Beyond the Reflection’s Edge (41 page)

As he turned to go, Kelly headed for the rear of the Lincoln. “Pop the trunk, Gordo; I’m getting the violin.”

Nathan spun back. “I won’t need it.”

“We should bring everything with us.” She pressed her hands into a praying position and batted her eyelids at Dr. Gordon.

“
Please
pop the trunk?”

Dr. Gordon pressed a button on his key fob. “Very well. But not the shotgun.” A muffled chime sounded. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and waved at his passengers. “Go on to the grave site. I will meet you there.”

Nathan jogged up the pavement toward the hearses, brushing off his dirty, smelly shirt. As he passed by the rows of tomb-stones, he tried to read the engravings, but he could only catch a couple of names, a Phillips and a Madison. Just hours ago, the stone slabs would have meant nothing, just marble decorations to be ignored, but now the terrified faces of the airline passengers flashed in his mind. Who could tell? Any one of these stones might be marking the grave of one of those victims. Since this was a huge cemetery in the western Chicago suburbs, that wouldn’t be a stretch at all.

As he continued, he passed a bearded man kneeling at a grave site. The man held a crumpled hat against his lips as he bowed his head and stroked the marker’s curved top, weeping. A surge of sympathy swept through Nathan’s mind. What a portrait of grief! This miserable man poured out his heart over an empty shell he had once loved, now gone forever. Nathan wiped a tear. He would never … never ignore a tombstone again. Each one told a story of tragedy, at least to some poor soul left behind.

As he neared the hearses, a thin man in a black suit waved
at him and opened the trailing hearse’s back door, revealing a coffin. “I am Samuel Carpenter, the funeral director.”

Nathan came to a stop and gazed at his reflection on the coffin’s polished black surface. Nausea once again twisted his stomach. A body lay within. His mom? Dad?

“Master Shepherd,” the director continued in a calm, soothing voice, “we were quite concerned about you.”

Nathan kept his gaze locked on the coffin. “Yeah. The car quit working so I had to hitch a ride.”

“I see. Did you try to fix the automobile yourself? Your clothes are quite disheveled.”

“No.” He smoothed out his shirt. “I had other problems.”

The director shed his dark jacket and reached it toward Nathan. “Please borrow this, out of respect for your parents and the mourners who wish to bid them farewell.”

Nathan allowed the gentleman to help him put it on. The sleeves fell past the heels of his hands, but the shoulders felt pretty good; loose, but not too loose.

The director touched the coffin with a fingertip. “This is your mother’s. The other hearse carries your father.” He signaled for the other men who were milling around near the graveside tent. “Your tutor selected these gentlemen from among your father’s clients and your mother’s orchestra friends. If you wish to renew your acquaintance with them, we can delay the proceedings further.”

Nathan scanned the faces of the approaching pallbearers. None resembled Dr. Gordon. “No. It’s okay. Maybe I can talk to them afterward.”

“Certainly.” While two dark-suited men pulled the coffin out on a gurney, the director stationed the pallbearers around the coffin, setting Nathan at the front and on his mother’s body’s left side. “Your tutor designated this position,” Mr. Carpenter said, “the closest to the heart of your mother.”

Nathan shuddered. The reality of the funeral sent a painful
jolt through every nerve, shaking his arms and weakening his knees. His mother was inside that box, her dead body, torn at the throat by an evil, sadistic murderer.

He clutched the brass handle with his left hand and laid his trembling fingertips on the coffin’s smooth lid. As if emanating from the polished surface, a tingle passed through his knuckles, the same knuckles his mother would breathe on before every performance. He stared at the point of contact. His mother’s words flowed into his mind as if blown there by the refreshing breeze, the lovely phrases he had heard so many times.

When I breathe on your hand, I whisper a prayer that the breath of God will fill your soul with his music, the melody of everlasting love that guided our Savior to the ultimate sacrifice. Because such love lasts forever, I know, my son, that we will be together through all eternity.

His heart raced. Tears fell across his cheeks. Then, a warm grip rested on his shoulder. “Nathan, are you all right?”

He turned to see a bald man with a large nose. “Dr. Malenkov?”

“Yes, of course. I thought you saw me earlier.”

“I was looking for someone else. Are you playing something for the funeral?”

Nikolai patted him on the back. “Yes, yes. It is a great honor, yet a tragic occasion.”

“What piece did you choose?”

“The Vivaldi duet, an arrangement I created that allows me to play it as a solo. Your mother’s part fades away at the end while yours finishes strong.”

Nathan swallowed down a tight catch in his throat. “That … sounds great.”

“You are welcome to join me. I can play your mother’s part in the old arrangement.”

“No. No thanks. I don’t think I could handle it.”

Nikolai moved his hand back to Nathan’s shoulder. “I saw
your tears, so I told the director to wait a moment. Do you need a replacement?”

He shook his head. “I can make it. Thanks anyway.”

“I am not a pallbearer for your father, so I will be glad to take your place there if the need arises.”

Nathan averted his gaze. “I’ll be all right. Thanks again.”

“Very well. I will be on the other side of the coffin. I feel so blessed that I was called to this task, yet heartbroken that my daughter left the earth before I did.”

The gentle musician’s words jolted Nathan’s memory. With all his knowledge of how his mother grew up, couldn’t Nikolai help Francesca on Earth Yellow?

“Wait!” Nathan said, spinning back toward Nikolai. “How long did my mother live with you? How old was she when she met my father? Did you arrange their meeting?”

“So many questions!” Nikolai said, smiling. “Let us talk afterward. It is time to go.” He walked briskly around the coffin and took his place. Then, when the director gave a hand signal, the six men lifted the casket and marched toward the burial site. As they approached, a woman standing under the canopy raised a violin and began playing Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.”

Nathan sighed. This lady was good, quite good, in fact. But she wasn’t Mom. As she washed out a note that needed to be played with the precision of a musical surgeon, he cringed. Oh, how he longed to play with Mom! Just one more time! But it couldn’t be. Never again.

He glanced over at Nikolai. Tears streamed down the old man’s cheeks, following deep lines traced there by years of loving care. He, too, probably wept for lost days — future days he had hoped to play with his favorite pupil as he awaited his own passing into eternity, as well as days in the past he once shared during peaceful bedtime songs and rousing morning lessons. This sad old man had more treasured memories, perhaps a greater loss. He had lost a daughter, once given to him as the
result of a tragic murder, now taken away because of a devil’s wicked hand.

Nathan firmed his chin. This occasion, though solemn and tragic, deserved the best music possible. If Nikolai could do it, he could do it.

As they passed under the yellow canopy, he scanned the audience, about twenty-five or thirty men and women clad in various shades of gray and black, sitting or standing among at least eighty metal chairs, probably six rows with maybe fourteen chairs in each, divided in half by an aisle down the center. He let his face dip into a slight scowl. Why so few? Hadn’t Clara let all their orchestra friends know about the funeral? Or had all the news about fast-moving blizzards scared them away? A graveyard wasn’t exactly a place people wanted to go during a time of fear. Obviously parents had decided to keep their kids home. There wasn’t a child in sight.

After setting his mother’s coffin down on the right side of a huge display of flowers, Nathan turned toward the array of chairs. Clara, Kelly and Daryl sat in the second row, one row in front of Dr. Gordon.

Nathan strode across the fifteen-or-so feet between the coffin and the front row and whispered, “Kelly. I need Mom’s violin.”

She lifted the case from her lap. “Right now?”

“When I get back with Dad’s coffin.”

Nathan headed to the second hearse with the other pallbearers. Only Nikolai stayed, pulling a violin case out from behind the flowers as Nathan left the canopy’s shade. Another man joined the group of coffin handlers, a man who looked exactly like Dr. Gordon. Nathan spun toward the chairs. Dr. Gordon was gone. Why had he joined the pallbearers? He certainly hadn’t mentioned doing that. He scanned Dr. Gordon’s face, but since he walked to his left, he couldn’t see if there was a cut on his left cheek.

As they closed in on the other hearse, Nathan leaned toward him. “Dr. Gordon?”

“Yes, Nathan?” He kept his face forward, not allowing Nathan to check his other side.

“You didn’t say you were going to be a pallbearer.”

“It was a last-minute decision. One of the other pallbearers fell ill.” He finally turned and pointed at his cheek, his unmarred cheek. “I sense that you need to see this to allay your fears.”

Nathan let out his breath. He wasn’t Gordon Blue.

The director lined them up again around the second coffin. With the head of the casket pointing toward the canopy, he guided Nathan to the front handle on the left side. “Your tutor said you needed to be at your father’s right hand. You were his stalwart helper and never failed in your efforts to come to his aid.”

Wasting little time, the six men carried the coffin to the waiting mourners and placed it to the left of the floral arrangement. As they set it down, one of the men bumped a partition behind the flowers. Covered with a white sheet, the partition shook, sending the sheet rippling down the front and exposing a mirror, identical to the one in Nathan’s room, complete with divider lines separating the individual squares. The reflection seemed normal, at least for now, showing only the lush flowers and the seated audience beyond them.

As the other pallbearers filed to their seats, Nathan glanced at the lower left-hand corner of the odd backdrop. A square was missing. Was this really the mirror from his room, or had someone transported it from Earth Blue?

Turning back to the mourners, he found Clara in the aisle seat of the second row. His mirror lay in her lap, angled slightly toward him, allowing the polished surface to catch his eye. Across the aisle and three rows back sat a man with a familiar
bearded face. He straightened his crumpled fedora and clutched the brim against his chest.

Nathan focused on his weary eyes. It was Jack from the plane crash on Earth Yellow! He was one of the survivors! But why was he at the funeral?

Nikolai, carrying his violin, stepped in front of the flowers and guided the bow across each string as he tuned his instrument. Kelly strode forward with Nathan’s violin, already removed from its case. He took it and the bow and, trying not to move his lips, whispered, “Fill the empty spot,” then nodded toward the mirrored partition.

She glanced at the reflection, bobbed her head, and hustled back to Clara. As she walked, she did a double take at the bearded man.

Trying to shut off the distractions, Nathan turned to Nikolai and bowed. “If you don’t mind, sir, I reconsidered your offer. I will play my part if you will play my mother’s.”

The old man smiled. “Nathan Shepherd, I can think of no greater honor.” He bent over and, taking Nathan’s bow hand, blew on his knuckles. “Music is the breath of God,” he said softly. “Let us tell of his love to these mourners and give them a reason to turn their mourning into joy.”

While everyone else settled in their seats, Nathan quickly rolled his jacket sleeves up two turns and began tuning the violin, keeping an eye on Kelly as she sneaked around to the back of the mirrored partition. Kneeling and slowly reaching around from behind, she set the square in the corner. It seemed to jump from her hands and lock in place as if pulled by a magnet.

A sudden gust rippled the top of the tent’s canopy, a cold gust, much colder than normal for September. Nathan shivered, glad now for the director’s jacket. But what could it mean? Had Earth Yellow already moved into late autumn?

As most of the onlookers tilted their heads upward, Nathan stayed focused on the mirror. Starting from the newly placed
square, a wave of radiance crawled along the surface, brightening the reflection to a razor-sharp clarity. When it reached the opposite corner, the strange light pulsed once and vanished.

Kelly stayed behind the mirror, shivering as she drew her hands into her sweatshirt sleeves. When she looked up at Nathan, she pointed at the camera dangling from the strap around her neck. “It’s the only light we have,” she whispered.

Increasing the volume as he continued to tune his violin, he whispered back, “It’ll have to do. I’m guessing Simon Blue put the mirror here, so we have to be ready to use it.”

She nodded, then ducked low. Nathan glanced out at the tombstone-covered lawn. Snowflakes swirled through the breeze, already speckling the grass with patches of white. The mourners reached for cloaks and sweaters, apparently prepared for the unpredictable shifts in weather.

Nikolai set a hand on Nathan’s shoulder and, seemingly unaffected by the sudden wintry blast, addressed the audience. “We wish to honor our departed loved ones — I, my cherished daughter, and Nathan, his beloved parents — with the performance of a Vivaldi duet he and his mother arranged and played together many times. As we make these violins sing, do not be alarmed if you feel the spirit of Francesca Shepherd as she bids farewell to us all.”

Raising his mother’s treasured instrument to his chin, Nathan shook off a chill and stepped to the elderly teacher’s side. “I await your lead, Maestro.”

Nikolai set the bow on the strings and, with a long vibrant stroke, played the beginning note of the duet.