Threat of Darkness(77)

 The girls gushed over the performance, keeping Becca turning this way and that, until her parents and Grandpa Inman arrived. Her grandfather engulfed her in a sturdy hug while her mother pressed her hands together in the center of her chest and her father rocked back on his heels, pushing his already prominent belly forward, a look of surprised delight on his face. “Well, well,” he kept saying. Davis addressed her family with easy familiarity, calling them by their first names and introducing his sisters to them.

 “Justus, Howard, Ramona, these are my sisters Caylie and Carlie. You must be bursting at the seams. The only thing better would have been for Becca herself to sing.”

 “Proud day, proud day,” her father, Howard Inman said, while her mother commented on what a talented choral group Becca had to work with this year.

 “You’ve heard my granddaughter sing, have you?” Justus commented, a speculative look in his eye. A crusty old rancher, tonight he’d eschewed his usual jeans for his Sunday best.

 “I have. Becca has agreed to play for us at Magnolia Christian.”

 A tide of well-wishers forestalled further comment. As students, parents and faculty offered congratulatory thanks, Davis remained at her side, staying even after his sisters and her family left and the building emptied. Ryan stuck his head backstage to announce that he was turning out the lights, and Davis said that he would walk Becca to her car.

 He helped her into her coat, retrieved his own, and together they strolled through the silent building to the nearly empty parking lot.

 “I’m sorry there aren’t more roses,” he said. “The florist’s shop only had a decent half dozen on hand.”

 “You are responsible for these?”

 “It’s an old tradition.” He slung his coat about his shoulders like a cape, saying, “I noticed that your grandmother wasn’t here tonight.”

 “Grandma never leaves her house anymore.”

 “Never? Not even for church?”

 “I’m afraid not. It’s just too difficult with the wheelchair.”

 “We have a lovely wide ramp and a covered portico at Magnolia Christian,” he pointed out. “You might mention it.”

 “I’ll tell her.” Becca wrinkled her nose. “But she still won’t come.”

 “Hmm.” His shoes scraped the pavement as he moved a little closer, looking down into her face, his dark head haloed by the glare of a vapor light atop a pole at the corner of the building. “Becca, I’d like to call on you,” he said. “Would next Friday evening be all right?”

 Thinking that he meant to convince her grandmother to attend church, she hesitated, but then he ducked his head.

 “Please say yes.”

 “Yes.” It was out before she even knew she’d spoken. How, Becca wondered, was she going to explain this to her grandmother?

 Davis smiled. “I look forward to it. But first I’ll see you Sunday morning at church. Come early. We’ll pray together and go over a minor change in the bulletin. All right?”

 Becca nodded.

 “Good night, and congratulations,” he said, turning away.

 Becca yearned to call him back, to prolong this night of wonders, and suddenly she just did. “Davis!”

 He spun on his heel. “Yes?”

 Shocked at herself, she floundered for a moment. Then she caught her breath, and the perfume of roses filled her nostrils. Proffering them awkwardly, she said the only words she could think of. Fortunately, they were heartfelt. “Thank you.”

 Davis smiled. “My pleasure.”

 As he walked away, he whistled. Becca smiled to herself. What he’d said last Saturday about being the only member of his family lacking musical talent was undoubtedly true. The poor man couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

 But he could—and did—carry her heart.

 Thank Heaven he would never know.





FIVE

“It was my grandmother’s,” Davis told Becca proudly, running a hand over the top of the lovely old baby grand piano that meant so much to him. “My grandfather Davis gave it to me when I accepted the call here.”

 Becca sat down on the tapestry-covered bench and lifted the keyboard cover, running her fingers lightly over the yellowed ivory. “Wonderful tone.” She put a foot forward to work the pedals, playing a familiar hymn from memory. “Is Davis your mother’s maiden name?”

 “It is. May I sit beside you? I used to sit on this bench with my grandmother.” Becca nodded. Smiling, he lowered himself to the end of the bench. “She was not as good as you,” he said, “but she loved to play, and my grandfather loved her. He bought her this piano for their twentieth wedding anniversary. After she died, it moved with him into my mother’s house, and now it’s come to my church. As will he, I’m sure. He’s nearly ninety, but he can still preach the rafters down, as my mother would say.”