On the other hand, the eventual change in seasons forced Gregg to think about something he’d rather not think about—the Easter production he’d just agreed to do with the children.
At once, his attitude shifted. While Gregg wanted to go along with Dave’s idea of reaching out to the community, the suggestion of putting on three to four musical performances a year with the children concerned him. First, he didn’t want to take that much time away from the adult choir. Those singers needed him. Second, he didn’t work as well with kids as some people thought he did. In fact, he wasn’t great with kids. . .at all.
“It’s not that I don’t like children,” he said to himself. “They’re just. . .different.”
The ones he’d worked with in the Christmas play were rowdy, and they didn’t always pay attention. And, unlike his adult choir members, the kids didn’t harmonize very well, no matter how hard he worked with them. In fact, one or two of the boys couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Why their parents had insisted they participate in the musical. . .
Stop it, Gregg.
He shook his head, frustrated with himself for thinking like that. Every child should have the opportunity to learn, to grow. How many chances had he been given as a kid? He’d struggled through softball, hockey, and a host of other sports before finally realizing singing was more his bag.
The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. How many of those boys, like himself, were without a father? He knew of at least one or two that needed a strong, positive male influence. Had the Lord orchestrated this whole plan to put him in that position, maybe? If so, did he have it in him?
“Father, help me. I don’t want to blow this. But I guess it’s obvious I’m going to need Your help more than ever. Remind me of what it was like to be a kid.” He shivered, just thinking about it.
Gregg pulled the car onto the tiny side street, then crawled along the uneven road until he reached his driveway. His house sat back nearly a quarter mile, tucked away in the trees. At the end of the driveway, he stopped at the mailbox and snagged today’s offering from the local mail carrier. Then he pulled his car into the garage, reached for his belongings, and headed inside.
Entering his home, Gregg hung his keys on the hook he’d placed strategically near the door and put his jacket away in the closet, being careful to fasten every snap. He placed the pile of mail on the kitchen counter, glanced through it, then organized it into appropriate categories: To be paid. To be tossed. To be pondered.
Oh, if only he could organize the kids with such ease. Then, perhaps, he wouldn’t dread the days ahead.
TWO
Tangie made the drive from Atlantic City to Harmony in a little less than three hours. Though the back roads were slick—the winter in full swing—she managed to make it to her grandparents’ house with little problem. In fact, the closer she got to Harmony, the prettier everything looked, especially with Christmas decorations still in place. Against the backdrop of white, the trees showcased their bare branches. Oh, but one day. . .one day the snows would melt and spring would burst through in all of its colorful radiance. Tangie lived for the springtime.
“Color, Lord,” she whispered. “That’s what gets me through the winter. The promise of color when the snows melt!”
As she pulled her car into the drive, a smile tugged at the edges of her lips. Little had changed at the Henderson homestead in the twenty-two years she’d been coming here. Oh, her grandfather had painted the exterior of the tiny wood-framed house a few years ago, shifting from a light tan to a darker tan. It had created quite a stir. But other than that, everything remained the same.
“Lord, I’m going to need Your strength. You know how I am. I’m used to the hustle and bustle of Times Square. Eating in crowded delis and listening to taxi cabs honk as they go tearing by. Racing from department store to theater. I’m not used to a quiet, slow-paced, solitary life. I—”
She didn’t have time to finish her prayer. Gran-Gran stood at the front door, waving a dishtowel and hollering. Tangie climbed out of the car, and her grandmother sprinted her way across the snowy yard like a track star in the making. Okay, so maybe not everything moves slowly here.
“Oh, you beautiful thing!” Her grandmother giggled as she reached to touch Tangie’s hair. “What have you done now?”
“Don’t you like it? I thought red was a nice color with my skin tone.”
“That’s red?” Gran-Gran laughed. “If you say so. In the sunlight, I think I see a little purple in there.”
“Probably. But that’s okay, too. You know me, Gran-Gran. All things bright. . .”
“And beautiful,” her grandmother finished. “I know, I know.”
Tangie grabbed her laptop and overnight bag, leaving the other larger suitcases in the trunk.
Gran-Gran chattered all the way into the house. Once inside, she hollered, “Herbert, we’ve got a guest!”
“Oh, I’m no guest. Don’t make a fuss over me.” Tangie set her stuff on the nearest chair and looked around the familiar living room. The place still smelled the same—like a combination of cinnamon sticks and old books. But something else had changed. “Hey, you’ve moved the furniture.”
“Yes.” Gran-Gran practically beamed. “Do you like it?”
Tangie shrugged. “Sure. I guess so.” To be honest, she felt a little odd with the room all turned around. It had always been the other way. Whoa, girl. You’ve never cared about things staying the same before. Snap out of it! Let your grandmother live a little! Walk on the wild side!
Seconds later, her grandfather entered the room. His gray hair had thinned even more since her last visit, and his stooped shoulders threw her a little. When had this happened?
“Get over here, Tangerine, and give your old Gramps a hug!” He opened his arms wide as he’d done so many times when she was a little girl.
Tangie groaned at the nickname, but flew into his arms nonetheless. Sure enough, he still smelled like peppermint and Old Spice. Nothing new there.
“How are your sisters?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Taffie’s great. Motherhood suits her. And Candy. . .” Tangie smiled, thinking of her middle sister. “Candy’s still flying high.”
“Loving her life as a pilot for Eastway, from what I hear.” Gramps nodded. “That’s my girl. A high-flying angel.”
“And you!” Gran-Gran drew near and placed another kiss on her cheek. “You’re straight off the stages of Broadway.”
“More like off-off-Broadway.” Tangie shrugged, determined to change the direction of the conversation. “I come bearing gifts!” She reached for the bag she and Taffie had carefully packed with candies from the family’s shop on the boardwalk.
Gramps’ eyes lit up as he saw the Carini’s Confections logo on the bag. “Oh, I hope you’ve got some licorice in there.”
“I do. Three different flavors.”
“And some banana taffy?” Gran-Gran asked.
“Naturally. You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? I know it’s your favorite.”
Gramps tore into the licorice and popped a piece in his mouth. As he did, a look of pure satisfaction seemed to settle over him. “Mmm. I’m sure glad that daughter of mine married into the candy business. It’s made for a pretty sweet life for the rest of us.”
Tangie nodded. “Yeah, Mom was born for the sweet stuff. Only now she seems happier touring the country in that new RV she and dad bought last month.”
“I heard they had a new one,” Gran-Gran said. “Top of the line model.”
“Yes, and they’re going to travel the southern states to stay warm during the winter.” Tangie couldn’t help but smile as she reflected on the pictures Mom had just sent from Florida. In one of them, her father was dressed in Bermuda shorts on bottom and a Santa costume on top. The caption read Confused in Miami.
“I’ve never understood the fascination with going from place to place in an RV,” Gramps said, as he settled into his recliner and reached for
another piece of licorice. “Who wants to live in a house on wheels when you’ve got a perfectly good house that sits still?” He gestured to his living room, and Tangie grinned.
“You’ve got a good point,” she said as she reached for a piece of taffy. “But I think Mom was born with a case of wanderlust.”
“Oh yes,” Gran-Gran agreed. “That girl never could stay put when she was a little thing. Always flitting off here or there.”
“I’m kind of the same way, I guess.” Tangie shrugged. “An adventurer. And I do tend to flit from one thing to another.” She sighed.
“Well, we hope you’ll stay put in Harmony awhile,” Gramps said, giving her a wink. “Settle in. Make some friends.”
A mixture of emotions rushed over Tangie at her grandfather’s words. While there was some appeal to long-lasting friendships, she wasn’t the type to settle in. No, the past four years had proven that. Jumping from one thing to another—one show to another—seemed more her mode of operation. Was the Lord doing something different this time? Calling her to stay put for a while?
“Let’s get you settled in your new room.” Gran-Gran gestured toward the hallway. “Do you need Gramps to go get your things?”
“Oh, I don’t mind getting them myself.”
“Not while I’m living and breathing!” Her grandfather, rising from the recliner, gave her a stern look. She tossed him her keys, then watched with a smile as he headed outdoors to fetch her bags.
Tangie traipsed along on her grandmother’s heels until they reached the spare bedroom—the second room on the right past the living room. She’d slept in the large four-poster bed dozens of times over the years, of course, but never for more than a couple of nights at a stretch. Was this really her new room?
She smiled as she saw the porcelain dolls on the dresser and the hand-embroidered wall hangings. Not exactly her taste in décor, but she wouldn’t complain. Unless she decided to stay long-term, of course. Then she would likely replace some of the wall hangings with the framed playbills from all of the shows she’d been in. Now that would really change the look of the room, wouldn’t it!
Tangie spent the next several minutes putting away her clothes. The folded items went in the dresser. Gran-Gran had been good enough to empty the top three drawers. The rest of Tangie’s things were hung in the already-crowded closet. Oh well. She’d make do. Likely this trek to the small town of Harmony wouldn’t last long, anyway. Besides, she knew what it was like to live in small spaces. She and her roommate Marti had barely enough room to turn around in the seven-hundred-square-foot apartment they’d shared in Manhattan. This place was huge in comparison.
As she wrapped up, Gran-Gran turned her way with a smile. “Let’s get this show on the road, honey. Pastor Hampton is waiting for us at the church. He wants to meet you and give you your marching orders.”
“A–already?” Tangie shook her head. “But I look awful. I’m still wearing my sweats, and my hair needs a good washing before I meet anyone.” She pulled a compact out of her purse, groaning as she took a good look at herself. Her usually spiky hair looked more like a normal “do” today. And without a fresh washing, even the color of her hair looked less vibrant. . .more ordinary. Maybe freshening up her lipstick would help. She scrambled for the tube of Ever-Berry lip gloss.
“Oh, pooh.” Gran-Gran waved her hand. “Don’t worry about any of that. We’ve got to be at the church at three and it’s a quarter till. If you’re a good girl, I’ll make some of that homemade hot chocolate you love so much when we get back.”
“You’ve got it!” Tangie pressed the compact and lip gloss back into her purse—a beaded forties number she’d purchased at a resale shop on a whim.
Minutes later she found herself in the backseat of her grandparents’ 2002 Crown Victoria, puttering and sputtering down the road.
“This thing’s got over two hundred thousand miles on it,” Gramps bragged, taking a sharp turn to the right. “Hope to put another hundred on it before one of us gives out.”
“One of us?” Tangie’s grandmother looked at him, stunned. “You mean you and me?”
“Well, technically, I meant me or the car.” He grinned. “But I’m placing my bets on the car. She’s gonna outlive us all.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it.”
Gramps went off on a tangent about the car, but Gran-Gran seemed distracted. She turned to wave at an elderly neighbor shuffling through the snow, dressed in a heavy coat and hat. “Oh, look. There’s Clarence, checking his mail. I need to ask him how Elizabeth’s doing.” She rolled down her window and hollered out, “Clarence!” The older man paused, mail in hand, and turned their way.
As the others chatted about hernias, rheumatism, and the need for warmer weather, Tangie pondered her choice to move here. Lord, what have I done? If I’ve made an impulsive decision, help me unmake it. But if I’m supposed to be here. . .
She never got any further in her prayer. Though it didn’t make a lick of sense, somehow she just knew. . .she was supposed to be here.
***
Gregg worked against the clock in his office, transcribing music for the Sunday morning service. The musicians would be counting on him, as would the choir. As he wrapped up, he glanced at his watch and sighed. Three forty-five? Man. He still had to call Darla, the church’s part-time pianist, full-time self-appointed matchmaker, to talk about that one tricky key change. She’d struggled with it at their last rehearsal.
Leaning back in his chair, Gregg reflected on a conversation he’d had with Dave earlier this morning. Looked like the church had decided to hire a drama director. Interesting. In some ways, he felt a little put off by the idea. Was he really so bad at directing shows that they needed to actually hire someone?
On the other hand, the notion of someone else helping out did offer some sense of relief. That way, he could focus on his own work. Work he actually enjoyed. Music was his respite. His sanctuary. He ran to it as others might run to sports or TV shows. Music energized him and gave him a sense of purpose. Daily, Gregg thanked the Lord for the sheer pleasure of earning a living doing the thing he loved most.
Now, if only he could figure out how to get around that whole “productions” thing, he’d be a happy, happy man.
At four thirty, he finished up his tasks and prepared to leave. His thoughts shifted to Ashley, the children’s ministry leader. At Darla’s prompting, Gregg had worked up the courage to ask Ashley out and she’d agreed. Wonder of wonders! Would tonight’s dinner date at Gratzi’s win her over? From what he’d been told, she loved Italian food. For that matter, he did, too. Still, a plate of fettuccine Alfredo didn’t automatically guarantee true love. No, for that he’d have to think bigger. Maybe chicken parmesan.
Deep in thought, Gregg left his office. He walked down the narrow hallway, arms loaded with sheets of music. Just as he reached Dave’s office, the door swung open and Gramps Henderson stepped out. The two men nearly collided. Gregg came to such an abrupt stop that his sheets of music went flying. He immediately dropped to his knees and began the task of organizing his papers.
“Let me help with that.”
Gregg looked up into the eyes of a woman—maybe in her early twenties—with the oddest color hair he’d ever seen. He tried not to stare, but it was tough. He went back to the task at hand, snatching the papers. She worked alongside him, finally handing him the last page.
“Ooo, is that the contemporary version of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’?” she asked, gazing at him with soul-piercing intensity. For a second he found himself captivated by her dark brown eyes.
“Yes.” He gave her an inquisitive look. How would she know that?
She flashed a warm smile, but he was distracted by all of the earrings. Well, that and the tiny sparkler in her nose. Was that a diamond? Very bizarre. He had to wonder if it ever bothered her. . .say, when she got a cold.
Gregg rose to his feet, then reached a hand to help the young woman up. By the time they were both standing, Mrs. He
nderson’s happy-go-lucky voice rang out. “Gregg, we want you to meet our granddaughter, Tangie Carini. She’s from Atlantic City.”
“Nice to meet you.” As he extended his hand, Gregg realized who this must be. Earlier this morning, Dave had said something about counseling a troubled young woman who’d recently joined the church’s college and career class. How could Gregg have known she’d turn out to be the granddaughter of a good friend like Herb Henderson?
His heart broke immediately as he pondered these things. Poor Gramps. How long had he quietly agonized over this granddaughter gone astray? Surely they still had some work ahead of them, based on her bright red hair—were those purple streaks?—and piercings that dazzled.
Not that you could judge a person based on external appearance. He chided himself immediately. He wouldn’t want people to make any decisions based on how he looked.
Tangie shook his hand, and then nodded at the papers he’d shoved under his arm. “Great rendition of the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ We performed that my senior year in high school. I’ll never forget it.”
“Oh? You sing?” When she nodded, he realized at once how he might help the Hendersons get their granddaughter walking the straight and narrow. If she could carry a tune, he’d offer her a position in the choir. Yes, that’s exactly what he would do. And if he had to guess, based on her speaking voice, he’d peg her for an alto. Maybe a second soprano.
“We’ll see you Sunday, Gregg,” Gramps said, patting him on the back. “In fact, it looks like we’ll be seeing a lot more of you from now on.”
A lot more of me? What’s that all about?