The Unfinished Sonata

by K. D. McCrite

  Annie found a message on her answering machine when she got home.

  “Hello. This is Violet Hutchins at the Bright Petals Flower Shop. I have the information you requested. Please call me.”

  “My goodness, that was fast,” Annie told the machine.

  She had not expected to hear from Violet for days, if not weeks, especially as the woman seemed to have little interest in her great-uncle or anything about him.

  She pushed the numbers to return the call and again was greeted with cheer and enthusiasm.

  “I’m so glad I’m able to help you,” Violet told Annie. “My daughter absolutely loves all that dusty old family history and has collected what little the Tyler family saved. At lunch, when I mentioned to her what you were looking for, she said, ‘Why Mom, I have that book with all the other family papers!’” Violet laughed. “I don’t know where that young woman gets her fascination with the dead and gone, but lucky for you, she has it.” She laughed again.

  Annie heard the flippant words, but could hardly take them in. What would happen to memories, to the passed-down craftsmanship, and to the pride of heritage if everyone felt the way Violet Hutchins did? What if Annie cared nothing about Betsy Holden’s beautiful legacy to the world? How many people had been touched, not only by her work, but also by her kindness and care?

  Thank goodness that her daughter, as busy as she was with all the duties life demanded of her, still had the time and interest to care about who and what had gone through the world before her. Annie shuddered even to think that her own grandmother’s legacy would be left to drift into anonymity, or worse, completely forgotten.

  “Well, I do appreciate your speedy response,” she told Violet as pleasantly as possible. “What did your daughter find?”

  “I have it right here.”

  Annie heard the shuffling of paper, and then Violet said, “Malcolm was very good to record details of every music box made, when he made it, and for whom. The man who ordered a music box carved with ivy, lovebirds, and a heart on top was Peter Starne.” She spelled it for Annie. “The order was given on June 8, 1939, and completed on November 30, 1939.”

  Gratefully, Annie carefully wrote down every word and every number. She had another question, and knew it was a long shot.

  She asked, “Do you know if Malcolm made the movements that went inside the box?”

  “Oh, my,” Violet replied, laughing lightly. “I have no idea.” Annie heard the shuffle of paper, and after a few moments, Violet continued, “I see nothing about it in his book. It seems logical, doesn’t it, that as meticulous as his record keeping is about the wooden boxes, he’d be just as detailed if he made the movements. I’d say he probably did not make them. Don’t you agree?”

  “I think that, more than likely, you are right.”

  It stood to reason, then, that the music-box movements were made elsewhere. And if that were the case, whoever wrote the unfinished sonata was someone who either could build movements or had commissioned the musical piece to be built. Nothing, though, explained why the music had been hidden, or why the comb had been broken so the music could not be played.

  “Thank you for all your help, Violet,” she said. “If you come across any information that you think might help me, would you please get in touch?”

  “Oh, I surely will!” Violet said merrily. “I’ll tell my daughter this evening to go through her box and see if she can find out anything else about Malcolm.”

  “I appreciate your help.”

  After Annie hung up the phone, she stood a moment staring down at it, contemplating family—her parents, her daughter, her grandmother, and her aunt. Although she had not always been with her mother and father during their mission trips, she loved them deeply and never doubted for a moment that they loved and cared for her. From her Aunt Susan she had received much warmth and guidance. Her grandmother could not have been more doting and wise, and Betsy had passed down a legacy that had molded Annie’s life—not to mention a treasure trove of beautiful memories.

  It went without saying that Annie likewise treasured the close relationship she had with her daughter. She admitted that there were times when LeeAnn’s busy life seemed to leave Annie on the periphery, but Annie knew the strong cord between them could never be severed, neither by distance nor by busy days. Although Maine and Texas were hundreds of miles apart, she felt LeeAnn’s spirit with her always, and she knew in the deepest part of her heart that her daughter felt the same.

  A surge of homesickness and longing overtook Annie, nearly swallowing her with its unexpected arrival. She’d been in Stony Point long enough that waves of homesickness were fewer and further between, but still, once in a while, the urge to see her loved ones seized her tightly and did not let go easily. If she could not embrace her daughter right then, at least she could hear her voice. She picked up the telephone and dialed.

  “Honey, it’s Mom,” she said when LeeAnn answered. “How are you?”

  “Hi, Mom! This is weird because I was just this minute thinking about you.”

  “Were you? That’s a lovely thing to know, honey.”

  “Yes. I was thinking how you were always so calm and level-headed in times of upheaval. Mom, you have no idea how I wish I could be more like that!”

  LeeAnn’s tone, fringed with an almost frantic tone, caused Annie concern.

  “Is something wrong, honey?”

  “Oh, not really,” she sighed. “Just the usual madhouse around here, too much to do and not enough time to get it all done. That’s not going to change anytime soon.” She laughed a little, and then hurried to add, “Not that I want it to, of course, but sometimes a break would be nice.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you’re having such a hectic time. Should I call back later?”

  “Oh, no! Please—I always want to talk to you, no matter how wild it gets around here. But the bad news is that the twins seem to have caught some kind of virus, and they are both sick.”

  “Oh, dear! I hope it isn’t serious. Have you taken them to the doctor?”

  “Actually, I think it’s just a little bug that has been going around at church. They’re in bed, and I’m keeping a close eye on them. They aren’t that sick. I mean, they keep begging me to let them get up and play. But since they’re running a slight fever, I think they need to stay in bed a day or two.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be back to normal soon, then,” Annie said. “You’re a good mom, LeeAnn. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to call and say hi and to hear your voice. Are you and Herb all right? You haven’t got the bug too, have you?”

  “No, we’re fine. Is everything all right with you, Mom?”

  “Everything is fine,” Annie said stoutly, “but I just had a rather disturbing conversation with someone.”

  “Tell me about it. The kids are quiet right now, and I could go for a little break.”

  Annie recounted her exchange with Violet. “I just found the whole thing so disquieting,” she concluded, “maybe more than I should have. Actually, I feel sorry for their family because, except for the daughter, they have missed so much. Imagine having someone like Malcolm Tyler in your family, but not caring about him. Apparently they had little to do with him when he was alive, and certainly no one but the one daughter cares now. I find it so sad.”

  “I understand, Mom. I feel the same way. And you’re right. It is sad.”

  “In case I haven’t told you lately, honey, I’m so grateful that you’re my child. And I’m just so happy I can share Gram’s legacy with you and know it’s something you won’t throw away or disregard. I hope you teach the twins how important family is, even those family members who’ve passed on.”

  “Of course I will, Mom! In fact, I do. Just the other night we were looking at the photo album and those pictures of me when I was really young. They couldn’t believe I’d once been their age!”

  It felt good to laugh with her daughter.

  “Then I showed them photos of Gram; they asked me all
kinds of questions about her. Joanna said, ‘I want to make pictures with a needle and thread like Grandma Betsy.’”

  “I am so glad to hear that!” Annie said. “I hope you encourage her, LeeAnn. As long as we pass down what we’ve learned, these old arts will never be left behind and forgotten.”

  “You can count on it, Mom. Not so sure John cares, but Herb is going to make sure he learns some kind of craft like that. Herb firmly believes everyone should be able to make something with their hands. He says it’s good for the soul.”

  “And I agree,” Annie declared.

  “I was sure you would. Don’t you worry. We will honor Gram—and you. We love you, Mom.” She paused and Annie heard the sound of a child in the background. “Mom, I’m sorry, but Joanna is calling for me. It’s just a matter of time before John does the same. Oh! There he goes. He’s calling now. I have to go.”

  “Yes, you go take care of those sweet kids. Give them a kiss from their grandmother. I love you, honey.”

  “Love you too. Bye now.”

  Annie clicked the phone off as tears graced her cheeks.

  15

  Annie was the last member of the Hook and Needle Club to show up the next day. Along with her crocheting project and the carefully wrapped music box, she toted a huge cache of excitement into A Stitch in Time. She knew the women would be as intrigued as she was when she played the music for them and told them about the manuscript she’d discovered inside.

  Of course, if Annie thought her discovery would be fresh news to the women who made up the Hook and Needle Club, she needed to adjust her thinking. Word had gotten around about the hidden musical score, and her crafting friends greeted her with unrestrained enthusiasm the moment she walked in.

  “You brought it, didn’t you, Annie?” Peggy called from where she sat, busily working on her wall hanging.

  Annie’s eyes sparkled as she looked at her friends. “Indeed I did. And did you—”

  “Excuse me, ladies, for interrupting,” Mary Beth said. “Annie, you know we are all dying to see the music box and hear it play, but it seems best if we take care of business first.”

  It took a moment for the whispered speculations to fall silent as the women reluctantly and momentarily subdued their interest to focus on their projects and on Mary Beth, who stood before them to speak.

  “First,” Mary Beth said, adjusting her glasses just a bit as she looked at the women in their various stages of crafting, “let’s discuss how it went at the day camp last week. Reverend Wallace called this morning and said he was so pleased with what you ladies did.”

  “I was there Wednesday afternoon,” Peggy said, peering critically at her stitches on the wrong side of the piece. She glanced up. “I wasn’t sure I could get off work, but when I explained what we were doing, the boss said it was all right for me go, as long as I was back in time for the dinner crowd. It was great fun. I’m teaching two twelve-year-olds, and they seem to be learning how to put together a nine-patch square very quickly.”

  “I’m having such fun at the day camp!” Kate put in. “There’s a boy, Henry Salisbury—spelled like the steak—and he was especially intrigued by crochet patternmaking. He’s a math whiz and a star soccer player, and would you believe he’s just as proficient with a hook and yarn? I think it’s just so fabulous that a boy wants to learn. It’s about time fellows realize that needlework isn’t sissy.”

  “Oh, I believe it’s becoming more accepted all the time,” Mary Beth said. “Who knows? One day we might have a guy in our Hook and Needle Club.”

  “That would be fun!” Alice said, laughing.

  “Well, thank goodness, I got the easy job,” Stella piped up, putting a halt to the speculation of male Hook and Needle Club members before it went further. “I’m teaching three older girls who want to knit those long scarves that are so popular right now.”

  Gwen laughed softly as she finished knitting a dishcloth.

  “Only you would think that was easy, Stella. You’re so good at it.”

  “And what about you, Gwen?” Annie asked. “How’d it go for you?”

  “I’m afraid I’m simply teaching knitting basics to some young girls. They certainly complained a lot. Maybe I’m not such a good teacher.” She glanced at Stella. “Maybe I should send them to your class.”

  Stella frowned at her, and Gwen shrugged. “I guess that’s a no.”

  “That most definitely is a no,” Stella said.

  “Well, I think Annie and I had a great time,” said Alice. “At least I did! I believe I had more fun teaching the kids how to cross-stitch than they did learning. We laughed and sang the whole time.”

  “That’s true,” Annie agreed, laughing. “I almost came across the hall and took your class because y’all were having such a good time. But I had a great group of new crocheters—young and eager. It’s great to pass on what I’ve been taught.”

  “Well, I just think it’s wonderful, working with kids,” Alice said. “I hope we do this again.”

  “Oh, so do I,” Annie said just as the door opened, and Jenny Simon from the Nocturnal Loons band walked in.

  Jenny greeted the others with a wave and a warm smile, but she said, “Annie, I need to talk to you.”

  Uh oh, Annie thought as she walked away from the group with Jenny.

  “Annie, I am so sorry, but the band is not going to be able to make it Saturday. There has been a death in Rory and Billy’s family—their paternal grandfather in Augusta.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that! Please convey my condolences.”

  Jenny smiled gently, sadly. “Yes, I will, thank you. The guys were very close to their grandfather, so the next few weeks are going to be hard on them.”

  Annie placed her hand on Jenny’s arm. “It’s so hard to lose someone you love.”

  The other woman nodded. “Yes, it is. I’m really sorry that we can’t make it Saturday, but I do thank you, Annie, for being so understanding.”

  After Jenny left, Annie rejoined the group, feeling much less cheery than she had a few moments earlier. The death of the men’s grandfather had served to remind her of losing Betsy, and of not having the opportunity to tell her grandmother goodbye. She regained her seat, picked up her crocheting and silently began to stitch, lost for a moment in recollection. When she realized the other women were quieter than usual, she looked up to see most of them were gazing at her.

  “Are you all right?” Mary Beth asked softly.

  “Yes, I’m fine, but do you know Jenny?”

  Every woman seemed to know the girl.

  “She’s in the band with Rory and Billy Flynn that I had scheduled for the party this weekend. Their grandfather just passed away.”

  “Oh no!” Gwen gasped, putting down her newest dishcloth, this one a dark green. “I’m so sorry to hear that. He used to live here, years ago. He was a dear old fellow.”

  “Yes, he was,” Mary Beth agreed, and for a few minutes the women who had known the man shared their memories.

  “I remember when I was girl,” Kate said, “and he brought two bushel baskets of apples to our church for everyone to share. They were the best, juiciest apples ever.”

  “John told me about the time Mr. Flynn came into the bank and paid all the arrearages on a certain person’s mortgage. He never told me who, but wasn’t that a wonderful gesture on Mr. Flynn’s part?”

  “I’m sorry I never got a chance to meet him,” Annie murmured.

  Silence settled over the group for a while as the ones who knew the elderly man each gave tribute to him in their own thoughts.

  After a while, Kate cleared her throat and asked, “Annie, does this mean you’ll not have live music at the cookout?”

  Annie looked up.

  “Yes, I suppose it does. Unless someone here knows of another local small band who would perform on short notice?”

  “I don’t know of any. Stony Point is pretty limited,” Kate said.

  “I don’t know anyone, either,”
Mary Beth said, and the others shook their heads. “You might have to use a CD player, if you want music.”

  In the chair beside Annie’s, Alice twitched. That was a good signal that she had something to say. Annie glanced at her friend as Alice put down her hook, yarn, and latest sampler square and said, “I have an idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Can we move the old piano at Grey Gables outside?” she asked Annie. “If so, maybe Jason could play for us.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Kate said. “I love piano music, especially live!”

  “I like that suggestion,” Annie said, “but I’m not sure about moving that huge old piano outside. Pianos are extremely heavy, you know, and where would we put it once we did get it out of the house? I need the porch for seating and to display Princessa jewelry.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Peggy said. “I’ll ask Wally to round up some of the men to move it, and I’m sure he can build you a small platform on the lawn.”

  Annie looked at her.

  “Peggy, that would be wonderful, but would he have time? I know Wally is a busy man, and this would be extremely short notice.”

  Peggy grinned. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem for him, Annie. You’re one of his favorite people, you know. Besides me, that is. He’d do just about anything for either of us.”

  Everyone laughed, and Annie said, “Well, if he’s willing to do it, that would be great. Will you have him call me so we can discuss it?”

  “I will! As soon as the meeting is over.”

  “And speaking of the meeting being over,” Mary Beth said, “it isn’t. Is there any new business or news we need to discuss?”

  Alice reached into her tote bag and pulled out all the sampler squares she’d made that week.

  “Look!” she said. “I don’t know if you’d call this ‘news,’ but I am so proud of myself.”

  “Look at that!” Peggy said. “You’re doing great, Alice.”

  “You should be proud,” Kate added, taking the squares and admiring them before she passed them around for the other woman to view. “I’m proud of you.”