Threat of Darkness(78)

 “He must be proud of you,” Becca said softly. Davis felt a warm glow inside his chest.

 “He’s proud of all seven of his grandchildren. He will delight in hearing you play this old piano.”

 She abruptly stopped, her hands falling to her lap. “Isn’t there a change to the service we should be discussing?”

 Davis pulled a folded bulletin from his coat pocket and pointed to a certain hymn. “All three verses instead of two, if you don’t mind.”

 She made a note on her own copy of the bulletin, after which he covered her hands with his and, as he had the night of the concert, prayed for her. She didn’t seem as comforted as she had before, and he fought the urge to take her into his arms for a hug.

 “Just keep your eye on me,” he said, pointing toward the pulpit and the chair behind it. “You’ll do fine.”

 Nodding, she took in a deep breath.

 Davis left Becca then to go prepare for the service, praying that he was doing the right thing.

 And it all started out well. The opening music provided no problem for her, as people were busy finding seats and visiting in hushed tones. Likewise, she accomplished the hymns with relative ease. Davis realized that as long as the congregation focused on something other than her playing, Becca was fine.

 It was only when they came to the offertory that Becca faltered—the moment when everyone’s attention was truly focused on her.

 Even before she began to play, Davis saw that her hands trembled as she spread out the music for the piece she had chosen, and he sent up a silent prayer. She made the first few bars, though the notes sounded stilted and hesitant to his ears. Then she fumbled, and he felt her panic. Instinctively, he repositioned his chair, moving slightly to his right and placing himself squarely within her sight line. As he hoped, her gaze zipped up, locking on his. He smiled, asking God to fill her with His peace, and her fingers moved smoothly into the next passage. After a moment, she looked down again and soon lost herself in the music. It poured out of the grand seamlessly, like an audible painting.

 Awed and humbled, Davis silently thanked God and began to ponder the coming Friday night.

* * *

 He arrived with a stack of board games. Grandma Dorothy frowned, disliking this development even more than she’d disliked the idea of him calling to “scold” her into returning to church, though Becca had assured her that Pastor Latimer would do nothing so crass as scold.

 Becca let him into the tiny living room, where the petite grand and Grandma’s wheelchair crowded the other furniture into corners. He smiled at the piecrust coffee table with its abundance of knickknacks then greeted her grandmother warmly, bending to bring himself to her eye level. Holding up the board games, he suggested that they get comfortable around the dining table.

 “This is almost exactly like the parsonage,” he said, leading the way. “My sisters and I find it crowded for three. I’ve asked the elders for permission to buy my own residence. Do you know the Galter home on Dogwood?”

 “Of course,” Becca said, envisioning the stately home with its dark red brick and wide verandas, “but aren’t your sisters leaving soon?”

 “They are, yes.” But he glossed over this and returned to his excited description of the house. “It’s in excellent shape. I’m told Mr. Galter was a carpenter. I love the wide hallways and doors and high ceilings.”

 “Benny Galter was a friend of my husband’s,” Dorothy said mournfully, nodding her frizzy gray head. “Benny went last year from stroke. I’m surprised Edna is selling.”

 “Mmm. She’s gone into a retirement home near her daughter, I hear.”

 “Shameful things, retirement homes,” Grandma grumbled. “Warehouses for the old and infirm. In my day we took care of our own and were glad to do it.”

 “I’m sure you were, ma’am.” He laid the board games on the table, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Which shall it be?”

 Grandma Dorothy frowned, her gray eyes narrowing, a dangerous sign. Becca rushed to choose before her grandmother could refuse. “This one.”

 Davis smiled. “Excellent. Who will be the banker?” He looked from Becca to her grandmother. “Me, then.” He sent a direct look to Becca. The twinkle in his eyes made her smile, as if they shared a secret.

 “I’ll get the refreshments,” Becca said.

 Davis began laying out the board and playing pieces, while Grandma quizzed him. Where was he from? Who were his people? How old was he? Where did he go to school? How many siblings? He answered patiently, a smile in his voice, speaking at length about his brother and sisters, father and mother and grandfather.