Page 5 of A Song in the Dark

The train whined to a stop, and Rick glanced out the window as the conductor came through, announcing the last stop before Holland.

Several people stood and gathered their things, leaving Rick, one family, and a single woman alone in the car.

He stood for a moment, stretching his arms over his head.

The movement felt wonderful, tension easing from his muscles. Only a few more hours to go.

He sat again and looked out the window. The trees were bare, stark against the slate-gray sky.

Families moved across the platform, bundled in warm coats and thick scarves.

He watched one family in particular gather their luggage.

A small boy was nestled in his mother’s arms as a girl, no older than seven, clutched the back of the mother’s coat.

The dad had two shabby carpetbags clenched in his hand, and with a jerk of his head, he directed his family across the wooden planks and into the station.

Were they fleeing Germany? Or were they just one family among many heading home, oblivious to the lies the Nazi Party was feeding them?

The train lurched forward, jerking Rick’s gaze away from the building.

He needed to get out of these morose thoughts.

Dwelling on the Nazi Party wasn’t great for his mental state.

Sure, he was tasked with finding out everything Hitler and his cronies were doing and how to stop them.

But that task peeled back evil after evil.

Rick shoved his hands in his hair. How could he do his job and shield his heart from the horrors of what he uncovered?

It was impossible.

The writing was on the wall, but the Nazis knew how to appease people by tailoring speeches to their audience.

Many were blind to what was really happening as they held out hope for a better future.

A future where Germany was a player on the world stage again.

Though how Hitler planned to accomplish that by leaving the League of Nations was a mystery.

The thought of what it might be like in the future if Hitler had his way caused a chill to race up his spine.

If Rick’s informants were correct, Germans would soon be prisoners in their own land.

Revulsion twisted his stomach. In addition to losing informants, they’d lost too many allies and agents the last three months.

Good men and women trying to save the world from another war.

And a maniac.

Rick’s thoughts drifted to Harold. Was he still alive? Maybe it was better for his friend if he didn’t survive to see his beloved country wither away even further. He winced. Cynicism and dark thoughts like that weren’t helpful either. Time to focus on the job.

Did they have any chance to stop the growing evil before it was too late?

London, England—Tuesday, February 15, 1938

“I know you’re there.” Chaisley lifted her fingers off the F#m7 chord and turned her head toward the entry. Her right foot eased off the sustain pedal and her lips tipped upward.

“You didn’t resolve to the major chord, so I know you know I’m here.

If it were anyone else, you would have finished the melody while inviting them to enter.

But since you know how much I dislike dissonance and unresolved melodies, you like to torture me.

” Melanie, her assistant and dearest friend, chuckled.

Footsteps clicked on the marble floor approaching the piano on the right.

“The day you don’t know I’m here is the day I shall worry that you are ill. Here, hold out your hand.”

Chaisley did and something cool plopped into it. She closed her fingers around it. Paper. An envelope. She moved her thumb. Ah ... two envelopes. “Thank you.”

“The top one is from your grandmother. The other seems to be from a fan. The tour manager sent it over. I already asked Louise to have some tea sent up to your room.”

Melanie’s unmistakable scent of lavender and lemon teased Chaisley’s nose as she turned toward the sound of her friend’s voice. Her shoulders relaxed. That her friend knew her so well and looked after her ... Her eyes burned as she fought back tears. What was wrong with her?

The clock chimed eleven times. Perhaps six hours at her piano this morning perfecting her latest composition was a bit much.

Especially since she hadn’t moved from the bench once in all that time.

One thing about being blind was that her body had its own clock and didn’t worry about when the sun came up or set.

She always asked to be awakened by six each morning, but most days she was up well before that.

It would be heavenly to take a break and relax over her grandmother’s words. “Thank you for arranging tea. I assume the other letter isn’t in braille?” She stood from the bench and clutched the letters to her chest.

“It doesn’t feel as if it is, but I didn’t open it.

” Melanie’s presence grew closer, and she slipped her arm around Chaisley’s shoulders.

“Working on that piece has worn you down—your emotions and exhaustion are clear on your face. But let me assure you, this latest masterpiece of yours is perfect. It moved me to tears, Chais. This tour is going to be your best yet.”

The tour. Her temples began to throb. Melanie was only trying to be encouraging, but each time someone declared this concert or that tour or this appearance was going to be her best .

.. the headache emerged. She puffed out a breath.

No. There was no sense in giving into the pressure.

She had been touted for years as the world’s greatest pianist. This gift was from God, and she would use it to the best of her ability.

All this anxiety was silly. Nerves were normal.

“Chais?” Melanie’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you all right?”

Chaisley nodded, pushing through the pain growing in her head. “I practiced too long today without a break. I think tea and a letter from Grandmother is just what I need to set myself to rights. Would you come get me in an hour if I’m not back down?”

“Of course.” Melanie’s response was hesitant. “It will be time for luncheon by then anyway, and if the other letter isn’t in braille, I’ll read it to you.”

“Thank you.” Before her friend could ask any other questions, Chaisley moved toward the door.

No one could understand what a tour meant for her.

Leaving the safety and comfort of her quiet and orderly home to enter the chaotic world full of people and noise was overwhelming, to say the least. The preparation she had to do for that wasn’t something a person with sight could understand.

As she counted her steps to the door and then to the stairs, the soft notes of C5, E5, and G5 met her ears. The treble C Major chord sounded happy and complete. Exactly what Melanie loved. Even though the G was a touch sharp.

She cringed. Perfect pitch often drove her batty. Every conductor she’d ever worked with had been mesmerized by her ability to hear when any instrument—especially the piano—was out of tune.

Moving up the stairs she listened to Melanie play the arpeggiated chord several times and then all the notes together. Then a C scale. Her friend loved to tinker on the piano. Over the years, Chaisley had offered to teach her, but Melanie always declined.

At the top of the stairs, Chaisley navigated her way down the long hallway to her wing—forty-five steps—then turned left and counted twenty-two steps to her rooms. The cool handle dipped down as she opened the door.

Shutting it behind her, she leaned against it for a moment.

The silence was a balm to her racing thoughts.

Ah... the scent of roses. It was Monday. A new bouquet of two dozen roses was always delivered on Monday from Dr. G. The man was so good to her. He’d picked up the tradition after Father and Mother passed ...

Her lips trembled, the memory washing over her.

Dad loved to give her mum flowers every Monday.

Not for any reason, just because. When Chaisley turned six, he brought her a bouquet as well.

As soon as he found out that roses were her favorite, that’s all he brought her.

Every week. She wiped away a tear and spoke to the empty room.

“I wish you were here. Both of you.” Her voice cracked.

Maybe a good cry would help. Some days the loss of her parents weighed heavier than others.

The clock on her dresser chimed the quarter hour and pulled her out of the melancholy.

No time for a good cry. Melanie would check on her before she knew it, and there was still much to be done.

Grandmother’s letter awaited. She swallowed her tears.

Taking eleven steps forward and one to the right, she kept her hand at a forty-five degree angle out in front of her to find the back of the chair.

Once she was seated, she opened her letter and laid the pages in order from left to right on her desk and put her fingers on the top of the first paper.

Her fingers flew over the dots on the page as she read the braille letter.

My dearest Chaisley,

All is well here, my dearest, other than the bitter cold of winter sending an ache through my bones. But that will be cured as soon as I am able to wrap my arms around you.

I must say thank you once again for agreeing to do the European tour and to spend time here in Holland with me.

The world is a different place since the Great War.

Hurt and suffering seem to envelop everyone.

But you have the chance to spread hope and inspiration to all these people.

In this time of great division and chaos, music can bring unity. I am certain of it.

I have been told that many of your concerts are already sold out of tickets. What wonderful news, although I am not surprised!