Promises to Keep Nan Rossiter (books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

watched the old man’s face and could tell he really did want to play—he just needed a little encouragement. “Tell you what,” he offered. “You play somethin’ and, if you’ll let me, I’ll play somethin’, too.”

Maeve, who was standing in the middle of the porch with her tray, looked up in surprise. “Wait. What?!” she said, eyeing him. “You know how to play the fiddle?! After two years of knowin’ you, how could I not know this?”

“I don’t know,” Gage teased. “It’s not like I’ve been hidin’ it.” He turned back to Bud and winked. “So whad’ya say?”

Bud nodded and stood up. “I jus’ need a little room.”

“There’s room right there,” Gage said, nodding toward the open space across from Ivy Lee, but when Bud walked over, the tiny woman frowned fretfully.

Bud’s gnarled, old fingers curled around the fingerboard as he touched the bow to the strings and played a few tentative notes. “All right,” he said with an impish grin, “here goes nothin’.” He slowly bowed a few more notes before launching straight into the old fiddle favorite, “Orange Blossom Special.”

Within moments, everyone on the porch was clapping and tapping their feet, and Maeve—who’d sat in Bud’s seat to listen—watched in amazement as Ivy Lee’s frown faded and she began to move her hands as if clapping. She nudged Gage and whispered, “See? I told you music can have an effect on the memory of an old soul.”

Gage nodded and smiled.

Bud kept playing while Aristides stomped his foot and finally got up and danced around, his whole face smiling, and when Bud finished with a flourish, everyone cheered. “Not bad for an ole coot,” Bud said amiably before eyeing Gage. “Now, let’s see what this youngster can do!”

Gage laughed. “It’s been a while for me, too,” he said, “so no promises.”

“Aww, it’s jus’ like riding a bike,” Bud teased, “or making love,” he whispered as he handed Gage his beautiful old fiddle.

“I don’t do those very well, either,” Gage said, laughing. He stood, and walking over to where Bud had been standing, nodded to Ivy Lee, and ran the bow slowly across the strings—getting a feel for the beautiful instrument—and then he began playing the familiar beginning notes of “Tennessee Waltz.”

Maeve watched in wonder as the handsome man she loved pulled the bow slowly back and forth across the strings with a solemn intimacy she’d never seen before, and then she looked over and saw Ivy Lee close her eyes and begin swaying back and forth with a gentle smile on her face. A moment later, Gage transitioned smoothly from the slow, dreamy waltz into the upbeat rhythmic tempo of “Callin’ Baton Rouge,” and Ivy Lee opened her eyes and—beaming—started stomping her foot in time.

35

WHEN MASON PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY OF WILLOW POND SENIOR Care, the thundering horses under the hood of the old Chevelle drowned out the fiddle and drew the attention of everyone on the porch, but it especially turned the head of the silver-haired veteran leaning against the railing. Bud Hawkins turned and raised his eyebrows in surprise as a tall, slender boy climbed out.

“Who is that?” Gladys quipped.

“I don’t know,” Addie said, trying to see over the railing.

“I bet it’s the maid’s son,” Gladys whispered, sipping her wine.

“Or maybe it’s Bud’s grandson,” Addie offered, watching Bud walk down the steps and cross the lawn.

Everyone, including Maeve and Gage, watched curiously as the two shook hands. The boy gestured to the house and Bud nodded, and then they made their way back to the car. Bud walked around it slowly—smiling broadly—and when the boy lifted the hood, the old man raised his hands in what appeared to be genuine amazement. He pointed to different motor parts, asking questions, and the boy nodded, replying and gesturing, too. Finally, Bud clapped him on the shoulder, and just when it looked like they might be considering taking the car for a spin, Sal came out and announced that dinner was ready. He held the door, and everyone gathered their walkers and canes and started to move slowly toward it. Meanwhile, Maeve began cleaning up glasses, cups, and napkins and Gage looked around for Bud’s fiddle case. Finally, he spied it behind a chair, but just as he leaned down to pick it up, Bud and the boy reached the bottom step and he heard Bud say, “So what brings you here anyway? You surely weren’t looking for me.” He glanced over and saw the boy smile.

“I saw your house was for sale,” he answered, “and I’ve been wondering where you went, but you’re right—I’m actually here looking for someone else. I never expected to find you here.”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” Bud said, chuckling. “Who are you looking for?”

“Her name is Maeve Lindstrom. I was told she works here. Do you know her?”

“I sure do—she’s that lovely lady right there,” Bud said, smiling, and Maeve, who was hurrying so she and Gage could head to her parents’ house, overheard their conversation and glanced up in surprise.

“Maeve,” Bud said, “this handsome fella is looking for you.”

Hearing this, Gage looked up again and watched curiously.

“I thought that handsome young man was your grandson,” Maeve teased.

“I wish he was my grandson,” Bud quipped. “Did you see the fine job he did restoring my old Chevelle?”

“Is that your car? Wow! He did do a fine job,” she said, setting down the tray of glasses and napkins. She gave Gus the last cheese and cracker, and came down the steps, but when she saw the boy’s face . . . and his eyes, she felt her heart start to pound.

Mason stood there, and Bud looked from one to the other, frowning uncertainly. “Maeve, this is Mason Callahan—he’s from up in the Blue Ridge area.”

As he said this, Sal peered out. “Comin’ in for dinner, Bud?”

Bud looked up and nodded. “Maybe we can take her for a spin after,” he suggested hopefully, and Mason smiled at him and nodded. Bud turned and slowly climbed the