Or perhaps she hadn’t missed any. God had blessed her anyway because His love was great that way.
“Amen.” Yun dug in.
Brinley ate slowly. Everything from Southern Soul Barbecue was delicious, from the hickory-smoked beef to the plain white bread. They talked about nothing in particular. Yun wasn’t preachy today. Something seemed to be on her mind, Brinley could tell. The nonagenarian ate very little, as if she had to save it for more than one meal.
“That hit the spot.” Yun placed a wrinkly hand on Brinley’s arm. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Happy to, Yun. Now. About the hymns. I take requests.” Brinley reached for her tote bag and the iPad inside.
“I like everything on that CD. Pick any one you like.”
“I can do that.”
They adjourned to the family room.
Soon, sheet music downloaded, Brinley sat down at the old Victorian piano, all eighty-eight keys still intact, but in need of a tuning. Brinley managed as best she could without being distracted by some of the voiceless keys.
Yun’s voicing the lyrics more than made up for the poorly tuned piano. Brinley continued playing, a silly smile pasted on her face. Her heart was full and she was at peace. This was one of the simple things in life she’d craved. And now she had it.
All to Jesus I surrender…
Brinley wasn’t sure when Judson Wheeler Van de Venter had written the lyrics or when Winfield Scott Weeden had put it to music, but she had heard it at Seaside Chapel more than once when Grandpa Brooks had taken her to church back in her teenage years.
So much time had passed since then. But the old hymn remained.
I will ever love and trust Him…
In His presence daily live…
Brinley continued sight-reading as Yun’s voice rose to finish the song with gusto. Her eyes sparkled when she finished singing.
Brinley swiped the iPad to get to the next song.
“Oh, this one is Ivan’s favorite,” Yun said.
“Is it?” Brinley wasn’t here to play it for Ivan. It was for Yun, to help her feel better about her grandson’s plight, and perhaps to make her own self feel better too. But hymns and spiritual songs weren’t to make people feel better, were they? Brinley knew these were offerings of praise and adoration to God.
So. I will play this next song for You, Lord Jesus. And only You.
The iPad screen blurred the words of Fanny Crosby’s old hymn. Brinley dried her eyes and reached for the black and white keys, adding to the notes on her iPad as she went on. She couldn’t hear Yun singing along, but it didn’t matter. She was playing “Blessed Assurance” for the Lord. And only Him.
This is my story, this is my song…
Praising my Savior all the day long…
In her mind, Fanny Crosby had nailed it. That hymn had summarized all that Brinley had found in Christ. She hung on to the last note.
“Can you remember your improvisation?”
The whisper in her ear startled her.
Brinley spun around and came face to face with Ivan. He straightened up. She left her bench and almost hugged him. But she didn’t because of his cracked ribs.
“Your ribs?” she asked.
“They’re fine.”
“I see your cast is off.” Brinley pointed to his left wrist in a splint. “Does it hurt?”
He didn’t reply.
“How long have you been standing there?” she finally asked, trying to appear insouciant about her memories, but failing.
“Long enough to see that you transposed the key.”
She hadn’t even realized it. He had somehow sneaked up on her near enough to compare the notes on screen with the notes on the piano.
“Does that mean you’re back?”
“Back where, Brin?”
“Back to music.” Back to me?
“I’m done with music.”
“What are you—”
“We need to talk, Brin. See me in my studio?”
* * *
“You can’t come here anymore, Brin.” Ivan tried to remain impassioned, but he felt uneasiness in his heart at having to tell Brinley these things.
“Shouldn’t we let Yun determine that since it’s her house?”
It wouldn’t be her house for long once it’s foreclosed. “I need to get my life back in order.”
“It’s out of order?”
“It’s been a mess since you and I started dating each other.”
“So it’s my fault?”
Ivan sighed. “You’re a distraction.”
“I’m a distraction.”
“Stop echoing me, Brin.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying, Ivan. I thought we had something special. You kissed me twice.”
“Mistakes. They won’t happen again.”
The pain in Brinley’s face was too much to bear. Ivan turned away.
“You’re taking it out on me because your wrist is broken.” Brinley’s voice was tearful.
“My career is over.”
“But not your life.” Brinley frowned.
“My career supports my life.”
“I thought your life is in Christ.”
She talks like Grandma now. “Of course.”
“Then why are you looking to yourself to solve your own problems? With God’s help, we can go through this difficult time. Together.”
“There’s no together, Brin. Please go on with your life and let me be.”
I can’t believe I’m breaking up with her. For a moment, Ivan was no longer sure this was what he should do.
He prayed again. And again, God was silent. One thing he knew, though. He and Brin were never meant to be.
And yet…
Brinley seemed to sense what Ivan was struggling with because she reacted. She reached for Ivan again, her hands on his arms. The fragrance of that light perfume invoked the song he had started writing for her back in December.
She came closer, and lifted her chin toward his face.
Ivan turned his lips out of reach.
Just out of reach.
He stepped back. From now on their lives would bifurcate. “We live in two different circles, Brin. Circles that don’t intersect. They collide.”
“Then our circles are too small.”
Our circles.
It was like her to be inclusive, Ivan thought. She’d always been kind, generous, considerate. And he’d played her like a fiddle. Now he was casting her aside.
Dear Lord, forgive me for sinning against this woman.
But he knew he had to let her go. Free her to live her new life.
I have to protect her from me.
“I wish it could be different,” Brinley said. “I wish that we didn’t have barriers between us.”
“Barriers we were born with, Brin. Nothing we can do about that.”
“I disagree.”
“See? We can’t even agree on basic things.”
“This is not basic, Ivan. This is your misconception about our relationship, and possibly about God.”
“You got saved, what, a month ago, and now you’re all spiritual and know all things?”
“Not what I’m saying.”
“What could you possibly know about God? You’re such a new Christian.”
“I am still learning about Him, but I do know one thing.” Brinley pointed to Ivan’s wrist. “I know that nothing is impossible with God. He can heal you in so many different ways.”
Sounds like something Grandma would say.
And yet…
“He can choose not to heal me.”
“That’s possible, but if that’s the case then He has something better in store for you, Ivan. From the pit a concerto rises.”
“From the pit a concerto rises?”
“Stop echoing me, Ivan.”
And yet…
All his life Ivan had wanted to be a concert violinist. What if that wasn’t what God wanted him to do? The thought sc
ared him. As if on cue, his left wrist twitched and a sharp pain shot up his arm to his elbow. He winced.
“Your wrist is not your life, Ivan.”
Ivan knew she was right.
And yet…
“Please don’t come here anymore, Brin. What we had was in the past. It’s over. Go on with your life. Find someone who can take care of you better than I ever can.”
“Who’s telling who what to do now?”
“I want you to have a great life, Brin. But it’s not with me.”
“And you’ve determined that because you broke your wrist.”
“I’ve had time to think about it.” His wrist wasn’t healing. It had been three weeks since the cast came off. He couldn’t do anything with his violin.
“You’re thinking with your emotions, Ivan.”
“Emotions? What can I say? I’m a passionate man.”
“Mozart had emotions too, Ivan. And he died in poverty because he couldn’t manage his rich life.”
Mozart? She’s insulting me with Mozart? He had no comeback for that.
“If you’re in pain, this is not the time to make life-changing decisions—”
“Change? Everything has changed, Brin.” He raised his left wrist in protest. “My concert career? Over. SISO? I’ve been replaced. My auditions with ASO? Cancelled. My hope to play in Boston? Forget it. My music studio? Closed. My bills? Mounting up.”
This broken wrist is the death of me.
The more he thought of it, the more his anger rose. “All because of your stupid Strad. I want my life back!”
“It’s my fault now?” Tears welled up in Brinley’s eyes. “I thought you wanted the Strad. Didn’t you?”
“Don’t you get it? You ruined my career, my life, everything!”
Ivan couldn’t believe he said that. He’d taken it out on Brinley. He wished he could take back the words. He was about to pull her toward him, kiss away the tears, and tell her everything was going to be fine.
But he’d be lying. Here on out, nothing was going to be the same again.
And yet…
No. It has to end right now or my life will spiral further down.
“So let me give it to you plainly. Goodbye, Brinley Brooks. Close the door on your way out.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
That night Brinley dreamed that she was a little girl sitting on Jesus’ lap in a wide open field. All around them, white fluffy flakes fell from the sky, covering the ground in a sea of creamy white. Before the question reached her lips, the answer came to her heart.
Manna.
Brinley woke up so full she wasn’t hungry for breakfast.
Manna.
God will provide.
Over a cup of coffee in her parents’ sunroom against a backdrop of distant ocean waves and gulls, Brinley replayed the entire conversation with Ivan in his studio the day before.
His words burned in her ears. His censure of her was confusing. All she could think of was what Yun had said to her.
We’ll need patience with him.
Lots of patience and prayer.
She opened the Bible Yun had given her. Yun had suggested she start reading the New Testament and she had tried to do so almost every day. She wanted to develop the habit of daily Bible reading.
Yun had also suggested that Brinley join the Seaside Chapel Women’s Bible Study Group. Even though they met Tuesday evenings at the Pastor’s house and Pastor Gonzalez's wife usually taught, Brinley didn’t have to be a church member at Seaside Chapel to attend the Bible Study. Good to know. In fact, she was hoping to get some more information at church this morning.
She glanced at her iPhone. It was only eight o’clock. Sunday School didn’t start until ten, and the service until eleven. She had an hour or so to putter around. Next week she would move into her new home, only two blocks from Seaside Chapel. She could walk on the beach to church if she wanted to.
Ping!
Startled, she checked her messages. Yun McMillan had texted her, wanting to meet her at church at 9:45 a.m. to introduce her to the different Sunday School classes she could go to. Yun told her that Ivan wasn’t feeling well and he was skipping church that morning. The way Yun phrased it made Brinley wonder what was happening in Ivan’s mind and heart. It was as if he was playing truant from God. Brinley texted Yun back to arrange a place inside the church to meet.
Well, at least she wasn’t going to be alone at church.
It dawned on Brinley that perhaps one reason God had saved her at this time was to provide her a shield before her budding relationship with Ivan collapsed. In the deep recess of her heart, she was surprised and glad to be at rest. Her rest baffled her a bit. She began to understand what Paul meant by incomprehensible, unexplainable peace.
I have it now.
The peace of God I’ve been looking for all my life.
Without a boyfriend. Without a fiancé.
She’d be lying to herself if she said Ivan’s rejection didn’t affect her even a little bit. After she had left Yun’s house the afternoon before, the rest of her Saturday was ruined. She had been too numb to eat supper, and she’d gone to bed early.
And woke up full of the comfort of God.
I have to forgive Ivan.
Brinley blinked away the sting in her eyes, turned to the book of John and began reading the next chapter.
* * *
Brinley stepped into the quiet hallway, cold and old, a grim reminder of Grandpa Brooks’s failed lifetime attempt to recover his family’s Damaris Brooks Stradivarius. A short walk led her to a locked steel door. She placed her hands on the biometrics panel, stared into the retina scanner, and punched in the ten-digit code she had memorized and changed every year.
The steel door opened to a lost world of woe. There were twelve of them here, various instruments hand-crafted by the luthier Antonio Stradivari himself. Not by his students, but by his own hands. From the 1700 guitar hidden away in a Tuscany farmhouse for three hundred years, undocumented until it had ended up at Christie’s auction house before Grandpa whisked it away to be reburied here, to the violas and cellos that Grandpa had spent an enormous fortune securing, the entire collection was a silent tomb.
No music filled the air except the ping of the elevator door outside the vault, and only when Brinley came down here.
All stringed instruments, all silent voices never to be heard again unless Brinley did something about it. Standing there in her silk pajamas, she wondered what she could do to speed up the opening of the SISO Museum of Musical Instruments. Like Ivan had said, these Stradivari-made instruments were meant to be seen, displayed, exhibited, shared.
Brinley moved among dustless glass cases toward a wall that held a row of Stradivarius violins. Right in the middle was an empty case. Hung on the wall, it had been empty since 1972 when Grandpa Brooks started this underground private museum. Nailed to the wall next to the case were the words, “1698 Damaris Brooks.”
Brinley held up her iPhone and snapped a photo of it. She forwarded it to Helen Hu with the message, “To let you know your effort will not go to waste.”
The private investigator had been close tracking down the stolen Strad with Interpol, and yet in the last week, no more word from her. Last Brinley had heard, Helen was in Brussels. Sure, Dad was taking over the Brooks’s side of the investigation, but Brinley still wanted to know what was happening. This was her Strad, after all, her Strad that she wanted—
Forget him.
Even if Ivan could play the violin again, their relationship had abruptly ended because he couldn’t handle a broken wrist. It was a sad commentary on human nature.
Five Strad displays away was another empty case. For two days it had housed the 1721 Schoenberg Stradivarius, two days before Brinley lost five-point-four million dollars in investments. Now all she could do was wait for her insurance claim to be paid. She hoped the violin would be recovered undamaged soon.
Brinley made her rounds through the room. She remember
ed being in this room with Grandpa in his last days. Remembered the promise she had made. In spite of the odd vow that Grandpa had made her take, it all made sense now. God had used the strange request to protect her and save her for her future husband.
Whoever he will be.
Here in this room were representations of the Brooks family wealth. This Stradivari collection had been only Grandpa’s hobby, just as Dad purchased homes on at least two continents because he could, and Mom bought furniture everywhere to fill those houses because she must buy what she saw. Money seemed to ever flow every which way.
Brinley knew she had everything but love until God’s love came. She wished she could now share the love of God with Ivan.
Ivan?
Forget him.
A sound from her iPhone broke Brinley’s muse. Time to go to church.
* * *
Brinley held her Bible tightly against her chest and walked into Seaside Chapel to meet Yun. The rotunda was crowded with people milling about, but she found Yun by the sanctuary door in her motorized wheelchair chatting with a woman whom Yun introduced as Skye Langston. A hello and a hug later, Brinley went with Skye downstairs to the basement, where most of the Sunday School classrooms were.
“I saw you with Ivan on the Sunday before Christmas,” Skye said. “I had to be someplace after the service, so I couldn’t stop to say hello.”
“Well, nice to meet you now,” Brinley said.
“Yun said that Ivan’s struggling with his wrist recovery.”
“He needs a lot of prayer.”
“Tell him we’re praying for him.”
Brinley wasn’t sure how to respond, but straight up was probably best. Casual-like. “Oh, we’re not together anymore as of yesterday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I bet it’s his fault.” Skye rolled her eyes. “He can be kind of rude like that.”
Rude? “I don’t know. I’m still processing it all.”
“Well, this could be awkward, but he’s in this Sunday School I’m taking you to though he’s not here today, according to Yun.”
Do I want to be in Ivan’s Sunday School class?
Should she? What if Ivan showed up one day? He had been attending that Sunday School class long before Brinley was saved. She was the newcomer. If anything, she had to be the one to leave. Then again, why should she? Wasn’t Seaside Chapel big enough for both of them?
Share with Me: Seaside Chapel Book 1 Page 27
