One look, and the tears forming in Granddad’s eyes proved he knew exactly what it was. He swallowed, held out his hands. Caleb laid the treasure in his grandfather’s arms. The older manran his fingers over the neck. Then he put the chin rest to his jaw and drew the bow across the strings in a rich, nearly perfect arpeggio.
He glanced up at Caleb and smiled. Actually smiled.
Benny Wilson, rhythm player, echoed the notes, drawing a grin from Granddad.
Wait, what had happened to the guitar that was supposed to be in the case that held the violin? “Hang onto that,” he told Granddad.
Uncle Augo still sat at his table, his gaze never leaving Miss Dahlia as she worked the room while the musicians prepared to play. Caleb made his way toward his uncle and sat next to him. Pointed at his grandfather and whispered in Uncle Augo’s ear. “I just opened my old guitar case—the one I had down here the night Mom and Dad died. Dad’s violin was in there.”
His uncle’s eyes grew wide. “How’d that happen?”
“I hoped you’d have the answer. And know where my guitar went.”
Caleb glanced around the parlor. The musicians had gone silent, and Ariel stood ready to work, a little frown on her brow.
Well, shoot. Now he had to add to her concern by running to his suite to get a guitar. And how would he explain? The truth sounded ridiculous.
Or he could save time by getting Granddad’s old guitar from the fourth-floor attic.
“Ariel, I’ll be right back.” He grabbed the keys and ran up the staircase to the third floor, then opened the door to the attic steps and took them two at a time.
Out of breath after sprinting up three flights of stairs, Caleb slowed his pace and unlocked the door, the west-facing windows filtering the setting sun’s thin, dusty light through equally thin, dusty curtains. A little musty-smelling now, the long, low room looked as though no one had come in since Grandma passed. Itheld boxes, crates, and trunks labeled and arranged in neat rows against flowered-wallpapered walls, an old spinning wheel, a few sturdy-looking cribs, and wooden highchairs.
Ariel would love this room.
He headed for the shelf where he’d last seen the guitar—five years ago, when he’d carried Christmas decorations up here for Grandma.
He found the shelf empty and covered with dust.
Caleb stopped, sat on a wide windowsill. Apparently, Grandma had moved the guitar between Christmas and the following fall, when she’d passed.
So where would a woman with dementia put a guitar she hated?
During her lucid days, Grandma had said she didn’t blame the family that her son and beloved daughter-in-law had given their lives trying to save others. Insisted she didn’t blame God or Caleb or Granddad. Her cheerful demeanor unsettled them at the time.
Until a few years later, when she started to blame the music, although that hadn’t made sense.
If we hadn’t started music nights, my son and daughter-in-law would be alive.
If we hadn’t played carols that night…
If my son had stayed home and run the inn, as he should have, instead of playing music all over the world, he’d still be here.
At that moment, he knew where he’d find Granddad’s old guitar.
He crossed the room and opened the door to the little attic-within-an-attic his grandfather had made by building a wall across the gabled end. He’d used it to store items they wanted to donate to the mainland thrift shop.
Caleb grabbed the wooden knob, opened the door. Touched his phone’s flashlight button.
Sure enough, there the guitar sat, on top of a stack of yellowed tablecloths.
He reached for it, but a picture frame caught his attention. He set the guitar on the main attic’s floor, then lifted out the frame and read the document.
George Washington, President of the United States of America
To all to whom these presents should come, Greeting:
Know ye That, in consideration of military service performed by Elizabeth Jane Kennedy (a civilian Informant for three years for the Continental Army)…there is granted by the said United States to Elizabeth Jane Kennedy a certain tract of land, containing one thousand acres situated on Jonathon Island, Michigan…
