Inner Harbor. Lois Richer

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СКАЧАТЬ her stand, ordering it in the correct sequence for quick reference. Then she arranged the chairs precisely. After filling her lungs with a deep breath of faith, Annie stuck her head out the door.

      “Come on, people. It’s time to practi—” A cold, wet lump of snow cut off her words. Annie wiped away the few flakes that hadn’t already dripped off her chin and grinned. “You’re going to pay for that, you hooligans. Now, come on. Let’s get started.”

      They trooped inside, silent, eyes downcast, suppressed giggles escaping whenever she turned her back. If they were just the tiniest bit worried she’d be mad, Annie was glad. Perhaps order would prevail for at least five minutes. Coats, boots and mittens dropped to the floor as they jostled each other with good-natured ribbing. It took forever until, one by one, the kids filed into the left side of the choir loft. Occasionally, a mischievous child peeked up, checking her face for some sign of disapproval. Annie kept her expression serene. Later she’d pelt them all with a barrage of snowballs, but right now she needed them to concentrate.

      “Okay, guys.” She began by smiling at each one, searching for a confidence she didn’t feel. “You know the words. I think you know the melody, but just in case, I’m going to pound it out on the piano. Remember, you have to watch me to know when to come in.”

      A little blond sprite in the front row turned to his neighbor. “Not that again! Everything gets mixed up when she does that. Annie on the piano doesn’t sound like Reverend Burns on the organ at all.” A rumble of agreement rolled through the choir.

      Annie chuckled. Nothing like the honesty of a child to dent the ego.

      “It sure doesn’t, Robbie. But right now, a piano is all we’ve got. Since Reverend Burns hurt himself, we’re out of an organist. We’ll just have to pray that God will send another one.” Annie cleared her throat and played the intro. It took three false starts before they finally found their note and the correct entry point. Then, for some reason, their attention strayed to the back of the church. Annie ignored it. Probably another child, coaxing them to leave. Three tries later, she gave up on the accompaniment.

      “Come on, guys.” Should she call the whole thing off, before it was too late? No. This cantata was the focal point of their Easter service. She wouldn’t quit. Annie left the piano and moved to stand in front of them.

      “Think about what Easter means. Your best friend was killed. Now he’s buried, and you don’t think you’re ever going to see him again. The world is dark, the sun’s just under the horizon, and you’re sad.” She hummed the first few bars, motioning them to sing. “Okay, now you’re in the garden where he’s buried and you see that the stone over his grave is moved.”

      Three loud organ chords echoed through the church, resonant, triumphant and totally unexpected, grabbing the children’s attention like nothing else could. Annie blinked. She must have left the music up there. Had Pastor Burns finally found her an organist?

      Annie forced herself not to look around. She refused to waste this opportunity. Instead she tapped her pen on the top of her music stand. Every eye centered on her.

      “Now sing!” she ordered.

      And sing they did. Glorious swells of jubilant notes from the tired old pipe organ begged their full participation. Whoever was tickling those ivories knew exactly how to get the most out of each and every pipe. Annie could hardly wait to see exactly who her benefactor was, and when she did, she intended to beg, plead and implore him or her to play for them each and every practice until the final concert Easter morning.

      For now, she continued to lead her kids through the cantata, page after page. Soloists chimed in exactly right, harmonies came together almost without pause, until the last glorious notes of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” died away.

      “Hey, Annie. We did pretty good, didn’t we?” Her godchild grinned from ear to ear.

      “You did a fantastic job, Drew. All of you. Thank you.” She included everyone in her smile, delighted by the effort they’d made.

      Unable to control her curiosity, Annie turned toward the organ. A man sat there, a gorgeous man with glossy black hair that stood to attention in perfectly sculpted spikes. He had a to-die-for face—all angles and planes—and a smile that would kick any woman’s heartbeat into overdrive. But it was his eyes that held Annie’s attention. Silver gray swirls of glitter danced with sheer exuberance.

      “What a group! Sorry for bursting into your practice like that, but that music was just too tempting.” He stood, climbed down from his perch and stretched out a hand. “Russ Mitchard.”

      “Bless you, Russ Mitchard,” Annie breathed, eyes riveted on that smile.

      Annie let his big warm hand engulf hers. Then her eyes got snagged on marks covering the back of his hand. Those scars were the only flaw in his otherwise perfect image, so she could hardly be blamed for studying them a second time.

      “I beg your pardon?” His eyes stretched wide, curious.

      Annie flushed. What a time to lose her cool!

      “Just—uh, thanks for playing for us. It’s the best recital we’ve ever had. You were a real blessing.”

      “Well, I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a blessing. I think I like it.” He grinned, his eyebrows twitching as he glanced at their joined hands. “A lot.” He winked.

      “Oh. Sorry,” she murmured as she tugged her hand away. “Annie Simmons.”

      “It’s nice to meet you, Annie Simmons. Very nice.”

      Something strangely serious underlay his words. It was almost as if he’d been expecting to meet her. What nonsense. Annie shrugged it off as the kids swarmed around him, grilling him about his playing.

      Russ answered the best he could with so many voices demanding his attention. His smile remained easy, his attitude relaxed as he tapped out a few songs they knew on the baby grand piano. Minutes later their singing was interrupted when several moms popped their heads inside, stared at Russ and Annie for a few awkward moments, then called their children away.

      “Annie, I’m going with Billy. Okay?” Drew hopped from one foot to the other, barely able to wait for her permission.

      “Yes, all right. Billy’s mom said she’ll bring you back before dinner.” She watched Drew race out the door. As far as Annie could tell, he wasn’t suffering any ill effects from her mothering so maybe she was doing something right.

      With one last look at Russ, the rest of the children filed out until Annie was left alone with him.

      “Your son?” Silver-gray eyes perused her curiously.

      “Godchild. His parents died in a boating accident last fall. No relatives have come forward to claim him yet, so he stays with me, for now. We both like it.” Why was she telling him this?

      “Oh.”

      “I want to thank you for your help,” she blurted, wondering how to phrase her next request. “You made all the difference today.”

      “Regular organist conk out?” He shrugged into a black leather jacket that fit over his turtleneck like a second skin.

      “Something like that. Pastor Burns hurt himself shortly after I СКАЧАТЬ