The Unfinished Sonata

by K. D. McCrite

  “I have pressed every possible tree, heart, flower, and butterfly on every one of these,” Annie said, looking at the boxes she had arranged in front of her on Gram’s desk.

  Alice sighed deeply, gazing at the ones she had put on Charlie Holden’s desk. “And I’ve done the same with these. I’ve pressed the sides of the smooth ones and poked inside the corners of the ones that open up.”

  “Let’s switch,” Annie said. “Maybe one of us missed something.”

  “All right.”

  But neither one had missed a thing. The music boxes were empty. The two women looked at each other, disappointed.

  “Oh well,” Annie said, sighing. “It was worth a shot.”

  Alice nodded. “But where—oh where—is the rest of that sonata?”

  11

  “Miss Annie, am I doin’ it right?” asked a young girl with the greenest eyes Annie had ever seen. She was one of four children sitting in small chairs in a Sunday school room at the Stony Point Community Church. Annie was endeavoring to teach them how to make a crochet chain. All but little, dark-eyed Sean Granger had mastered the chain stitch quite easily. Sean was barely four years old and refused to leave Mattie and Tasha, his older sisters.

  Annie looked at the long chain of snug, even stitches the green-eyed girl held out to her.

  “You’ve done a lovely job, Carly,” she said. “But try not to hold your yarn so firmly because it makes your stitches too tight. Here, let me show you.”

  She demonstrated how to control the yarn, and Carly’s bright eyes watched every movement, missing nothing.

  “OK, Miss Annie. I can do it now.”

  Annie was amazed how quickly and expertly the child took to crocheting. The other three children in her class at the day camp struggled. At that moment they watched Carly with wide eyes.

  “Have you ever done this before?” Annie asked her.

  “Nope,” Carly said happily, making a chain at the speed of light. She looked up, “But Aunt Freda, she’s my grandma’s sister, crochets all the time. I like to watch her.”

  “I see.”

  “Aunt Freda won’t teach me, though, even when I asked and asked and asked. She says she don’t have the patience. Sometimes, she tells me I make her too nervous when I watch her, and she makes me go away. Sometimes, she lets me sit down beside her and watch for a long time.”

  “Miss Annie!” hollered the brown-eyed little boy on her left. “Look, look!”

  She turned and saw a tangle of yarn that would take an hour to unknot. She laughed gently, patted his head and said, “Let’s get you a new ball of yarn, Sean.”

  By the time the two hours she had committed to the day camp were over, Annie felt both exhilarated and exhausted. She loved working with the kids, surrounded by their youth and eager voices. It had been too long since she’d been around youngsters, and these children made her long to see her grandchildren. Granted that most of the boys at the day camp were reluctant to learn any needlecraft, and even a few girls balked at the sight of thread, yarn, hooks, and needles. The ones who preferred a less quiet, messier craft went to other rooms where they indulged their creativity with clay or Popsicle sticks or plaster of paris.

  She glanced across the hall and into the room directly opposite and saw Alice gathering up her bits and pieces of cross-stitch. She was laughing with three giggling young girls who were telling her knock-knock jokes.

  “Will you come back next Friday, Miss Annie?” Carly asked, standing at Annie’s elbow. Her eyes shone in expectancy.

  Annie smiled down at her. “I surely will. And will you be here too, Carly?”

  Carly dimpled. “Yep! I can’t wait to show Aunt Freda what I learned today.”

  “Me too!” shouted Sean. “My mom will be happy to see the snake I made.” He held up the long chain he’d stitched with a lot of assistance from Annie. Tasha and Mattie proudly held up their own chains. Both girls had learned to make the single crochet stitch and had carefully crafted the stitches along the chains.

  “And will your sisters return to my class next Friday?” she asked the brown-eyed trio.

  “Yes!” they all sang out, then all four kids hugged her so hard, all at the same time, she nearly fell over.

  Reverend Wallace called out to Alice and Annie just as they were leaving the church. A portly, gray-haired man with glasses, he was dressed in neatly pressed tan slacks and a simple white shirt.

  “Ladies,” he said, stretching out his right hand, “thank you so much for spending time today with our children. You can’t know what it means to them to have you share your day and your talent.”

  Annie shook his hand warmly. “It was my pleasure,” she said. “I’m away from my daughter and her kids. It’s so good to spend time with children.”

  “Oh, Reverend Wallace,” Alice added, “I enjoyed myself so much! I’d forgotten how much fun kids can be.”

  The minister nodded, smiling. “I’m so glad, Alice. We’re so blessed and grateful that both of you showed up to help. We’ll see you again next week, then?”

  “Oh, yes!” both women chorused.

  “Wonderful! Wonderful!” He again shook their hands, beaming.

  “That was fun,” Alice said as she drove them home in her Mustang. “But I have to admit I’m worn out.”

  “Me too,” Annie said, stretching out the kinks in her back as best she could in the small car. “Would you believe I had temporarily forgotten how noisy and energetic a flock of kids can be?”

  “I’m going to go home and take a nap,” Alice said, stifling a yawn. “How ’bout you? What are you going to do?”

  “Oh, I’m going to put together a picnic lunch for tomorrow.”

  Annie clamped her lips together, mentally kicking herself when Alice turned her focus from the road ahead to look at her, bright-eyed and curious.

  “So, Annie, are you and the honorable mayor going on a picnic?” she asked.

  “How’d you know that he’s a mayor?” Alice stared at her so long that Annie squawked, “Keep your eyes on the road!”

  Alice shifted her attention back and forth between the highway and Annie. “That was a silly question, Annie. Ian Butler has been Stony Point’s mayor for several years. You know that.”

  “Yes, of course. I, uh, I … yes, I know.” She felt her face burn.

  Alice pulled into the driveway at Grey Gables, braked and turned her full attention on Annie.

  “Spill it,” she said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Annie Dawson! We have been friends for too long for you to keep secrets from me, and I can see as plain as day that you have a secret. So spill it. You know you want to.”

  Annie blinked. “But I don’t want to.”

  “Annie!”

  “Alice!”

  Unfortunately Annie knew her friend well enough to know that she’d worm the information out sooner or later. She sighed.

  “I’m going on a picnic with Grady tomorrow.”

  Alice’s eyes got big.

  “Grady? You mean Grady Brooks? Grady Brooks from Texas but now from Arkansas? That boy you have refused to talk about even though you had a mad crush on him way, way, way back when?”

  Annie pulled in her lips and narrowed her eyes, and then she relaxed her face.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s here?”

  “Not yet he isn’t.”

  Alice turned ninety degrees in the driver’s seat, nearly choking on the shoulder harness of the safety belt to face her friend.

  “Annie Dawson, are you telling me he flew all the way from Arkansas up here to Maine just to go on a picnic with you tomorrow? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “No, that is not what I’m telling you, Alice MacFarlane. He is in Portland.”

  “Portland? Really? Why?” Alice’s eyes were big as saucers.

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

  “You finally talked to him?”

  “Yes.”

  Alice t
ook in a deep breath and let it out.

  “When did all this come about?”

  “He called last night.”

  “And when were you going to tell me?”

  “Actually, Alice, I had not intended to tell you or anyone else.”

  Alice blinked, and her mouth opened as though she were about to speak. She snapped it shut, narrowed her eyes, and bit her lower lip.

  “Keeping it a secret, eh, Annie?” she said finally. “But why? Are you planning to run off and get married or something?”

  “Absolutely not! What a thing to say, Alice! And it’s just that kind of thinking that made me want to keep our … appointment under wraps. There is no reason that I can see for the whole of Stony Point getting into an uproar, planning a wedding and all sorts of other nonsense. Grady is simply a friend—a childhood friend. Nothing more.”

  She spoke with such heat and determination that Alice reared back.

  “All right, Annie. Excuse me. Sorry I asked.” She turned to face forward again and adjusted the shoulder harness away from her throat. “I hope you have a good time.” She sat stiffly. Her wounded feelings practically vibrated visibly.

  “I apologize if I hurt you, Alice,” Annie said, softening her tone. “It’s just that … well, I have no intention of replacing Wayne with anyone. Ever.”

  Alice nodded, relaxing some. “I understand. And truly, I admire your devotion to him.” She smiled gently at Annie. “I know how much you loved him.”

  “Yes, I did. And he loved me.” There was a brief silence between them then Annie said, “I need to get busy. Thanks for the ride to the church.”

  “Any time. Listen, Annie—I hope you have a great time tomorrow. It’s always nice to reconnect with old friends. I know it was for me, when you first moved here.”

  Annie remembered. She returned her friend’s smile. “It was, wasn’t it?”

  “See you later, Annie.”

  “Bye, now.”

  Annie hurried up the walkway toward her front door and waved to Alice as the other woman backed out of the driveway.

  It really was nice to reconnect. But even better than that was having someone you could count on and spend time with. In spite of the almost-tiff they’d just had, Annie would sooner trade in her right arm than her friendship with Alice. In fact, she almost wished Alice was coming along on the picnic the next day. Having her there would make the whole reunion less awkward.

  By early evening, Annie had fried chicken and made potato salad for the next day. She chose a few pieces of fruit to take along and hoped the simple fare would suit Grady Brooks. She seemed to remember his fondness for a crispy drumstick and potato salad with plenty of pickle.

  She had just put the food in the refrigerator for the night when her phone rang. She wiped her hands on a nearby dish towel and picked up the handset.

  Caller ID displayed the name Alexander Dexter.

  “Hello?” Annie said pleasantly into the mouthpiece.

  “Mrs. Dawson?”

  “Annie, please, Papa Dexter.”

  “Yes. Annie. How are you?”

  “I’m wonderful. And you?”

  “The same. Annie, I found that artist magazine that mentioned Malcolm Tyler. He has a great-niece. Her name is Violet Hutchins, and she owns a flower shop in the little town of Ione, Vermont.”

  12

  The next morning, when she heard the knock on her front door, Annie surprised herself with a feeling of near panic—almost dread. She wanted to stay in the kitchen where she was standing at that moment, safely packing the picnic basket. Then she thought about slipping out the back door and hiding in the woods.

  If I don’t answer the door, he will go away, she told herself.

  After that frantic moment and after inhaling a deep, fortifying breath, Annie firmly tamped down her nerves, smoothed her hair, and walked resolutely to the front door. When she opened it, she saw a face she had never completely forgotten, and she realized why she had lost her young heart to Grady Brooks.

  Though three decades had passed since she had last seen him, Grady had changed very little. Of medium height, fine-boned, and handsome, he could play the lead male role in Romeo and Juliet. His curly hair remained dark, though a few silvery strands threaded their way through. Behind stylish frameless glasses, his gray eyes looked back her, clear and bright—and curious.

  “Hello, Annie,” he said while she stood, feeling like a silly fool. and stared wordlessly at him. He said nothing else, which was so like Grady. He had never been someone to waste breath with needless chatter.

  “Grady!” she said, when she gathered her voice and her thoughts. “It’s so good to see you again. Won’t you please come inside?”

  She opened the door, and he stepped through. That moment might have been awkward, but Grady brushed her cheek with a quick kiss, so easy and casual that it might have been given to any friend.

  “You look lovely,” he said. His slight accent hinted at his Southern roots.

  “Thank you, Grady,” she said. “You haven’t changed at all.”

  He laughed softly. “It’s kind of you to say so.”

  There was a brief, awkward silence, broken by Annie. “I’m packing our picnic basket,” she said. “Would you like a cup of coffee or a glass of tea while I finish?”

  He looked surprised. “But, Annie, I had a lunch packed for us in Portland. Did I neglect to tell you that?”

  She tried and failed to bite back a laugh. “You never said a word.”

  He lifted his hands and dropped them in a gesture of defeat. “I think it must have been what’s popularly known as a ‘senior moment.’”

  “Well, come back with me to the kitchen, and I’ll put away the food I cooked. We can have it for dinner this evening.”

  She did not even realize she was going to make this offer until the suggestion spilled from between her lips.

  “Great!”

  He followed her down the hallway to the sunny yellow and white kitchen. He glanced around, took in the retro appliances, the cabinets with clear glass fronts that showed off Gram’s collection of salt and pepper shakers, old dishes, cream pitchers, and other collectibles.

  “This makes me think of my grandmother’s kitchen,” he murmured appreciatively.

  “That’s the look I was going for!” Annie said with delight. “I’ve done my best to restore this house to the way I remember it as a child. It’s a work in progress and will be for a long time, I imagine. But it’s also a work of love.”

  He nodded. “I can see that.” He noticed the fried chicken and potato salad still on the countertop waiting to be stowed into the picnic basket. “Oh, look at what you’ve done, Annie. You’ve gone to far too much trouble.”

  “Not at all,” she replied and began stocking the food into the refrigerator. “It won’t go to waste.”

  “This is a grand old house,” he said, looking around the kitchen again, tracking the ornate tin ceiling.

  “Would you like the tour?” she offered.

  “Sure!”

  She poured them each a cup of coffee then led him through Grey Gables, pointing out original features and places where repairs had been made.

  “This staircase is original, isn’t it?” he asked as they ascended to the second floor. “I like how wide it is, and how you’ve kept the original finish of the wood.”

  “Oh, I don’t think my grandparents would have touched a paintbrush to this lovely old wood, even if they’d been ordered to by law.” She laughed. “And neither would I!”

  Upstairs, he looked out of each window in all four spacious bedrooms.

  “What views!” he exclaimed. “The front lawn and an ocean view in the master! Annie, you just can’t buy something this spectacular.”

  In the other rooms he nodded appreciatively at the decor Annie maintained, keeping the Victorian era of the home in mind. Downstairs he admired the mahogany tables and chairs in the dining room; he gazed at the wall hangings, gently touched one of Betsy
’s cross-stitched country scenes.

  “Do you do needlework too?” he asked, sipping from his coffee cup.

  “I crochet,” she explained. “Later, if you want, I’ll show you some of my work. Right now, let me take you to my favorite room in Grey Gables—the library.”

  “I love this room!” he said when they entered the library. “Look at that window seat! And that gorgeous old oak desk!” He gave Annie a wide smile. “These are the kinds of living spaces you see in magazines or in movies, where the homeowner relaxes before the hearth with a good book. I don’t have anything like this in my condo.”

  “You live in a condo? Well, I suppose there really isn’t room for a library, is there? In a condo, I mean.”

  He shook his head, still looking around with a half-smile of pleasure on his face.

  “I don’t need much room, anyway. My place is pretty small, but it’s functional, and it works well for just one person.”

  Annie paused before she asked, “So I take it you aren’t married?”

  “No.”

  The simple reply did not invite further queries, so Annie graciously segued into another topic.

  “You see those music boxes in the corner?”

  Grady looked at them and nodded.

  “Recently there has been an interesting development around here concerning one of Gram’s music boxes.”

  “Oh?”

  She invited him to sit in one of the comfy old armchairs, and then as they sipped their coffee, she told him about the rare music box, about Malcolm Tyler’s artistry, and about the mysterious, unfinished sonata they had found inside the box on Gram’s shelf.

  “And you’ve found nothing to indicate the identity of the composer?”

  “Nothing, except the name in the title—‘Olivia.’ And without a surname, it offers little help. Olivia is not an unusual name, but not that common, either. I don’t think I know anyone named Olivia.”

  “But we’re talking about many years ago. I wonder how rare the name was back then?”

  “Good point, Grady. And we are talking about someone from a long time ago. Still,” she sighed, “it is simply not enough to help us track down the person who wrote the song.”