Page 56 of Echoes of a Silent Song
“They’re good singers, Blair.Despite everything they’ve been through, they’re good.Madrigals especially.Those kids have a ton of talent.But if no one ever takes them out of their comfort zone, they’ll never know what they’re capable of.”He leaned toward her.“Don’t you want to see how far they can go?”
“Of course I do.But not if it means they’re going to humiliate themselves Thursday.”She punctuated her argument by popping the unwrapped peanut butter cup into her mouth.
Callum didn’t reply, just sat down at his desk and clicked into his email program.Wow.Well then.Guess we’re done talking.She woke up her own laptop and scrolled through the dozens of emails she’d received that day, deleting them or filing them one by one.
She must’ve spent too much time around high schoolers if she’d truly thought a homecoming dance would change things.Clearly it hadn’t.Whatever had happened Saturday was a flash in the pan, and now they were back to being at loggerheads over what was best for the kids.And his approach wasn’t best.The frustration on the kids’ faces in rehearsal today.The fact that they were still, three days before the concert, unsure of their individual parts.And memorization?Ha.That would take a miracle.
But whether she agreed with him privately or not, publicly she had to support him.He was the choral director, after all.The decisions about the direction of the program weren’t hers to make.They were Callum’s.The most she could do was offer her opinion and then outwardly support whatever he did.Even if—even though—he was dead wrong.
“Huh.”Callum broke the tense silence.“I got an email from Peggy Sue Weldon.”
Blair had just reached the same one in her email queue.“Yeah, I got one too.”She clicked on the message.
Mr.Knight and Ms.Emerson,
Please share with your students how grateful I am for all the hard work at my house last week.My backyard hasn’t been this beautiful since my husband was alive, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.And the new paint color in the living room is just so peaceful and calming.You are all truly messengers ofthe Most High, even if you’re unaware.He chose you to bless me, and if there is anything I can ever do to bless all of you, know that I stand ready and willing to do so as much as I am able.
Thank you again for preserving the legacy of generosity and service that the Peterson community is known for.You are truly outstanding young citizens, and I can rest assured that the future is in excellent hands.
PS: You’ll probably be getting a phone call soon from my granddaughter Keira McLane.You may recognize the name, as she is a reporter for Channel 6 News in Champaign.Her passion is investigative reporting, and when I mentioned the two of you were looking into a former student’s story, she lit up like a Christmas tree.I don’t know how you feel about media attention, so if this is something you prefer to keep under wraps, I’ll do my best to dissuade her.I will warn you, though—she is very persistent.She gets that from my side of the family.
Blair stared at the screen until it blurred from her lack of blinking.“An investigative reporter?”
“This could be huge,” Callum replied.“She might get people to talk about Iris who otherwise wouldn’t.And who knows?There might be people who don’t live in Peterson anymore who’ll see the story online and remember something about her.”
Oh.He thought this was a good thing.“Well, yes, that’s one possibility, but—”
Callum’s desk phone rang, and he raised one finger.“Sorry.Hold that thought?”He picked up the phone.“Callum Knight.Oh.Yes.Hello, Keira.I’ve just been told we’d be hearing from you.”
Blair gulped.Like it or not, their curiosity about Iris Wallingford had just reached another—very public—level.
She reached into her desk drawer once again.Some days called for a third peanut butter cup.
Today was definitely one of those days.
Chapter Twenty-Two
December 2,1969
IARRIVED HOMEjust past five that chilly evening, though it was already dark as midnight.My father’s Cadillac quietly gleamed in the driveway.Pushing my glove aside, I checked my watch just to be sure.No, he really was home early.Usually he stayed at work until six, or even later.He only came home early when Mother invited company for dinner.
My heart sank as I opened the front door and hung my coat in the foyer.Sure enough, our maid, Flora, had put in another long day.The house was even more spotless than normal.A picture-perfect fire crackled in the fireplace, and the huge Christmas tree in the corner cast flickering light over the grand piano.Our formal dining room, which we hardly ever used, was polished to a sheen and set with our best china.
I suppressed a groan.Not only were we having company, we were having company whom Mother wanted to impress.That meant an evening of boring conversation and constant needling from Mother to be charming and social and all the things she wanted me to be.All the things I was not.
Mother burst through the doorway, bearing a large ceramic Christmas tree.She wore a green dress I’d never seen before, and her dark hair was coiffed to perfection as always.Flora was at her heels, a professional, pleasant expression on her face and a tray of appetizers in her arms.Flora had worked for our family for as long as I could remember,and sometimes I thought my parents liked her better than they liked me.Why can’t you smile like Flora, Iris?Why can’t you stand up straight like Flora does, Iris?Why can’t you be exactly who we want you to be, just like Flora is?In fact, once I heard my mother refer to Flora as the daughter she never had.
And then there was me.The daughter she actually had.
“Iris Jean Wallingford.Why are you home so late?”Mother eyed me with a steely glare as Flora slipped into the living room.
“I ...I went to the library.”Not entirely untrue, since I began my day in the library.But after school Victor and I had found a practice room, and ...well ...we had not practiced music.I could still taste his kisses.Best not think about that too much, though, or I’d blush.
Mother heaved a gusty sigh and moved toward the buffet, where the tree’s light-bulb base sat.“I could’ve used your help this afternoon.The Stuarts are coming over for dinner.”
“The Stuarts?”
“From church?Surely you remember their son, Robert.”She set the tree on its base and switched it on.The little bulbs on the branches lit up in a dazzling multicolored array.
