Annie looked up into her nanny’s concerned face. “Yes?”
“Do you or do you not remember anything from our little adventure at the cabin?”
“No…I don’t. Honest. But…”
“But?”
“I keep hearing music…”
“Music?”
“Yeah…”
“But, honey, you’re forever hearing music in your head. That’s just your own self telling you to get back to your violin, that’s all.”
“No…this is different. This music is strange…it’s not my music…it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before…and yet…”
“And yet?”
“It’s strangely familiar. And the word chahl keeps coming into my head…”
“Chahl? What’s a chahl, for pity’s sake?”
“I…don’t…really…know…” Annie sighed. “A flute of some kind…I think…”
“A flute of some kind you think,” Mrs. Pratt repeated.
“Yeah…a flute…a flute…but not a flute…” She brought her hands to her face and another shudder passed over her. “Oh, Mrs. Pratt…what’s the matter with me?” she moaned.
The housekeeper ran a hand through Annie’s short curls. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Wish I did. Guess we need to pray a little harder.”
A mental picture came into focus, and Annie dropped her hands from her face. In her mind she’d seen shadowy figures lifting musical instruments up to a night sky. Music filled the air around them. Somehow, Annie knew that they were praying. What a strange way to pray…
* * * *
Annie spent the rest of the afternoon working on a jigsaw puzzle that she found at the back of her closet. It pictured a street-side café with a couple sitting at a small table sipping glasses of wine. A loaf of bread and the wine bottle sat on the circular table. The man wore a mustache, and the woman had on a hat covered in flowers. Annie had never liked that puzzle, but now she wanted to put it together. Working the intricate puzzle gave her a nebulous connection to her mother. The Eiffel Tower in the background clued her to the setting. Paris, France. Where her mother was taking her art classes.
For some ungodly reason, Annie missed her mother. Her mother. The woman she thought she hated. The woman she thought hated her. But her mother had sounded so pleased when Annie called. She’d been bubbling over with news of her classes, the people she’d met, and all the wonderful things she’d seen and done in the picturesque old city on the river. The whole thing was crazy.
I’m crazy. Annie’s mind screamed. I think I might be losing my mind. Everything is upside down.
Mrs. Pratt and Annie ate dinner in front of the TV that evening. They watched a popular game show, shouting out answers to the difficult questions and laughing at each other’s mistakes. Then they put in a DVD and stayed up past their bedtimes to watch what Mrs. Pratt declared was one of the best movies she’d ever seen—The African Queen. Annie enjoyed it more than she thought she would. Not once did they mention their terrible Secret.
It was almost midnight when Annie retired to her room. She slipped out of her clothes, dragged on an over-sized T-shirt, splashed water on her face, and brushed her teeth. Then she fell into bed. She was tired but it was a good tired. She closed her eyes. Sleep came. And then she heard the music.
Her eyes flew open and she stared at the darkness, softened only by her angel nightlight.
A muhlahtahtoh folded its mellow tones into the sharper sounds of a zhern. It was beautiful…haunting.
“Con intensita,” Annie murmured without realizing what she said. “Play it con moto, Craddohk…play it with feeling…and spirit…and…” The music receded like tidewater on a deserted beach.
She slept.
TWENTY-EIGHT
For the next week, Annie spent as much time as she could with Jenny. The girls went bowling, roller-skating, and even managed to talk Jenny’s older sister and her boyfriend into taking them to Six Flags.
She’d spoken to her mother twice; reveled in the intoxicating experience of spending time with her mom, even though separated by several thousand miles. All in all, it’d been a great week and by Sunday Annie was ready for a quiet day at home with Mrs. Pratt.
Together they went to church then splurged on breakfast at the local pancake restaurant. Annie spent Sunday afternoon reading one of the books assigned for the incoming ninth grade class. None of the titles appealed to her, but it had to be done, and Annie was determined to do better in school. She planned to make her high school experience something to be proud of, something memorable.
That night Annie went to bed early, declaring she wanted a good night’s sleep. She’d convinced the housekeeper that a new hairdo was needed, and she made an appointment at the upscale salon. It disappointed her that the earliest they could accommodate her was the following Tuesday. Her birthday was that Monday and she’d wanted to do it then, but at least it was something to look forward to. In less than a week, she’d have an entirely different ‘look’—one, which would make people sit up and notice.
She couldn’t wait for the coming school year. Maybe Greg Collins would see her with different eyes. She kind of liked Greg Collins, although he’d never paid any attention to her in eighth grade. But ninth grade was different. They’d be in high school and that put a whole new slant on things. There would be football games and dances and…
Annie fell asleep with a smile teasing her lips.
Some four hours later, she awakened. Glancing at her clock she saw it was one-fourteen. Through a crack in her curtains, Annie could see the moon, big, round and full. Comforting and yet…strange. It was white…too white…and it was alone.
“Where are the others?” Annie murmured. “There should be three moons up there, and they should have color…one should be red, one green, one blue…like glass ornaments suspended in the night sky…”
Annie threw off the covers and leapt from her bed. She flew to her window and yanked open the curtains. She stared out at the full moon—white and solitary. Her eyes strayed to the myriad of stars surrounding the orb. Even with the light reflecting from the moon, she could see them. “Stars,” she murmured. “So many stars…” She closed her eyes and groped in the void of her mind for a word—a phrase. “The closest star…the closest star to Earth is…” It was like playing hide-and-seek with something ethereal. “Alpha Centauri…Alpha Centauri is the closest star to Earth…I think…no…I know. I’m remembering…I’m remembering… What am I remembering?”
No use. Whatever she thought she was remembering stayed on the peripheral of her mind. It refused to come closer—to come into focus. With a shake of her head, Annie went back to bed and slept fitfully the rest of the night. The next morning, she awoke with a headache.
* * * *
The new haircut was just what she’d envisioned. Accepting that they couldn’t do much with her already short style, Annie was amazed at how much the slender male stylist had changed her look. Whatever he’d done, she now looked older and more sophisticated—in her eyes, anyway, and that’s what counted. Mrs. Pratt agreed that the new cut gave her a certain air that shouted, ‘chic.’ She was starting her fifteenth year with a bang.
When Jenny, who’d accompanied her and was thrilled to have a pedicure, saw the new Annie she squealed with delight. “Oh, m’gosh, I adore it. You look awesome. Maybe I’ll get my hair cut, too. Whadda ya think?”
They scheduled a trip to the mall the following day, and called two other girls from their old eighth grade class to meet them there. The four spent hours shopping, eating, and climbing the rock at the sporting goods store. Annie couldn’t remember having had so much fun.
The girls, Kristen Hunter and Tonia Hanks, had complimented Annie’s haircut and had admired the way she scooted up the sheer face of the mock rock. Jenny repeated how freaky it was since Annie’d always been afraid of heights in the past. By the time she got home, Annie was bursting with pride and happiness. The first day of school couldn’t come fast enough.
Mrs. Pratt had spareribs and sauerkraut for dinner—one of Annie’s favorites. They ate at the kitchen table, and Annie talked non-stop about their day at the mall. The housekeeper listened and gave the proper responses when she could get a word in.
Annie went to bed that night feeling lighter than air—despite the two helpings of ribs, sauerkraut and mashed potatoes, and the spice cake left over from her birthday for dessert. In bed, she read three chapters of her current book then put a CD in her player and switched off the light. For thirty-two minutes, she lay on her bed in the darkened room and listened to the instrumental music ebbing and flowing like a gently rolling ocean. By the time the music had automatically shut off, she slept.
Shapes formed in her dream. People. Different yet the same. Foreign yet familiar. Tall beings with blue hair…alabaster skin…beautiful eyes…tender smiles… Even in her sleep Annie wondered who they were. Who are you? Where are you? Why are you in my dream? Do I know you? Do I? Do I? Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?”
Someone shook her. Gentle hands smoothed the hair from her forehead. Aeldorah? Is that you? Aeldorah? Annie opened her eyes and found Mrs. Pratt looking down at her. The housekeeper’s robe was askew like she’d just thrown it on. Her face was filled with concern. “There you are,” the older woman murmured. “There you are…”
Annie struggled to sit up. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter, Mrs. Pratt?”
Mrs. Pratt shook her head. “You tell me. You were shouting and moaning to beat the band. Woke me from a sound sleep, you did. Nearly stopped my heart, you did. Honey-lamb, you were having quite a nightmare; saying words I’d never heard before. Sounded like a foreign language, they did. Want to talk about it?”
Annie grimaced. “Oh, jeez…I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Mrs. Pratt…”
“What in heaven’s name were you dreaming?”
Annie frowned. “I’m…not…sure. I only remember there being a lot of strange people in this really big room and…”
“And?”
Annie looked at her elderly friend and shrugged. “That’s it. I can’t remember another thing. Just a lot of strange people milling about in this humongous hall of some sort. And they weren’t scary people either…not at all. Actually, they were kind of nice-looking. Except…except they all had blue hair and…”
“Blue hair. My goodness. Probably something you saw in that book of hairstyles at the salon. Some of them get to be mighty far-out. Blue hair, indeed. No more cake right before bed for you, young lady. And you probably ate yourself silly at the mall with the girls.” She made a clucking sound and stood up. “All righty, you go back to sleep and dream something nice. Your old nanny is too old and too tired to be up at crazy hours of the night. I need my beauty sleep and so do you.”
“I’m sor…”
“Hush. You go to sleep.”
“Don’t you mean ‘hosh’?”
“Excuse me?”
“Hosh. Not ‘hush’. Hosh. The word is hosh.”
Mrs. Pratt gave Annie a funny look then turned to leave the room. “Night-night, Annie-my-love. Sleep tight.” She left the room muttering “Hosh…hosh…what a thing to say…”
Annie lay back against her pillow and stared into the darkness. The full moon cast its ethereal glow through her closed curtains. “One…moon…one…moon…one moon…” she murmured over and over. “Why does this bother me? Of course there’s only one moon. This isn’t Jupiter…or…or Saturn…or Ahrmoira…” Annie sat up so fast she bumped her head on her headboard. She covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…”
Drawing her legs up to her chin, Annie sat and continued to stare at the moon, visible through the partially opened curtains. For several minutes she sat hugging her knees and sucking in air—in and out, in and out. She had to will her heart to slow its erratic beating. Beads of perspiration crowned her forehead. The round white orb danced before her eyes making her dizzy. For a panicky instant, she felt like she was drowning in an infinite sea of moonlight.
Then, an eternity later—her wits collected—she folded back the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Like someone in suspended animation, she stood up. Pausing only to draw in one deep breath, she walked to her closet, and opened the door. She tugged the dangling cord and turned on the closet light. There, on the top shelf where she’d placed it, was her violin case. Standing on tiptoes, she dragged it down, snapped it open, and drew out the precious instrument.
Annie held the violin in her hands for a moment, caressing the polished wood. “It’s not a Stradivarius,” she murmured, “but I love it anyway. I love my violin.” It took another minute to tune it, and then she had it up to her chin. She hesitated, inhaled then exhaled, and ran the bow across the strings.
Annie played.
She filled her bedroom with music. Like water rushing in to fill a glass tank, the notes swirled around her ankles, up past her knees, to her waist. The music swelled and flowed into the corners of the room, up to the ceiling—drowning her in its fathomless depths.
Annie played.
Oblivious of anything corporeal, Annie released her soul and it escaped. It soared. It flew to the heights…and beyond.
She made her violin sing…
…And weep.
It was her own hahlmahnahtah.
Her own Centauri Serenade.
Annie remembered.
EPILOGUE
The young man climbed the rock to its pinnacle then balanced precariously until he found a flat spot to sit on. Removing the instrument strapped on his back, he placed it in his lap and stared at it for a while. She had liked hearing him play. He liked playing it for her. Hardly able to put it into thoughts—let alone into words—he struggled with the ever-growing dilemma that had been plaguing him for several days. Others might call him young and impressionable, foolish and emotional. He didn’t care. His feelings were real. As real as the purple water lapping at the shore. As real as the three moons overhead, vying for dominance in the night sky. He missed her. When she left, a piece of his heart went with her.
He lifted the instrument, held it against him, and ran his fingers across the strings.
He played.
The End.
About Author Theresa Jenner Garrido
A graduate of the University of Washington and a former middle school English teacher, Theresa has been writing since elementary school. In the beginning, her stories were written to entertain her cousin, but as time marched on and she began her teaching career, her audience widened. Besides teaching, she’s tried her hand at medical assisting, bank clerking, book selling, and teaching drama. Whenever she takes a break from her computer, she enjoys painting, hiking, swimming, amassing oddities from diverse locales, and reading. Now retired, Theresa writes in the “spare time” left over from looking after a house, a retired engineer husband, getting together with extended family, and traveling.
Theresa is the author of Shade and Shadow, a young adult mystery set in the South Carolina Low Country. Her third novel, Wind Whisperer, soon to be released, tells the story of one girl’s experience among the Macah Tribe of Western Washington State.
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