practically in tears from the beauty and sadness of it.
“Your piano’s tuned,” the man called out.
Howell roused himself from the deck chair and returned to the living room. The dog, Riley, was still lying on his back in front of the dying fire, snoring softly. “You sing and play very well,” Howell said to the albino.
“Oh, God gives everybody some sort of talent, I guess. Mine’s making music. I play the guitar and the mandolin and the accordion, and fiddle a bit, too. You ought to come down to one of the Saturday night dances at the community center sometime. Want to try the piano?”
Howell sat down at the keyboard and played a few barsof “Lush Life.” “You like Duke Ellington?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” the albino replied. “That’s Billy Stray-horn’s tune, though. It’s hard to separate Ellington and Strayhorn; seems like one takes up where the other leaves off.”
“Right. Say, I didn’t call you about tuning the piano, did I? I mean, my memory has been a little spotty lately, but . . .”
The albino laughed. “Oh, no. Mama sent me. She said you needed the piano.”
Now Howell knew why the albino looked familiar. “That was your brother who brought the firewood, wasn’t it?”
The albino nodded. “That was Brian. Brian’s a little . . .” He made a gesture. “But he’s a good lad. He liked bringing you the wood.”
“He wouldn’t let me pay him for it. I wanted to . . .”
“Oh, no, Mama wouldn’t have that.”
“Now look, I want to pay you for the piano tuning. You do that for a living, don’t you?”
“Yes, that and playing at the dances. Well, all right. I usually get twenty dollars for a tuning.”
Howell pressed the money into his hand. “Listen, I don’t quite understand about ‘Mama.’ Who is she?”
“My mother.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dermot Kelly.”
Howell shook the hand. “Glad to meet you, Dermot. I’m John Howell. But how did she know I needed firewood and the piano tuned? Did Bo Scully tell her about me?”
Dermot Kelly picked up his case and began to move toward the door. He didn’t seem to need assistance finding his way. “Mama and Bo Scully don’t have much to do with each other,” he said. “No, Mama just knows things otherpeople don’t know. She’s been sick for a while now, but she still has her moments.”
Howell walked with Dermot to the door. “I’m afraid I don’t really understand this, but I’m grateful to her for sending you and Brian around. Will you thank her for me?”
“Thank her yourself,” Dermot replied. “She wants to meet you, anyway. She says she’s been waiting for you for a long time.”
Gooseflesh rose on Howell’s skin. “Well, I’ll drop by and see her if she’s well enough. You said she has been sick?”
“Yes, but she’ll be well enough when you come. We’re just a ways up the hill from the crossroads,” he said, pointing. “You’ll see the mailbox. Come any time.”
“Thanks, I will. And thanks again for the tuning.”
“Don’t mention it. Riley!”
The dog, who had never stopped snoring, was instantly on his feet. He walked quickly to Dermot’s side, neatly avoiding the furniture. Together, the two of them walked down the steps, down the short drive, and started up the road. Dermot moved slowly, but with some confidence.
Howell watched them for a moment. Before they went into the trees, Dermot Kelly raised a hand and waved, as if he knew Howell was watching them. When they were gone, Howell went back into the house, still amazed at the pair. “Talk about the blind leading the blind!” he said aloud to himself.
CHAPTER
5
A s Howell turned right at the crossroads and headed for town, he looked up the hill and saw the Kelly mailbox at the roadside. Somehow, he wasn’t ready to meet a sick old lady Who knew when he needed firewood and piano tuning. Too bad she didn’t know that he was out of beer and booze, too, and send somebody around with that. There
“Your piano’s tuned,” the man called out.
Howell roused himself from the deck chair and returned to the living room. The dog, Riley, was still lying on his back in front of the dying fire, snoring softly. “You sing and play very well,” Howell said to the albino.
“Oh, God gives everybody some sort of talent, I guess. Mine’s making music. I play the guitar and the mandolin and the accordion, and fiddle a bit, too. You ought to come down to one of the Saturday night dances at the community center sometime. Want to try the piano?”
Howell sat down at the keyboard and played a few barsof “Lush Life.” “You like Duke Ellington?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” the albino replied. “That’s Billy Stray-horn’s tune, though. It’s hard to separate Ellington and Strayhorn; seems like one takes up where the other leaves off.”
“Right. Say, I didn’t call you about tuning the piano, did I? I mean, my memory has been a little spotty lately, but . . .”
The albino laughed. “Oh, no. Mama sent me. She said you needed the piano.”
Now Howell knew why the albino looked familiar. “That was your brother who brought the firewood, wasn’t it?”
The albino nodded. “That was Brian. Brian’s a little . . .” He made a gesture. “But he’s a good lad. He liked bringing you the wood.”
“He wouldn’t let me pay him for it. I wanted to . . .”
“Oh, no, Mama wouldn’t have that.”
“Now look, I want to pay you for the piano tuning. You do that for a living, don’t you?”
“Yes, that and playing at the dances. Well, all right. I usually get twenty dollars for a tuning.”
Howell pressed the money into his hand. “Listen, I don’t quite understand about ‘Mama.’ Who is she?”
“My mother.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Dermot Kelly.”
Howell shook the hand. “Glad to meet you, Dermot. I’m John Howell. But how did she know I needed firewood and the piano tuned? Did Bo Scully tell her about me?”
Dermot Kelly picked up his case and began to move toward the door. He didn’t seem to need assistance finding his way. “Mama and Bo Scully don’t have much to do with each other,” he said. “No, Mama just knows things otherpeople don’t know. She’s been sick for a while now, but she still has her moments.”
Howell walked with Dermot to the door. “I’m afraid I don’t really understand this, but I’m grateful to her for sending you and Brian around. Will you thank her for me?”
“Thank her yourself,” Dermot replied. “She wants to meet you, anyway. She says she’s been waiting for you for a long time.”
Gooseflesh rose on Howell’s skin. “Well, I’ll drop by and see her if she’s well enough. You said she has been sick?”
“Yes, but she’ll be well enough when you come. We’re just a ways up the hill from the crossroads,” he said, pointing. “You’ll see the mailbox. Come any time.”
“Thanks, I will. And thanks again for the tuning.”
“Don’t mention it. Riley!”
The dog, who had never stopped snoring, was instantly on his feet. He walked quickly to Dermot’s side, neatly avoiding the furniture. Together, the two of them walked down the steps, down the short drive, and started up the road. Dermot moved slowly, but with some confidence.
Howell watched them for a moment. Before they went into the trees, Dermot Kelly raised a hand and waved, as if he knew Howell was watching them. When they were gone, Howell went back into the house, still amazed at the pair. “Talk about the blind leading the blind!” he said aloud to himself.
CHAPTER
5
A s Howell turned right at the crossroads and headed for town, he looked up the hill and saw the Kelly mailbox at the roadside. Somehow, he wasn’t ready to meet a sick old lady Who knew when he needed firewood and piano tuning. Too bad she didn’t know that he was out of beer and booze, too, and send somebody around with that. There
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