Authors: D. P. Macbeth
“Everything will be all right.”
Les shuddered, “I can't.”
“I'm with you. We'll go in together.”
“Nicky died in there. I can't. I just can't.” Her eyes moistened.
“It's not your fault.”
“Please don't make me do this.”
“I came back to find you. I had to know if you still loved me.”
“I do, but I can't do this.”
“We're starting over, you and me. I promise we'll never be apart again.”
She didn't move. Her cheeks glistened wet. “Not here, Jimmy, please. I'll go anywhere with you. Not here, no.”
“Les, you won't be free. I won't be free. Not until you let him go.”
“I killed him.”
“You loved him, Les. You didn't kill him. You gave him your heart. It's time to take it back.” He reached for the binder. “We'll play these songs together, as many as you like. Then we'll leave and you never have to come back.”
She turned her eyes to the entrance again. Jimmy got out of the car and came around to open her door. He held out his hand. For a long thirty seconds she didn't move, but finally, she looked at him, helpless and afraid.
“I love you, Les. Do this so we can both be free.”
She walked in halting steps up the stairs, through the doors and down the hall. Jimmy had his arm around her shoulders. Her body was so tight and stiff that he wondered how she was able to move. All was quiet. The nuns were in prayer and the evening staff was in another part of the building, supervising the nightly routine before lights out. Jimmy thanked the stars. They had the place to themselves.
At the entrance to the music room Les clutched his hand, holding it tight in both of her's as he led her to the baby grand. They sat down and he placed the binder on the music stand above the keys. He opened it to a random selection, one of the hundreds penned with love so many years before. Jimmy pressed down, summoning sound from the first key. He looked at Les. She lifted her hands and studied the song. Then she ignored the binder and began to play. Jimmy tried to follow along, but he couldn't read the notes as quickly as her hands flew over the keys. He was lost, but Les seemed to know where to go, flawlessly bringing one of Nathan Whitehurst's brilliant creations to life, one that had not been heard for many years.
She played song after song, each one different, each one beautiful and each one inviting Jimmy to close as his eyes and visualize the man who created them. Her eyes closed as well, as if in a dream, until an hour passed and her hands came to rest on the keys. She opened her eyes and looked down at them in surprise. Jimmy, the wonderful music still filling his imagination, put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight.
“You played his songs from memory.” He opened the binder and flipped through the songs. “Here, you just finished playing this one.”
She placed her hands in her lap and dropped her chin. A teardrop fell. Jimmy watched, another teardrop and then another. His heart sank. It was a mistake. He had to take her away. He reached for the binder, but she caught his hand in mid-air. She brought it to her cheek.
“You won't leave me? We won't ever be apart again?”
“No, Les, never,” he whispered.
“Because I couldn't bear it.”
He brushed his lips across her forehead. “We'll be together always.”
The door swung open. Jimmy turned to see Sister Marie standing just inside. She came forward, cane in hand. He jumped up and went to her, but she didn't stop as she made her way to Les, sitting motionless with tears streaming down her cheeks. The nun dropped her cane and lifted Les from the piano bench. They came into each other's arms, both women crying softly as their reunion overwhelmed constraint. Jimmy reached down
for the cane, anxious for something to do and embarrassed to be in the room where his presence might interrupt. Sister Marie caught his eye and smiled gratefully through her tears.
As the two women embraced, Jimmy took the binder from the piano stand. He looked at the last song Les had played. It was one of the few with words. He read the final stanza:
Because you turned me to the angel
In my midst
Beaming with contentment, that was our Jimmy. It was just like those summers when his music thrilled us through the windows at Skip's. His bride did that for him. Peggy and I got a little misty during the wedding ceremony. She loved him. I loved him. Not romantic love. Oh no! We weren't teenagers anymore. Our bond was the carefree time we shared together in Vermont. For one glorious weekend we were carefree again
.
- Alice Limoges
Milton Lawrence, the hard working president of Saint Virgil's College, paced nervously in the Office of Student Affairs. The other leaders of the small school were all assembled along with the Mayor of the tiny Vermont town over which the college's beautiful campus presided. In the center of the large office, a model depicting Wilder Auditorium sat on a table, but it didn't look exactly like the current building that stood across the Quadrangle that Friday morning. This replica featured an addition almost as large as the main building. A placard read:
Royce School of Music
In precisely five minutes, ten a.m. to be exact, Saint Virgil's most famous graduate would be escorted into the office for a quiet ceremony marking the biggest financial gift the college had ever received. Lawrence checked his watch. It should be a bigger event. Six million dollars was a lot of money, but Jim Buckman, the singer/songwriter and winner of four Grammy Awards, requested something small. No reporters, no fanfare and definitely no tribute to him. The large sum had already been wired to Saint Virgil's general fund. The Vice President for Institutional Giving carried large cardboard versions of three checks, representing two million each under her arm. She would hold them for pictures later.
The Royce addition, including the finest equipment money could buy, would cost two million. Another two million was to go into an endowment for salaries. The Academic Dean was already interviewing the best instructors he could find. The new department head would arrive from Boston in a week. He sent his regrets, something about a concert. Not a good start. When you owe your new position to the man who was about to arrive, you should be there in person to introduce yourself. Lawrence made a mental note to look into the matter. The school would attract the brightest music students in the northeast. And, for those young people who lacked the financial means? Well, that obstacle could be overcome. A scholarship fund comprised the final two million.
Jimmy stepped from the car and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He looked around, spotting the Catholic chapel where he and Les would take their vows the next day. The roof of Wilder Auditorium was visible just beyond across the Quadrangle. The administrative building was at the other end. The reserved spaces for each of the college's officers were filled. Let's make this quick, he thought to himself, although he was keen to see what the addition, named for his college roommate, would look like. He never asked for details. The school had a right to make its own decisions. He walked.
The others who should have been with him were absent. The Royce family from Massena, New York never replied to the invitation sent in the personal hand of the college president. Jimmy tried to reach them, too. His calls went unreturned. Despite the years, Kevin's untimely death must still be a bitter memory. Jimmy's mother and father were gone. There was no one else. Perhaps Ginger, Kevin's pregnant girlfriend who came
with his father to collect his belongings. He even considered trying to contact her. But, no, that didn't seem right. She'd have moved on.
Milton Lawrence was thinking the same thoughts. It was unusual to name a building for a student who never graduated. The Royce boy's death was a tragedy, but he checked the records, he would have flunked out at the end of his only year at the school. His short matriculation was unremarkable. Buckman was a better student, but few of those who had him in class remembered him well. Nevertheless, it was the average ones who often fooled the experts. Six million dollars, a new music school and a huge scholarship fund, Milton Lawrence smiled with satisfaction.
The star entered the office. Fourteen officers and department heads approached in a group led by the college president. Introductions were made amidst handshakes all around. “Jim, so good to see you again. Do you remember me from English 201?” David Riley headed the Theater Arts Department. Jimmy remembered. He tried out for one of Riley's student productions. He got a bit part with no lines, the same as most of Saint Virgil's students. Riley preferred more experienced actors, non-students he recruited from Burlington and other parts of the state, and his wife June, of course. She always got a leading role. “Hello, Jim.” Frank Justice head of the Department of Philosophy and a notoriously hard marker. Jimmy missed the Dean's List twice because of Cs in his class.
Milton Lawrence signaled for the champagne. The toast was well rehearsed and carried off without a hitch to clapping and the flash of the PR Director's camera. The architect did a fifteen-minute monologue describing the Royce addition. Jimmy was impressed. Kevin would have approved. More pictures with the placards representing two million each. It was over in an hour. Milton Lawrence walked him to his car.
“I hope you will come back as often as you can. Maybe you could spend time with some of the students your generosity will attract.”
“I'd like that. One more request?”
“Anything. What is it?”
“If people mistakenly link the new addition or the scholarship fund to me, would you personally make sure to correct them? Kevin Royce was a brilliant student of music. He made this gift possible.”
Milton Lawrence flashed a sincere smile. “You can count on it.”
He started the car. Lot's to do, but not this afternoon. Later, at Skip's then tomorrow back to Saint Virgil's College for his wedding. The brand new Saab convertible felt wonderful. He took the rural roads to Burlington, top down with the radio blaring. For a few hours he was free. He approached a curve at the base of a steep rise and downshifted into third gear. The turbo-charged engine responded, ready to apply more torque. He pressed the accelerator and flew out of the turn. Then he pressed harder and the car climbed effortlessly as it topped the hill. Down to fourth then up to fifth. A minute later the road invited him to do it again. Heaven.
He parked a block away from the Church Street mall. The midday crowds were out walking the cobblestones, offices emptied for a one-hour repast. He knew the beautiful day meant that the sidewalk cafes would be filled with customers, Burlington at its summertime best.
Les was with her parents at the Inn on Lake Willoughby. Well, no, her father was probably alone. Mother and daughter were off somewhere with Cindy, Peg and the other women, readying for tomorrow's ceremony. Everyone was supposed to stay at Holland
Manor, still operating despite the death of Skip's mother, Tillie Holland, a year after Jimmy departed for Passim. It was nicer now, not really a boarding house like it was when Jimmy lived there for two summers. It was completely made over into an elegant Bed & Breakfast. Skip had the âMidas Touch'. After Tillie died, he threw money at the old place. It was packed three seasons a year. âMud season', which is what Vermonters know as spring, it was closed. The best room had been reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, but when Lake Willoughby came into view her father said, “Stop. I'm staying here!” Jimmy couldn't blame him.
He turned the corner. This was the first time he'd been back home since leaving for Australia six months before. With Les' therapy and the project with Nathan Whitehurst's music, he didn't have the time. Besides, he wasn't needed back in Millburn. Nigel took his songs and turned them into his second album, another smash hit, zeroing in on triple platinum just like
Yarra
. Kate did the same with the three songs he wrote for her. Together, with the other artists, especially MacGregor, Sonny and the Riland Brothers, Blossom's hit machine was operating at full capacity, much of it due to Jim Buckman's creations.
Les was her old self. There was love and there was bonded love. Sister Marie knew the difference. The former enabled the orphanage to teach and care for the wounded children who came under its tutelage. To give the boys the skills to one day make it on their own. To let them go. The latter trapped the emotions. The mother child bond that a blood relationship or adoption permitted to last a lifetime. That wasn't the mission of an orphanage. âGuard your heart.' Les neglected to do that with Nicky. Now, she understood. The Melbourne psychologist helped her see the problem. She was ready to return to the helm at Saint Malachy's. Something she was scheduled to do after the honeymoon. And, Sister Marie's motherly love for Nigel? Well, that would remain a secret between Jim and the nun.
Church Street bustled with prospective UVM students getting to know the small city after touring the campus. Lake Champlain shimmered blue over his shoulder. Did Kevin's spirit hover above the water? Illa's tale made an impression. There it was up ahead, his quest, the second floor, empty Poor Richard's Pub. A new sign hung in the window, Lorenz and Sons, Accountants. He stood in the middle of the mall, staring up at the sign.
“It's not there anymore!” A familiar voice shouted somewhere from behind. Jimmy looked around, searching. “Over here!” Jeff Hines pushed his chair back and started to rise from a café table, waving. Jimmy crossed quickly. They shook hands. “I thought it was you.” Hines sat down and gestured for Jimmy to join him. He folded the newspaper he was reading. Jimmy caught the banner, âVermont Catholic Tribune'.
“The pub is gone?”
“My sister's building, remember? She found a new tenant.”