my nap, Lindy-girl. Don’t forget to take the vegetables with you. The green beans are very tasty this year.”
***
HE WAS LATE. OR POSSIBLY he’d forgotten about the piano recital. Lindy peeked at her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. Twenty minutes to eight. Jo and Bert had scurried through the front door five minutes ago. They were notoriously late for everything. Could it be Devin shared that maddening habit? He wouldn’t intentionally let Sam down.
A small hand tugged at the sleeve of her sweater. “Are we gonna start soon, Miss Lindy?” Sam asked, his face glowing with excitement.
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Just about, Sam. Your uncle isn’t here yet. But I can’t keep everyone else waiting.”
“He might be working late again.” The boy shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. “That’s all right. He’s heard me play the song before.”
Bert approached them. “Is everything okay, Lindy?”
“Your nephew said he was coming, right?”
“That man!” Bert’s silver curls shook with agitation. “He gets so busy he forgets the time. Shall I call the store and see if he’s there?”
“No, no. I can’t hold things up any longer. The kids are getting antsy.” Lindy returned her attention to Sam, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You aren’t playing until the end of the program, Sam. I’m sure your uncle will be here by then.” She guided him towards the front row of folding chairs where the other students had assembled. He sat down, but not before she saw the trace of disappointment marring his otherwise excited expression.
Lindy found it hard to hide her own disappointment. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Devin in almost three weeks, not since that Sunday at church. He and Sam hadn’t come to the service since then. Bert drove the boy to and from his weekly piano lesson. Lindy made sure both Bert and Jo had the recital on their calendar. And she’d sent Sam home last week with a written invitation addressed to his guardian.
She took a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. She was overreacting. It was only ten minutes. She’d had other parents arrive late before, and she didn’t recall being this upset about it. She put on a welcoming smiled and pivoted to face the audience.
The first piano recital of the new school year always had the largest audience. Eight students were performing. Not all had both parents in attendance, but approximately thirty guests filled the chairs.
“Hello, everyone.” She waited a few seconds for the din to settle into hushed anticipation. Her eyes skimmed over the anxious faces of her students before scanning the audience. She observed Mr. Atkinson sitting next to Jo Wakefield in the back row. Her neighbor threw her a broad wink.
“Welcome to our first recital of the fall. Please mute or turn off your cell phones and anything else you brought with you that might disrupt our performers.” A slight commotion stirred through the audience as some guests dug into their purses or pockets to do as she’d requested. There were a few commiserating laughs when Mr. Atkinson’s hearing aid emitted a sharp squeal as he turned up the volume.
Lindy lowered her voice to speak to her students. “You all look very nice. Don’t forget to announce your piece before you sit down at the piano. And please remember to take a bow when you’re done.”
Two older boys made faces. They thought bowing silly. Lindy contained her amusement at their reaction and addressed the entire room again. “There’ll be coffee and refreshments in the kitchen afterwards. So, without further ado, let’s begin.”
She sat in a winged armchair adjacent to the piano. She placed the chair close enough so she could whisper encouragement to any nervous students who might stumble during their performance. They all played from memory, so mistakes weren’t uncommon.
She always had Mark Stanley play first if he was on the program. Otherwise, his mother had a habit of nervously buffing her fingernails with an emery board until her son sat down at the piano. Even though she scraped in time to the music, it still annoyed those seated around her.
Mark performed faultlessly as usual and gave a flamboyant bow before returning to his seat and heaving an audible sigh of relief.
Next up were Kimberly and Madeline, the Kendall twins. Eight years old and adorable in matching pink dresses, what they lacked in skill they made up for in giggling charm. The audience clapped enthusiastically when the two little girls finished their duet.
Lindy sneaked a quick peek at her watch while the next student performed. The recital was progressing too fast. The next batch of students had short pieces to play, and then it would be Sam’s turn.
Where was that impossible man?
Thirteen-year-old Justin Wright made a funny bow and tossed her an impish grin before plopping down ungracefully on his chair. Too agitated by her thoughts, she didn’t send him a scolding look.
As the next student stepped towards the piano, Lindy heard the screaky sound of the front gate opening and closing. Her fingers dug into the arm of the chair as the front door latch clicked. A tense, waiting stillness seemed to permeate the room as the front door opened and shut softly.
“...in G major by Mozart,” Matt Hastings concluded with a slight squeak in his voice.
Lindy’s eyes zeroed in on her student. She summoned every ounce of her willpower not to turn around, grateful for the high-backed chair that kept her partially concealed from the audience. As Matt began his piece, she became aware of a rustling sound as bodies shifted out of the way to make a space for the late attendee. Then someone whispered shrilly, “Shame on you, Devin. I thought you had better manners!”
Matt’s expression was thick with concentration; fortunately, the commotion hadn’t distracted him. Lindy struggled to keep her composure. She wasn’t sure if the bubble of laughter swelling inside her was because of Bert’s stage-whispered scolding—which sounded hilarious coming from someone typically late to things herself—or because of her relief Sam’s guardian had arrived in time to hear the boy play.
She vaguely acknowledged Matt’s lopsided bow when he finished his piece a few minutes later. As the next two students performed, she focused on keeping her breath slow and even. Why was she getting so agitated? He had a fiancée. He was moving to Montana.
At last, it was Sam’s turn. “This is a song I invented all by myself,” he said in a clear, proud voice. “I’m still learning how to read music, so Miss Lindy helped me put the notes on paper.” He sat down before quickly hopping up from the bench with a grin. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. I named this Ocean Song.” Sitting down again, he placed his hands on the keys. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts before starting to play.
Lindy held her breath as the sweet, melancholy music flowed from the boy’s fingers and drifted over the room. She sensed everyone else in the room was just as breathless as she was; not a whisper of sound arose from the audience. She wondered what emotions Devin Wakefield was experiencing at that moment.
She’d listened to Sam’s song many times over the last three weeks and had never tired of it. It had fascinated Sam as he watched her transcribe his music to paper. She taught him the name of each note and marking. Three sheets of music lay in the top drawer of her desk in the studio, the title and Sam’s name written with a flourish across the top. She planned to present it to him before he left tonight.
The applause sounded thunderous to Lindy’s ears when Sam finished his piece and took his bow. She flashed him a thumbs-up and let him bask in the applause a little while longer before she got up from her chair and faced the room.
She kept her gaze concentrated on the first two rows of chairs. She knew Devin was sitting next to Bert in the back corner; Lindy sensed his eyes upon her, and became suddenly more aware of the outfit she’d chosen to wear, a sage-green sweater over a slim-fitted, doe-brown suede skirt falling just above the knees, knees that trembled a bit in that moment. “That concludes our recital,” she said, hating the slight tremble in her voice. “I’m proud of all of our young musicians. You did very well.” She paused while the room reverberated with applause once more. “There’s coffee, cake and other goodies in the kitchen for anyone who would like to stay for a while longer.”
The room immediately filled with noise as proud parents mingled, and children released their pent-up energy. Keeping her head down, Lindy beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen. She needed to brew another pot of coffee. From the corner of her eye, she saw Devin attempting to move through the crowd; he appeared to be heading in her direction. But he got waylaid by his aunts, who appeared to be doubling down on their scolding.
The calm smile Lindy had practiced in front of her bedroom mirror earlier that day reemerged by the time she entered the kitchen.
Mr. Atkinson was already there, busily slicing the chocolate layer cake she’d made the night before. “I’ve already started another pot of coffee,” he said, his face a bright exclamation point. “What a great turnout, eh? I think this is the biggest recital you’ve had yet.”
Lindy walked over to the sink. She filled a glass with water and gulped it down, aware her neighbor watched her with a keen eye. “I’m so thirsty,” she said, a faint quiver in her voice. “It was getting too warm in there.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “That so?” His tone implied his suspicion that another reason explained her agitation.
Lindy turned her back on him. Was she so transparent? Had everyone witnessed her reaction when Devin had entered the house? She pressed the cool glass to her cheek.
Bert and Jo bustled into the room, effusive with praise for Lindy and her students. Gradually, the kitchen filled with people. While Lindy poured the coffee, the Wakefield sisters busied themselves doling out cake, cookies and tales of their world travels to a captive audience. Every so often, one sister would correct the other on some forgotten detail, or they would speak over each other as they vied for attention. Mr. Atkinson sat on a stool in the corner, his gaze never wavering from Jo. That woman knew it too. Lindy caught her—more than once—telegraphing a coy smile in that man’s direction.
So far, Devin hadn’t made an appearance. Lindy loitered in the kitchen. Then she chastised herself. He was Sam’s guardian. That’s all. She should attempt to speak with him about the boy.
As she made progress towards the music room, Martha Stanley bumped into her, the plate in her hand weighted down with a generous portion of each dessert. “This was the best recital yet, Lindy. My Marky did so well, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
“His father and I agree he’ll be a famous pianist someday.” The woman chewed on a mouthful of apple cake as she spoke. “Larry calls him our little prodigy.”
Lindy groaned inwardly. “He has promise, Martha. But he needs to work on his musical expression and interpretation. The most successful pianists show emotion.” She didn’t bother to explain to the woman this was a quality inbred, not learned.
Mrs. Stanley nodded eagerly. “We will work on that. Sometimes Marky can be a little temperamental. Larry says that’s common in musical geniuses.”
Or spoiled children, Lindy thought unkindly. To her relief, Sam interrupted the conversation. “Uncle Devin wants to see the music you wrote for me,” he said, sounding exhilarated. “Did you finish it yet?”
She smiled. “Yes. It’s in the studio. I’ll go get it so you can give it to him yourself. I’ll return in a few minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll go tell him.”
Lindy breathed in the fresh evening air as she exited the side door. It was the first full week of October, and the nights were turning cool and crisp. It felt wonderful after the closeness of the house. She’d regretted wearing a sweater inside the house, but now she enjoyed the sensation of the soft fabric against her skin as she walked up the pathway to her studio and unlocked the door.
Before collecting the sheet music from her desk, she paused at the wall mirror near the door. A pair of unnaturally bright eyes stared back at her. Her cheeks had a pink glow. She rubbed her lips together, smoothing the coral lipstick she’d applied with such care earlier in the evening. She sighed, wishing her unsettling emotions would simmer down.
Turning from her reflection, she walked over to her desk and opened the drawer. She rifled through the sheets, double-checking they were in the correct order. She pivoted towards the door and came to an abrupt halt, one hand clutching her chest as she stared at the man standing in the open doorway.
“Sam told me you were out here,” Devin Wakefield said.