Chapter Seven
How had this happened? How had he, Nat Hathaway, found himself standing on a stage in front of row upon row of children nearly all staring right at him, listening to several more than qualified teachers passionately putting forward their case for just how the Christmas concert should go?
And if they had such strong feelings on the matter then why on earth weren’t they taking responsibility for the music?
“The seniors are not going to want to sing madrigals in four-part harmonies,” the high school teacher, Mrs. Bloom said wearily and for the fourth time. Nat agreed with her wholeheartedly, he couldn’t imagine anything less likely to appeal to a bunch of teens. Or any of the assembled children come to that.
“I don’t think we have enough time for madrigals anyway,” he said diplomatically, smiling as charmingly as he could at Mrs. O’Leary who taught some of the more talented students violin and piano and helped out with the middle school music lessons. She’d taught Nat for a time in the year he’d spent at school in Marietta and he was very fond of her. Not fond enough for madrigals though. He glanced towards the piano and caught Linnea’s eye, aware that she was enjoying every moment of watching him negotiate between the impassioned parties.
She should be the one standing here practicing her diplomatic skills. It was her concert. Only he had promised to take over responsibility for the music. He still wasn’t sure why. He could blame the excess of pie; he could even blame the excellent Olsen’s cider, but Nat knew all too well what the reason was. He had wanted to impress Linnea. It was senior year all over again.
Wanted to impress her, wanted to see a smile on her face, a glow in her dark eyes.
He smiled wryly. Listen to him, behaving like some medieval knight carrying a torch for some unattainable lady. Who did he think he was? He hadn’t seen Linnea Olsen in almost a decade, had only fleetingly thought about her in all that time; time in which she had married, had become a mother. All that responsibility she carried, responsibility he could hardly fathom. After all, his longest relationship had lasted less than six months and the only thing he had created was music. That had always seemed impressive, always seemed enough but did it compare to carrying and raising another human being?
He knew artists who acted like it did. He’d never been one of them; music had always been easy for him. At least his two albums had been, almost too easy, like he was playing at it. The handful of songs he had penned for other artists, the tracks he’d recorded alone had been harder, but he doubted any woman would forgive him if he compared the process to childbirth.
The annoyed tones of the elementary school teacher, a pretty brunette whose name Nat had already forgotten recalled him to the present. “How on earth are my kindergarten kids going to manage four-part harmonies? I already told you that’s ridiculous. We should be doing Christmas pop classics. It’s a real winner.”
“I still think big band Christmas might be fun. Don’t you think, Nat?” Mrs Bloom asked.
“Erm, I…” The last time Nat had stood in this hall he’d still been at school himself.
How had he suddenly found himself not just standing with the teachers, but arbitrating amongst them? This was a level of adulthood he wasn’t anywhere near ready for.
“They are all excellent suggestions, let me think about it. Today I suggest we go through some vocal exercises, find some soloists, try singing together, turn four choirs into one, okay?”
It was just the same when a bunch of session musicians got together for the first time, eying each other up, wondering who would take the lead, if there would be harmony or just a discordant mess. The important thing was the music, that moment when a bunch of individual instruments, individual musicians, become one.
Nat strode to the front of the stage, peered into the auditorium, and swallowed. It was ironic, he had performed in front of thousands of people, just him and his guitar, singing music he had written, completely opening his heart to complete strangers and yet, once on that stage, the nerves just shrank away. Here, today, the nerves just intensified. He shuffled his feet and stared back at the dozens of faces all gazing at him expectedly. Some of the faces were so small they were still just eyes and smudgy noses, others, the ones with the weary-cynicism of adolescence in their eyes, were old enough to be attending gigs themselves. As Nat looked down on them, he realized with a sudden horror that to them twenty-eight was old. He was actually old. They didn’t see a cool musician. They saw an adult. Him.
And okay, technically, he was an adult, had been for a long time, but it was far too easy to forget that in the twilight adolescence of life on the road as a guitar for hire, a life of short-term lets, short-term relationships. No responsibilities, no cares beyond the next gig, the next crowd. The transition guy in every way.
But things were changing. Money was being spent on him. It was up to him to justify the investment. To play the part they wanted him to play. Just when he was beginning to question who he was and what he wanted.
But that was a thought for another day. Today, he could make a real difference in these kids’ lives, help make this concert something really special.
Even when he moved on afterward, the memories would still be there. Memories of something real.
Nat cleared his throat. How did he address five year olds anyway? Like any musicians, with authority and hope they believed he knew what he was doing.
“Hi. I’m Nat and we’re here to make some noise, okay? Now the first thing we need to know is where our diaphragm is. Can you all make a fist? Like this?” He held up his hand, waiting until the majority of his audience copied him, then showed them how to find their diaphragm.
Once he started, the nerves fell away, just as they did when he played. Patiently, he took the groups through some breathing exercises and then some warm-ups, walking through the lines to identify possible soloists.
He moved to the back of the hall as Mrs. Bloom took over the exercises, dividing the choirs into four, setting them off in a round. Nat closed his eyes and let the harmonies wash over him. He’d never been part of a choir, never been in a school band, never in one place long enough, but he had to admit, all the voices together, from the childish trebles of the littlest kids to the deeper basses of the seniors were pretty effective. He glanced over toward the corner of the stage, to the piano. Linnea sat listening intently to Mrs. Bloom’s instructions, her hair piled into a soft knot at the nape of her neck, her hands resting lightly on the keys. Back then it had been this stillness, this concentration he had noticed, had been drawn to. Her utter absorption in a task, whether she had been running, playing the piano, debating, writing a paper. Everything she did she had done one hundred per cent, with her whole being. Nat had taken nothing but music seriously and had found her capacity for learning extraordinary. Beguiling. And, watching her now, he realized he still did.
The room had fallen quiet and with a start Nat saw dozens of pairs of eyes were fixed on him. He wrenched his thoughts away from Linnea and back to the here and now, rapidly-approaching concert.
“Okay, we’ll meet here the same time next week when I’ll have words and music,” Nat said as confidently as he could, brushing away the inconvenient truth that he still had no idea what they would be singing. “After that I’m afraid we’ll have to meet three times a week. Your schools will let you know dates and times, but Christmas is closer than you think and we have a lot of work to do.” He had a lot of work to do. What they needed was something simple yet impressive. “Good work everyone,” he finished off. “I’ll see you next week.”
He spent the next five minutes doing his best to reassure the anxious teachers he knew exactly what he was doing without giving away the fact he still had no idea what direction the concert was going to take, managing to break away when he saw Linnea helping her daughters into their coats. Nat caught up with her as she headed towards the door. All three were dressed in cheerful, bright warm jackets and he was struck by Elsie and Betsy’s resemblance to their mother from their thick, wavy hair to the golden tones of their skin. “Good work, team,” he said, high-fiving the girls. “Thank you,” he added softly to Linnea.
“Thank me? I should be thanking you. That was brilliant. They were eating out of your hands. I don’t know how you kept your cool. All four teachers were keen to take part in the concert, but made it really clear they didn’t have time to do more than chaperon—I didn’t realize they all wanted to manage the music from afar! You should be a hostage negotiator. It’s a shame to be wasting that Hathaway charm.” That Hathaway charm… charm he had traded off, mostly unconsciously, all of his life. It made life easy for him, Nat knew that. Maybe too easy.
“You know, I actually enjoyed most of it,” he confessed. “Not the negotiating the teachers’ part, but listening to the kids sing. I can see why this concert means this much to you, if the first rehearsal can be that powerful.”
“It did sound amazing, even my wrong notes didn’t detract too much. I’m going to need some serious practice once you decide exactly what we’re singing.” Linnea stopped, turning with a look of panic on her face. “You don’t want me to play for the actual concert do you? I’m horribly out of practice. A few scales and a light accompaniment is one thing, but an actual public performance is another.”
“No, no, that’s all been sorted.” Turned out Lacey wasn’t the only organizer in the family. “The high school orchestra will take care of the concert and Mrs. Bloom will play the piano that evening, but if you could keep helping out for rehearsals, I’d be very grateful.”
“I’m hardly in a position to refuse when you’ve stepped in and saved the concert, am I?” Linnea touched his arm lightly and the very air stilled, all Nat’s attention on that one spot on his arm, every nerve straining to reach it. “I’ve actually really enjoyed having a reason to start playing again. I forgot how much I used to lose myself in it.”
“You needed a reason?”
“You know me. I don’t do anything without a reason.”
The words hung there for a moment. He had said that to her once. When he had, for the first time, suggested keeping in touch. He’d never suggested that to anyone before, never seen the need to. Never wanted to.
“What would be the point?” Linnea had asked, her forehead creasing as she puzzled out the words. “We’re heading off in such different directions.”
“That’s your problem, there always has to be a point, a reason,” he had retorted. “You don’t help out at the senior center because you enjoy it, or because you’re so civic-minded. You do it to make your Ivy League applications look better. You don’t run track or play the piano for fun, you do it because you have to prove you are the best at everything. Sometime, Olsen, you are going to have to stop and smell the frickin’ coffee.” He’d stopped then, appalled by the flash of hurt in her eyes, and after a stilted few minutes they’d made up. But he’d never suggested keeping in touch again, bringing his departure date forward instead.
By the look on Linnea’s face she was remembering that conversation too. “I never did learn to stop and smell the coffee,” she said.
“Listen, if I can learn to organize a community event, you can learn to take some time out. Maybe that should be my goal while I’m here, to help Linnea Olsen chill out.” He meant the words as a joke, but there was a ring of sincerity in them that surprised him.
Linnea didn’t look at him, but her posture relaxed. “I’d like that,” she said.
They reached the main doors and Nat shivered, pulling his coat close around him. With the passing of Thanksgiving, fall seemed to have given way to winter and although it had yet to snow the bite in air forecast it couldn’t be that far away. “I’ve not spent many winters in the mountains,” he said. “I forgot how cold it can get.”
“The winters are pretty cold—and can be incredibly snowy—in New York state, but there’s nothing like this mountain chill.” Linnea lifted her head and inhaled. “You know, I’ve kind of missed it. The freshness of it, the wildness.”
“Remind me of that in February,” Nat said. “You’ll be longing for spring by then.”
She laughed. “Maybe.”
With a jolt, Nat remembered he wouldn’t be here in February. This stop might be a little longer than most, but it was, as always, temporary.
The girls were a few steps ahead, walking along the path which ran alongside the school parking lot and heading toward the gates and the community park. Once out of the gates they broke into a trot, their way through the small park lit by the lamps that dotted the path. As they neared the trees, Nat shot a quick look over at Linnea. Did she even remember the first evening they had spent together, here in this very spot, just the two of them, in a moment out of time? She’d persuaded him, somehow, to play for the senior center and had insisted on a run through first. Not that he’d needed much persuading—he’d already found himself fascinated by the super-organized, on-every-committee girl and her rare luminous smile.
After that Nat stopped asking other girls out, but he and Linnea had never gone public and he had left Marietta before the prom. It seemed a shame now that he hadn’t waited, that they hadn’t shown up together hand in hand. But back then his path had been clear—to get back out of Marietta, rejoin his parents and start to forge his own musical path. Linnea was headed east to college. Neither of them was likely to return for reunions or other nostalgic trips. Yet here they were, exiting their old high school once more…
“Have you seen the girls?” Linnea looked around, her breathing faster than it had been, her eyes wide. “Elsie? Betsy?” She called again, her voice shrill, turning to Nat, eyes wide with panic. “Where are my girls?”