Composing Amelia (10 page)

Amelia returned to the kitchen in the hopes of at least being helpful in the dinner preparation. Actually getting in on the discussion would be icing on the cake.

But it appeared the other women had everything under control. Mary and Kendra had already finished what they were doing, and were sitting on barstools at the island drinking sparkling apple cider while Renee finished prepping the tray of finger foods. “Can I get you a glass?” Mary asked when Amelia came in, raising her own with the question.

“Oh, thanks, I’ll get it myself.”

“So, any luck with the music thing?” Kendra asked. It always bothered her the way Marcus’s family talked about her chosen career, as though it were a teenager’s current obsession that was likely to be forgotten in a month. She was glad she had an answer for once besides “Not yet, still looking.”

“Yes, actually—I just got hired as the in-house pianist for a new theater troupe. They’re going to do all Broadway musicals, but with new arrangements and scripts reworked to fit the current social climate.”

The three Sheffield women looked at her like she’d just spoken in tongues.

“That’s … interesting,” Mary said.

“And this is a full-time job?” Renee asked.

“Not really, no. They’re working off of a pretty meager budget right now, but hopefully once the shows start, the ticket sales will bump everyone’s salary up a bit. Since rehearsals and shows are in the evenings, I can keep working my other jobs until I find something else.”

“It’s a bit risky, that whole industry, isn’t it?” Kendra swirled her cider as one patent leather–shod foot tapped on the rung of the barstool. “I mean, if no one buys any tickets, you’re doomed.”

Amelia wanted to wring Kendra’s neck, but she tried to keep her tone positive. “True, but I’m not in it for the money. With this job in particular, I’m really just hoping to make some new connections. For example, one of the directors has worked on the music videos of some big names in hip-hop. So if he—”

“But that’s not the kind of music you want to do, right?” Mary asked, looking concerned. “You don’t want to taint your image with those kinds of associations. Plus, it would be a waste of your talent.” She gave Amelia a motherly smile. “What you need to do is connect with someone in the Christian music industry. And that’s all in Nashville, I think.”

Renee picked up the thread and launched into a review of the most recent digital issue of
CCM Magazine,
once again leaving Amelia out in the cold.

She turned to leave but was called back by Mary. “Would you mind bringing the hors d’oeuvres tray with you if you’re going to the living room? I’m sure the boys are getting hungry.”

Amelia took the tray as her own stomach growled and walked as far as the hall before stopping to eat a couple of the cheese cubes and club crackers. Eddie was just hanging up his cell. “Dad’s going to be another couple hours,” he said to the room in general.

“What’s keeping him?” Amelia asked. The look Marcus gave her over Jackson’s shoulder made her think her conversation wasn’t welcome here, either.

“His job, obviously.” John scooped a handful of crackers from the tray before Amelia could set it on the coffee table.

“But—on Christmas? Everyone else must have already gone home—”

“That’s just Dad’s way,” Marcus said. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not.

“His work ethic is important, both to him and to the church,” Eddie said in a tone that hinted at condescension. “A little family get-together doesn’t take precedence over the needs of the flock. God comes first.”

Amelia didn’t appreciate the insinuation that she didn’t agree, but at the same time it didn’t ring true to her. “Ooo-kay,” she muttered under her breath, then spotted her salvation down the hall. “Marcus, do you think it would be okay if I played the piano in the family room?”

He smiled as he played “so big” with Jackson. “Sure, go ahead.”

Relieved, she turned and fled the living room with as much speed as she thought allowable without appearing as if she was running away. The upright Boston was high-end for its type, but after so much time spent on her digital model she wouldn’t have cared if it was an Everette. She sat on the bench and folded back the keyboard cover, then placed her fingers on the keys and contemplated what to play. Christmas carols were the obvious choice, but she didn’t want to waste this opportunity on songs that were so elementary to play. Eventually she chose Mozart’s “Alla Turca,” hoping Marcus would recognize it as a nod to his gift to her.

Once she began to play, the time passed more quickly, and much more pleasantly. But when the low tenor of Marcus’s father’s voice reached her ears, she stopped midphrase and shut the cover as though caught committing a crime. She glanced at her watch and realized it was well past their originally scheduled dinner time. What on earth would keep a man at church five hours past the end of the last service?

“Ah, Amelia. I thought I heard you playing back there,” he said when she reached the kitchen where everyone had congregated. He reached out a hand to shake, answering for Amelia the question of whether or not she should try to hug him. “Shall we eat, then?”

She noticed that no one mentioned how hungry they were as they went to take their seats, and given how little food had been on the hors d’oeurves tray, Amelia figured everyone had to be starving.
Unless they load up before coming over,
she thought as she took her seat beside Marcus. She’d have to remember that when they came on Easter. The table was crowded with food. They passed around dishes and plates piled with roast beef and mashed potatoes and a variety of casseroles, but no one ate until everyone had been served and Pastor Sheffield said, “Let us pray.” The sentiments that followed were long-winded and, in Amelia’s opinion, far more showy than God could possibly care for, but everyone’s faces were straight and solemn when he was done. They soon became more animated, however, as they began eating and conversation started again. Pastor Sheffield said little, but when he did it seemed as though everyone stopped talking, even if they weren’t a part of his conversation.

“I hear you got a new job,” he said to Amelia halfway through dinner. The voices around them went silent. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I’m excited about it.”

“You using that talent of yours at your church?”

“On occasion, yes. There are a few of us who play, so we rotate.”

“It’s a shame you’re so far away. We could use a new organist.”

Amelia chuckled. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t have any idea how to play an organ.” The faces around the table registered skepticism. “I mean, yes, I could play the keyboard—but all those stops and pedals are what make an organ so unique, and I have no clue what to do with any of them. The technique is actually really different—the way you use your body, the expression of … the …” Their blank stares told her no one was that interested in hearing her explanation.

“It can’t be that hard; I’m sure you’d figure it out,” Pastor Sheffield said definitively. “Not that it matters—you’re too far away to come play for us anyway.”

Amelia cast her eyes back to her plate, feeling chastised but not sure why. Under the table, Marcus squeezed her knee. Then he cleared his throat, a tic she recognized as meaning he was nervous about what he was about to say. She glanced up at him, curious, as he said, “I had an interview last weekend.”

“That’s wonderful,” his mother said. “For what?”

“For a senior pastorship, actually. At a church in Nebraska.”

“Wow,” Renee said, eyebrows raised like everyone else’s. “Where?”

“Nebraska.” John snorted.

Marcus frowned. “That makes its ministry less important?”

“No, it just makes it crappy. Who wants to live out there?”

“I’m not saying we’d be out there for the rest of our lives. But it would be a pretty prestigious first position, and hopefully a stepping stone to something back here in California someday.”

“You have no experience,” Marcus’s father said. “They knew this and still let you interview?”

Marcus straightened in his seat. “Actually, they invited me to interview. I hadn’t applied.”

“Hm. Makes me wonder what kind of church they are that they’d be willing to put someone fresh out of seminary at the helm. Seems like a poor decision.”

Amelia kept waiting for Marcus to tell them the rest of the story and defend himself, but instead the conversation shifted and Marcus did nothing to bring it back into focus. She gave him a questioning look, but his face warned her to leave it be.

After dinner they all moved into the living room to open gifts and have dessert. By the time Mary asked if anyone else wanted more coffee, Amelia thought she’d wither and die if she had to stay there a single minute more. She begged Marcus with her eyes to start their good-byes, and to her relief he nodded and stood. “We really should get going,” he said. “Long drive back, and Amelia has the early shift in the morning.”

Brief half embraces with the women and waves from the men wrapped up their Christmas visit, and when they were safely ensconced in their car Amelia let out a groan. “I’m sorry, love, but your family drains me. They’re nice and all, but … man.” Marcus grunted a response as he backed out of the driveway. She turned in her seat to face him. “And why didn’t you say anything about actually getting the job?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “You don’t even want me to take it. Why should I brag about it?”

“I’m not saying you should have bragged. But you didn’t even tell them you got it. Why not?”

Marcus focused with more concentration than necessary on the road before them. “It wasn’t the right time.”

“The right time? You make it sound like you’d be breaking bad news to them or something.”

“It’s just …” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Just trust me. I’ll tell them eventually.”

Amelia frowned and turned straight in her seat, straining in vain to decipher the words Marcus muttered under his breath. She just didn’t get the Sheffields. And she knew better than to push Marcus to explain himself. She took his hand, which he kissed gently, and settled in for the silent drive home.

C
HAPTER 4

In the days after Christmas, Marcus prayed even more fervently that God would change Amelia’s heart about Nebraska. He was dying to tell his dad about the job offer, but until he knew it was really happening he wasn’t going to mention it again. And if Amelia didn’t come around, there would be no point in bringing it up at all, and he’d have lost what might have been the first achievement that made his father proud of him.

He couldn’t let that happen. He hated feeling as if he and Amelia were on opposite sides, working against each other, but the longer this went on and Amelia continued to be stubborn, the truer it became. She was definitely not being a team player. Should he have to suffer because of it?

He’d read an email from Ed Donovan that morning, wishing him and Amelia a safe and happy New Year’s Eve. “Hope to see you again this year” was the only hint Ed had dropped about whether or not the church was growing impatient for his answer. He hated making them wait like this—not that it was his fault—but their deadline for an answer was looming and Marcus didn’t want to wait until the last minute to respond. He feared it would look bad, like he’d been on the fence the entire time. He didn’t want to badmouth Amelia by telling Ed she was the one holding things up, but he wished he could at least convey his own eagerness to accept the job so as to save his reputation.

He was halfway through the day when he decided to do just that. Surely he could come up with a diplomatic way to word things. His fear was that the church would start looking into other people just in case he said no, and would then find someone else they preferred and recant on the offer. He wasn’t willing to risk it any longer.

Before his last tutoring client of the afternoon—his evening appointments had all canceled to take advantage of the holiday—he logged in to one of the public computer terminals at the library and pulled up his email.
Hello, Ed! Thank you for your note. I appreciate the well-wishes and pray the same for you and the whole New Hope Church family.
He paused, thinking a moment before trying out a few sentences and then deleting them. It didn’t matter how he worded it, they all read like indictments again Amelia—though his frustration, which he’d kept bottled up for the last two weeks, was quickly building. Why was she putting him in this position? He still agreed that inaction until unity was a sound approach
most
of the time, but did it continue to apply when one party was holding out due to sheer bullheadedness?

A new approach dawned on him that he had not yet considered. What would his father do in this situation? He almost chuckled aloud—he couldn’t imagine his father
in
this situation, because his mother would acquiesce to his desires without a second thought. But that right there was telling. Their marriage was great, their life as close to perfect as it could get in this world, and what was their approach? That someone had to step up and take control. Someone had to be the point person, the decision maker who made sure things happened. His parents would never stagnate, waiting around for one of them to change their mind. And it’s not like his mother had no say. He could recall plenty of times when she’d played devil’s advocate or expressed concern over a choice that needed to be made. But in the end his father had the final word. And while Marcus liked the idea of him and Amelia always reaching an agreement on things, he was realizing now that such a goal might not always be attainable.