Chapter 12
Noah sat at his piano, the last piano student gone for the night.
It was late, and he should go upstairs to bed.
When his siblings were home, he'd kept a strict "no one up after midnight on a school night" schedule.
But now that they were gone, he found himself wandering the house in the evening, or, more likely, doing what he was doing now—sitting at the piano, allowing the melody and the harmonies in his head to dance around, singing, playing, and capturing it all on paper.
There were programs that allowed a person to compose based on what they played on the piano.
The computer would transpose and put the notes that were played on a staff.
But Noah preferred to compose the old-fashioned way.
It was in his head, teased out by his fingers, and then written down and fleshed out on paper.
He hummed the bar, then hit a few piano keys, adding a little embellishment, before going back and changing it a bit.
Then, another voice chimed in. They teased back and forth, like a conversation, a flirty one.
It went on like that for a long time, as he took the music down, completely in the zone. By the time he was done, he realized he had been writing music for a violin and piano when he had been intending to write a piano composition.
He looked at the melody carried by the violin, and then picked up by the piano while the violin added depth and harmony.
He'd never tried to write a duet like this before. He had written some compositions for the violin to play with piano accompaniment, and even more compositions for piano itself, since that was the more popular thing if he were trying to sell it, but this... This was something completely different.
He looked over the music, hearing it in his head, humming along a bit, and felt satisfied.
Then a thought came to him as he closed up for the night.
Was he writing this for Grace and him to play together?
Immediately he knew it was true, even while most of him wanted to deny it.
He wasn't thinking about Grace the whole time, not consciously, although ever since he'd first seen her, she was in his subconscious all the time.
But he hadn't intended to write this for them.
The one time he'd asked her to play, she'd said a short no, and there was obviously something bothering her, plus, she was a famous musician at the top of her game, and he was an unknown in a tiny town in rural Virginia.
There was no way she was going to play one of his compositions, and she certainly wasn't going to play with him.
He tried to put that out of his mind as he tidied up the music room, getting ready for lessons the next day. He did miss his siblings, because they'd helped with that. Almost always one of them would have the room swept and dusted while he finished up lessons. But he wasn't overwhelmed by the work.
With all the things going wrong, he still hadn't figured out a solution to the issue of the Christmas festival music, and he hadn't heard back from Jones, which he figured was not a good thing.
Plus, what Mr. Peterson had been saying to him about the music that used to be in town on a monthly basis had been on his mind.
He was the music store owner. Was it his job to keep music alive in the town?
Of course it would benefit him, but maybe he'd just been too busy with his siblings and trying to keep the business going and the lessons that he did on the side to earn enough money to buy groceries, that he hadn't thought about it.
But yeah, he would be the logical one. Either him or the music teacher at school, who had left abruptly, and in a way he supposed she'd left him holding the bag. All of the music in the town was on his shoulders.
Maybe not, but it felt that way.
Lord, I feel overwhelmed. There's so much stuff coming at me.
All of the music issues, plus the money issues, plus the offer I have on the store.
It's tempting. It would take away a lot of my worries and allow me to do things I've always wanted to do, but haven't been able to, either because of money or because of raising my siblings, which I appreciate the opportunity to do, but.
.. I gave up a lot. I didn't really see it as giving up anything though. I wanted to.
Help me figure it out. Help me do what you want me to do.
He needed wisdom and discretion. To know what to do.
Maybe he should just give up on the idea of music altogether.
Because, after all, what he'd said to Mr. Peterson was correct—people carried their music around on their devices anymore.
They didn't go see people perform live. Even churches were giving up on live music and playing canned stuff, or having a band on stage playing music that anyone who knew three chords and had fingers could play.
He didn't disdain that type of music. It was simple for a reason, to make it accessible to every church anywhere, even if they didn't have accomplished musicians.
But that was just the thing. His church did have an accomplished musician.
Or at least a musician who could play whatever was set in front of him for the most part.
But that wasn't really the pressing problem. Not like the issue of whether or not he should accept Moondoe's offer, or even more pressing, what he should do about the Christmas festival and the music there.
An idea started to come to him, and he tossed it around.
Maybe it wasn't a terrible idea. Maybe he could do something along those lines.
It wouldn't cost any money. Or at least it shouldn't cost much.
And that would be the best thing, since the finances of the festival committee were really low, thanks to the fact that they might not get their deposit back.
Maybe God had orchestrated that all along, because He had something else in mind.
Lord, help me to do what you want. Give me wisdom to know what that is.