Page 11 of Echoes of a Silent Song
“You knew him when he wrote this?”
“I was a sophomore.”Her expression softened.“He was a total bear for a couple weeks during the fall of that year.I’d been told to expect that during contest season, but this was in September.The year had barely started.One of the seniors warned me that he always got super grouchy when he was composing.It was a commission for an honor choir in ...Kansas, I think?”She flipped to the first page.“Yup.The Kansas Music Educators Association All-State Choir.But we sang it ourselves the following year, and I fell in love with it.”Her eyes sparkled as she scanned the score.
Callum leaned against the desk.“So you grew up here in Peterson, then?”
“Born and raised.My dad owns the Dodge dealership, and my mom is head of every civic organization you could possibly think of.”She rolled her eyes.“I’m practically royalty.”
“Have you been here your whole life?”
“Other than college, yeah.”She waved a hand, years of her life dismissed in a single second.“Happens to the best of us.We spend high school counting the days until we can get out, but a whole lot of us either never do or come right back.”
She held up “Death Be Not Proud.”“Shall I hold on to this, then?”Hope shimmered in her warm brown eyes, and Lord help him, he didn’t want to do a single thing in the world to crush that hope.Not when it seemed the ice queen might be starting to thaw.There was a vulnerability beneath that hard exterior, one that beckoned him.No,compelledhim.
Not that he needed much convincing to program “Death Be Not Proud.”
“You said you’ve been here, what, six years?”he asked.
“Seven.”
He grinned.“And I suppose you’d remember if it’s been performed during that time?”
Amusement sparkled in her eyes.“Yes, I would, and no, it hasn’t.”
“Then yes.Hang on to it.We’ll start it with Mixed Chorus tomorrow.”
The smile that lit her face nearly knocked the wind out of him.“Excellent.”She set the octavo down on the desk and pawed through the box of music.“If memory serves, there’s a pianist’s copy in here somewhere.Mrs.Cassidy always did come up with the most intelligent fingerings, rest her soul.”A soft rustling of paper.“Ah.Here we are.”Blair pulled out a copy of the music, and with it came another sheet of paper, which flew across the distance between them and landed on his desk.
But instead of the turquoise-and-white Teal Springs Publishing cover characteristic of Vic Nelson’s work, this was a sheet of yellowed staff paper, folded in half, its shredded left side indicative of being torn from a spiral notebook.And instead of crisp printed notes and rests, this music was written in age-faded pencil.
“What’s that?”Blair leaned in, bringing a swish of hair across her blouse and a faint whiff of peanut butter and chocolate.
“I’m not sure.”Callum unfolded the paper, curiosity creasing his brow.The melody arched across the staff, instantly entrancing him with its twists and turns and soaring intervals.
“There’s another couple pages in here.”Blair stood at his elbow, but her voice sounded a million miles away, so deep had the thicket of this music pulled him in.Another pair of pages appeared in her outstretched hand, and he took them.They bore the same ivory hue and ghostly pencil markings.A few notes had been erased here and there, replaced with others, and he instantly wanted to sit down with this composer and discuss those decisions—but the result was the same heartrending soprano melody pinned over lush harmonies in the alto, tenor, and bass.The rudimentary piano part consisted mostly of chord symbols, with a few notes tossed in here and there.Perhaps the composer’s strength layin choral music, not writing accompaniments.Or maybe they’d planned to go back in and finish the piano part at some point.Regardless, the faded pencil and yellowed paper indicated a project long abandoned.
But why?It was brilliant.The harmonies and melodies displayed creativity on a level he’d never encountered.The way he could only hope and pray to be able to write someday.There was something innate, natural, God-given about this composer’s talent.
If this had been abandoned ...what had been finished in its place?
And who on earth had written it?
He flipped through the pages, his pulse hammering.“This is genius.”He used that word sparingly, but it fit this composition.
A piano sounded.Not the piano in his mind, but the reddish upright in the corner.Blair had slid onto the bench, the first sheet of music open on the rack in front of her.And then she sang—her voice a husky, sweet mezzo-soprano—and the melody reached somewhere deep inside him, wrapped around his heart, and pulled him closer.He couldn’t have stopped his progression across the office if his life depended on it.Something about this melody, these chords ...touched him on a level very little ever had.He needed to meet this composer.Talk with them.Where had they studied?Who had they studied with?Where had these ideas come from?Maybe if he just spent a few minutes in this person’s presence, he could find his inspiration again.
Tentatively, not wanting to sully the beauty of the moment or the composition, he propped the two other pages beside the first one on the music rack, then peered over Blair’s left shoulder and joined in to sing the bass part.Their voices blended like coffee and cream, and the shimmering he’d felt before now wrapped around him like a blanket.It was magic.No, beyond magic.It was one of those moments he needed to savor, one of those musical highs, those glimpses of heaven that would fade all too soon.
But nothing would erase the memory of this moment, this melody, this making music with Blair.Whether she was part of it or whether it was simply because she happened to be here, he couldn’t know.Couldn’t guess.Didn’t care.It simply existed, and—
What?
No.It couldn’t end there.No.No, no, no.It wasn’t even resolved yet.The harmony was left hanging.
“That can’t be it.”Blair’s graceful right hand lifted from the keyboard, and she flipped the page over.
Blank.
Why?Where was the rest of it?
