me used to sit together in the pool halls or on the showboats when they were empty. He’d teach me how to play tunes. Of all of us kids, I was the one who was best at picking it up; that’s what Briny said.
The last of the music ends on the phonograph, and the needle scratches.
I find the notes on the piano, just real quiet. I only push the keys a little. It’s not too much work to figure out the music. I like it, so I set the needle back and do a bit more. That part’s tougher, so I have to try harder, but I get it finally.
“Well, bravo!”
I jump up and see Mr. Sevier standing there with one hand on the screen door. He lets go and claps. I scoot off the piano bench and look around for a place to run.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta…” Tears ball up in my throat. What if this makes him mad, and he tells Mrs. Sevier, and they get rid of me before Fern and me can take to the river and go home?
He comes in and lets the screen close. “Don’t worry. You’re not going to hurt the piano. But Victoria was determined we should take the pony cart out while she’s gone. I asked Hoy to hitch it up. I have some people coming to build a little cottage along by the lake—a quiet place for my work when the house is too chaotic. We’ll drive the pony cart down and take a look and then rattle around the property a bit. When we come back, I’ll show you how to…”
He moves a few more steps into the room. “Well, you know what? On second thought, the pony won’t mind waiting. She’s a patient old sort.” Mr. Sevier whirls a hand toward the piano. “Do that again.”
The tears drain down my throat. I swallow what’s left of them as he walks across to the phonograph.
“Here. I’ll reset the needle. How much can you do?”
I shrug. “I dunno. Not much. I gotta listen at it real hard first.”
He lets the record go a little farther than I’ve already tried, but I think real quick and get it mostly right.
“Have you ever played before?” he asks.
“No, sir.” He puts the needle back even farther, and we do it all again. I only get a little bit wrong, just on the new part.
“Impressive,” he says.
It ain’t really, but it feels good to have him say it. At the same time, I wonder, What’s he want? He don’t need me to play the piano. He’s real good at it on his own. He’s better than the phonograph record even.
“Again.” He wheels a hand one more time. “Just from memory.”
I do it, but something’s off.
“Ooops,” he says. “Hear that?”
“Yessir.”
“It’s a sharp; that’s why.” He points to the piano. “I can show you, if you like.”
I nod and turn back to the piano and put my fingers on the keys.
“No, like this.” He bends over from behind me and shows me how to stretch out my hand. “Middle C for the thumb. You’ve got good, slim fingers too. Those are the hands of a piano player.”
They’re Briny’s hands, but Mr. Sevier doesn’t know that.
He touches my fingers, one by one. The keys play the tune. He shows me how to do the sharp I’ve been getting wrong.
“That’s the way,” he says. “Hear the difference?”
I nod. “I do! I hear it!”
“You know where the note goes now?” he asks. “In the melody, I mean.”
“Yessir.”
“All right then.” Before I have time to think about it, he’s sitting down beside me. “You play the melody, and I’ll play the chords. You’ll see the way they come together. That’s how a piece is created, like the one you heard on the record.”
I do what he says, and he plays the keys on his end, and we sound just like the record! I feel the music coming from the piano and slipping through my body. Now I know what it’s like for the birds when they sing.
“Can we play it again?” I ask when we get to the end. “More of it?” I want to do more, and more, and more.
He spins the record and helps me find the right keys, and then we play the music together. He’s laughing when we finish, and I am too.
“We should see about arranging some lessons for you,” he says. “You have a talent.”