Rain Shadow (29 page)

“Really?”

“You should do what makes you happy, Taylor, whatever it is.”

The words felt like a blessing—one late in coming, but cherished just the same.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Talk to you next week when you’re back at the office, okay?”

A brisk efficiency obliterated the emotion between them. Taylor
knew the office—and related career—was a conversation they’d be returning
to. Soon. Something had to change.

“Okay. Bye, Mom.”

Clicking the phone shut Taylor continued to feast her eyes on the wooden majesty of the instrument. She thought of her mother’s words
:
Do what makes you happy
.
Real estate did not make her happy and she doubted it ever would. What made her happy was a simple barista job, music, and riding a beautiful grey mare. Giving words to the pain of the past on a terrible nigh
t
ha
d
created something inside her, but it wasn’t what she’d expected. Instead of devastation, a tiny flame of hope flickered within. The flame said she was worthy of love, forgiveness, and a new beginning. 

Taylor hobbled to the piano and lifted the cover on the keys. She’d love to learn to play it like Jacob did, caressing a melody from compliant black and white keys. But there was another sort of music the piano could create. She touched a key and listened to the tone reverberate in the small space—the opening note to a new beginning. She had never felt so certain of the move she needed to make next.



Chapter 39

“Y

ou say this is an antique?”

“Yes, it was built in 1892. I have the original sales slip.”

The pencil-thin man in black slacks and loafers looked at her quickly and smoothed down wiry sprigs of greying hair. “That’s hard to believe.”

Taylor shrugged, “Believe it. This piano has been cherished like a human being. I have a folder of records on it: restoration information, tuning over the years, the original sales receipt. It’s appreciated quite a bit since that purchase.”

“Hmm.”

Mr. Simms, of Simms Piano and Music Studio, walked slowly around the instrument, considering it from every angle. He paused and crossed his arms.

“It’s a beauty. And the carving is unusual. But the market is narrow for this sort of thing. Only a collector would give you top dollar.”

Taylor wanted to roll her eyes. What did this guy think? That she was born yesterday? He’d been unable to hide his surprise at finding a piano of such quality in a small cottage tucked away in
Redneckville. She’d recognized the love in his slender musician fingers the moment they brushed the ivory keys and examined the interior of the instrument. He was trying to play it cool, but it was obvious this man either wanted the piano for himself or knew someone who did. She wasn’t about to let him swindle her out of the full value. 

“I love this piano, Mr. Simms. I will not sell it for less than the appraised
price of $17,000.”

“I don’t kno
w
wh
o
would appraise it for such a price. I can’t give you more than $15,000.”

“
LervicksPianos in Seattle gave the appraisal.” Taylor waited for Mr. Simms to make eye contact. “They told me there is a standing offer of $17,000 on this piano, should I ever want to sell. For an extra $500 I’l
l
le
t
you buy it instead.”

“That’s an outrageous price!”

“Then don’t buy it.” Taylor looked at him calmly. “I wanted to keep the piano local, for sentimental reasons. That’s the only reason I called your store.”

She watched Simms walk unhappily up and down her small living room. He appeared to be losing an intense battle with his desires.

“Should I leave you for few minutes so you can play some more?”

The man nodded, relieved to have extra time to struggle with his decision.
He  sat down on the bench and without a sheet of music put on an extraordinary 15 minute concert while Taylor listened outside. It very nearly made her change her mind. When he was finished, he pressed a check in her hand.

“I’ll make arrangements to pick up the piano tomorrow.”

With check in hand, Taylor was ready to make the next move. Easing herself onto the futon, she punched Melissa’s number.

~ ~~

“There is no way I can take that kind of money from you,” Melissa’s blue eyes looked like marbles as she peered at the face of the $17,500 check. “No way.”

Taylor looked around the studio apartment Melissa had once shared with Peter. Books on pregnancy and adoption where stacked on the table next to a bag of fresh roasted coffee beans.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Melissa picked up the coffee beans and inhaled the roasty
aroma that leaked out, “my life isn’t your problem.”

“Uh, excuse me! You insisted the adoptive parents name the baby after me; I thought I was part of this whole process.”

“You are. I’m just worried,” Melissa fidgeted in her seat and looked away, “that you feel like you have to make up for something. You know … ” Her eyes glistened.

“Atone for my own choice by helping you with yours?” Taylor’s voice was soft.

“Yeah,” Melissa looked down. “I feel bad for asking for your help during this pregnancy. I had no idea … ”

Taylor leaned over and squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “I know, but know what? You made me face it and it helped me begin to heal. You don’t have to be afrai
d
for
me … like I might freak out or something. I’ll still get sad, but I need to talk about it. I can see that now. I only have one stipulation on the money: you have to use it to buy a coffee stand and you must hire me as barista.”

Melissa squealed, “No way! What about real estate?”

“I’m quitting. Can’t take the crap coffee everyday.”

“Woo
hoo!”

Melissa eased her swollen belly from behind the table and held out her arm. Taylor took it and limped along with her as they danced around the small room. Afterward, they sat down to discuss strategy.

“Now, I know Steve got another buyer for Holy Grounds, but maybe there’s some way to approach the owner before the existing offer deadline.” Taylor bit the end of a pencil while she thought. “We could offer full price and maybe squeeze Steve out.”

Unlikely, but possible.

Taylor felt defeated even with the fat check sitting on the table between
them. Melissa didn’t seem to notice.

“I could care less what he thinks or does cause guess what?” She clasped her hands together.

Taylor stared at her friend.

“I found out I’m eligible for a special grant. I go
t
al
l
the goods, baby.” Her eyes sparkled.

“What goods?”

“I’m one quarter Native American. And a woman, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Melissa giggled, then sighed. “I knew my dad would be good for something one day.”

“So you can get a loan?”

“Yep, I’m a minority. And with your check as down payment we can buy a great coffee stand. It doesn’t have to be Holy Grounds.” Melissa grabbed Taylor’s hand across the table and squeezed it. “We’ll be partners.”

Life was strange. When dreams were shattered and the future seemed hopeless, a second chance could bloom like a dandelion in summer—persistent and irrepressible. Taylor thought of her lonely dialogue with God as Rain rested in surrender in the middle of the bog. She’d gotten it all wrong. God didn’t wait to pounce, stern-faced and unyielding, from the shadows of a confessional. He offered a field of dandelions.



Chapter 40

T

aylor sat up and swung her bandaged ankle off the couch. “Who could be here?”

Melissa continued to chop vegetables, but Liz turned around and jerked her head toward the door. She raised one eyebrow, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.“You better find out.”

Taylor heard whispered murmurings behind her and a soft chuckle as she hobbled toward the door and opened it.

Jacob stood on the small porch, a bouquet of wild flowers in one hand.
Kreed whined at his side, black tail waving. He looked down at her for a long moment, his hazel eyes intense, and drew her to himself without a word. Taylor laid her head on his shoulder and a sob caught in her throat as she spoke into the faded material of his denim shirt. 

“There’s so much I need to tell you.”

“I know.”

Jacob cupped his hand around the back of her head and pressed it into his chest, his fingers catching in the long strands of Taylor’s hair. If not for the electricity between them she would have felt like a child.

“You’re okay; that’s all that matters now.” He spoke into her hair and she shivered from the warmth of his breath. She could have disappeared into the safety of his arms forever had a husky voice not interrupted.

“Ah, hello! Dinner’s ready you love birds.”

Jacob released Taylor and they turned to acknowledge Melissa who stood with one hand on what was left of her waist, a mound of pregnant stomach swelling beyond her finger tips.

“Nice to see you
,
Dr. Wilso
n
.” 

“I told you not to call me that.” Jacob wagged a finger at her.

“I’m not good at doing what I’m told. Now sit down and enjoy a feast.”

As they ate and chatted about babies, coffee, and horses, Taylor looked from the twitching eyes of Liz, to the pierced brows of Melissa, to the stubble sprouting on Jacob’s chin. In some strange way they had become a family.  Even as her ankle began to throb in earnest, Taylor relaxed into a feeling of well-being like she had never known. The pain of the past was slowly releasing. It flowed into the present and mixed with the incredible sweetness that existed there.

“Hey guys, I gotta go lay down.”

“Let me get you some more drugs.” Melissa frowned and pushed back her chair.

“No, no,” Taylor raised her hand, “I want to feel everything right now. You all go ahead and finish.”

She lay on the couch, pain pulsing through her leg, and pondered the curious new feelings of congruency in her life. Outside the day faded. Shafts of light slanted through a window, illuminating particles in the air until they glittered like fairy dust. Across the room
Kreed dozed on the floor, his body stretched out nearly six feet in length. He lifted his head, eyes looking deep into hers, and thumped his tail in agreement.

Taylor looked at the place where the piano had stood. Indentations still marked the carpet from the instrument’s tremendous weight. She listened to Jacob hum a familiar tune from the kitchen as he helped clear the table, the song’s lyrics penetrating her heart:

Through many dangers toils and snares

I have already come,

Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,

and
grace will lead me home.

The piano was gone but the music remained, deeper and richer, a new song of redeeming love.

The End

Acknowledgments

Many people ultimately contributed to this story, some unknowingly. I would like to formally acknowledge the following, with deepest gratitude: My parents, Dan and Sheryl Bettle, true bibliophiles who instilled in me a great respect for the power of words and laid the foundations of my writing life long before it became a dream. I am especially thankful for my father’s valuable contributions to editing and natural ear for language. To Ruth Harms, your keen eye and feedback on the early manu
script was a great blessing. Leigh Shambo
, your wise insight into both horse and human nature and commitment
to honor everyone, regardless of mental or emotional handicap, remains
an inspiration to me. To Karen Bacon, who wore many hats in the process
of creating this book—editor, reader, designer, and encouraging friend. I could not have finished this without you.

I am thankful to the following people for supplying key details,
allowing my use of their work, and/or general support: Joe Wilkinson
, Emily Green, Kim Meeder, David Young, Helena Cavan, Sage Hollins, BJ Taylor, Julie Garmon, SibellaGiorello, CJ Darlington, and Karen
Pickering, publisher of th
e
Northwest Horse Sourc
e
. I am also forever indebted
to m
y
Guideposts Magazin
e
family, especially editor’s Jim
McDermott, Rick Hamlin, Amy Wong, and Edward Grinnan. Thank
you for seeing the heart behind those first clumsy sentences and shaping
me into a writer.