Page 103 of Echoes of a Silent Song
“Okay, okay, enough with the sappy speeches.You can thank me by lowering the price of your condo.”
When they ended the call, Callum still had mist in his eyes.God had blown him away with just how perfectly everything had worked out.He had restored and renewed everything, and the tiny little flicker of faith left in Callum’s soul had been fanned into a full-on fire.Callum was composing again.He was directing choirs again.Worshipping God with his music again.
And he was in love again.
The office door opened, and the object of that love walked in.
“Hi.”He stared at her, starry-eyed.He had to tell her how he felt.He had to tell her what he’d just decided.He had to tell her ...
“Hey.Just found this in our mailbox,” she said.
He tore his eyes from hers and found the manila envelope in her left hand.“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”She slipped her finger beneath the seal.“But I’m very, very intrigued.Because the postmark says Chicago and the return addressee is someone named Hochsteiner.”
Okay, that got his attention.He stood and met Blair in the middle of the office.She slid a sheaf of papers from the envelope and read aloud from the page on top.
Dear Mr.Knight and Ms.Emerson,
I was contacted recently by two detectives from the Peterson police department investigating the death of Iris Wallingford.While I didn’t know Iris, I had the privilege of examining one of her pieces.In all my years teaching at Whitehall, this was the most brilliant audition piece anyone ever submitted.As you may already know, Iris submitted this piece under the name of Victor Nelson.She wrote to me a few months later confessing their deception, and I wrote back to her explaining that while I could not award her a spot at Whitehall, she was welcome to move to Chicago and let me mentor her privately, and then audition again the following year.However, by the time my letter reached her, she had already passed on.
I have held on to this piece of hers for over fifty years, but I believe now the time has come to pass it on to you.I trust you will care for it in the manner it deserves.
Yours most sincerely,
R.M.Hochsteiner
And behind it, a handwritten choral score torn from a spiral notebook.“I Am My Beloved’s.”
“Wow,” Blair breathed.
Callum had no words.There it was.The one finished piece Vic Nelson had never touched but the one that bore his name.The one that had gotten him a spot at Whitehall.The one Iris wrote.The one that should have been her ticket.
They had it.Blair held it in her hands.
The genius of Iris Wallingford had come home to Peterson at last.
“Shall we?”Blair motioned toward the piano.
It took him a minute to shake from his spellbound state and realizewhat she’d asked.She wanted them to discover the music.Together.Just like they had that first day of school.
Eagerness to hear the music, to sing it, to study it, overwhelmed him.“Absolutely.”
He followed Blair to the piano and stood over her shoulder, watching her fingers fly over the keys.They sang through the piece together—far, far less than perfectly on Callum’s part.But that was because he was watching Blair.
He was singing the lyrics of love ...to Blair.
As the final chord faded away, he leaned over and kissed her.The kiss went on almost as long as the music had, as his lips found new ways to tell her what filled his heart.
When he parted from her at great reluctance, he feathered his fingertips over her cheekbone and peered deep into those bottomless brown eyes.“I love you.”
The shine in her eyes was something he’d remember for the rest of his life.
“I love you too, Callum.”
“And I love this piece.”
Blair nodded.“It’s stunning.”
