A Distant Music

by BJ Hoff

When the New Year arrived, he would resign his teaching position at the school. Shortly thereafter, he would leave Skingle Creek.

  He felt a grim irony in the fact that he would be retiring from his career at an age when many other men were only setting out on their life vocations. He was still a fairly young man; tomorrow he would turn twenty-eight, not exactly a milestone. But he felt as if he had the worn-out heart…and of late the worn-out spirit…of a much older man.

  For weeks now—no, more like months—he had known himself to be failing badly. The medication wasn’t nearly as effective as it had once been, and the additional hours of rest his Lexington physician had prescribed no longer seemed to make any appreciable difference.

  He had been a fool to believe that he could go on as he had been. For one thing, he was cheating the children; they deserved a teacher who was fit, strong, and healthy enough to do the job as it ought to be done. It simply wasn’t right to delay any longer.

  He had already decided that he wouldn’t return to his family home. He had no intention of putting his parents through the ordeal of watching him die. The doctor in Lexington had told him about a place—a kind of sanitarium—where those with serious illnesses could go, supposedly for continuous treatment and rest, though Jonathan suspected it was more a retreat where the hopelessly ill could await the end.

  He had to face the fact that finances could be a problem. Because his teaching salary was spare, to say the least, he had managed to accumulate only a modest amount in savings. And with both his flute and his gold watch gone, he no longer had anything of real value to sell.

  But God had been faithful in the past to take care of his financial needs. He would simply have to trust Him to do so in the future.

  He sighed, kneading his temples as he began once more to search his Bible for comfort or at least some word of affirmation. For even with his decision settled, the peace he sought still eluded him, especially when he thought about leaving his students.

  His children.

  He knew they would be far better off with a teacher who wasn’t ill and exhausted most of the time. Still, he found himself riddled with doubts and an excruciating sadness. He had prayed and searched the Scriptures most of the evening for some assurance that would put his mind and heart at rest, only to become more confused than ever about what, exactly, God might be trying to say to him…

  My strength and my hope is perished from the LORD… my soul melteth for heaviness; strengthen thou me according unto thy word.

  Where had those thoughts come from? Puzzled, Jonathan flipped through the pages, staring at the passage to which his reading had taken him:

  It is of the LORD’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness. The LORD is my portion, saith my soul; therefore will I hope in him.

  Hope? Jonathan removed his glasses and rubbed a hand over his eyes. How long had it been since he had felt any real hope, other than the ultimate hope of heaven?

  And yet he had always hoped in the Lord—in His goodness, His love, His promises. And he still hoped in Him.

  Didn’t he?

  After a moment he replaced his reading glasses and renewed his search, thumbing through his Bible as if an unseen hand were guiding him.

  I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.

  “Dear Lord, I have resigned myself to the fact that I most likely have no future…except eternity with You,” Jonathan whispered. “And I’m at peace with that. I am.”

  But was he?

  Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary?…He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength…they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

  Jonathan felt a sudden stirring in his spirit, a kind of breathless expectancy. He was only vaguely aware that he was trembling, that his tired heart was racing. Confusion merged with anticipation, and he found himself wholly caught up in the Word of God as he had not been in weeks, perhaps in months…

  The LORD is my strength and song…

  But he had no strength. And the song of his soul seemed long forgotten…

  He hath put a new song in my mouth…

  A new song? But he had no song. There was no longer any music in him…

  His singing voice had always been a disappointment to him at best. But as long as he’d had his flute, he had never much minded his inadequate voice. The praise and joy of his heart had found a clear and shimmering voice in the golden notes of the flute. Most mornings, and evenings too, he had let the music of his soul pour forth in unconstrained melodies of praise. The very act had been as much a part of his worship as the hymn singing on Sunday mornings and his daily prayer time and Scripture study.

  But the flute was gone, and with it every vestige of his music…

  The LORD is my strength and song…

  Jonathan’s eyes locked on the verse he had read only moments before. He read it again. And then again.

  His hands were shaking on the fragile pages of the Bible. Carefully, he removed his glasses so that the tears burning his eyes might flow freely.

  And then, still questioning, still seeking, he went to his knees. He made no petition, neither for himself nor for others. He did not plead. He did not speak. He scarcely breathed. He merely waited in the silence, listening…

  Much later—he could not have said how much later—Jonathan saw again, as if before him on the tapestry of his mind, the same words of conviction and promise. He saw them, heard them, and felt them reverberate throughout his entire being as though plucked on the strings of his spirit:

  The LORD is my strength and song…

  A wave of awareness, like the dawn coming up over a fog-veiled valley after a seemingly endless night, rose up in him. And in his spirit, Truth whispered:

  The music of life is within you…not in the world, not in circumstances or external things…and not in an instrument. You are the instrument, and I am the music. Whatever road you walk in this life, it is because I have set your feet upon it. Whatever trials you encounter, whatever struggles you endure—your joys, your sorrows—these, too, are My will. I would have you, through the life you live with Me, show these children…these people…that the music of life is within, not without…that it comes from Me. I am your hope…your strength…your song. I, the Lord, am your music.

  It was almost first light on the morning of his birthday when, for the first time in a very long time, Jonathan Stuart found the strength to lift his hands toward heaven and praise his Creator-Father-God with a melody only the soul can sing.

  Thirty-One

  A Surprise for Mr. Stuart

  That man is great, and he alone,

  Who serves a greatness not his own…

  Owen Meredith (Lord Bulwer Lytton)

  On the evening of Mr. Stuart’s birthday party, the students and their parents arrived well ahead of time, as Maggie had requested. Her mother and older sisters had brought the cake in earlier, setting it up to display nicely with the punch that Mrs. Woodbridge had made.

  To Maggie, it was an odd sight entirely to see her mother working alongside Lily’s mother, the two of them being from opposite sides of town and probably having never brushed elbows before tonight. Maggie couldn’t help but notice that Mrs. Woodbridge actually seemed much kinder and sweeter-faced up close than she appeared at a distance.

  In truth, many parents had surprised her, including her own. It was as if something had happened among the grown-ups, something altogether unexpected. Once they learned how hard the children had worked on the collection for Mr. Stuart—only to give it up for a greater need—they had begun to pitch in and do whatever they could to help: gathering clothes and foo
d and additional funds for the needy of the community, as well as lending their efforts to the birthday party. And from what Maggie had been told, most of the families in town had decided to donate what little they might have spent on Christmas presents for themselves to help others like the Crawfords and the Widow Hunnicutt.

  Her da seemed different too, and in a most unexpected way. He hugged her a lot more these days—as he did Eva Grace and Nell Frances. And at bedtime, he had taken to telling them all he loved them.

  Imagine that from Da.

  She turned her attention back to the party. It seemed that everyone was here tonight. Even Judson Tallman had shown up with candy and fruit for all the students, which had left Maggie almost speechless.

  According to Kenny, though, his father had been different ever since what she had come to think of as “the night of the rescue.” It sounded as though Mr. Tallman was paying more attention to his son these days, even taking an interest in his ship models. Of course, Kenny said he wasn’t so sure but what his father wasn’t just pretending to be interested, but Maggie could tell Kenny was happier than he’d been since she’d known him.

  It seemed that both their fathers had done a bit of a turn around.

  One thing was for certain. Kenny looked as dashing as a ship’s captain with his arm in a sling and a bandage at his temple.

  This, plus some of the other changes she’d heard about, made Maggie wonder if maybe things hadn’t worked out for the best after all. At least for some.

  Her own heart still carried an ache that just wouldn’t go away. The nightmare with Billy Macken and Orrin Gaffney had left a scar that she knew wouldn’t go away for a long time. She still had bad dreams, and sometimes, when her mind wandered back to everything that had happened that awful night—and the trouble that had gone before—she would feel chilled all over again and sick to her stomach.

  It would take time, her mother kept telling her. “Give yourself time, Maggie.”

  Maggie expected her mother was right, for already she could see that some days she hardly thought about that terrible time at all. But more than the horror she and Kenny had endured that night, the real pain in her heart was because of Summer.

  Without Summer to share in the good things that were happening, there was no real excitement in any of it for Maggie. She stayed busy, so she had little time to dwell on how much she missed Summer. But when she did think about her friend, it hurt something fierce. Even now, she often felt as though she were simply dragging through the days, putting one foot in front of the other to keep moving, to get things done as Summer would have expected of her, but without any real joy.

  The thought of getting things done reminded her that she still had things to do before Mr. Stuart arrived, and instead of standing around woolgathering, she’d better get busy. She went to find her da, and the two of them moved the teacher’s desk and chair toward the center, not only to make more space for the party, but also to afford the guest of honor a clearer view.

  As always, Mr. Stuart’s desk was neat and orderly, with only two or three books propped up on one side and a cup of pencils and the attendance register on the other. Maggie placed the handmade birthday cards from the students and their families on the desk and then stepped back. As she stood inspecting her work, she clutched the brown-paper-wrapped gift she’d brought tonight to her heart, as if its contents might somehow bring her absent friend closer. When her vision blurred, she turned away and went to give the others their last-minute reminders.

  Maggie caught her breath when Pastor Wallace stepped inside the darkened schoolroom, pausing to hold a lantern aloft. The plan was that the pastor would invite Mr. Stuart out for a birthday supper, but suggest that they first stop by the school to borrow some paper and paint for the church’s Christmas pageant.

  On cue, those parents who had earlier been assigned the task now hurried to light oil lamps and lanterns, setting some in place, holding others. For a moment, Maggie was afraid something had gone wrong and Mr. Stuart hadn’t come. But then the teacher appeared, framed in the doorway.

  Thin as he was, he still looked handsome and rested in his dark blue suit and light blue necktie, his flaxen-colored hair freshly cut and neatly combed. As he walked in, the schoolroom seemed to glow with light, and everyone cried out a greeting in unison: “Happy birthday, Mr. Stuart!”

  Maggie’s heaviness lifted a little when she saw the teacher’s face. Obviously, they had pulled off the surprise. He was clearly stunned. Laughter broke out around the room, and then applause, as Mr. Stuart stood gaping at them.

  They continued to applaud as Pastor Wallace patted him on the back and led him toward the front of the room to his desk. Mr. Stuart turned to face them with a bewildered smile. He appeared, Maggie noticed, greatly flustered and obviously embarrassed by such attention.

  The applause finally subsided, and Pastor Wallace began to speak.

  Jonathan heard only random fragments of Ben Wallace’s greeting, but enough to realize that apparently all this was for him. He found the idea nothing short of astounding.

  The small schoolroom was crammed with what appeared to be all his students and their families, plus numerous other members of the community as well. There was even a table with a cake and other refreshments.

  His curiosity sharpened at the sight of a varied array of musical instruments in the corner of the room.

  He saw the crowd of well-wishers through a thin haze, as if he stood at a great distance from them, observing them through a veil of heat rising from the ground. Every face seemed to be smiling at him with good-natured enjoyment of his surprise.

  Years of teaching had instilled in him the ability to grasp a situation, assess it, and then react rather quickly. But at the moment Jonathan was having difficulty focusing, much less trying to form an appropriate response. He felt almost dizzy and even a little disoriented.

  But through the fog of confusion and astonishment, he managed to hear enough of Ben Wallace’s address to understand that the children themselves had planned all this—the entire affair—in his behalf, enlisting the help of their parents as needed. Without his knowing it, there had apparently been widespread speculation about his health and his continuing on as their teacher, for Ben had much to say about how the community appreciated Jonathan—and how hopeful they were that he would see fit to stay in Skingle Creek “for a long, long time.”

  They couldn’t have known of his decision, of course, but even so their affirmation evoked a bittersweet stirring within him. If only he could stay. If only he were well enough to stay.

  There was mention of his efforts on the children’s behalf, efforts that had, according to Ben, “benefited the entire community,” and, finally, an explanation that his students were desirous of giving him a very special birthday gift: the gift of music.

  Jonathan blinked at Ben Wallace’s closing words, watching as Maggie MacAuley, her face still ravaged by her recent ordeal, stepped up. She gave Jonathan a brave smile, and then she began to speak, precisely and clearly, as if her words had been well-rehearsed.

  “The class wanted you to know how sorry we are about what happened to your flute, Mr. Stuart.”

  Jonathan’s head finally began to clear. He studied the slim red-haired girl standing so straight at his side, clutching a brown-paper package tightly against her as if she feared someone might attempt to tear it from her arms.

  “We took up a collection some time back,” she went on, “meaning to buy you a new flute and give you back your music. But when we heard about Mrs. Hunnicutt—”

  She stopped, darting a glance around the schoolroom. Jonathan had already seen the Crawfords among the crowd. To Maggie’s credit, she didn’t mention their names.

  “When we heard about…those who needed help,” she continued, “we decided the collection should go to them.”

  She paused again. “We thought that’s what you would want us to do, if we were to ask.”

  The collection. The jar they had filled
with money overnight…

  A knot swelled in Jonathan’s throat as the girl continued squeezing the words together in a rush as if to get them all out before she forgot anything. “Since we couldn’t replace your flute, we tried to figure a way we could still give you back your music.”

  She stopped, caught a breath, and then went on. “And, well, that’s our birthday gift to you tonight, Mr. Stuart. If you’d like to sit down and relax, we’ll be getting started now.”

  Poor little wren. Her heart was still aching over Summer, Jonathan knew. He smiled into her eyes, hoping to encourage her, and then he sat down.

  Lily Woodbridge came up now, with a paper in hand. She gave Jonathan a big, expectant smile, and then she shot Maggie a look that plainly said they were to trade places.

  With a stiff little nod in Jonathan’s direction, Maggie scurried off into the crowd, still clutching the brown parcel to her heart.

  Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder what was in the package Maggie was guarding with such diligence. But he had no time for further conjecture, for just then Lily commenced her role as announcer…and the party began.

  Thirty-Two

  A New Song

  The Lord is my strength and my song.

  Exodus 15:2

  If Jonathan had thought himself overwhelmed at the beginning of the evening, by the time the third “gift” had been presented, he was positively stunned.

  So far, he had been treated to a trio comprised of Matthew MacAuley on the melodeon; Ezra Tyree on the banjo; and Ezra’s son, Junior, on the “bones.” Next, Dr. Woodbridge had rendered a somewhat nervous but surprisingly sweet tenor solo of “Barbara Allen.” And Caleb Crawford had stumbled up to the front on crutches to shake the tambourine, while his twins, Dinah and Duril, offered, if not an entirely melodic, at least a lively vocal duet of “Camptown Races.”

  It was a veritable delight for Jonathan to see the boisterous twins actually taking part in something besides mischief.