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KATRINA TRIED TO STAY on top of her chores the following day, but she had a hard time focusing on any particular job. Instead of getting one task completely done, she’d spend five minutes shuffling things around on the kitchen counters, then make her way into the living room to see how much clutter there was to put away, and the whole time she’d been thinking about the dishes from breakfast and lunch that hadn’t been washed yet. At some point in the early afternoon, she realized that for all her half efforts, she had absolutely no progress to show for it. She might as well stop trying until her brain was fully engaged in her work.
She opened up her case but didn’t take Dmitry out. If Greg came home to a messy house, what would he think when he found her playing around on her violin instead of keeping up appearances and being the pastor’s wife people expected her to be? She positioned herself by the window so she could see when he made his way home and tried a few of her vocal warmups. The effort was just as half-hearted as her cleaning attempts, and the entire time she sang she heard her mom’s voice telling her how terrible she sounded.
Maybe Orchard Grove just wasn’t the kind of place where she could conjure up her musical inspiration on demand. Unfortunately, Greg had already committed her to playing a solo at the Christmas Eve service. She really needed to start practicing. Her Christmas medley was all right, but she wanted to work more thoroughly through some of the transitions. Why had Greg volunteered her anyway?
Because she was Orchard Grove’s pastor’s wife.
No, that was the old way of thinking that would only lead to bitterness. God had given her a gift through her music, and she should be happy to use it for him and for his glory. If playing her violin at the Christmas Eve service could encourage others to worship the Lord more fully, she had no right to complain.
The doorbell rang. Greg was out for an afternoon of visitations, and Katrina wasn’t expecting anybody. Whoever it was, why couldn’t they have stopped by yesterday after she’d worked so hard to get the house clean?
The front door opened when she was still halfway down the hall.
“Katrina, dear?”
It was Mrs. Porter, who even after what happened last week still assumed it was safe to step into Katrina’s house unannounced.
“Oh, there you are.” Mrs. Porter exclaimed. “Where’s your coat? We’re already late.”
“Late for what?”
“Didn’t PG tell you? We’ve got all the kids singing carols today at the Winter Grove home for the elderly. PG’s out with the car so I volunteered to drive over here and pick you up, but I was wrapping presents for the grandkids and lost track of time. Are you ready? Don’t you need a coat? And what about that scarf I picked out for you?”
Katrina blinked, trying desperately to snap her brain and body into action. In all their brief interactions today, Greg hadn’t said a single word about a home for the elderly. If he had volunteered her for one more musical commitment, she certainly would have remembered.
“I’ll be there in a minute. Let me go grab my purse.”
Mrs. Porter grabbed her arm. “I’m driving, so you won’t need it. Come on. I already told you we’re late.”
***
KATRINA HAD DRIVEN by the Winter Grove Assisted Living Home before but this was her first time inside. The few Christmas decorations in the main lobby weren’t overstated but gave a certain homey feel to the large space. The building split off into three different wings, each with their own subtle color scheme.
Greg was with a few other adults from Orchard Grove and about a dozen kids loitering around the front desk. Walking toward them, Mrs. Porter broke into a profuse apology so loud that the residents at the far end of the hall probably had to turn down their hearing aids.
“Now, don’t be mad at us for being late, PG. It’s not Katrina’s fault. It was me, so don’t be cross, and let’s find out which wing they want us to start on. Is everyone here?” She did a quick count of the children, mumbling under her breath. “Well, my guess is that this will be it. If anybody comes in late, they’ll just have to stop by the front desk and find out where we are.” She turned to Katrina. “Now, you set up your violin and do whatever you need to do to get ready.”
“My violin?”
“Yes, how else are we supposed to all sing together? I assumed PG had it since you didn’t bring it with you.”
“No,” Katrina said. “It’s at home.”
Mrs. Porter let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, then, I don’t know what to do. I don’t suppose you thought to bring your guitar did you, PG?”
Greg shook his head. “No, but we can manage just fine a cappella, can’t we?” Mrs. Porter started in on some diatribe about a dozen different kids singing in a dozen different keys, but Katrina interrupted before she could get to the monologue’s climax.
“It’s just a couple minutes to the house. I’ll go get my violin and be right back.” At least with her instrument, she wouldn’t be expected to lead the music with her voice.
Mrs. Porter rolled her eyes at the clock, bemoaning how late they already were.
“It’s not like the people here have anywhere else to be.” Greg got his car keys and handed them to Katrina with a brief kiss on the cheek and mumbled, “Drive safely.”
She was so thankful to free her ears from Mrs. Porter’s whiny pitch that she hardly noticed how cold it was outside. She found Greg’s car, and during the short drive back to the parsonage wondered how much of a scandal it would cause if she just stayed there at home without returning to Winter Grove at all.
It was an innocent daydream, similar to the way she would imagine talking back to her mom when she was a teen. Idle fantasies that she would never really act upon, but they gave her some sense of boldness, some illusion of control.
She pulled in front of the parsonage and hurried up the sidewalk, so distracted that she nearly collided into someone on the walkway.
“Kat. I’ve been looking all over for you. First here, then at the school.”
Miles.
She blinked. Her one thought was she had to grab her violin and head back to Winter Grove before poor Mrs. Porter suffered a heart attack.
“Do you have a minute? I really want to talk to you.”
She studied his face. Something about him, his expression, was different. Pained.
“I wish I could, but I just stopped by here to grab my violin for a thing we’re doing with the church ...”
“Can I come back later? I’m so sorry for missing our lessons. But I really need to see you.”
“I’m not sure how long this thing’s going to take,” Katrina told him. “I might be tied up for the rest of the day.”
“Tomorrow then. We can meet here at the church at three like we had planned. Will that work for you?”
Katrina nodded. “That will work. Are you ok?”
He gave her a tired smile. “That’s probably something we should talk about tomorrow.” Katrina stared as he headed back to his truck and backed out of the church parking lot. After he drove off and disappeared from view, she remembered what she was doing here, ran in the house to get her violin, and tried to ignore the wild syncopated rhythm of her heart.