Page 103 of And Still Her Voice
“Her name is Phoebe Anna Le—” Tom answered for me, as if I were a child. I was getting annoyed. I’m a grown-ass woman for God’s sake—with a child on the way.
“It was,” I said. I changed my name long ago. “Phoebe was my grandmother’s name. I go by my middle name, Anna, and this is my husband, Thomas.”
“My name is Roy Jones. But everybody calls me Roy. My wife Judy and I bought the place years ago. “I’m so sorry about your family. Such a tragedy.”
“Yeah, well I’d say the real tragedy was how he took the family for all it’s worth,” Grandma whispered. Mom told me how he stole the house out from underneath us. I’d been used to losing things all of my life, but I often wondered how he was able to steal our house.
Roy appeared to be nice enough though, like a law-abiding citizen and a decent Christian. I looked into his eyes. He seemed sincere.
“Yes, it wastragic.” I emphasized the word, peering at Roy just to let him know I was onto him and his evil ways. I knew what he did, except, I didn’t just yet.
“Are there really ghosts?” Tommy asked and the music seemed to grow louder.
Roy chuckled. “Well, if there are, they’re friendly enough. We love it here.”
I couldn’t help but choke back tears. Despite everything that was wrong about the place, it had been a magical place to grow up. Only later had I learned how the place lost its charm.
“Say, would you like to come in and take a look around,” Roy asked, too eagerly. “Judy is off at her Bible study, so I’ve got this time on my hands and you know what they say about idle hands?”
“They steal from innocent families?”Grandma said and I saw red.
“Pardon me?” Roy said.
“Stop!”
Tommy clicked off the engine, the keys already rattling in his hand. I heard piano music coming from inside the house. Beethoven’sPastoral.
And when the music didn’t lure me in, Grandma nudged in yellow. “Darling, it will be all right.”
“Of course it will,” Tommy said and ran around to help me out of the car.
“Who’s playing the piano?” I asked, hobbling up the walkway.
Roy turned, peering at me. “What piano?”
I entered the room and my whole childhood flooded back.
Heading toward the living room, my fingers tingled as an unanticipated joy washed over me. I couldn’t wait to see her again. But when we got to what used to be the chamber room in the back part of the house where it overlooked the creek, I gasped, chills waltzing up my arms. “Where’s Cleopatra?”
“Who?” Mr. Jones asked.
“The piano.” My legs buckled and Tom cradled my elbow to hold me up.
“You okay? Here,” Mr. Jones offered, pulling out one of the chairs from the dining set that used to be on the other side of the house. “I’ll go get you some water.”
Sitting down, I clutched the sides of the chair, the mohair tickling the backs of my thighs, and I remember how much I hated this scratchy sensation as a girl like a sunburn. Mr. Jones came back with a glass of water.
“Thank you.” I took a sip. “This used to be the piano room,” I said, pointing. “The dining room used to be over there, off the foyer.”
“Yes, but with no piano—it was a nine-foot Steinway you know, very valuable,” Mr. Jones said with a grin. “It was supposed to come with the house when we bought it.” He’s still beaming, exposing a set of straight ivory teeth. “You wouldn’t by any chance know what happened to it—the piano? It was worth more than the house.”
He closed the lid on his smile as I shook my head. “I have no idea.”
“Anyway, what’s a chamber room with no piano?” he said. “So, we turned it into the dining room. Other than that, we really haven’t changed a thing.”
“Oh.” I swear I heard the music. Or was I merely remembering it. My fingers tingled.
“Feeling better, honey?” Tommy asked.
