“That room filled with anger. The family took sides, with everybody mad at everybody else. A half hour later, the news came that my parents had fallen through the ice.” His throat suddenly dry, he lifted his mug, wanting a long, hot drink but getting a mouthful of tepid brew he’d rather spit out. “Worst day of my life.”
Somehow, telling the story both drained him and freed him.
“And your grandparents couldn’t bear to enter the place where they saw your father for the last time,” Ariel whispered.
The waitress must have sensed his need, because she brought him a fresh cup, already creamed. Without a word, she set it in front of him.
Caleb thanked her with a nod. The silence that followed felt God-sent, healing. Comforting, as Ariel’s warm, gentle hand squeezing his somehow carried a balm he’d searched for the past twelve years.
Caleb’s sad story, the nostalgia of her favorite childhood haunt, and the tension leaving his eyes all conspired to tug at Ariel’s heart. It also inspired her to do all she could to help him with the inn as she’d promised and to revamp the band.
And the song Earl gave her late last night—the lead sheet she’d stowed in her guitar case after reading it this morning—could either raise the band to new heights or take it down.
But for now, Caleb’s situation held equal urgency. As his decorating consultant, or whatever they wanted to call her, she focused on the vision that had begun to form in her mind.
“I was in the parlor once, when I was ten. I remember a gorgeous grand piano, antique furniture, built-in bookcases, the ancient wooden mantel above a huge brick fireplace.”
“Sounds accurate.”
“What if we could bring life back to the parlor? To that whole wing? Redeem its past.” She could all but see the parlor filled with family and friends who loved music.
He gave her an adorable smirk. “I’d have to break down the door, and I’d rather not.”
She couldn’t help grinning back at him. “What if we found the key and took a look around? Figured out a way to use the room to bless people instead of keeping it as an abandoned shrine to words everyone regrets?”
“My grandfather would have another stroke.”
“Not if we did it the right way.” Ariel accepted the refill the waitress offered. Its heat warmed her cold hands, and she waited for it to cool before tasting her sweet milk. “We’d have to use our secret weapons.”
Caleb took another long swig of his coffee. “What weapons?”
Ariel ticked them off on her fingers. “My aunt and your uncle.”
She couldn’t quite read his expression. Hopeful? Doubtful? A little of both?
“I see where you’re going. Miss Dahlia could convince a man to jump into Lake Huron and swim to Chicago. And even though Granddad is older, he looks up to Uncle Augo, since he’s a retired pastor.”
“Mr. Augo was a pastor?”
“Right here at Little Stone Bible Church, next door to Island House. In those days, the inn was like an extension of the church building, with people coming and going to see him all the time. Since the parlor was bigger and more comfortable than the church facilities, they often gathered there for meetings, Bible studies, women’s groups—all kinds of activities.”
He turned to the window, seeming to search for something—probably the two topics of their conversation sailing by the island, oblivious to the rest of the world. “It was like a community center, with residents coming and going every day. When my parents died, so did that room.”
“And the drama left everyone filled with regret.”
“That’s why Uncle Augo left the pastorate and moved away for a while.”
“Because of grief?”
“Nope.” Caleb pulled in a deep breath and puffed it out. Met her eyes. “Since my family kept pulling me in three directions in those days, the argument quickly escalated into an all-out shouting war that involved a lot of words unfit for a Jesus-follower to use, let alone a preacher. Or a deacon, as Granddad was at the time.”
“A shouting match with relatives doesn’t seem like a good reason to give up the ministry.”
“Maybe not, if no one else had been around. But as long as I remember, Mom believed the Christmas season started at sundown on the day after Thanksgiving, so she always invited the whole town over to sing and play carols on that night. That’s when we had the feud.”
Oh, it had ended worse than she’d imagined. “Which meant the entire church and a lot of your friends witnessed your family basically breaking down. So your uncle thought he’d failed the people he was supposed to shepherd.”
“Right. They didn’t ask him to step down, but he did, and he moved away and went back to the music industry. Not everybody can play upright bass, and he worked for big record labels that produce jazz, including Blue Note Records, Columbia, and Verve Records.”
