THE DEVILS DIME

by Bristol, Bailey

  Addie put her hands up to stop his advance, and they rested light and trembling on his black vest. The adrenaline haze still inhabited her sparkling eyes. He covered her hands with his and let his thumbs stroke the fingers that made the music that had nearly driven him out of his skull.

  Now he spoke, softly, wanting only Addie to hear.

  “I don’t have the words, Addie. There aren’t any words grand enough to...to say what your music does to a person. What it does to me. What you do to me. You’re just going to have to see it in my eyes.”

  Addie dropped her head, embarrassed, but he knew she understood what he was trying to say. He lifted a finger to her chin and tilted her head upward. “Addie?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open and a beatific smile parted her full lips. “Thank you, Jess. You don’t know what that means to me.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, worried, he knew, that she might seem immodest, even as she leaned imperceptibly closer. But modesty be damned, he was going to kiss her. There was no saving her now. That innocent lower lip had drawn him over the edge.

  And as his lips touched hers he felt instantly vindicated when she didn’t draw away. He pressed, gently, and she answered in kind. He knew no word to describe the softness, the chasteness, the restrained eagerness. But there was one thing he did know. There was no saving him now.

  . . .

  Somehow she had known it could be like this, but in her most farflung imagination Addie had never supposed it would be like this. He had taken her into his arms, and she had let him, willed him to, leaned toward him as if to beckon. She moved as a wanton maid might, and yet nothing about his embrace made her feel wanton.

  Her bristling nerves were charged as never before, still crashing about in the jangled flurry that always flooded her nervous system after a performance. But he drew his hand down her quivering cheek and the discordant frenzy fell away, swept anew into a pool of lush content.

  Strangely, she was glad she hadn’t had a moment to put on her gloves. Her bare hands rose and fell along the broad span of his back. Gently, slowly, she returned the pressures she felt from his hands on her own waist. And that was the moment she faltered and broke the kiss. If he should happen to touch her sweat-soaked blouse she would be mortified.

  Jess stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. He looked about him as if stunned that the trees still stood in the same places they’d occupied moments ago.

  “Jess, I—” How could she tell him she’d have stayed in his arms past nightfall had it not been for her embarrassing state of disarray. It seemed desperately important for him to know that it wasn’t the kiss that had been found wanting.

  “No, Addie, I’m sorry, I don’t know what—”

  He looked so flustered, embarrassed, that she knew it was up to her to save the beauty of the moment.

  “Jess Pepper,” she said softly, as she reached a hand to his cheek and made him look at her. She let a coy smile play about her mouth, but stopped short of outright coquetry. “I’ve heard of singing for my supper, but fiddling for a kiss puts an altogether new twist on things.”

  He breathed, relaxed, and his eyes lost the momentary confusion that had filled them until her hand touched his face.

  “In that case, Miss Magee,” he winked and cleared his throat, “I believe I shall endeavor to take every opportunity to put your theory to the test!”

  She took his hand in a formal handshake just as the orchestra finished their final number and the crowd began to disperse. Some were already finding their way behind the bandstand and were headed her way, seeking her out. As if by an arranged signal they each took a slight step back and fixed their faces in cordial smiles.

  “Why, of course, Mr. Pepper, I’ll be happy to let you know when I’m to play next. You are so kind to take an interest–”

  Addie froze mid-word, and her hand clamped down hard on Jess’s hand. Her eyes that had felt so playful a moment ago were now riveted on the man who waited not far beyond Jess’s right shoulder. She felt her heart crashing against her ribs.

  “Addie, what is it?”

  She swallowed, and managed a trembling whisper.

  “It’s him!”

  Chapter Nine

  Addie’s voice shook with emotion. She swallowed and spoke as she gasped for air. “I don’t believe it!”

  Jess turned in the direction she was staring. A lone man in an old brown suit stood uneasily next to a massive white oak beyond the path. Jess recognized his upstairs neighbor. Any other man would have been dwarfed by the tree, but this man was tall, thick, and stood his ground even though he seemed unsure of his welcome.

  “My father.”

  Jess stepped to the side and dropped Addie’s hand.

  “He came to hear me play. How did he know...?”

  “Go on, Addie. Talk to him. I’ll wait.” Jess moved a step further away.

  “But, I...”

  “Go on. You’ll know what to say.” Jess began to back away, and as the man by the tree took a step toward Addie, she began to move toward her father.

  Ford Magee’s long stride covered more territory than Addie’s cautious step, and they met not far from the back of the garlanded stage and paused for a moment. He held out a hand and they both sat on the nearest bench, an awkwardness still hanging between them.

  Her father was first to break the silence.

  “You play prettier than your mama sings.”

  Addie caught her breath. Two months earlier she’d hardly recognized the harsh voice that flung words at her from his fourth floor doorway to send her on the run. But this was the rumbly voice she remembered, the comfortable sound she’d carried in memory’s ear for twenty years.

  “And no one sings prettier than your mama.”

  Addie pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to have at the ready. Tears seemed perilously close to the surface.

  “Thank you.”

  “Adelaide.” Ford looked at her a long moment, then looked away. He leaned forward and rested his threadbare elbows on his knees. He spoke to the trees, but his words were for her.

  “I’m sixty-three years old. I was almost forty when I married Julia...when I married your mother. And for five years, I knew...” Ford leaned down and scooped up an acorn that plopped from the tree and rolled near his feet. “...I knew what it meant to be whole.”

  Addie watched him play with the acorn. His crooked third finger jutted off at its own angle. His compass finger, he’d called it. Always pointing toward the North Pole. Or so he’d made her believe as a child.

  “She wasn’t as old as you when we married. Maybe that was the problem.” Her father tossed away the husk of the hollow acorn. “But I loved her. And I loved...love...you. Never forget that. Even if I go and do something stupid like I did the day you came knockin’ at my door.”

  For the first time, Ford sat up straight and looked at Addie. His eyes were the same as she’d remembered. Warm as a hazelnut, and usually merry, if only around the edges.

  “Can you forgive me?” He spoke the words like a man awaiting a death sentence. Addie choked and took his hand. Her eyes brimmed with tears that for a moment robbed her of her own words.

  “You came to hear me play.” She squeezed his hand and willed him to understand how much that meant to her. That she could forgive him anything now.

  But Ford reared back, a stunned look on his face.

  “You knew?” His voice rose on an incredulous note.

  Now Addie was flustered. “Well, I mean, you’re here, I assumed you came early enough to hear my numbers. I thought you came to hear me play.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course I did. Yes. But I knew before I came you’d be spectacular. You see–”

  “How could you possibly know a thing like that? And don’t tell me a parent just...knows.” Addie stood and moved an agitated step away from the park bench. He could know nothing of her violin. Or who she’d grown to be, for that matter. She knew her mother had refused to write him until the day she die
d. “Don’t you know an empty compliment is worse than no compliment at all?”

  Why was she railing at her father? Addie forced a smile and turned. “I mean, all in all, I’m very glad you came this afternoon and I...I truly hope you enjoyed my...my part in the program.”

  Ford stood and took Addie’s hand. He was about to speak when he felt the amethyst ring pressing into his palm and looked down. Addie saw his eyes go liquid as he touched the ring with his large, calloused thumb.

  “You’re wearing her ring.”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “Then your Mother is really...”

  Her father was watching her, searching her eyes for an answer, and she realized that he either hadn’t known or hadn’t accepted that her mother was gone. She took his hand in both of hers and squeezed.

  “Two years next month. May 16th. Pneumonia. Neither of us expected it.”

  She felt his hand tremble in hers, and before she knew what was happening, her father engulfed her in a wrenching hug. She heard nothing, but the fierce lurches of his chest against her shoulders told her he was sobbing.

  She hugged him fiercely back, and when at last he was able, he pulled away.

  “I always thought...”

  The fragile tether that bound her father’s emotions would have snapped had he completed the sentence. But Addie knew the words he couldn’t say. He’d always thought he’d see his Julia again.

  “If it helps, Father, I’ve come to think that Mother loved you too much, rather than not enough. So much so that she couldn’t bring herself to speak of you. But often I’d find her gazing out the window, and then she’d be melancholy the rest of the day. I believe her thoughts were more with you than with me on those occasions.”

  Her father suddenly turned his head and Addie watched as he struggled to control a monstrous, strangling cough. She dropped her eyes to the path until at last he quieted and turned to her.

  “I’ve gone and ruined your Sunday afternoon.”

  Addie lifted her head and looked into the sorrowful eyes of the father she’d always known she loved. She placed a hand on each of his arms and rose on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on his jaw.

  “Quite the contrary,” she said, settling back on her heels. “It’s not every day a girl gets her heart unbroken.”

  Long seconds passed as father and daughter stood on the lush green lawn of Gramercy Park. Reluctant to part. Three little girls in white organdy pinafores with pink satin bows screamed past them unheard. But the little boy chasing them dashed between Addie and her father, and they stepped away startled, and laughed.

  Ford Magee watched his grown daughter laughing at the children who still circled them screaming in delight. He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope with her name written across it in a strong, masculine script and placed it in her hand.

  “There are things you don’t know, Adelaide. This is as much as I can tell you. For now, anyway. The rest...well, I hope the rest doesn’t matter any more. Read it. And when you have, I’m hopin’ you’ll come see me.”

  Ford Magee pressed his daughter’s hands between his own one last time and turned to go.

  “Papa?” The word still felt awkward but welcome on her tongue.

  He paused, half turned toward Addie.

  “Is next Sunday too soon for you?” She clutched the letter to her chest and waited for his answer. She knew she wanted to see him no matter what he’d said in the letter.

  His woeful expression gave way to a slow, fatherly smile. And as he turned to leave he delivered his parting words with a hitch of his cheek that almost resembled a wink. “Fear not, darlin’. I’ve waited twenty years. I imagine I can wait one more Sunday.”

  . . .

  Addie looked at the envelope that she still clutched, and then cast a look around the park for Jess. He was helping a fellow carry orchestra equipment to the horse cart.

  She slipped a fingernail under the flap of the envelope and tore it gently open. The letter covered two pages, front and back.

  Addie took a deep breath and settled herself on the bench. The screaming children reversed their game and the three little girls sped off in close pursuit of the boy.

  Waiting to read what her father had to say would have been as impossible as watching ice cream melt in the dish and not picking up the spoon. And so Addie read.

  Dearest Daughter,

  Sometimes life gives us something so good we only get to keep it a short time. That’s the way it was with you and your mother. There are things I can’t tell you, but always know that this one thing is true. I loved you and your mother like nothing I’d known before or since.

  After she took you to Chicago in the summer of ’76, Julia wouldn’t write to me. I think something frightened her too badly to see past it to the truth. To me. But your Aunt Lucille kept in touch. Each time I sent her money, she’d send me a long letter about your school and the funny stories you liked to tell. I wish I’d been there, Adelaide, to hear your funny stories.

  Her hand flew to her mouth and Addie looked in the direction her father had disappeared. He’d kept in touch! And sent money to Aunt Lucy for her. The shock of it set her lips trembling. But inside she felt a spreading warmth at the knowledge of his continuing care.

  Addie returned to the letter, and the very next words revealed something even more stunning.

  But I did hear two of your recitals. Your aunt made sure I knew about the big ones. The first time I went to Chicago, you’d been playing the violin about four years. It was when the Governor had that big to-do on the lawn of the governor’s mansion and you played that polka tune in his honor.

  I swear, little darlin’, you were the funniest thing I ever saw. You didn’t once crack a smile. There were probably a thousand Sunday strollers milling round the lawn, and they all stopped and gawked when the governor said this little bitty miss was going to play them a tune.

  You stepped up on the platform so serious in your braids with big white ribbons. And then you started playing. And your hands were flying back and forth and up and down that instrument so fast and people were stomping and cheering and I knew right then and there you had a gift.

  Then there was your graduation recital from the Conservatory. You were fourteen, and the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. And oh, you played so sweet. They gave the graduation medal to that Russian boy who played the piano and I thought I’d come up on that stage and raise a ruckus I was so angry.

  But you put that violin under your scrawny little arm and turned to that little pipsqueak and you held out your hand to congratulate him. I couldn’t believe it. I’d watched you play your little heart out. And perfectly, too. And I knew everyone in the audience felt the very same way I did because they were saying so all around me.

  But you didn’t hesitate for a second. You shook his hand and then led the applause. Addie, sweet daughter, I had never known a more proud moment in my life.

  Not long after that, your good Aunt Lucille passed on. I knew because her solicitor notified me that she’d left some unpaid bills. I took care of them and set up a regular transfer of funds to your mother from what we called the Estate. I don’t know if your mother ever knew, but I don’t think she did, or I figure I’d have seen that money tore to bits and stuffed in my post box.

  Now girl, I’m not telling you this for any other reason but to let you know that I never forgot about you. I always made sure you were all right. If Julia didn’t want me around, I couldn’t see a way to change that. But I had to know you were doing all right. And until that sweet aunt of yours parted this world, I had that small comfort.

  It’s been ten years now, and every day I prayed that I’d see you one more time before I die. And now the good Lord’s brought you to New York City. Right here to this very place.

  I’m shamed that I turned you away, sweet girl. You have no idea what it did to me to open the door and see you standing there, looking just like Julia did when she left, only a little younger. My chest was po
unding so fierce I was sure I’d just died and Julia was there to take me Home.

  But it was you. And I treated you so bad, mostly because I was afraid. But that’s another story for another day.

  If I could erase that moment, I would. But I can’t. Just know, dear daughter, that in twenty-four years of loving you, I lost my head for a few seconds. It will never happen again.

  And if you will just give me one more chance, I’d like to show you the man your father is.

  I leave it to you, Adelaide, and if you cannot or do not wish to see me, I swear to you that I will understand. I wish you all God’s blessings now and always.

  Your father,

  Ford Magee

  . . .

  “That’s what he meant.” Addie breathed the words as Jess settled onto the bench beside her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and the ends of the decorative ribbons that dropped from her waistband were soaked.

  Addie took the handkerchief Jess held out to her. Her own was sodden and useless by now. She looked up at Jess as she re-folded the letter. “He came to hear me play.”

  “And you played beautifully,” Jess offered quietly.

  “No.” Addie waved the letter in the air between them. “In Chicago. He came to hear me play in Chicago.” A little laughing cry bubbled out of her. “Twice!”

  “Sounds like the kind of father who cared a lot about his little girl,” Jess said as he stood and flagged down a strolling vendor. “Cherry or lime?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Addie replied absently as she dabbed at her tears.

  Jess chuckled and purchased one of each, and held both cone-shaped paper cups of Italian ice out to Addie to choose.