Chapter 6 #3
Caleb nodded, dropped his gaze to his mug and its half inch of cold coffee.
“I’d already told my family that I’d quit school and would start working for Drake after New Year’s.
My parents said I was eighteen and could make up my own mind.
Granddad argued that they’d eventually stopped traveling with the symphony, and I should settle down too.
And work at the inn, as they did in their final few years. ”
“And all their friends were there to hear it.”
“It gets worse. Uncle Augo wanted me to enter the ministry, so he took my side in the fight. He said the Lord had called me to play in a Christian band. Let me tell you, it got loud and it got ugly.”
He swallowed back the grief that still welled up after all these years, his gaze fixed on his brown coffee mug.
“In front of everybody, Mom and Dad said they were proud of me and trusted me to make the right decision. Then they stepped out to take a walk and let everybody calm down. About that time, Michelle and her family fell through the ice.”
“Mr. Bojangles” drifted through the speakers, bringing with it a melancholy aura.
“That room filled with anger. The family took sides, with everybody mad at everybody else. A half hour later, the news came that my parents had fallen through the ice.” His throat suddenly dry, he lifted his mug, wanting a long, hot drink but getting a mouthful of tepid brew he’d rather spit out. “Worst day of my life.”
Somehow, telling the story both drained him and freed him.
“And your grandparents couldn’t bear to enter the place where they saw your father for the last time,” Ariel whispered.
The waitress must have sensed his need, because she brought him a fresh cup, already creamed. Without a word, she set it in front of him.
Caleb thanked her with a nod. The silence that followed felt God-sent, healing. Comforting, as Ariel’s warm, gentle hand squeezing his somehow carried a balm he’d searched for the past twelve years.
Caleb’s sad story, the nostalgia of her favorite childhood haunt, and the tension leaving his eyes all conspired to tug at Ariel’s heart. It also inspired her to do all she could to help him with the inn as she’d promised and to revamp the band.
And the song Earl gave her late last night—the lead sheet she’d stowed in her guitar case after reading it this morning—could either raise the band to new heights or take it down.
But for now, Caleb’s situation held equal urgency. As his decorating consultant, or whatever they wanted to call her, she focused on the vision that had begun to form in her mind.
“I was in the parlor once, when I was ten. I remember a gorgeous grand piano, antique furniture, built-in bookcases, the ancient wooden mantel above a huge brick fireplace.”
“Sounds accurate.”
“What if we could bring life back to the parlor? To that whole wing? Redeem its past.” She could all but see the parlor filled with family and friends who loved music.
He gave her an adorable smirk. “I’d have to break down the door, and I’d rather not.”
She couldn’t help grinning back at him. “What if we found the key and took a look around? Figured out a way to use the room to bless people instead of keeping it as an abandoned shrine to words everyone regrets?”
“My grandfather would have another stroke.”
“Not if we did it the right way.” Ariel accepted the refill the waitress offered. Its heat warmed her cold hands, and she waited for it to cool before tasting her sweet milk. “We’d have to use our secret weapons.”
Caleb took another long swig of his coffee. “What weapons?”
Ariel ticked them off on her fingers. “My aunt and your uncle.”
She couldn’t quite read his expression. Hopeful? Doubtful? A little of both?
“I see where you’re going. Miss Dahlia could convince a man to jump into Lake Huron and swim to Chicago. And even though Granddad is older, he looks up to Uncle Augo, since he’s a retired pastor.”
“Mr. Augo was a pastor?”
“Right here at Little Stone Bible Church, next door to Island House. In those days, the inn was like an extension of the church building, with people coming and going to see him all the time. Since the parlor was bigger and more comfortable than the church facilities, they often gathered there for meetings, Bible studies, women’s groups—all kinds of activities. ”
He turned to the window, seeming to search for something—probably the two topics of their conversation sailing by the island, oblivious to the rest of the world. “It was like a community center, with residents coming and going every day. When my parents died, so did that room.”
“And the drama left everyone filled with regret.”
“That’s why Uncle Augo left the pastorate and moved away for a while.”
“Because of grief?”
“Nope.” Caleb pulled in a deep breath and puffed it out.
Met her eyes. “Since my family kept pulling me in three directions in those days, the argument quickly escalated into an all-out shouting war that involved a lot of words unfit for a Jesus-follower to use, let alone a preacher. Or a deacon, as Granddad was at the time.”
“A shouting match with relatives doesn’t seem like a good reason to give up the ministry.”
“Maybe not, if no one else had been around. But as long as I remember, Mom believed the Christmas season started at sundown on the day after Thanksgiving, so she always invited the whole town over to sing and play carols on that night. That’s when we had the feud.”
Oh, it had ended worse than she’d imagined. “Which meant the entire church and a lot of your friends witnessed your family basically breaking down. So your uncle thought he’d failed the people he was supposed to shepherd.”
“Right. They didn’t ask him to step down, but he did, and he moved away and went back to the music industry. Not everybody can play upright bass, and he worked for big record labels that produce jazz, including Blue Note Records, Columbia, and Verve Records.”
The waitress brought their sandwiches, and Caleb gave thanks.
This time, Ariel raised her eyes to the heavens too.
Then they dove into the egg, avocado, and pesto on pretzel buns.
Ariel had no more than taken the first bite when she caught sight of a petite dark-haired girl, maybe fourteen years old, wearing a “Be Like Miss Dahlia” T-shirt, holding her camera high and snapping a picture.
Ariel laid one hand over her lips with a close-mouthed smile as she motioned the girl over. Then she reached for two napkins. “You caught me with my mouth full. This really is a blessed sandwich, like the menu says,” Ariel told her with a grin. “Are you a local or here on vacation?”
After she’d engaged her fan, posed for a few more pictures, and autographed one of the napkins, Ariel turned her attention back to Caleb. From the look on his face, the interaction had taken his mind from his troubles for the moment.
“I should keep my family problems to myself,” he said, settling back into his previous concerns.
“No, I want to help, and Aunt Dahlia will too.” Her thoughts turned to Mr. Augo, as her Southern-etiquette-loving aunt would insist she call the older gentleman. “How does your uncle feel about the drama now?”
“He just wants the family to get along and for Granddad to leave behind his bitterness.”
“Then we need to ask your uncle for the keys.”
Caleb shook his head. “He wanted to move back into his old apartment in the parlor wing a couple years ago and asked Granddad for them. He didn’t get them.”
“In that case, it’s time for a hotel treasure hunt.”
He raised his mug and emptied it. “They can’t be hard to find. Thirty-seven big antique brass keys on a heavy brass ring four inches in diameter—you can’t hide that just anywhere.”
Ariel smiled at the thought and tested her drink. The hot, frothed steamer had cooled enough that it wouldn’t burn her mouth, so she took a long drink of the warm sweetness. What was it about hot milk that always comforted her and seemed unfailingly to solve her every problem?
And what was making Caleb smile like that?
He grabbed a napkin, handed it to her, and pointed to his own lips.
Oh. She laughed and snatched the rough paper napkin from his hands, swiped the thick cream from her mouth, and considered how comfortable she felt with him.
Had she felt that way with any other—what? Obviously not date. Besides, he wasn’t her date. Friend? Maybe. Brother figure? She took in his big brown eyes, powerful biceps, muscled shoulders…nope. Definitely not a brother.
Regardless, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so much at ease with a man. Someone who knew musicians’ challenges and understood their unusual, chaotic schedules and lives.
However, the staff paper in her guitar case had rustled around in her mind all morning. As urgent as Caleb’s problem was this morning, she hadn’t wanted to mention the song that had drifted in the background of their hotel and coffee shop conversations.
Ariel checked the time on the big wall clock shaped like a cappuccino cup. Not yet nine, so she reached into her guitar case for the sheet music. “I still think we should search for the keys. But for now, would you take a look at Earl’s song?”
At his nod, she passed him the lead sheet.
“‘Mercy Song’?”
“It’s just a working title, but I like it.”
He tapped his index finger on the table, no doubt in time with the beat in his head.
Ariel waited, her pulse pounding. She watched his eyes for a hint of his thoughts.
Caleb turned the first page upside down on the table. Picked up page two. His finger stilled but his head nodded almost imperceptibly with the silent beat.
She drew a long breath as if diving deep into crystal water. This was their new song. She knew it as well as she knew her own vocal range.
Caleb turned over the sheet and read page three, then looked up, silent, his eyes a little misty, his lips slightly parted.
Her smile came slow, her breath fast.
He felt it too. She could see it. Ariel pressed her lips together, holding in the sheer joy of discovery and of sharing such a song with Caleb.
“Earl wrote this? You’re sure?”
“He wrote it and signed it.” She reached for page one and pointed to his name scrawled in the bottom right corner.
“It’s raw, it’s real, it’s powerful.” Caleb drew a deep breath, pushed it out hard, angled the pages between them on the table where they both could see them. “Ariel, it’s jazz. Very good jazz. But you’re a country band.”
He was beginning to get it. “I know a few artists who infuse jazz into their country. Some call it country jazz. I lean that way a little, vocally.”
“Your aunt does not.” He ran his finger down a page. “This is a deeper song than your usual lighthearted country. The faith message is a lot stronger, and it’s more complex. But I like it. A lot.”
“I think it’s what we need.”
“Not sure Miss Dahlia will agree.”
“Neither am I. But the more I think about it, I realize she’s right, and our band needs something new. Since she put me in charge, she’ll have to listen with an open mind. And maybe let someone else make a decision for a change.”
He raised his brows. “I’ve never heard of her giving anyone that kind of authority.”
“That’s what scares me. But she and I both have to find out whether I have what it takes to lead this band someday. Aunt Dahlia is sixty. In ten years, she might start to slow down, and if I’m to keep it going after she wants out, I have to get ready.”
Wow, after saying it out loud, she felt a little fatigued, as if this were a foreshadowing of things to come.
“What if she says no?”
Ariel thought a moment. “No to the song or no to changes I think we should make?” She debated saying the words out loud. “Let’s just say I’m also looking for more solo songs.”
Caleb’s lifted brows and wide eyes looked just like Aunt Dahlia’s would when she heard “Mercy Song.”
“Anyway, it’s keyboard driven, so I’d love to play it on a piano.”
“Then we need to find the parlor keys.”
For better or for worse, Ariel somehow sensed this new direction would either make their franchise explode or shut them down.
Either way, she knew that after she played “Mercy Song” for her aunt, nothing would ever be the same.