13

 

 

“Great job. We’ll try the new hymn on Sunday. Thanks, everybody.”

A rustle of papers, accompanied by conversation and laughter, followed Scott’s dismissal as Karen and the other choir members put away their music. What a change from previous rehearsals. True to his promise, he’d been far more pleasant and patient with the group, and she’d enjoyed the session.

As she stood, Reverend Richards waved at her from the back door and walked over. “Hi, Karen. How’s everything?”

“Can’t complain, thanks.”

“Margaret appears to be doing well.”

“She is. Val’s been keeping close tabs on her.”

“I got to meet your sister last Sunday after services. I’m sure her presence this summer has been a tremendous blessing.”

“Absolutely. I would have been in desperate straits without her.”

“Speaking of desperate straits…I wondered if I could borrow your stellar organizational ability for a special project our church has been asked to take on.”

“I’ll be glad to help if I can. What is it?”

“You’re familiar with Hope House, I believe—the counseling center for unwed pregnant teens?”

“Yes. They do important work. I’m glad we take up an annual collection for them.”

“So am I—but they’ve had some unexpected expenses in recent weeks, and it doesn’t appear they’ll have sufficient funds to get them through the end of their fiscal year in September. To help shore up their coffers we’ve been approached about doing a benefit dinner that would include musical enter­tainment. A number of area choirs are being solicited to participate—including our own—but I have to find a chairperson who can organize this and pull it off by the third week in August.”

“You do realize that’s only a month away.”

“Yes. I know it’s ambitious timing. I think we can get a fair number of vol­unteers from the congregation to chair committees, but it will take someone with strong managerial skills to keep all the components in sync. You were the first person I thought of.”

She gave him a teasing look. “Resorting to flattery, are we?”

“Is it working?” His lips bowed up.

“Maybe.”

“Music to my ears. You’re the perfect person to spearhead this. I always know if I ask you to take on a project that it will be done right, and on schedule.”

As he waited for her response, she took a quick inventory of her schedule. Kristen was doing much better and required less assistance. Val had the situation with their mother under control. Work was slacking off a bit too.

Yes, she could manage this.

“I’ll be happy to help.”

“Thank you.” He motioned toward Scott, who was closing the piano. “Now I want to talk to our music director and see if he’ll agree to tackle a couple of new pieces with the choir for the event.”

“Why don’t I stop by your office Saturday morning about nine and you can go over the details with me?”

“Perfect.”

As they parted, Karen began formulating a to-do list. Give her a problem, and her brain immediately transitioned to analytical mode. Must be her overdeveloped organizational gene.

But as Scott turned in response to the pastor’s greeting and his gaze connected with hers, the left side of her brain disengaged. His warm smile seeped deep inside her, boosting her pulse into overdrive despite her best efforts to rein it in.

And Karen suspected that no matter how hard she tried to ana­lyze that particular problem, the solution would defy logic.

 

* * *

 

Yawning, Scott inserted his key in the church door. Must be all the carbs from the Thursday night fried chicken special at home, a childhood tradition his mother had revived after his return. Not the best menu for his waistline—or cholesterol—but he had to admit the comfort food was soothing.

The door was unlocked, so he stowed his key, twisted the knob, and pushed through.

Soft piano music filled the space.

Huh.

Who else would be playing at this hour?

After a brief hesitation, he entered. If he was quiet, he ought to be able to find some pieces in the music file for the choir to work on for the benefit without disturbing whoever was inside.

The cool interior was a welcome respite from the oppressive July heat, and for a mo­ment he stood in silence, letting the air conditioning work its magic while he adjusted to the dimness. The music was more audible here.

Except...it wasn’t exactly music. It sounded more like someone was fooling around on the piano.

As he edged toward the choir area to see who was playing, a wheelchair came into view. A young man with broad shoulders was picking out a melody with one hand and using the other to experiment with chords. The piano bench had been moved aside to accommodate him.

Scott’s step faltered. Was this the young man who’d been injured in a football accident? Steven something. And if so, why was he here?

As Scott entered his field of vision, the teenager stopped playing and pushed back from the piano. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“No. Stay there. I stopped by to go through some music. I won’t be here long.” He held out his hand. “Scott Walker.”

The boy gave him a firm shake. “I know. I listen to you play every Sunday, Mr. Walker. I’m Steven Ramsey.”

“Nice to meet you—and call me Scott. Do you play?”

“No.” His response was tinged with regret.

“It sounded like you were putting some notes and chords to­gether.”

Steven skimmed his fingers over the keys. “I like music, but I...I used to play football, and between that and school, I was slammed. You have to take lessons and practice to play well, and I didn’t have a spare hour.” He plunked out a few more notes. “I bet you took a ton of lessons.”

Scott walked over to the piano bench and sat on the edge. “I majored in music theory and composition in college, and I do have a fair amount of classical training. But the keyboard isn’t my main in­strument.”

“You could’ve fooled me. What do you play?”

“Clarinet in the beginning, saxophone for the past ten years.”

“Cool. What kind of music do you like?”

“I used to play jazz.”

“What do you play now?”

The bottom dropped out of his stomach. “I don’t play anything.” Lifting his left hand, he demonstrated the unresponsiveness of his fingers. “I injured this in an accident a few months ago.”

“Will it get better?”

Karen had asked him that once—and he gave Steven the same answer he’d given her. “No one knows.”

“But there’s hope, right?”

Hope.

It wasn’t a word he used much anymore. Yet it was clear he had more of it than this young man whose own dreams had been shattered forever. Steven would never walk again, let alone play pro football. Scott, on the other hand, had some chance of recov­ery—however slim. “Yeah. I suppose.”

“And you can still play the piano.”

“Not very well.”

The boy stared down at the keys. “Better than I can play football.”

His soft comment was like a punch in the solar plexus.

Not long ago, his mother had told him he should get some perspective. Well, he’d just had a whole boatload of it dumped in his lap.

And Steven—and his mother—were right. He could continue to make music. Not with the skill he’d once had. Yet. But he had hope...and a future of some kind in his field, if he wanted it, as Reverend Richards had pointed out.

Steven’s football dreams had died forever. The future he’d planned was dust.

“I’m sorry.” What else was there to say?

The teenager gave a stiff shrug. “I’ll survive.”

As Steven began to idly plunk the keys, an idea began to perco­late in Scott’s mind. “Now that you aren’t as busy, why don’t you pursue your interest in music?”

The young man stopped playing. “I’d have to take lessons.”

“So?”

“I have three brothers and sisters, and we’ve had a bunch of medical bills in the past few months. Mom and Dad both work, but...”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Scott to understand the predicament. Money was tight.

But the solution was obvious.

Nevertheless, Scott hesitated. He’d been avoiding commit­ments of any kind for months, except for the choir gig—and if his mother hadn’t pushed him, he wouldn’t have pursued that.

This, however, was different. This was a task he wanted to take on. The first one that had interested him since his dreams had crumbled.

“I’ll tell you what...I don’t have much teaching experience, but I do have time on my hands. I’d be happy to spend some of it showing you the basics on the keyboard.”

“For real?” A glimmer of interest sprang to life in the boy’s eyes.

“For real.”

The glimmer flickered. “I don’t know if it would work. We don’t have a piano. I wouldn’t have anywhere to practice.”

“How about here?”

The spark rekindled. “Do you think Reverend Richards would let me?”

“I can talk to him about it. What about transportation?”

“I have a bunch of friends. One of them would give me a ride.”

A middle-aged woman appeared from behind the tabernacle carrying a huge vase of flowers. She spotted him at once and hurried forward. “Sorry. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes. I didn’t realize you’d be working.”

“I’m not. I stopped by to go through some music.”

“This is my mom,” Steven offered.

Rising, Scott held out his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ramsey.”

“Mom, Scott says he’ll give me piano lessons.”

The young man’s eagerness tugged at his heart.

“That’s real kind of you, Mr. Walker...”

“Scott.”

“Scott. And I’m Martha. But we have a lot of other expenses these days, and…” She gave him a what-can-you-do shrug, regret pooling in her eyes.

“There wouldn’t be any charge. You’d be doing me a favor. The doctors want me to exercise my injured hand as much as possible to increase flexibility, and working on the keyboard with Steven will give me more of a chance to do that.”

She hesitated, and Steven spoke again. “Please, Mom.”

At his quiet, intent plea, she searched his face—then turned to Scott, her irises shimmering. “I know Steven would enjoy it. He’s always had an interest in music but never had an opportunity to develop it. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Scott directed his next comment to Steven. “I’ll talk to Reverend Richards about using this piano for practice. What do you say we start tomorrow?”

“Cool. Thank you.”

They shook hands, and at the new spark in Steven’s eyes…of optimism…anticipation…hope…a shaft of sunlight pierced the darkness in his soul.

And suddenly Scott realized that Steven had it all wrong.

He should be thanking him.

 

* * *

 

“What’s the current total?” Val cleared a space for Karen as her sister deposited a fat-free frappuccino on the table and sat across from her at the small café table.

“Eighteen and dropping.”

“Way to go! At this rate, you’ll be back to your old svelte self before I leave.”

“Don’t talk about leaving yet. I’m getting kind of used to having you around. It’ll be lonely after you’re gone.”

“For me too.” She gave Karen’s hand a quick squeeze. There were definitely things she would miss after she returned to Chi­cago. Becoming friends with her sister had been an unexpected bonus of this visit.

“I wish it hadn’t taken so long for us to connect.” Karen took a sip of her drink. “Why do you think it did?”

“Lots of reasons, I suspect. You went away to college when I was fifteen. I left for school at eighteen, a month after you got married. Prior to that, there was too much rivalry, thanks to Mom—and too many hormones as well, I imagine.”

“I suppose.” Karen sighed. “I’ll miss you.”

“We can keep in touch by phone.”

“It’s not the same.”

“True—but we have almost four more weeks. It’s much too soon to haul out the Kleenex. Let’s chat about a more cheerful subject. Like how your choir director zinged Mom without her knowing it last Sunday. I like that guy!”

“He saw right through her, didn’t he?”

“I’ll say. It was a hoot! What’s he like to work with?”

“Why? Are you thinking about joining the choir?”

At the alarm in her sister’s voice, Val hastened to reassure her. “No. I have no intention of encroaching on your turf.”

Karen’s brow furrowed, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to overreact. Of course you can join if you want to. It’s just that…well, music is one more skill you can best me at. I have a niche in the choir, but if you’re there I’ll fade into the background. As Mom is always happy to point out, my vocal talent isn’t all that noteworthy.”

“Your choir director doesn’t agree—and neither do I.”

“You’re both being kind.” Karen dismissed the compliment with a flip of her hand. “I’m trying to contain my jealousy, but it’s a work in progress.”

“Welcome to the human race. In terms of the choir...I’ll be going back to Chicago next month. It wouldn’t make any sense to get involved even if I was so inclined—which I’m not. I promise to leave all church-related matters in your very capable hands.”

“Oh! That reminds me.” Karen set her drink aside and leaned forward. “I met with Reverend Richards this morning about a fund-raising event we’re going to have in mid-August. He asked me to coordinate it.”

“Don’t you have enough on your plate without taking on an­other project?”

“This is for a worthy cause, though. Hope House. Was that around when we were kids?”

Searching her memory, Val came up blank. “Doesn’t ring any bells. What is it?”

“A counseling center for pregnant teens. They offer medical referrals, adoption assistance, and emotional support as an alterna­tive to abortion. It’s a terrific organization that does important work, but they’re running close to the red and they asked Reverend Richards if our church would sponsor a fund-raising dinner, with entertainment. It’s a few days before you have to go back, and I wondered if I could persuade you to be the emcee. You’d be perfect, Val. Your background and training would add some professional polish to the evening.”

As Karen lobbed the ball into her court, it took every ounce of her acting skill to maintain a placid demeanor. Her sister wanted her to help raise money for an organization that offered help—and hope—to girls who found themselves in the same situation she’d been in at seventeen?

How ironic.

And what strange timing.

Or was it?

Perhaps supporting an organization that encouraged other young girls to choose more wisely than she had would help her find closure.

It might be worth considering.

“What would I have to do?”

“Welcome the attendees, introduce the different groups that are going to entertain, thank people at the end of the evening.” Karen ticked the items off on her fingers. “It’s very simple. You could do it in your sleep.”

From a technical standpoint, Val didn’t have any doubt she could handle the job. Emotionally…that could be a different story.

As she hesitated, Karen spoke again. “I know I dumped this on you, and I know you didn’t come down here to perform. Why don’t you think about it and let me know in the next few days?”

Val gave a slow nod. “I can do that.”

“Thank you. Your flair would add some pizzazz to the evening, and I know this would be a piece of cake for you.”

Piece of cake?

Far from it.

In fact, if she agreed to emcee this event that hit far too close to home, it could end up being the most difficult performance of her life.