Songs of Christmas (16 page)

“Estrella,” he began, not sure of what the right words might be. “Please don’t be upset by Mrs. Elliot’s comments. She’s very glad to have your help. It’s just that this is a hard time for her, with my injury and convalescence. And it’s difficult for her to allow anyone she doesn’t know well to come in here.”

Estrella nodded, then marked a notation on her chart. “I understand, Dr. Elliot. I am not taking this personally. She’s frightened,” she said simply. “That why she acts angry, no?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly.” He was relieved that she was so perceptive and understanding.

“My little girl, Marta, sometimes acts like that,” she said quietly.

“Really? How old is she again?” He knew she had children, but realized that so far he had never really asked about them.

“She’s six years old, in the first grade. She can read very well,” Estrella said proudly. “Sometimes corrects my English.”

“Keep her reading, that’s important. And how about your boy, how old is he?”

“Jorge is eight. He’s a good student, too, but had some trouble in school last year.”

“Oh, why was that? Too interested in sports or video games?”

Estrella shook her head and looked down at the chart again. “When my husband died. A hard loss for both of them. He still doesn’t really understand why his
papi
is gone.”

Ezra felt as if he had been punched in the stomach.
She’s a widow?
He had not imagined that. “I am so sorry. I had no idea. You didn’t mention your husband. But you wear a ring,” he added.

She nodded, her pretty smile now a tight, thin line. “Yes, I wear my ring. I am not ready to take it off.” She paused and took a breath, composing herself. “It’s not your fault, Dr. Ezra. I didn’t tell you.”

“I know, but—”

She shook her head. “I didn’t tell you or Mrs. Elliot or your daughters on purpose. I want to be hired for my skills. Not out of your sympathy.”

“Of course.” Ezra nodded. He understood perfectly. “That’s why we did hire you . . . and we have not been disappointed,” he insisted. He paused, wondering if he should say more. Now he was curious about her home life. “So, can you tell me a little more about your family? You said you were from El Salvador. Is that where your husband was from, too?”

Estrella smiled and shook her head. “No, my husband was American. But we met in San Salvador. He was visiting there with a teaching organization. We were married and came back to the US, and I became a citizen. He traveled for his work, back and forth to Latin America,” Estrella explained. “But on a trip to Nicaragua he contracted an illness. By the time he came home and had treatment in a good hospital here, it was too late. The infection overwhelmed his body.”

“Oh dear, how awful for all of you.” Ezra thought of her young children and how she had been left all alone in this strange country.

“We’re managing, day by day,” she said evenly. “My mother was able to move up here. She’s a big help to me.”

“What about your husband’s family? Are they from New England?”

Estrella shook her head. “No. He grew up in Minnesota. His father is still there, but we don’t hear from him much. My sister-in-law lives in Philadelphia. We see her from time to time.”

Ezra nodded. It was a pity she didn’t have any close family ties to help her. “You have a lot on your plate, young lady, a lot on your plate.”

“It has been very difficult at times. But it gets better every day. I have my children, and they are a joy to me. No life is . . . smooth,” she said finally, after searching for the word.
“Sí?”

“That’s right. There are always challenges, big and small. Is there any way we can help you?” he asked sincerely.

Estrella finally smiled again. A small smile, but to Ezra it shone like the sun peeking through clouds on a rainy day.

“You are kind to ask, Dr. Ezra. I am happy to have this job. That’s plenty.”

“We’re happy to have you here,” he assured her.

I am, at least,
he added silently. Lillian would have to make the best of it, especially once she heard this young woman’s story.

Chapter Six

T
HE SANCTUARY WAS THE PERFECT PLACE TO PRACTICE THE
cello. The church was empty and quiet. Reverend Ben and Mrs. Honeyfield were gone for the day, and the nursery school had let out a few hours ago. Amanda knew she had several hours to practice before the choir arrived for the Thursday night rehearsal.

She had to make do for dinner, heating herself a can of soup in the church kitchen. But it was worth it. She would not be interrupted here, unlike in her room at home, which was theoretically private, but was not really sacrosanct, especially to her little sister, Betty. The sanctuary, with its domed ceiling and high stone walls, provided a much fuller sound and was much more like playing on a stage in a large concert hall. Much more like an audition would be . . . if she ever got a call.

Amanda sat with the instrument in the center of the altar, and the notes reverberated from every wall, up to the high arched ceiling and back.

She was practicing a piece by Vivaldi, the Cello Concerto in F Major. The piece started with slow, sweeping notes, then built in intensity, with great tension and counterpoint. She came to a section marked
allegro
, and played fast and furiously, her strong fingers nimbly moving up and down the slim neck of the instrument, her bow working the strings to bring out just the right tone. She felt herself begin to perspire, beads of sweat on her hairline and forehead.

She didn’t pause to wipe it away. She wouldn’t be able to do that in a real audition. She wouldn’t even be aware of her body—sweating with effort or trembling with fear—she would be so focused on the music flowing through her fingertips, flowing through the strings of her instrument.

While one part of her mind followed the intricate notes that she knew by heart, another reviewed again the email she had found on Monday morning. A note from the director of a symphony orchestra in Austin, Texas. One of her teachers, Professor Sloan, had recommended her for a seat that was about to become vacant.
Could she send her résumé and audition tape ASAP?
Amanda had left the church, run home, and brought everything to the post office and sent it by overnight delivery.

She had called Professor Sloan yesterday to thank her and, as politely as possible, ask what her chances were of getting the job. She knew there had to be other candidates.

“I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I’d say your chances are very good. I know someone on the search committee. He said they listened to your tape as soon as it arrived, and it made a real impression. I put in a good word for you, too,” Professor Sloan added.

Amanda felt so elated, she thought she was going to float away. When she told her parents about it at the dinner table last night, she had tried to be low-key and not get everyone’s hopes up—including her own—but that was impossible.

“What great news, honey!” Molly said at once. “When will you hear?”

“Professor Sloan said they’re going to pick two finalists and have them come in for a live audition.”

“Oh, wow . . . dueling cellos,” her mother quipped.

“That will be tough,” her father agreed.

“I know they’ll pick you, honey. I just have a feeling about this.” Molly had gotten up from the table, carrying plates with one hand and giving Amanda’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze with the other.

“It sounds like you have a very good chance,” her father said, in a more reasonable tone. “We’ll just have to wait and see, right?”

Don’t count your chickens before they hatch
was what he was really saying. Amanda knew that, but as she furiously tore through the remaining notes to the first section, putting all of her pent-up hopes and dreams into the rising and falling notes, she couldn’t help but believe, down in her soul, that this was it. She was going to get this seat. It was meant to be, and very soon. Just after the New Year, she would be practicing like this up on a professional stage in a real concert hall.

She swept the bow across the strings one last time, drawing out the final chord, a hauntingly beautiful sound that echoed through the dark, empty sanctuary.

Then, nothing. Her bow hand dropped to her side. Her chin dropped to her chest. She sat in the silence, listening to the sound of her own deep breaths and feeling her heart pounding.

Then from up in the balcony, she heard the sound of someone clapping wildly. She was startled and frightened. She had thought she was alone in the building. Who was in here? Had one of the choir members come in early?

“That was awesome. You’re a total genius!” Gabriel Bailey came to the edge of the balcony and looked down at her. “You should be in Carnegie Hall,” he said.

“Gabriel, you nearly scared me to death.” She was happy to see him, but he had practically given her a heart attack. She’d had no idea he was at the church today and had not caught sight of his truck or any of his equipment. In fact, despite their lovely outing on Sunday, she had only caught sight of him once this week, and they had barely said hello before Mrs. Honeyfield pulled her away for a phone call. She had been wondering if maybe he was avoiding her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He made a charming face. “I was going to say something, but I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“Interrupt me next time. It’s really okay.” She really didn’t like anyone listening when she was practicing. It was sort of unnerving. But as he came down the steps and walked toward her, her irritation dissolved.

He looked handsome as ever in a fisherman knit sweater, down vest, and his usual stained jeans. “I just stopped by to check one of the windows. I had to reshape a piece I used to repair it. I didn’t mean to scare you, honestly.”

She nodded, pushing her long hair to one side. She felt the moisture at the back of her neck and thought she must look a sweaty mess, as if she had just finished an aerobics class. “That’s all right. I didn’t mean to snap at you . . . Thanks for your good review.”

“I rarely listen to classical music,” he admitted. “But maybe I should start. That was beautiful. What was the name of it?”

“Vivaldi’s Cello Concerto in F Major.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a mouthful. They really knew how to name them in the old days, didn’t they?”

Amanda laughed. “The piece itself is actually quite long. I only played a section. I can burn a CD for you if you really like it.”

She wondered then if he was just trying to be nice, saying he wanted to listen to classical music. She didn’t want to force it on him.

“I’d like that a lot. I’d like to hear the whole thing. But it won’t be you playing on the recording, I guess?”

“Oh, no . . . I meant a recording of someone famous. Yo-Yo Ma or maybe Pablo Casals,” she said, naming two of the most towering artists in the world of classical music.

Gabriel shrugged. “I’m sure I’d enjoy that but, honestly, I’d rather hear you,” he said, making her blush. “Are you going to play your cello in church Sunday, as special music?”

Amanda had been a soloist in church a few times when she was in high school. It hadn’t even occurred to her to offer to perform with the cello here. She realized she had been keeping her church work and her “real” work in two separate compartments.

“I’m just practicing, to keep in shape for auditions,” she told Gabriel.

“Like an athlete, right? You never know when you’re going to be called up to the big leagues. And how’s that going, any progress?”

“Some progress,” she said cryptically, wondering if she should tell him that she was being considered for a seat in an orchestra in Austin.

“Really? That’s good, then, right?”

“So far,” she said tentatively. She decided she would wait to broadcast her news. If she didn’t get called for the audition and get the seat, she would feel disappointed and embarrassed . . . and would be stuck making a lot of awkward explanations. She had been through that a few times and didn’t want to go through it again.

“When did you hear about it?”

“Just a few days ago. One of my former teachers called me.”

“Sorry I missed the news. I haven’t been around much this week. I got pulled away by another job,” he explained.

Amanda felt relieved to hear that. So he hadn’t changed his mind about her after all. Before she could reply, he said, “Are you practicing all weekend?”

“Well, no, not every minute,” she said vaguely.

“How about Saturday night? Maybe we can catch a movie or something.”

Amanda’s heart jumped. Then she realized she had promised her folks she would stay with her little sister so they could go out to dinner.

“I’d love to, but I have to take care of my little sister. I’d ask you to come over and hang out with us, but I have to take her to a birthday party that’s at some place called ‘Barbie Kingdom.’” She made a face. “Trust me, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

He laughed and seemed reassured she wasn’t just putting him off. “I don’t think I’d be much help to you there.”