be going….”
“I’m sure Mrs. Brisbee understands your need to have your Saturday afternoon card games. She’s always struck me as a reasonable woman.”
Angel saw the look of hesitancy in his eyes, replaced as quickly with sharp recognition. “Of course,” he said, ushering her to sit. “How can I be of service?”
“It has come to my attention there’s a new piano teacher in town,” she began. Noting his resigned expression, she offered him a sweet smile.
***
Burt Montgomery, known better as the “piano man” had become a regular to the Sweet Magnolia on Sunday afternoons, and as it happened, Mr. Brisbee’s card games on Saturday afternoons remained a pleasant occasion. Everyone was happy, especially Angel. From the moment they met, she had felt a kinship to Burt. Polished more than most folks in Deadwater, he appeared dapper in a gray flannel suit, his silvery hair brushed back over his ears and a black bowler on his head. But it was his eyes, soft and blue, that drew Angel to him. They sparkled with kindness, making her believe somehow he could see inside her heart.
“You play as though you carry the music inside you,” he remarked one day as they sat side by side at the piano. He had an odd, refined accent, indicative of his training, perhaps, but comforting in tone, which resonated with Angel in a fatherly way.
It was true. She was happiest when seated in front of the old upright. She sailed through her scales, playing them as he’d taught her—first one hand, and then with two.
“Miss Lillian said I had an ear for it.” Angel smiled at the memory. “She taught me a few chords to her favorite songs, but one day I would love to play as well as she did.” She rolled her fingers over the worn ivory keys.
He shrugged. “Miss Lillian was right. However, the spirit which thrives inside each of us is different, Angel. You must allow the music within you to emerge. Go ahead. Close your eyes. Let all that excites you or sparks your dreams carry you to a place where only your heart can hear.”
She stared at her hands moving effortlessly over the keys, and though the notes she played were rudimentary, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine greater, seeing a grand opera house filled with people who’d come to hear her play. She sat in a grand ball gown with yards of fabric flowing behind her, and in her upswept hair, a white magnolia perched over one ear.
“Listen carefully, feel the music, let it become a part of you… of your dreams.
Set it free, dare to risk all you know—for all that can be.”
His voice tapped into her thoughts, fueling her fantasy, touching the desire she held deep inside, the happiness she wouldn’t dare to believe in. Her body burned, the melody wrapping around her, transporting her senses, freeing her.
Anticipation rushed through her, and her fingers tingled. An energy fueled by her greatest desires lifted her higher. It guided her seductively through the dark abyss, pulling her beyond reality. In the distant corners of her mind, she heard Burt’s guidance. “Find your heart, Angel. Find Billy.”
***
His voice blended with the notes playing in her head and suddenly she saw a beam of light poised over a dark stage. A person dressed in white sat before the most magnificent piano she’d ever seen. And while it was the song she’d been playing, it was no longer her at the piano and then like thunder rolling over the desert valley, applause erupted around her, drowning out all other sound.
As though hungover from whiskey shots, Angel forced her eyes open and squinted into the semi-darkness.
“Sing us the song—”
She shifted in her seat, becoming slowly aware of others around her. Where is Burt? Where am I? Her vision blurred and with thoughts not much clearer, she blinked and narrowed her focus, drawn to a steady stream of light shining down on a man seated at a piano. She was no longer in the Magnolia but in a room larger than the
“I’m sure Mrs. Brisbee understands your need to have your Saturday afternoon card games. She’s always struck me as a reasonable woman.”
Angel saw the look of hesitancy in his eyes, replaced as quickly with sharp recognition. “Of course,” he said, ushering her to sit. “How can I be of service?”
“It has come to my attention there’s a new piano teacher in town,” she began. Noting his resigned expression, she offered him a sweet smile.
***
Burt Montgomery, known better as the “piano man” had become a regular to the Sweet Magnolia on Sunday afternoons, and as it happened, Mr. Brisbee’s card games on Saturday afternoons remained a pleasant occasion. Everyone was happy, especially Angel. From the moment they met, she had felt a kinship to Burt. Polished more than most folks in Deadwater, he appeared dapper in a gray flannel suit, his silvery hair brushed back over his ears and a black bowler on his head. But it was his eyes, soft and blue, that drew Angel to him. They sparkled with kindness, making her believe somehow he could see inside her heart.
“You play as though you carry the music inside you,” he remarked one day as they sat side by side at the piano. He had an odd, refined accent, indicative of his training, perhaps, but comforting in tone, which resonated with Angel in a fatherly way.
It was true. She was happiest when seated in front of the old upright. She sailed through her scales, playing them as he’d taught her—first one hand, and then with two.
“Miss Lillian said I had an ear for it.” Angel smiled at the memory. “She taught me a few chords to her favorite songs, but one day I would love to play as well as she did.” She rolled her fingers over the worn ivory keys.
He shrugged. “Miss Lillian was right. However, the spirit which thrives inside each of us is different, Angel. You must allow the music within you to emerge. Go ahead. Close your eyes. Let all that excites you or sparks your dreams carry you to a place where only your heart can hear.”
She stared at her hands moving effortlessly over the keys, and though the notes she played were rudimentary, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine greater, seeing a grand opera house filled with people who’d come to hear her play. She sat in a grand ball gown with yards of fabric flowing behind her, and in her upswept hair, a white magnolia perched over one ear.
“Listen carefully, feel the music, let it become a part of you… of your dreams.
Set it free, dare to risk all you know—for all that can be.”
His voice tapped into her thoughts, fueling her fantasy, touching the desire she held deep inside, the happiness she wouldn’t dare to believe in. Her body burned, the melody wrapping around her, transporting her senses, freeing her.
Anticipation rushed through her, and her fingers tingled. An energy fueled by her greatest desires lifted her higher. It guided her seductively through the dark abyss, pulling her beyond reality. In the distant corners of her mind, she heard Burt’s guidance. “Find your heart, Angel. Find Billy.”
***
His voice blended with the notes playing in her head and suddenly she saw a beam of light poised over a dark stage. A person dressed in white sat before the most magnificent piano she’d ever seen. And while it was the song she’d been playing, it was no longer her at the piano and then like thunder rolling over the desert valley, applause erupted around her, drowning out all other sound.
As though hungover from whiskey shots, Angel forced her eyes open and squinted into the semi-darkness.
“Sing us the song—”
She shifted in her seat, becoming slowly aware of others around her. Where is Burt? Where am I? Her vision blurred and with thoughts not much clearer, she blinked and narrowed her focus, drawn to a steady stream of light shining down on a man seated at a piano. She was no longer in the Magnolia but in a room larger than the
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