From the Ashes

by Janet W. Butler

  By the time he was on the job two weeks, Melody had helped him completely redo the filing system, install two boxes full of personal effects and papers, and revive an ailing philodendron on top of the file cabinets. The sudden change in “Phil,” as she called it, amazed her the most of all.

  “Okay, fess up,” she said. “What did this? Voodoo? Black magic? Incantations?”

  James snorted. “Try discarded coffee grounds.”

  “Oh, I dunno. I think there’s more to it than that. He’s looking so robust, it’s almost supernatural.” Seeing the look on James’s face, she laughed. “Well, you have the touch, Mr. Goodwin, no doubt about it.”

  She didn’t miss the quick, fleeting twist of his mouth. “Don’t I wish, Mel. Don’t I wish.” He set his mug down with a sharp click. “But enough horticulture for now. We have another student coming in less than ten minutes, so let’s get this last box put away.”

  And they were off and running again, Melody realized, before she’d had more than a moment to wonder about that last remark.

  Despite the careful professional distance Melody kept between them, she found herself intrigued by James’s drive and energy. He was obviously bent on making a good impression; when she arrived in the morning, he was already there, and he was still working in the studio as she shrugged into her backpack at the end of the day for the walk home. He spent a great deal of that time in the back room, but what he was so busy on, she hadn’t a clue. The Professor had never put in such long hours. Not that they seemed to fatigue his grandson; if anything, James thrived on the schedule as well as “Phil” thrived on the coffee. Responding to his confidence, Melody relaxed her dependence on her old routine, and they ironed out the touchy lesson-style question with a compromise that worked for both of them — thankfully, without any more flare-ups or close emotional calls.

  And so the days flew by, so full and productive that Melody was hardly aware of November slipping away until she came down to breakfast one morning humming to herself and found Hattie on a stepstool in the pantry.

  “Ah, that’s what I like to hear.” Hattie clucked approval, climbing down and pouring coffee for both of them. “Sounds like you’re tuning up fine for the holidays.”

  “Holidays?” Melody sat down at the kitchen table and dug into a platter of cinnamon toast.

  Hattie pulled out a drawer beneath the oven and extracted a large roasting pan. “Thanksgiving’s next Thursday. Did you forget?”

  “Not really.” Melody chewed toast around the words. “But I figure that’s your department. Is that what the roasting pan is for?”

  “We’ll need it,” Hattie said slyly, “since we’re having company for dinner this year.”

  “Oh, good!” Melody sat up straighter. “Who?”

  “Your young man, of course.”

  Melody had just taken a sip of coffee. She nearly choked on it. “My what?”

  Hattie beamed. “Your Mr. Goodwin. James. Remember him?”

  Melody wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Hattie, he’s not ‘my’ Mr. Goodwin. He’s my teacher. My coach. My boss. Believe me, that’s it.”

  “You can call it what you like.” Hattie shrugged, setting her mug down opposite Melody’s, then taking a chair. “Even ‘fits.’ That’s what you called what goes on between the two of you, isn’t it?”

  Melody found herself knotting the napkin. “Don’t play coy with me, Hattie. You’re not funny.”

  “Who’s playing?” Hattie replied. “I act on what I see. And what I see is a girl who’s happier than she’s been in months, thanks to her new teacher. In my day, I know what we called that!”

  Melody swallowed back butterflies with another bite of toast.

  “In your day,” she said evenly, “it was the same thing it is now. We work together. Nothing more. Don’t try reading anything else into this, Hattie. You’re bound to be disappointed.”

  That would let her down gently, Melody thought. Unfortunately, Hattie was not one to take being let down, gently or otherwise.

  “He’s single, right? And he’s not seeing anyone else. Or is he?”

  “How would I know?” Melody gave an exasperated sigh. “No, wait a minute. Let me rephrase that. He’s not ‘seeing’ me, and I don’t know about anyone else. It’s really none of my business.”

  “Balderdash.” Hattie sipped at her coffee. “Of course it’s your business. You like him, don’t you? Or are you still holding that old grudge?”

  Melody wasn’t sure how to answer, not without having to cross her fingers behind her back. What she felt for James couldn’t be neatly captured in “like” or “dislike.” Her feelings were not about to be labeled that easily. On one hand, no one could see what she’d seen in the studio and not be moved. But she wasn’t unaware of a strong physical attraction between them, either — and that could flare even more dangerously, given half a chance. Spending a holiday together would give it three-quarters of a chance, easily, and add a little extra fuel to boot.

  “It doesn’t matter whether I like him or not,” she said carefully. “You were the one who told me to give him the benefit of the doubt. That’s what I’m doing. But that doesn’t mean I want to mix him in my personal life.”

  “I don’t see why not,” her aunt countered. “Since your personal life is nothing to write home about.”

  Melody would have responded to the sarcasm, but another thought occurred to her — a better thought, at that. A way out.

  “Home…” she murmured. “Of course!”

  Hattie blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Home, Hattie.” Melody poured herself seconds on coffee. “James’s folks live up in Canada. They retired there from Boston a couple of years ago. They’ve got a log house north of Niagara, and James is crazy about it. If he’s said so once, he’s said so a dozen times.” Okay, maybe it was only ten, but it’s that or Hattie takes off at full sail. “In fact,” she finished with a grin, “he calls the place ‘God’s country.’ There’s no way he’s going to stay in Chicago when he’s got somewhere like that to go!”

  Hattie’s eyes narrowed. “Canada’s a long trip for a four-day weekend. Are you sure he’s going?”

  Melody grit her teeth, then eased up when she couldn’t drink her coffee that way. “I didn’t ask him,” she muttered.

  “But you will.”

  She shook her head. “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

  “Oh, I won’t,” her aunt said airily. “I know he may have other plans for this time around—”

  “I mean for anything.” Melody leaned both elbows on the table. “Please, Auntie dear, I can see right through you. You’ve got those romantic stars in your eyes again, and they scare me half to death.”

  “Why ever would a marriageable female be scared by romance?” Hattie sniffed. “Who knows, a dose or two of that might give your music a little pizzazz, too!”

  “My music doesn’t need that kind of ‘pizzazz’!” Melody felt hot color below her hairline. “I mean it, Hattie. That’s out of line. Especially where James and I are concerned.”

  “Okay, maybe I got a little carried away.” Hattie smiled an apology. “So invite him to dinner. He’s got to eat, doesn’t he? And I’m a good cook. I haven’t poisoned anyone yet.”

  Melody took her empty cup to the sink. “It’s not your cooking I’m worried about. It’s you humming the Wedding March under your breath—”

  “I only did that once. And you put me in my place real quick.”

  “And I’ll do it again,” Melody warned. “Anything like that comes out of you, I swear I’m moving to a dorm next week!”

  Hattie looked contrite. “I promise, my girl. No tricks.”

  “Okay. Then I promise, I’ll at least ask him, but don’t be surprised if he says no. He’ll probably think it’s a crazy idea.”

  And it was a crazy idea, Melody knew. What am I going to do about Hattie and her romantic notions? Doesn’t she know what kind of man we’re dealing wi
th?

  But what kind of man was James, really? Did Melody know?

  Did she want to find out?

  Walking to school, she mulled over those questions uneasily. One part of her was all aquiver at the thought of spending more time with a guy like Goodwin; half the music school would consider her certifiable for having a moment’s hesitation about it, protocol or not. And she knew her threat of moving out was hollow — even if she could find a vacant dorm room at this point, which she doubted, nothing short of a major disaster would shove her out of the nest. But Hattie would see this dinner as a prelude to so much more...

  And if only the thought of “so much more” didn’t send a peculiar little thrill through her, Melody thought sourly, she wouldn’t feel so miserable. She wasn’t so much setting Hattie up for a fall as playing with fire herself.

  Arriving at school, she pulled open the door of the music building and decided on her course of action. She’d get the awkward question out of the way right off, first thing. She’d apologize for her aunt’s faux-pas, he’d let her off the hook tactfully, and they’d both save face.

  Only when she actually posed the question, the scenario didn’t unwind like that.

  “Thanksgiving dinner at your aunt’s house?” James beamed. “Why, I’d love to come, Mel. How nice of her to ask me.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “You mean you will? But aren’t your folks expecting you?”

  “As it happens,” he replied, “I’m free this holiday. My sister Francine’s performing in Vienna, and they’re planning a trip there to see her.”

  Melody was taken aback. “Your sister plays, too?”

  “She dances.” He gave a self-deprecating grin. “Where she got that talent, no one knows. Goodwins have a long history of two left feet.” The grin blossomed into a low chuckle. “But I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you quite this flustered, Mel. If I were the paranoid type, I’d suspect you didn’t want me there.”

  She blushed. Not want him? It was all she could do to keep her mind on music at the moment, with that low voice sending a thousand tiny sparks up and down her skin.

  “No, no, that’s not it,” she said. “I mean — well — I told Hattie you’d say no.”

  “Oh?” He poured himself coffee, then walked to a straight-backed desk chair, sat it in backwards and hooked his feet around the chair legs. “I hope I had a good excuse.”

  He was totally at home in this studio now, she thought incongruously, without doing any disrespect to his grandfather’s history in the place at all. He’d left the painting in its place undisturbed, yet he’d also marked the room with his own particular touch. He had a way of owning his territory, probably cultivated from years on the road. She could see him in her mind’s eye now, taking command in Hattie’s kitchen as well...

  Quickly, she settled into the Windsor chair. She could use a clear head right now.

  “I didn’t know about your family’s travel plans,” she answered. “I assumed you’d have another — engagement.”

  “I see.” James looked thoughtful, but not quite thoughtful enough to wipe out the spark of mischief in those deep blue eyes. “As it happens, I don’t, unless you count watching the Macy’s Parade on TV and sorting my sock drawer.”

  Melody couldn’t help smiling at that notion. With bait like that in hand, she just had to reel it in.

  “I’ve heard rumors about people like you,” she teased, “but I didn’t think they actually existed. A sock drawer?"

  He was perfectly deadpan. “It needs doing.”

  “Well, you could beg off with that excuse, you know.” She was dangerously close to laughing out loud. “No one would understand housekeeping priorities better than my Aunt Hattie.”

  He grinned, that crooked smile that robbed her of breath. “I suppose I could beg off, if I wanted to. But...not a chance. So what time Thursday?”

  Melody colored. She’d been so sure he’d refuse, she hadn’t bothered to ask about that minor point. “Let me check with Hattie. Probably noonish.”

  One last twinkle filtered through those enigmatic eyes. “Then I get to watch the parade?”

  “I should think so,” she played along. “But the socks will have to wait.”

  “They’ll keep.” He rose, picked up a folder bearing the college seal and tucked it under his arm. “For now, I’m out of here. Meeting with Dean Thomas. And he’d prefer we not be disturbed, so—”

  “I know the drill,” she cut in. “When your fan club president calls, take a message.”

  He chucked again, then left the office. She suspected his mind was already on the upcoming meeting. As for her? She’d gone from bemused to full-blown worry. How in the world would she get through a whole day of watching James Michael Goodwin... and Hattie, watching the both of them?

  If she survived this one, a mere graduate recital would be a walk in the park.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Thanksgiving night, James thought contentedly, in the best place a man could possibly be.

  He blinked, realizing the light was fading outside the kitchen windows, but he knew he was the only one paying it much mind. Spread out between him, Melody, and Hattie was a Scrabble board, an effective distraction from the scenery outside and a focus of their earnest concentration.

  Well, at least the two of them were absorbed in the board. James couldn’t say much for his own powers of concentration at that point.

  Not that he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings; he just couldn’t get quite as excited about a crossword game as he was intrigued by studying Melody and her aunt. All day he’d watched them both, feeling very much like a man who’d traveled long and hard but was finally home. He’d never had a holiday like this, certainly not with Toni…

  “Melody?” Hattie was saying. “Your turn.”

  Her hair swung gently over the board as she glanced down at her tiles, reminding him of a fall of deep red silk. But dwelling on red silk pointed his mind in directions it didn’t need to go right now, and quickly he shifted gears back to the straight and narrow. He was just in time to see Melody pick up a string of letters and spread them out in front of an I.

  “I’m out,” she declared, leaning back in her chair.

  Hattie squinted at the board. “Concerti?”

  She’d pronounced it con-ser-tee, James noted; probably on purpose, to give her niece a hard time. He hid a smile. Competition seemed to bring out the mischief in Hattie.

  “No, con-chair-tee. Plural of concerto.” Melody grinned. “You know that as well as I do, Auntie Dearest. Game’s over.”

  She turned, and for the briefest moment James felt her eyes lock with his. It was as if a small electric jolt passed through him with that one look.

  “Game’s over already?” he said, making his tone as bland as he could. “But that’s not twenty rounds, is it?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Hattie answered without looking up from her task of adding scores. “Anything between ten and twenty, we treat it like gin rummy. If anybody uses all seven tiles in one turn, the game ends.”

  “It doesn’t happen too often,” Melody added. James still felt her gaze as if it were a physical embrace.

  “I’d imagine not.” With effort, he refocused on the other side of the table. “Well, Hattie, how bad did she skunk us?”

  Hattie sniffed. “The fifty-point bonus for using all the letters is all that saved her.” She handed James the scorecard. “See for yourself.”

  He examined it, playfully covering it when Melody tried to peek. “She’s right, Mel. Without that bonus, I would’ve taken you to the cleaners.”

  “Not so, James,” Melody mocked. “They’re closed today.”

  He groaned. If she was going to smart off, then so could he.

  “Well, I guess I heard wrong about Chicagoans,” he drawled. “I heard you people let your guests win.” As he helped Hattie close up the game, he couldn’t resist needling her further. “After all, the Cubs do that all the time.”r />
  “Watch it!” Melody warned, laughing. “We’re die-hard Cub fans in this house!”

  He was, too — at least when he was away from Fenway Park — but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Instead, he only patted his stomach smugly. “I’m safe. You already fed me, so you can’t toss me out in the cold and make me go hungry for one innocent remark.”

  “Speaking of which…” Hattie moved over to the stove and put on a kettle. “Anyone for a snack? A turkey sandwich?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Melody eased from her chair with a good-natured groan. “I’m still full from dinner.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” Hattie reproved. “You’d be full on nuts and berries. I meant James.”

  “Well, I must be the nuts and berries type too, Hattie.” He pushed his chair in. “I could hibernate all winter on today’s feast. Although if you’re making tea, I’ll take that.”

  “Musicians,” Hattie muttered. “Starving, when they don’t have to.”

  Melody laughed and James joined her, enjoying the sound of it. She had a surprising laugh — half whiskey, half music — and he couldn’t get over that sound coming from such a delicate woman. Meanwhile, Hattie was busy shooing them out of the kitchen.

  “There’s a fire set and ready to go in the parlor,” she said. “Start it up. We’ll have our tea in there.”

  “Sounds terrific.” James rubbed his hands together. “Mel, after you.”

  He didn’t miss Hattie’s doting, self-satisfied smile as the two of them left the kitchen. Nor did he delude himself that Hattie wasn’t taking off on a flight of matchmaking fancy. He could spot Hattie’s type a mile away. She’d take any man’s simple good manners and construct of them an entire Prince Charming scenario, complete with glass slipper.

  Unfortunately, James sensed he hadn’t helped his own cause with the way he’d behaved. He’d done nothing romantic, of course, but in every other way he’d unwittingly given Melody’s aunt plenty to fantasize about. He could hardly help it if he’d been taught that good manners dictated he not show up empty-handed, and despite Hattie’s oohs and aahs, the white wine wasn’t that highbrow.