Aunt Pearl headed back toward the kitchen, and Marcus saw his opportunity slipping away. “If you don’t mind, can you let Miss Lilly know I’ll be out here for a while? Just in case she wants to discuss my request?”
He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like Aunt Pearl harrumphed as she disappeared through the dividing curtain.
~ ~ ~
LILLY PLUNGED the stack of dirty plates into the wash water as her daughter’s timid voice murmured from the play area in the back corner of the kitchen. What a blessing that Dahlia would sit for up to an hour at a time playing with her cloth doll and blocks.
Aunt Pearl swished into the kitchen behind her. “Lilly, hon. The parson said he come by to ask if you’d like to play piano come Sundays. I told him I’d pass along the question.”
Lilly’s shoulders tensed, and she hunched lower over the soapy water. Just when things were working out. Now that she’d finally formed a safe, comfortable life for her and Dahlia…why this?
Why had she ever agreed to play at Claire’s wedding? How could she have ever thought going out amongst all those people was a good idea? She’d planned to slip in, play the songs, then leave the moment the service ended. And that’s what she’d done. But she should have known it couldn’t be that easy.
A soft hand rested on her back, and every muscle in Lilly’s body cringed. She forced herself to take in a long breath. It was only Aunt Pearl.
“Darlin’, you know I don’t usually mind yer business. An’ you’ll always have a safe place here, you an’ the little ‘un both.” The hand rubbed slightly, just an inch or two, but the soothing motion pressed against Lilly’s defenses. “I think you can trust the preacher, hon. Him bein’ Claire’s brother an’ all. You can tell him ‘no’ if ya want. But I think it’d be all right to talk to him.”
Another gentle stoke on her back. “It’s up to you, though. You just let me know if ya need me to pass on any messages.”
With a final pat, Aunt Pearl stepped away.
Lilly exhaled a long breath, then gripped the wash rag and rubbed it over the first plate.
“I’m headed back out ta pour more coffee. Lands, if this town don’t drink enough to fill the Missouri River.”
As Aunt Pearl ducked around the curtain divider, Lilly scrubbed harder on the tin plate. Aunt Pearl thought she should talk with the preacher? A queasy knot started in her stomach. Never. He was a man, and preacher or not, men couldn’t be trusted. Not ever.
He’d said he wanted her to play for church. Too bad. She wouldn’t be doing that either.
Chapter Three
MARCUS TOSSED his hat on the ladder-back chair in his bed chamber and sank on the mattress with a sigh. He propped his elbows on his thighs and let his head sink into his hands.
What had he done wrong? Why wouldn’t the woman even talk to him?
Some would consider an invitation to play during worship services an honor. But this woman didn’t seem to see it that way. He'd been so sure he could convince her if he'd been allowed to put the request to her in person. But she'd never given him the chance.
Marcus flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the rafters. Perhaps it wasn't God's will that Lilly play at the church. But the nagging in his gut told him otherwise. Or maybe that was his own desire talking. He had to admit he’d found the woman attractive. And intriguing. That was part of the reason he'd been so eager to find her.
Yet other motives played a role as well.
The sound of the piano and a host of voices raised in praise was a sweet melody in the Lord’s ears. Music had a way of reaching people. How many times had he been both convicted and exhorted while singing a hymn? He wanted the same for the people in this parish. Of course, they could continue to sing without accompaniment, as they’d been doing. But the richness of adding piano, especially music as beautiful as he’d heard at the wedding, would only enhance the worship. And she was the only one in town who could play.
“Father, if you want me to pursue Miss Lilly’s agreement to play for services, please show me what to do.”
Marcus sat up, then stood and walked to the washbasin. It’d been a long day. After he ran the dripping cloth over his face, his eyes found the mirror. As they locked there, his mind drifted back to the woman from the café. Lilly. He’d forgotten to ask Aunt Pearl her last name. What was her story? What had brought her to the point where she was so skittish of meeting anyone new?
Or was it just men she didn’t like? He propped his hands on the stand. What had she endured to instill such wariness in her? His chest ached as possibilities flew through his mind.
Piano or not, he wanted to reach out to this woman. But how? His gaze flickered to the desk where his sermon notes waited next to his Bible. A note? If he couldn’t ask her in person, would she read a note from him instead? It was certainly an unobtrusive way to communicate. If he could just convince Aunt Pearl to pass it along . . .
In two strides, Marcus reached the desk and slid into the ladder back chair. He took a clean sheet of paper, dipped the quill, and set ink to paper.
Give me the words, Lord. This could be his only shot at reaching the woman. He had to get it right.
~ ~ ~
LILLY RUBBED the moisture from a clean mug and placed it on the shelf with the others. Aunt Pearl plopped another stack of dirty dishes on the work counter beside her and added an additional plate on top.
Dishes. Seemed like that’s most of what she did anymore. She enjoyed the cooking part of her duties at Aunt Pearl’s Café, but the cleanup she could do without. Of course, it was a minor price to pay for the zealous protection Aunt Pearl provided her and Dahlia.
“Look, Mama.”
Lilly glanced at her daughter, sitting at her play area in the corner. The child had her blocks stacked six or seven high, enough that they teetered on the uneven wood floor.
“Crash.” Dahlia’s little voice rang out a moment before she struck the middle squares, and the tower tumbled into a heap.
Lilly offered a cringing smile as her gaze darted toward the dining room. “Be careful not to make loud noises, honey.” Aunt Pearl had been tolerant thus far of Lilly bringing her daughter to the café, but if the child got in the way of business or disturbed the paying customers, Lilly had no illusions of the choice Pearl would have to make.
Turning back to the stack of plates beside her, Lilly pulled the cloth napkin from the top and tossed it in the bucket of soapy water beside the stove, where it joined a myriad of similar cloths. Aunt Pearl believed in the extra touches, like serviettes for her patrons, but they were a chore, always needing to be cleaned.
She grabbed the top plate and lowered it toward the wash water in the sink, but a ruffle of something stopped her mid-air. She raised the plate to peer at the folded paper attached to the tin surface with a drop of grease. It fluttered under her breath.
She reached for the paper, then allowed the plate to sink into the water below. Why did her hand tremble? Flipping it over, she searched for writing that might identify its owner without the need to open the folds.
There. On the underside. In bold ink. Miss Lilly.
Her? Lilly’s stomach tightened as her fingers fumbled to open the folded piece. Had Aunt Pearl written the note, and it somehow fell from her pocket? But what would Aunt Pearl need to communicate that couldn’t be said in person? Was she telling Lilly she didn’t need her anymore? She’d found someone better to cook meals for the café?
Smoothing the creases, Lilly eyed the bold script covering much of the page, then focused on the first words.
Dear Miss Lilly,
Please pardon my use of your Christian name, as I’m not acquainted with your surname. I was hoping for the privilege of asking in person, but perhaps this note will be easier for clear communication.
As I’m sure you’re aware, our church was blessed with the gift of a fine pianoforte, the nicest I’ve seen in a while. It was such a pleasure to hear you bring the keys to life at the wedding held there recently. A pleasure I
hope to soon repeat, as we would be honored for you to play a hymn during each of our Sunday services. You would be sharing your great talent with your fellow townspeople as we lift our voices together to worship our great God. Imagine the beautiful sound to the Father’s ears.
If you’d like to discuss further, I can be reached at the church most afternoons. Or you’re welcome to simply come on Sunday and take your place at the instrument.
I remain your humble and contrite servant,
Rev. Marcus Sullivan
Lilly inhaled a breath, her eyes roaming over the note again. From the Reverend? Warmth slid through her like a rich tea, aromatic and soothing. Sharing your great talent.
The way he described the effect of the music—the man had a way with words. That was a rare quality in these rough parts, but one Pa-pa had taught her to admire. In written form, words were jewels, each to be carefully selected and placed for beauty and clarity.
The thud of boots sounded just before Aunt Pearl whisked through the curtain with another tray full of dirty dishes.
Lilly folded the paper quickly and tucked it in her apron bodice. She grabbed the stack of plates from the work counter and submerged them in the wash water just as Aunt Pearl thunked another load in their place.
“Dinin’ room’s clearin’ out. Not many more of these.”
Lilly nodded, but even as her hands worked quickly, her mind spun back through the words on the note. Should she respond? Stop at the church and explain why she couldn’t agree? But what would she say? That the only way she could keep herself and Dahlia safe was by staying away from people? There were too many men in this town who couldn’t be trusted, and she wasn’t a good judge of character.
She’d proved that already.
~ ~ ~
MARCUS SAT in the café, sipping coffee and staring at the curtain blocking his view of the kitchen. Brooding.
Why hadn’t she given any kind of response? Of course, he hadn’t actually asked her to come out to the dining area to talk to him, but if he made himself available…
The lunch crowd had long since dwindled, and Aunt Pearl would likely kick him out soon for loitering. With a sigh, he pushed the coffee mug away from him, and stood, unfolding his long legs.
“You finally think o’ some place better ta hang around than here, Parson?” Aunt Pearl softened the words with a quirk of her mouth.
“Yes, ma’am. Need to finish up some things at the church. I appreciate the extra coffee, though.” He offered a grin that he hoped didn’t reveal his disappointment.
“Anytime.”
Marcus spent the afternoon oiling the tables he’d built for church events, sweeping dust and cobwebs from inside the building, and reading through his sermon notes for the upcoming Sunday.
By evening, though, his stomach growled, and his nerves were tight. He should go back to his little house for dinner. His parents would be there, and Mama always had something simmering on the stove. They only planned to be around for another few weeks before they traveled back to their North Carolina home.
But despite every reason his mind pointed out, his feet carried him to the café.
Aunt Pearl met him at his usual table with a grin and a pot of coffee. “Welcome back. If I didn’t ‘spect you had other reasons fer hangin’ around, I’d think you liked my comp’ny.”
He clapped a hand over his heart. “You found me out.”
Shooing a hand at him, she turned toward the kitchen. “Food’ll be ready a’fore you can shake a stick. It’s fried beef and ‘taters tonight.”
Marcus eased back in his chair and cradled the mug. The food sounded good, but none of it really mattered if he didn’t accomplish his mission. He eased in a long breath. No, it wasn’t up to him to make this happen. If God wanted Lilly to play piano for the services, He would find a way.
He released the breath.
“Here ya go.”
Marcus looked up to thank Aunt Pearl with a smile, then glanced down at the plate. A cloth covered the dish, puckering around the raise lumps of food.
He pulled the fabric off, and his hungry eyes drank in the sight of the steak swimming in juices. The tantalizing aroma of fried beef drew a sharp growl from his midsection. A folded napkin took up a small quarter of the plate. Strange. Aunt Pearl usually kept forks and napkins at each place setting, as she had this time. He’d never received a napkin as part of his meal.
With tentative fingers, he took up the cloth and unfurled it. A folded sheet of paper slipped from the layers and fell onto the table.
Marcus’s chest pounded. Did it hold good news? Perhaps she was too shy to speak to him in person. The note had definitely been a good approach. But what if she’d been offended by his forwardness in writing a letter to her? What if this memo was an expression of her displeasure?
His name was written in lovely script on the outside, much nicer than his scrawling print. Reverend Sullivan. He fumbled with the paper as his clumsy hands tried to open it.
At last he straightened the paper, his eyes feasting on the words:
Dear Sir,
I am in receipt of your note and I thank you for the honor inherent in your request. As lovely as your piano is, I must respectfully decline your offer.
Sincerely,
L.
Postscript: I thank you for your concern over my surname and propriety, however I give you leave to use my Christian name.
So many emotions assaulted Marcus, it was hard to hone in on just one. But finally he did. And likely the most inconsequential.
I give you leave to use my Christian name. Gentlemen only spoke to ladies by their given name if they were relatives or very close friends of the family. As far as he could tell, he and Lilly weren’t anywhere near that footing. About as far as England from the Montana Territory.
So why didn’t she want him to know her family name? Was she embarrassed by it? Perhaps her father had been a notorious killer or she had some other reason to regret her title.
But as his mind finally accepted the unlikeliness of that thinking, he was forced to consider the real reason.
She didn’t want Marcus to find her.
Surely if he knew her last name, he would be able to ask at the boarding houses and stores in the area. Find out how to reach her.
His shoulders slumped, and he picked up his fork, going through the motions to eat without tasting.
The message of the note was clear, both written and implied. No matter how polite her words, she was not interested in playing hymns for the church service. That was the end of the discussion.
~ ~ ~
LILLY PRESSED the creases from the pastor’s note as she snuggled into her chair that night. With Dahlia asleep, she had a few precious moments to herself.
Had she given the right answer in her response? Would it really do so much harm to play a simple song or two at the beginning of Sunday services? She didn’t even have to stay for the sermon. Surely the church people wouldn’t cause problems for her.
She straightened her shoulders. What was she thinking? That she would find another tiny congregation like the one they’d left in Derbyshire? Those good people had been the only ones in her life who hadn’t ridiculed their unorthodox family. Not her father for taking a Guatemalan wife. Nor her mother for her dark skin and the raven hair she always wore long with only a single comb on the side. No, it would be almost impossible to find another church so welcoming.
And there was too much chance she would meet more of the unsavory kind she’d already experienced in Butte. Playing the piano would make her to vulnerable. Too noticed.
Her eyes found the form of her daughter, sleeping so peacefully in the bed. But as Lilly’s fingers crept up to her neck, they slipped under the collar of her night dress, and found the scar she always kept covered.
That scar was for her alone to know. Her warning. The reminder to never again allow herself to be that vulnerable again.
Never.
Chapter Four
AS MARCUS led the congregation in “Just as I Am” at the end of the service, he tried not to cringe every time his voice drifted off-key. His gaze flickered to the idle piano, but he jerked it back and raised his focus heavenward on the final words of the hymn. “O, Lamb of God, I come, I come.”
He breathed a quick prayer of thanks in the silence that lingered, then opened his eyes and smiled at the flock before him. “It was a pleasure to worship with you this morning. And speaking of worship, you may have noticed our shiny new piano sits in want of a pianist.” He waved toward the instrument. “If there’s any among you who have knowledge of the piano, we would be honored to have you play it for services. Just stop by and see me anytime.”
But as he stood by the back door and greeted the exiting people, his spirits dimmed a little more with each encouraging word.
“You’re right, Preacher, it sure would be nice fer someone to play that piano up there. It’s purty to look at but even purtier to hear, I bet.”
Marcus forced a closed-mouth smile. “Yes, it would be nice. Thanks for coming, Mr. Albright, Mrs. Albright.”
After he said goodbye to the last of the parishioners, Marcus stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The mid-sized building seemed vast and empty without the people. It held a hint of a musty odor, maybe a bit of the smell from all the humans packed together.
His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor as he strode forward, turned left past the front pew, and settled his hand atop the piano. Its mahogany surface shone, still reflecting the polish he’d applied earlier in the week. He moved around to the front and eased down onto the bench. He’d never played an instrument before. Never known anyone who had a piano. Not even their church back in Charlotte.
With his right index finger, he pressed a key, then another, searching for the opening sound of “Just as I Am.”
The Lady and the Mountain Promise (Mountain Dreams Series Book 4) Page 2
