Lost Melody Page 25

  A choked sob squeezed through Greg’s fear-swollen throat. He had to get her out of there.

  He was moving toward the water when the tanker exploded.

  The blast shook the ground beneath his feet with the force of an earthquake. A blinding white flash burned into his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, and when he looked again, a gigantic black mushroom erupted into the sky over the harbor. A powerful nausea almost dropped him to his knees at the certain fate of the people on the dock, for probably a good distance inland.

  He choked down the rising acid in his throat and climbed across the jagged black rocks toward the water, unzipping his jacket so it wouldn’t weigh him down. Jill needed him.

  A roar reached his ears when he shed his jacket on the rocks. He glanced up to see a monstrous wall of water thundering toward him.

  He dove seconds before the tsunami struck.

  Chapter 31

  NO AIR. COULDN’T BREATHE. HER lungs were going to burst.

  Panic gripped Jill with an icy claw and pulled her downward. Ferocious waves buffeted her body back and forth, sweeping her along in a whirlwind of motion.

  Her head broke the surface long enough to gasp air into ravaged lungs. Then she was sucked beneath the churning waters again.

  Her floundering hands brushed against something hard. Moving with an instinct she didn’t know she possessed, she kicked her legs with every ounce of strength she could muster, grappling for purchase on the rock. Her head surfaced again, and one foot found a hold. She wedged her shoe in place and hugged the boulder with all her might, the waves pounding against her back, until she could catch her breath and gather the strength to climb.

  Cold, so cold she could barely move. A cold so deep it sapped her energy. She couldn’t shiver, could barely feel the granite beneath her hands as she labored to pull herself out of the water. A smoky chemical smell choked her as she climbed, one laborious centimeter at a time, over the ragged shoreline and onto the sparse grassy hillside beyond.

  She rolled onto her back and collapsed.

  Moments later, or maybe hours later, she awoke. The sulfurous stench still filled her nostrils. She sat up and took stock of her surroundings. She’d crossed the entire width of the bay and come up on the opposite shore, tossed by the waves that churned the water to foam. Beyond the mouth of the bay, the narrow harbor channel was empty. There was no sign of the two ships that had collided. They must have exploded, hence the chemical smell.

  My dream was true. There was a disaster.

  The knowledge brought no satisfaction, but churned in her stomach. She didn’t want to be right.

  Smoke billowed into the sky from dozens of sources in the direction of Seaside Cove. Her home. She covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes straining to see the buildings beyond a swell in the land.

  The hillside behind her sloped steeply upward. From the top, she might be able to see the town. She struggled to her feet and climbed, using her hands to balance herself on the loose bare soil. The wind at her back deposited a wet, soggy dust on her clothing. After a moment she realized it was ash. At the top of the hill, she stood upright and turned.

  The shoreline of Seaside Cove lay in ruins. The buildings that lined Harbor Street had been reduced to charred remains. Structures on the street behind them hadn’t fared much better. Black smoke rose from smoldering ruins, and active flames roared from some unseen source. From a distance the faint wail of sirens carried to her across the water. She should be able to see the southern edge of the dock from here. Instead, she saw nothing but debris cluttering the rocky shore.

  Her heart twisted. How many people died? The protesters at Harbor Square this morning? The newspeople? Mr. and Mrs. Herndon from church? Rowena?

  And what about Greg?

  Painful sobs drove her to her knees. Oh, Greg. Please be all right. If you waited for me …

  A noise behind her told of someone’s approach. Another survivor? She scrubbed tears on her sleeve and squinted to see.

  A man strode up the hill with no visible effort, his erect form upright. As he neared she glimpsed silver-streaked dark hair that fell in a swoop across his forehead above piercing dark eyes. A deep cleft punctuated his chin.

  Robert?

  Numb, Jill couldn’t move. Had she lost her mind? He looked flesh-and-blood real. Solid. But that was impossible. She’d made Robert up, hadn’t she?

  Sensitive lips curved into a wide smile as he approached.

  “Hello, Jill.”

  He clasped her hands in the greeting of friends, and his long, artistic fingers pressed hers firmly. He was real.

  “Oh, Robert.” She squeezed his hands. “I didn’t make you up, did I? You really were in New York.”

  His smile deepened. “I was.”

  “First, the subway crash and then this.” She unclasped one of her hands and gestured in the direction of Seaside Cove.

  Wait. Why is Robert in Seaside Cove? Confused, she shook her head in an attempt to clear her whirling thoughts. “When did you get into town?”

  “I wasn’t in town, dear.” The eyes that looked into hers softened. “I just arrived. I came to speak with you.”

  She whirled around to scan the direction from which he came. There were no cars. How did he get here, then? It was as though he just appeared.

  A shiver marched across her flesh. Was this yet another crazy nightmare? A new one? “Are you some kind of … angel?”

  His answer was a warm smile.

  Shock waves zipped down her spine. “Then … I’m dead? You’re coming to take me to heaven?”

  Joyful laughter rolled down the hillside and echoed back from the water below. “No, dear. The first time I came to you, my mission was to give you comfort, and to encourage you to be strong for the trial that was to come. That’s why I called myself Robert.”

  “But …” Jill shook her head. “Robert Schumann’s dream was taken from him. He went insane.”

  “You only know what the history books have told you. I know his heart, and his mind.” His voice became as tender as his smile. “He suffered an injury like yours, but continued to use his gift, even though the outcome was different than he planned. He blessed so many more people as a composer than he would have as a pianist. I thought you’d be encouraged by the reminder that someone else who shared your dream overcame a hand injury and went on to accomplish marvelous things.” He touched her lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry you were frightened. That wasn’t my intention.”

  The truth of his words pierced Jill’s soul, and left a resonating peace as their echo faded away. Robert Schumann hadn’t lost his gift after all. And neither had she.

  Robert lifted his face to the sky, and then lowered it to catch her in a joyful gaze. “I’ve been sent to deliver a message.” He raised a hand and placed it on her head. Soothing warmth spread through her at the contact, calming her fears. “One day, when your time here is finished, you’ll hear these words from the Master himself. For now, I carry his message to you: Well done.”

  The words fell on her ears with the softness of a caress. Jill’s heart leaped in her chest at the sound of them. “I did the right thing?”

  Tears sprang to Jill’s eyes at the tenderness in his answer. “You did the right thing. Your Father is most happy with you. He loves you. And one day he will delight in hearing you play in the most glorious concert of all eternity. There’s music to be played that only you can play, for the most important Audience of all.”

  Joy illuminated his face. Seeing it, sunshine flooded Jill’s soul. “An eternal concert.” Awe reduced her voice to a whisper.

  Robert’s smile deepened. “But not yet, child. Your song here hasn’t ended. There are many stanzas yet to play.”

  He lifted a hand in a blessing, and a delicious serenity washed through her body. She closed her eyes in the moment before his finger touched her forehead —

  — and gasped at the searing pain of breath flooding her air-starved lungs. She choked and cou
ghed, and drew another breath. She was cold, colder than she’d ever been, as cold as a frozen grave. Sharp pebbles pressed through snow into her back, and the sound of the surf pounding on a rocky shore filled her ears. In the distance, sirens wailed. An uncontrollable shiver took possession of her body as she drew in a third life-giving breath.

  “Thank you, God.” Sobs constricted a familiar voice nearby. “She’s alive.”

  Lifting her eyelids took every ounce of strength she possessed. When she did, a beloved face loomed inches above hers. Greg. Her lips still tingled with the touch of his, when he’d breathed life back into her.

  “You’re alive.” She coughed, inhaled, and tried again. “You made it.”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks as he gathered her in his arms. “So did you. Thank God, so did you.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she focused on his eyes, eyes that held more love than she could process. “I did the right thing, Greg. He said I did the right thing.”

  “Who said? No, don’t get up. Help is on its way.”

  “He said,” she murmured and then she fell silent. She could share the glorious message later. For now, it was enough to draw warmth from Greg’s arms around her, supporting her as he had done throughout this entire ordeal. Whether Robert was an angel or a myth didn’t matter. The truth of his message resonated in her soul. Well done.

  Epilogue

  Sunday, December 11

  Sunday, a much smaller crowd gathered in the sanctuary. When Reverend Hollister made his way down the center aisle toward the exit, the organist played the opening chords of the closing hymn. Joyful, joyful all ye nations — the music reverberated through the church. Jill scanned the congregation as she gathered her purse and coat from the pew. The absence of so many familiar faces caused a throbbing ache in her chest.

  “Seems there are a lot of visitors today.” Greg’s whisper tickled her ear as he helped her into her coat.

  “That’s a good sign.” Jill made eye contact with a stranger a few rows back and returned the woman’s shy smile. “They know the church is where they’ll find hope and purpose again.”

  From the choir loft, Nana flapped her hands in the air to attract Jill’s attention. When Jill looked at her, she pointed toward the parking lot and mouthed I’ll meet you at the car. Jill nodded. The three of them were going to visit Mom in her new nursing care center. The nursing staff had welcomed her, and she was settling in nicely. Tonight they were going to Greg’s parents’ house for dinner. Jill indulged in a smile at the memory of Harold’s blustering apologies yesterday. I’m an old fool. But I had no idea! How could you have known?

  She followed Greg into the center aisle and they moved with the crowd toward the sanctuary exit. The line inched forward as folks stopped to exchange brief words with Reverend Hollister before leaving the church. When they were almost there, a hand clapped onto Greg’s shoulder.

  “There you are. We wanted to catch you before you left.”

  They turned to find Carl Allen and Mitch Landry behind them. Mitch leaned heavily on a crutch. His bruised and bandaged face bore evidence of his narrow escape from the fire that claimed two lives in the café. Both men gave an awkward nod of greeting to Jill, but barely met her gaze. She suppressed a sigh. Though many of the townspeople had treated her with varying degrees of awe since the explosion, some appeared embarrassed when they encountered her, as though ashamed of their disbelief. Jill wasn’t sure which reaction she disliked more — the stares or the whispered awe.

  “We’d like to meet with you tomorrow,” Mitch told Greg. “Are you free around nine in the morning?”

  Greg cocked his head, studying the pair. “Care to say what we’ll be discussing?”

  Clearing his throat, Carl admitted, “We’re hoping to convince you to withdraw your withdrawal.” The lines in his face deepened. “Now that Samuels isn’t …” Silence ensued at the mention of the councilman’s passing. Carl cleared his throat. “We need a strong leader.”

  Mitch nodded, his expression solemn. “You’re that leader, Greg. I hope you’ll reconsider. The town is going to need you.”

  Jill watched Greg’s face. She knew he wanted more than ever to see his plan carried out. The task would be bigger now, since the Cove must first rebuild and renew before it could move forward. Jill was confident these men were correct. Greg was uniquely qualified to meet the challenge.

  His gaze locked onto hers, and they exchanged a private smile before he addressed the men. “I’m not due in court until one tomorrow, so a morning meeting works for me. I’ll be at the café at —” His eyes closed, an expression of pain crossed his features. When he opened them again, sad creases framed his eyes. “Just tell me where and I’ll be there at nine.”

  “My house,” Mitch said. “My wife will have the coffee ready.”

  Another wave of sorrow washed over Jill. Mitch’s house wasn’t far from the church, far enough away from the dock that the devastation hadn’t reached there. Nana’s house remained intact, but damaged. Her beloved Schimmel had survived, but Carl’s inn had been destroyed by the fire that swept through town after the explosion, as had most of the businesses and homes along the harbor. The café was gone, and its owner with it. Regardless of their past conflicts, Jill mourned Rowena’s passing.

  Could she have done more to convince those who stayed? The question would never be answered this side of heaven.

  Well done. Robert’s message echoed in her mind. One day you’ll hear these words from the Master himself. Had the vision been real, or merely another dream as she lay lifeless on the frozen ground while Greg tried to resuscitate her? It didn’t matter. Jill felt the truth of the message deep in her soul.

  “Your house at nine, then.” Greg placed a hand at the small of Jill’s back and they stepped forward to greet Reverend Hollister.

  The minister’s voice boomed as he took Jill’s hand. “Here’s our Jonah.”

  Heads turned her way.

  Her face hot, Jill stammered a joke. “I don’t know about that, but I’m planning to steer clear of whales for a while.”

  Reverend Hollister pressed her hand. “No need, my dear. I think you’re in the clear now.”

  “I sure hope so, Reverend.” Greg pulled her close with an arm around her waist. “We still have a lot of living to do.”

  Jill pressed close to him as they said good-bye and moved toward the doors. Robert had said much the same thing. Her song hadn’t ended yet. There were too many stanzas yet to play. She tilted her head sideways to look up at Greg. Too much life yet to live.

  Greg’s hand slid down her arm and entwined her fingers with his as he pushed open the door. A lemony-yellow sun bathed the Cove in bright light today, and sparkled on the snow-covered trees. Jill inhaled the crisp, salt-scented air and whispered a prayer of thanks for life, and for love, and especially for God’s music that provided the perfect accompaniment to both. Reaching for Greg’s hand, she stepped outside, and into her future.

  A Note from Lori and Virginia

  The story we’ve created in Lost Melody is entirely fictional, but it was inspired by an actual historical event. In 1917 a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions struck Halifax, Nova Scotia. At that time, World War I raged in Europe, and Halifax Harbour became a crowded hub of activity. On December 6, a French ship named the Mont-Blanc, carrying 2300 tons of picric acid, 200 tons of TNT, 10 tons of gun cotton, and 35 tons of a highly explosive mixture called benzol, left the mouth of the harbor and was struck by a Norwegian vessel named the Imo. Fire broke out on the Mont-Blanc, and she drifted toward the Halifax shore where unwary spectators gathered to watch her burn. When the Mont-Blanc exploded, not one piece of the ship remained. Entire city blocks were flattened in the blast that was felt nearly 200 miles away. The biggest manmade explosion before the nuclear age triggered a tsunami, which crashed into the battered city. Reports of fatalities vary, but at least 1600 people lost their lives immediately, and as many as 200 within a few months. Nine thousand peopl
e were injured, most of them seriously.

  Though unspeakably devastating, the legacy of the Halifax explosion is inspiring in some respects. The world responded, and assistance from many nations flooded the survivors. Halifax rebounded and rebuilt, and today is a thriving metropolis. A memorial was erected to remember those who perished, and every December 6 at 9:06 a.m., a bell rings to commemorate their loss.

  Lori read an article about the Halifax explosion, and that article provided the seed for the story you’ve just read. Our agent brought Ginny into the picture and suggested that we might enjoy working together on a book. She was right. We got together for a weekend of brainstorming, and the story of Lost Melody sprouted and grew, as seeds have a tendency to do.

  We spent a lot of time discussing the role of Robert in the story. Scripture is full of instances where angels are sent by God to deliver a message, and in the book of Hebrews, we’re told that angels are ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation. We hope you’ll indulge us in the fictional application of those Scriptures. You might be interested to know that the ending you just read wasn’t our first. If you’d like to read the original ending, we invite you to visit www.LoriCopelandand VirginiaSmith.com. We would love to hear your opinion about both endings.

  We hope you enjoyed reading Lost Melody as much as we enjoyed writing it. Please take a moment to let us know what you thought. You can contact us through our website above, or separately at www.loricopeland.com and www.virginiasmith.org.

  Acknowledgment

  In writing Lost Melody, we called on several people who generously shared their time and expertise in various areas. In doing so, they enabled this book to exist. We are extremely grateful to Dr. Patricia Tackett, whose expertise in the area of PTSD helped define Jill’s actions and feelings regarding the loss of her musical dream, and the beginning of a different kind of dream. For research on the Halifax area of Nova Scotia, we relied heavily on Janet Sketchley, who took the time to answer dozens of emailed questions and made the setting come alive to us. Huge thanks also to Gail Sattler for her insights on teaching piano lessons to kids. And thanks to Anna Zogg for proofreading at the drop of a hat. If there are any mistakes in this book regarding those areas, the fault lies entirely with the authors, and not with these four wonderful ladies.