From the Ashes

by Janet W. Butler

  “A few years ago,” she said, “James was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. Most of you probably know that disorder cripples the hands. Unfortunately, that disease is more serious in the presence of arthritis, and our family has a predilection to the rheumatoid type.”

  Even as the woman spoke, Melody saw her hands moving, clasping and unclasping, and the intimate familiarity of that gesture blurred her eyes.

  “For an average working person, this can be serious enough,” Angela went on, “but for a concert artist, it is pure devastation. James went through a complete program of treatment, of course, including surgery on his hands. You may or may not know, sometimes surgery works…sometimes it doesn’t.” She paused, her voice cracking, then regained herself. “Unfortunately, James’s results weren’t good. He was advised to stop concertizing immediately or risk severe damage and permanent disability — at the same time that his first concerto was put on the upcoming season schedule for the Boston Symphony.”

  Melody felt a twist of dread.

  “In a word, James ignored the medical advice.” Angela’s voice was so quiet now they all had to lean forward to hear her. “He couldn’t bear to come so far and then stop. So he played that premiere, fully knowing what was at stake.”

  Unbidden, the picture of James’s humiliation at the party went through Melody’s mind. She blinked back tears.

  “We were ready to be supportive of him, either way,” Mike picked up the thread of narrative. “But we didn’t know the whole story. James was going through a pretty awful divorce and a sticky annulment, but we didn’t realize that all that had affected his creativity, his composing. He hid all of that from us. He went through two hours of a reception after that premiere, shaking hands and smiling at everybody, playing his part. We didn’t know, deep inside, he was despondent.

  “By the time James played his Boston Symphony debut, he knew he’d never concertize again, that writing music was all he had left. When the composing hit a dead end, he saw himself as used up.” Mike cleared his throat. “Years ago, when James was touring, he had a bad experience on the road and bought a gun for his own protection. The night of his premiere, after he went home, he turned that gun on himself.”

  Melody clung to the arms of the chair, for lack of anything better to hold onto. The tabloids hadn’t been far wrong, had they?

  “Good heavens!” one committee member cried. “What happened?”

  Mike smiled faintly. “We believe it was a miracle. I figure his guardian angel was watching over him. For some reason the gun malfunctioned.”

  “For some reason!” Angela gave a soft laugh and dabbed at her eyes. “I know it was a miracle. Just as I know that what happened after that was a miracle, too.”

  “Oh?” Another committee member frowned. “You mean there’s more?”

  “Oh, yeah. There’s more.” Mike chuckled. “Of course, the parents are always the last to know. We didn’t find out about any of this until much later. When he called us at the crack of dawn and we had to pry him off the ceiling, he was so excited. He’d heard this tune in his head, and he could play it.” Mike’s voice thickened. “He played with it all night, wrote it down, and it became the second movement of his new concerto.”

  “The Adagio?” Melody whispered.

  Mike and Angela nodded in unison, and Melody felt faint again.

  “We understand James had an incident occur before Christmas,” Angela said. “Something that exposed his disability pretty much in front of the whole music school. He put the best face on things, of course. Once more, we didn’t know how deep this thing ran or how serious it was. We could see he was troubled, and we wanted to help, but there didn’t seem to be anything we could do.” She gazed pointedly at the dean, then at Melody. “Then he got a call on Christmas Eve that changed everything.”

  Melody wanted to melt into the floor, but to her surprise, Angela not only held her gaze but smiled once more — from her eyes and her heart.

  “One person at this school cared enough to call and wish him well,” she said quietly. “Only one. He was so touched by her call he had trouble talking. I saw him. It was a struggle for him to know what to say. Then they got cut off, and he tried to call back, but the lines were too jammed with Christmas traffic, and he couldn’t reach her again.”

  Melody lowered her head, feeling everyone’s gaze on her and unable to deal with it. She blessed Angela for painting the truth in such a positive light.

  “Finally,” the woman finished on a sigh, “he just said, ‘Mom, Dad, I have to go.’ We understood. We knew why. He went with our blessing.”

  Melody could no longer hide the tears welling in her eyes, not when she saw them in Angela’s own. Gently, the woman reached over and squeezed her hand.

  “What happened on the road was an accident,” Mike said firmly. “Nobody wanted it. Nobody could have predicted it. Nobody’s to blame. And nobody should suffer any more because of it.” He smiled at Melody. “That’s why James wants this premiere played on February fifth, as originally scheduled.”

  The group seemed to draw a sharp breath as one. Then it erupted in questions and protests and concern, only to be silenced almost as fast when Angela shook her head. She squeezed Melody’s hand once more.

  “It’s what James wants,” she said softly. “For your sake, Melody.”

  Her head swam. “Oh, no, Mrs. Goodwin. He can’t mean that.”

  “Call me Angela, dear. And yes, he can.” She released Melody’s hand, a twinkle in her eye. “It’s his music and his performance, to do with as he sees fit. He doesn’t want to delay your recital any longer than necessary.”

  “But—” Melody stammered. “But he was conducting the performance, too. We were working so closely together, how will we do it if someone else has to step in now?”

  “Well,” Mike said thoughtfully, “James tells us that you were coaching him in the conducting part of it anyway, Don.”

  The dean nodded. “Yes, I was.”

  “James would be more than happy to let you conduct in his place.” Mike turned to her once more, his gaze intense. “Melody, you’ll record rehearsals and then bring those recordings in to James. He’ll give you his feedback and notes and coach you from the hospital. Between your work and Don’s, he doesn’t foresee a problem.”

  Melody was overwhelmed. “I-I hardly know what to say.”

  “Well, I do.” Dean Thomas leaned forward, glancing around the room. “I think it says a great deal about James’s character that he’s willing to put his own concerns aside like this, and I would be honored to do this for him. How about the rest of you?”

  A few heads nodded in cautious assent, but then a woman seated in the corner removed her glasses and peered around at everyone as if seeing something nasty in the air.

  “Wait a minute,” she said acerbically. “Let’s hold on, shall we? This all sounds nice and warm and fuzzy, but we need to make decisions on more than sentiment.”

  “Sentiment doesn’t have that much to do with this, Cynthia.” The dean chuckled. “On a purely practical level, it works better than rescheduling will. The musicians have been committed to this, the arrangements are made. This makes life easier for us, not harder. Not only is James beings selfless, he’s being pragmatic as well.”

  “Pragmatic I’ll give you.” She pursed her lips. “Not so sure about the selfless part.”

  The dean frowned. “How so?”

  Cynthia scowled faintly, then slipped her glasses back on and stared at each of the committee members before she spoke.

  “Originally, I saw this as a great plus for the school, in that a ‘name’ performer would be giving a premiere here. But it’s become painfully obvious he can’t play now. Doesn’t that change the whole lay of the land?”

  “Not necessarily,” the dean replied. “It seems not to have changed anything for James himself. Isn’t that all that counts?”

  “No, it’s not.” Cynthia’s mouth thinned. “Goodwin was about to com
mit suicide before he finished this piece. Now, he’s back under medical care, and it well may be because of an error he made behind the wheel of a car. That error killed two other people.” She cleared her throat. “Do we really want to align this university with someone under that kind of a cloud?”

  “It is tragic that two people died in that accident,” the dean replied slowly. “But there’s absolutely no indication that anything James did was responsible. If anything, the evidence points the other way. The other car rear-ended his and slammed them both into the wall. James could have been killed, too, and not at all through his own fault.”

  “So he says,” Cynthia replied coolly.

  “So the doctors and the police say, too,” Mike shot back. “Are you saying you don’t believe the accident reports, either?”

  “What I’m saying,” Cynthia replied on a sigh, “is that this school has a certain reputation to uphold. We should be careful to whom we give a stamp of approval. Is James Michael Goodwin emotionally stable enough to merit that stamp?” She shook her head. “I wonder if we’re not compromising our dignity for the sake of grabbing some spotlight.”

  “Dignity? What in the world does dignity have to do with this?” Melody was more surprised than anyone to hear the words come out of her mouth, not to mention finding herself standing nose-to-nose with the woman. “Music isn’t only about dignity and decorum. It’s about passion. And compassion. Did you hear a word his parents said?”

  “Of course I did.” Cynthia smiled, all teeth. “He plays with guns, and he climbs medians in his car. What does he have, a death wish? Shouldn’t we know more before we throw in with the likes of him?”

  “All right, all right,” Dean Thomas put in. “Melody, sit back down. Cynthia, without getting any more abusive, please just tell us — what is your problem with this?”

  “My problem,” she said with a smirk, “is that James Michael Goodwin has no right to use this site as a performing venue when he doesn’t work here anymore. You yourself told me, Don. He couldn’t play well enough to teach rank beginners, to say nothing of carrying on in Heinrich’s place—”

  “Right now,” the dean interrupted, “that’s the least of my worries.”

  “Well, it ought to be front and center. Going ahead with this premiere, for a man who can’t fulfill minimum faculty requirements, is a travesty. And you can put me on the record as saying so.”

  Melody glanced toward Mike and Angela and saw them both go pale, but neither of them got a chance to answer before Cynthia rose from her chair and took herself out of the proceedings by leaving the room.

  For a long moment, no one said a word. Then the dean shrugged. “Okay. She does raise some legitimate concerns. The question is does anyone else have a problem with this?”

  “Well,” said one committee member, “I don’t. I think the whole ‘dignity’ thing is a tempest in a teapot.”

  “Me, too,” agreed another.

  One by one, as Melody looked around the room, people shook their heads. By the time the poll made the full circle, the vote was unanimous among those present. She wished James could have been there to see the support he had in the dean’s office right then.

  “Then it’s official.” Dean Thomas flushed with pleasure. “The premiere will go on as originally scheduled, one month from today. February fifth. And I for one plan to give it all I’ve got.”

  “Hear, hear!” chimed in one member.

  “But, Dean Thomas—” As Angela spoke, she put one gentle hand on his arm, and the room hushed abruptly. “What about Cynthia?”

  The dean chuckled. “She’s not really the dragon lady she looked like in here today. In other circumstances, she keeps us on course with that cautious nature of hers. I’ll speak to her in private, and she’ll be fine. Fortunately, we don’t need a unanimous vote, only a majority. That, we have.” He squeezed Angela’s hand. “So you can go back and tell your son his wish is granted.”

  Angela and Mike smiled their thanks, and the dean rose from behind his desk to pull open the inner office door. “Barbara, break out that herb tea. We’re having a celebration!”

  Happy chatter erupted around Melody, but she felt it all as if from a distance and wondered why. She saw Angela and Mike fairly glowing, and she could tell the dean was tickled not to have the administrative nightmare of planning an alternative performance, or the schedule gap of having none at all, to worry about. Maybe it was the shock of finding out she’d be able to see James at last; maybe it was concern over her own abilities. James had put more than just her future in her hands; he’d put his own reputation as a composer there, too.

  Whatever she thought was moot anyway, at this point. The die was cast. Looking at James’s parents, holding hands in silent communion, she couldn’t help but remember her own special moments with their son. The feel of James’s fingers entwined with hers. That pulse-stopping smile. The sound of his laughter. The warmth of his kiss…

  I’ll do it for him. For him, I’ll give this campus a performance it will never forget.

  Her heart full, Melody gathered her coat and purse and slipped quietly out of the room, leaving the revelers and even Barb behind with scarcely a word. Outside, a soft snow had begun, lights twinkled on in houses, and she realized that the dinner hour was fast approaching. One of the most momentous events of all their lives would take place in only thirty-one days, and yet life went on in such blessed simplicity.

  Perspective, that’s what I need. When I’ve had a chance to sleep on this, I’ll know it’s the right thing to do and that I can handle it.

  She hoped that at the University Medical Center on the other side of campus, James would feel some of that same simplicity. That his music would be honored in her hands. And if he heard her love in every note — as she hoped — well, that’d be all for the better.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Melody was well-experienced in preparing for performance; as if by reflex, her instinctive efficiency kicked in, setting up recording dates with the dean and putting their first collaborative effort on record to deliver to James. But that feeling of control evaporated the first time she got on the bus for the hospital to see him, and she couldn’t suppress uneasy butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She’d never planned a performance around a third party in a hospital before — none of them had — and that part of the arrangements gave her the willies. The last thing she wanted was to come face-to-face with the man she loved for the first time in weeks and fall apart…or be forbidden to see him at all because someone hadn’t told someone else…

  Fortunately, she needn’t have worried. Mike and Angela were as good as their word, so when she presented herself at the hospital reception desk, she was told simply to go to the sixth floor. By the time the floor bell rang, she could have sworn she’d been in the elevator car for years. Then the door slid open, and she saw Angela.

  James’s mother stood with her back to the elevators, holding a paper cup from which wafted the faint aroma of instant coffee. Melody had an impression of a mauve tunic and flowing slacks, a print scarf over one shoulder, the woman’s hair knotted loosely at the back, in one of those styles that seem entirely contained by one hairpin. Presence, Melody thought. That’s what Angela had. If only she could pick up some by osmosis! Sighing, she exited the elevator and ventured to speak.

  “Angela?”

  “Yes, what—?” James’s mother turned quickly, and then her face lit up. “Melody! How good to see you!”

  “I hope James feels up to work today.” She held up a package containing the cassette tape and her score. “I’ve got what he asked for.”

  Angela smiled, radiant. “Believe me, my dear, he’ll be up to it.”

  I’d better be sure I am, too, then. Melody thought it but didn’t say it as she followed Angela at a good clip down the sixth-floor corridor. Finally, at the second room from the end, they stopped, and Angela knocked. To Melody’s open surprise that a mother would knock at own son’s hospital room, she reacted w
ith a soft laugh.

  “I learned long ago that James needs his space,” she explained, “so I try to respect that. Besides, in this case, I don’t want to walk in on any grisly procedure they happen to be doing with him, either.” She chuckled. “A mother can take only so much.”

  Melody grinned, starting to relax. “I’m with you there—”

  She was interrupted by a quiet baritone. “Come in, it’s open.”

  So much for the calming effect Angela had had, she thought. At the sound of James’s voice, the butterflies took up a rousing two-step.

  “You go ahead, my dear,” Angela said with another smile. “You two need to work in private. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Melody paused long enough to give and receive a warm hug, then stepped across the threshold of the sterile-smelling room. Her first sight was a bed to her left, empty at present, a blue privacy curtain pulled halfway. Straight ahead of her, she saw a windowsill bedecked with a poinsettia arrangement and focused on it, suddenly hesitant to look too closely. Only when she couldn’t avoid it anymore did Melody finally turn to see the sole occupant of the room.

  “Well, hello, Mel.” He smiled as bright as the sunlight filtering through the curtain. “Talk about a sight for sore eyes.”

  Melody found herself breathless. “I could say the same for you.”

  “Sit.” He indicated a dark blue upholstered chair to his right. “Just…sit for a minute, will you?”

  She was glad for the invitation, for her knees had gone weak from the impact of actually seeing him sitting up, looking very much his old self. Melody realized with a shock that until this moment, part of her hadn’t totally believed she’d see him alive and well again.

  James only looked her over, smiling but saying nothing. She wondered what he was thinking. True, he’d complimented her, but did he realize how much she treasured those words?

  In the comfortable silence, she took the chance to do a subtle, empathetic inventory of his injuries. She’d been told his face and hands had been burned, and the blotchy, reddened skin across his forehead and bandages across his knuckles bore that out. She could see tape beneath the folds of his hospital gown — they’d said something about ribs being cracked — and the hard shape of casts over his legs, one of which had virtually shattered. An IV ran to a vein in his left arm, and he was thin, his skin almost translucent. He’d have scars to show from this ordeal. But all in all, she was still grateful beyond words to see him this well.