“Married,” she said for Angie, almost singing the word. The slim shoulders rose in delight. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Yes.” Angie clenched her hands together and asked, “I was wondering, well, I needed to ask . . . how you might feel about perhaps your father and you moving into my house after the wedding. I know it’s old and there’s more bare wood than paint, but it’s been such an important part of my life, I’d really love to make it part of yours as well.”
Melissa smiled. “Okay.”
“You can have all your things in your own room . . .” Angie plunged ahead before Melissa’s response sank in. “You don’t mind?”
“I always thought that’s what we would do,” she said simply. “I love your house, Miss, I mean, Angie. I think it’s beautiful.”
Angie leaned back weakly. “You don’t mind that it looks a little shabby?”
For some reason, the question caused another giggle to bubble up from inside. Melissa managed to stop it by clamping both hands over her mouth. When she was sure it was past, she let go long enough to ask, “Which room is going to be mine?” Her eyes were gleaming. “Can I have the one with the turret?”
“It’s called a gable,” Angie corrected. “Of course you can, if that’s what you want.”
“I do. I think it’s a beautiful room, with the windows around the corner like that. Can we keep the chest with the dolls in there? I’ll be careful with them.”
Angie reached over and took her hand. “They’re yours.”
“Really?” Melissa’s eyes held her delight.
“They’re my gift to you. My welcome-home gift.”
“Oh, Angie.” Melissa wrapped her arms tightly around Angie’s shoulders. “That’s the best new-home present anybody ever got.” Then she released Angie, leaned back, and said, “But can I ask for something else?”
“Of course.”
It was Melissa’s turn to be nervous. “I was just wondering,” she started, then hesitated before ending in a rush, “can you and Daddy get married on my birthday?”
Angie felt the world tilt on its axis.
“Please, please, it would be the best birthday anybody ever had.” She rose to stand in front of Angie, their fingers now intertwined. “I already asked Papa, and he said he’d think about it, but I know he was just waiting to get up the nerve to talk with you about it. Please, say it’s okay.”
“Melissa, sweetheart . . .” Angie stopped to bite down hard on her lip. Then she said, “That is positively the nicest thing anybody has ever asked me.”
“Then, you’ll do it?” Her hands were already clapping.
“Of course I will.”
She squealed and grabbed Angie for a whirl around the floor. “Oh, this is great! Wait till Papa hears.”
Emma chose that moment to open the door. “What is all this racket? People are coming for worship out here.” She took one look at Angie and scowled fiercely. “Why aren’t you in your robe? We’re ready!”
Angie slipped into her robe in no time flat, although nothing could have stopped her from smiling. Nor Melissa. The two of them entered the sanctuary and took their places beside the organist, beaming out at the congregation, waiting for Emma to give them the downbeat.
Angie was so full of the day and the days to come that she scarcely knew she was singing at all. It was only when she was well into the final piece that the music and the moment came into focus. She heard herself blend in perfect harmony with Melissa, and sing,
“Under His wings I am safely abiding,
Though the night deepens and tempests are wild;
Still I can trust Him—I know He will keep me,
He has redeemed me and I am His child!”
20
She would never have admitted it, not even to herself, but Angie was a trifle disappointed with the scant number of comments she and Melissa received after the service. It seemed as though almost everyone was in a hurry to be somewhere else. Even Melissa. She hugged Angie swiftly and said, “That was great, Angie. Bye. I have to go with Daddy.”
Angie could only gape and say, “Now?”
“Yes, ma’am. Is it okay if I move one thing into the house today?” The smile filled her whole face. “Just one thing. But I want to go ahead and start.”
“I suppose so,” Angie said, feeling as though events were coming from the most unexpected directions today. “But what’s the—”
Emma bounded into the choir room. “Aren’t you ready to go yet? Come on, get out of that robe!”
“Emma Drummond, won’t you even say we sang well?”
“All right, all right, you sang well.” She shooed Melissa out the door, who turned and gave Angie a little wave before vanishing. Emma went on impatiently, “Hurry up now, time’s a wasting.”
Angie pulled off her robe. “Well, I never—”
“Come on, come on,” Emma urged her out the church’s back entrance and around to where the car was waiting. Angie searched the churchyard, but Gina was nowhere to be seen. She allowed herself to be guided into the car, settled herself, and grimly crossed her arms.
When the road curved sharp enough for Angie to see a procession of cars behind them, she turned and saw that Emma was grinning broadly, and declared, “You’ve got something up your sleeve. Don’t you dare deny it.”
And then they came up the final rise, and there was her little house. Or was it?
Trestle tables had been set up across her front yard, and women were laying out plates and glasses and knives and forks. Behind them, men were setting up a scaffold under the careful eye of Ham Whitley. Already her entire first floor bore a skirting of pipe and planks.
Angie turned to her friend as they pulled up, too astonished to even ask. Then Luke was at her window, formal now in his shy pleasure, opening the door and offering her a hand. She did not have the strength to either resist or protest. Angie alighted and steadied herself on the car.
“Miss Angie—” Luke began and stuttered to a stop as more and more cars halted and the people piled out, and those in the front yard came down to join them. The crowd grew and grew around them, and all Angie could do was look out over the smiling faces. Years of students there with parents and friends, and friends of her own parents, three and even four generations of the townsfolk standing there and smiling.
“Miss Angie,” Luke started anew, only this time a young voice cried, “Wait, wait, we’ve got to be there too!” A way was made for Melissa and Carson Nealey to move up to the front.
“And me!” The dark hair and a brilliant smile marked Gina’s arrival. Her eyes glistened with joy as she beamed at Angie.
Luke’s big hands kept turning his hat brim round and round nervously. “Miss Angie . . .”
“You said that already, Luke, dear,” Emma sang out from the car’s other side. “You can skip on to the next part.”
“We’ve noticed your house has been in need of a new coat of paint,” Luke said. “And, well, that is—”
“I declare, Luke, there’s food getting cold.” Emma shouldered her way around to stand in front of Angie. “Honey, you are a friend to everyone in this town, and we all just want to say thank you.”
Angie stammered, “For what?”
“For everything,” called a voice from the back.
“You’ve been through a hard time, years more than anybody nice as you deserves,” Emma said. A chance ray of sunlight slipped between the wind-rushed clouds and played across the gathering, pausing long enough on Angie to make it hard for her to see clearly. Emma went on, “We just want to celebrate with you now that happiness has come back home.”
“And we’re gonna paint your house,” Luke finished determinedly.
She could not reply. People close up saw the raw emotion on her features and started up the walk. Others took their place, as though everybody needed to glance and see what she was feeling. Just a glimpse, mind. It was enough.
“Don’t tell me you aim to stand down here and watch.” Emma shoo
k her head, her grin as bright as the sun. “I do wish you could see your face right now.”
“Come on, dearest,” Carson said, taking her hand. “Let’s go say hello to everybody.”
Angie let herself be led across the lawn, stopping for hugs here and there, shared words she neither heard nor fully realized she was speaking. Then the music started, and she looked over and saw with a start that Clem Cannon was picking a tune with two other men she knew vaguely from her highland travels. One plucked the strings of a banjo, the other sawed at a fiddle. Mother Cannon looked up from where she was cutting pies and joined in the shared smile.
Clem waved and asked, “Hope you aim on joining us for a song or two, Miss Angie.”
“I told Miss Emma,” a voice to her side said as a small hand joined hers. “Miss Emma talked to Pastor Rob. Then he talked to me. Then he talked to his momma. And she talked to Clem.” Melissa paused long enough to draw breath, then demanded, “Will you come inside with me now?”
Only then did Angie realize that Melissa was carrying the music box. “What are you doing with that, honey?”
“I told you, I wanted to move it into your house today.”
“Our house,” Angie corrected quietly.
“That’s right. Our house. Can we go now?”
Angie followed her across the yard and through the front door. The banging and clattering was muffled when she closed the door behind them. Angie asked, “Where shall we put it?”
Melissa shifted the box so that she could point with one hand and say, “Right here, on the table by the door.”
A cloud of unseen weight seemed to lift from her heart. “Perfect,” she said quietly. “I’ll move this bowl of mine upstairs.”
“No,” Melissa said quickly, putting her box down and opening the lid. As “Greensleeves” filled the hallway, she went on, “Beside your crystal jar. Together. And whenever we come in or go out, we’ll look at them and remember the good things.”
“That’s right,” Angie agreed, taking Melissa’s hand. “Only the good things.”
****
Books by Davis Bunn
The Book of Hours
The Great Divide
Winner Take All
The Lazarus Trap
Elixir
Imposter
Lion of Babylon
Rare Earth
All Through the Night
My Soul to Keep
ACTS OF FAITH*
The Centurion’s Wife • The Hidden Flame
The Damascus Way
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place • The Sacred Shore
The Birthright • The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
HEIRS OF ACADIA†
The Solitary Envoy • The Innocent Libertine
The Noble Fugitive • The Night Angel
Falconer’s Quest
*with Janette Oke †with Isabella Bunn
The Music Box Page 13
