The doctor had offered her pills, but they were the kind of pills that once she started taking them, she couldn't stop. She had to wean herself off slowly, and she didn't want to be addicted to anything. Plus, everything that she'd heard from people who had taken the pills said it took the edge off, but it didn't cure anything. If she wanted to be cured, she had to do it herself. The problem was, she didn't know how.
So here she was, hiding out in the only place she knew. Aunt Vivian's Victorian house. She thought maybe the happy memories from her childhood would help with some of the issues, but she had forgotten that so many of those memories revolved around music.
As she got out of her car, she glanced across the street and up just a little bit. Parker's Music Shop, the same as it always had been, sat right there. It's where she had taken her first lessons and had fallen in love with the piano. She was the only one in the family, other than her mom, who played the piano. Everyone else played a stringed instrument. Her cousins had a string quartet that traveled the countryside, playing mostly folk and bluegrass, but also chamber music. They hired out for weddings and such. From what Grace understood, they made a pretty good living.
She was the only one who had gone solely professional, in New York City. She wasn't the only professional musician in her family, but, even if she were being modest, she was the best.
Or had been. Until whatever issue had gripped her mind had made her completely unable to perform.
She couldn't think about the entire month's worth of canceled concerts and accompanist positions. She'd even canceled her student lessons until after the holidays.
She'd hated to do that, but if she was going to leave the city, she hadn't had a choice.
She tightened her jaw, trying not to think about all the things that she'd left behind. The doctor had said that she needed to control her thoughts. She also needed to rest. They had suggested that maybe she had been working too hard, and she knew they were right. She had been working hard.
"Grace! I'm so happy to see you. I'm glad you made it safely."
Her Aunt Vivian stepped out on the porch, her arms spread wide as she hurried toward Grace.
She looked just as happy and cheerful as she always had, maybe a little older, more gray hair, more wrinkles, and perhaps a few morepounds around the waist and hips, but still her Aunt Vivian, still with a spring in her step, still with a love for her niece that made Grace think that this was exactly the right choice, even if some of the memories were going to be hard.
Chapter 4
Noah Parker clicked a few more things on his phone, sent a message to the group chat reminding everyone of the town meeting that evening, and then turned his phone off and set it down on the counter.
He glanced over beside his workbench, where a parade of instruments sat waiting for him to get enough time in his schedule to fix and refurbish them. Only one had an actual owner who was paying him to fix it. The others had been donated or found by himself or other people, for him to fix when he had time.
That wasn't really his first love, but sometimes it did pay the bills. He found that he could sell them online and make decent money as long as he didn't buy them for too much.
A broken instrument wasn't worth a whole lot, so he was usually able to get them at a pretty good price.
He pushed back away from the workbench and shoved his phone in his pocket.
He glanced in the back room, where students came for lessons, and where he had various instruments sitting on shelves for students to rent. He had an agreement with the Mistletoe schooldistrict that he provide instruments for their students at a reasonable cost.
He didn't make a whole lot of money on that either.
He sighed. There didn't seem to be a whole lot of money anywhere in owning a music store, but somehow his parents had made it work. Of course, forty years ago, music was a part of everyone's life, and typically they made that music themselves. Things had changed, everything had gone digital, and a person could play pretty much anything on any instrument from their electronics. Fewer and fewer people were learning to play an actual instrument. He wondered, sometimes, if it was going to be a lost art. After all, what was the point in learning to play an instrument if a person could just imitate the sound on an electronic device and have no need to put in the hours and hours and hours of work that it took.
There was no point in writing new music either, since a computer could do that just as well as a person also.
As was his custom, he went to the front door of his shop, but before he flipped the sign over, he turned around, bowed his head, and knelt down.
Lord God, thank you for this new day you've given me. Thank you for the music shop that my parents started forty years ago. Thank you that it has supported me and allowed me to raise my five siblings after my parents went to be with you.
Help me to be more like Jesus today than I was yesterday, Lord, and help people to see Jesus when they look at me. Bless my business, please, and help me to be a light in the darkness here in Mistletoe Meadows. Amen.
He kept his head bowed for just a few more moments. He never felt like he had enough time to tell God everything he wanted to. But, that was the most important thing, trying to be more like Jesus, so people could look at him and he would point them to the Savior.
That was more important than making sure that his shop remained solvent, more important than following his dreams, or doing what he had always hoped he would be able to do. He'd prettymuch shelved all of those ideas and realized that his life really wasn't about him, it was about Jesus.
He pushed to his feet and turned around, flipping the sign so that it said "Open," and then standing and watching the traffic on the street. He loved this town, loved living in Mistletoe Meadows, loved being in charge of the Christmas festival, and loved that he had been able to keep his family together after his parents had died. Unfortunately, now that he had raised his siblings, and the last one had graduated from college, his job was over.
He went back to the counter where the cash register was and opened the drawer to get the cash box out.
His hand brushed a newspaper clipping that was old and yellowed with time. He stopped for a moment and stared at it. The title of the article was "Local Teen Wins State Competition," and underneath, the article ran down the side of a picture of him with his violin.
Funny that that article had managed to stay in this drawer all of those years. With the kids running in and out, and him working every day, taking the cashbox in and out.
