The Road to Mercy (15 page)

“Sir, this card doesn’t work either. It’s telling me it’s also over the limit.”

Josh ran his hand through his hair. How could that be? He had just paid the balance on the account. Beth and he charged very little on their personal credit cards. In fact, they always paid everything off in full each month in order to avoid finance charges.

“Are your computers working okay?” Josh asked.

“Yes, sir. Working fine this morning,” the clerk said. “What would you like to do now?” She sighed, pointing to the line of people standing behind him.

“I’ll pay with cash,” he told her. “Will two hundred dollars get us through the next leg of the trip?” He asked Danny.

His driver nodded.

Josh pulled out the last two bills in his wallet. “Please, set us up for two hundred on bay five. Sorry for your trouble.”

The cashier took the bills, held them up to the light, and flipped the switch that activated the fuel pump. “Thank you, sir. Here’s your receipt. Have a nice day.”

Danny mumbled something to her before following Josh into the predawn morning.

“Thanks, boss. They must have a problem with their machines.”

“Appears so,” Josh said. “But I’ll call my accountant’s office when they open this morning to make sure the problem is not on our end.”

I’d better call Beth too
.

“Bethany, do you have any idea why our business credit card would be maxed out?”

“I don’t, but I can check with Bob Bradford.”

“No need. I have a call into him already.”

“How about our personal Visa?” Josh asked.

“Ummmm. No, I can’t think of anything.” The furniture company was supposed to wait until delivery day to run the charge. Surely they hadn’t—

“Is everything okay there?” he asked.

“Just fine.”

“All right, talk to you later.” Josh hung up.

The sinking feeling in the pit of Beth’s stomach told her she had made a big mistake.

Josh stepped out of the dressing room and turned left. His steps were much lighter now that he had spoken with Bob Bradford a second time. Bradford had duly chastised the credit card company, and they had offered their apologies. The tour account had never been over the limit, and there should be no more problems for the rest of the tour.

He followed the signs on the wall that pointed toward the catering area. Like most of the venues he had worked during the past seven or eight months, a network of corridors ran underneath the building like a giant, underground spiderweb. Yards of whitewashed concrete block walls, broken only by ominous, dark green metal doors, stretched in all directions.

Mint green and beige-speckled tile floors, and artificially chilled air, gave the place a clinical feel. These same halls would be stifling after the show, when sweaty musicians and crew members rushed through them with instrument cases and production cargo in tow.

Snippets of conversation from earlier in the day ran through Josh’s head, and anxiety increased the pace of his steps. Beth had been short with him when he called to let her know that everything was okay with the business account. Ryan had almost bitten his head off when he tried to talk about the lacking merchandise sales. Perhaps the camaraderie of the crew meal would bring some needed relaxation.

Josh heard music in the distance. A few feet ahead, it surrounded him. He had stepped into a musical garden retreat in the midst of a manmade jungle. Sweet strains of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” wafted through the corridor, causing him to redirect his steps and leading him to a door at the end of an extraneous hallway.

Josh peeked through the small, vertical window in the door. He could see the familiar shape of a grand piano, inside what was likely a rehearsal room. It was impossible from his vantage point to see who cajoled such unearthly music from the earthly elements of wood, wire, and ivory.

It was, most likely, the keyboardist for one of the main acts on the tour. Josh hadn’t met everyone yet. This was only the second day of the Christmas tour. The pianist’s touch was
light, but the style, although unfamiliar, was reminiscent of old-style Gospel piano.

Perhaps this was a local musician, or even a tuner, who had wandered into the hall to practice. No matter, Josh wanted to express his awe and appreciation for such talent, which had obviously been honed through hours of dedicated practice.

He urged the door open, the locking mechanism releasing with a slight click, and entered the rehearsal room. The pianist, whose face was still hidden behind the lid of the behemoth instrument, never stopped playing. Josh hesitated, wanting to listen to the music for a while longer before introducing himself. But to stay for more than a few moments without making his presence known would be eavesdropping.

“Hello,” Josh called out.

The music stopped, and Josh stepped around the side of the piano, his right hand extended to greet the stranger.

“Hey, boss.”

“Danny?”

The big man blushed.

“I didn’t know you played piano.”

Danny ran his hands gently over the tops of the ivory keys, caressing them like a familiar lover.

“I knock around on it a bit.”

“Man, you weren’t just knocking around. That was some incredible playing.”

“Thanks,” Danny said. He appeared to be at a loss for words and started to get up.

“Sit.” Josh motioned for his driver to return to his seat on the cushioned bench. “Please.”

Danny acquiesced.

“I would love to hear more.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Josh looked around for a folding chair. Finding one, he pulled it closer. “Please, continue.”

Danny stared at him for a few seconds, shook his head, and then turned again to the instrument. He picked up where he had left off.

The music carried Josh away to a time and a place he hadn’t been for a while, transporting him to an old, country church in Alabama, listening to his mother play. This song reminded him of the invitation she often played at the end of his daddy’s service.

A mighty fortress is our God,

a bulwark never failing;

our helper he amid the flood

of mortal ills prevailing.

At the end of the song, Danny turned to him, met his eyes briefly, and then directed his gaze to the floor.

“Why have you been hiding your talent from me?” Josh asked. “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t think it mattered. You know, I’m not as good as Shane.” Josh’s keyboard player Shane was one of the best in the business.

“Not as good? Man, you’re great.”

“Thanks.”

Josh stared at the man he had never seen before. “Play something else.”

Without speaking, Danny returned his fingers to the keyboard. His touch was as light as air as he played song after song, hymn after hymn. After the third or fourth song, Danny turned back to him. “Would you like to hear one of my original tunes?”

“You write too?”

“Well, not lyrics. Just melodies.” He smiled wryly. “I can’t sing a lick. Couldn’t carry a tune in a wooden bucket.”

“I’d love to hear something you’ve written.”

A few minutes later, after listening to the composition, it was Josh’s turn to be at a loss for words.

“I guess I lost you on that one, huh?” Danny laughed. “Can’t win them all. I’ll stick with old hymns.”

“Are you kidding?” Josh smiled. “I loved it.”

“Really?”

“Do you have more?” Josh asked.

“Lots. Would you like to hear a tape I put together?”

“Yes. I would love that,” Josh told him. “What else are you keeping from me?” He laughed. “Can you cure cancer too?”

“No. Just drive. That’s about all I know. Driving and a little bit of piano playing.”

Josh sat with his legs propped up, relaxing in the jump seat. He stared mindlessly at the highway that stretched before them. The asphalt ribbon narrowed to a glistening alabaster strand in the distance as it rose and fell beneath the bus on this cold Minnesota morning.

Danny’s Christmas CD streamed through Josh’s earbuds, providing him an appropriate soundtrack while they plowed through the fresh snow. Josh could tell by watching his driver’s grip on the wheel that the big coach was traversing as much ice as snow. A treacherous combination. But he had confidence in Danny. He had never failed to get them safely, or on time, to their destination.

Josh tapped his toe while he listened to a rousing rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” Every song on the CD—from “Ave Maria” to “What Child Is This?”—had been done well, and in Danny’s unique style. There was no doubt that his friend had other talents besides driving.

The music carried Josh back to his childhood in Alabama, where snow had been scarce on Christmas. His mom always played Elvis’s music on the stereo while they decorated the
tree, strung popcorn, and sipped hot cider. On Christmas Day, after their family meal, they would always gathered around the piano, singing carols while his mother played.

A lot had changed since he lost his mom, but his life was still set to music. Somehow, the soundtrack had already looped back around. Was he destined to repeat the mistakes of his father? Was his faith strong enough to make it through Beth’s illness or the loss of his child?

All he could do was take it a day at a time. He picked up the phone and called his wife, just to hear her voice.

Beth hung up the phone. Josh would be home in ten days, and she couldn’t wait. It would be their last holiday together, alone, as a couple. She wanted to make it special for him.

She glanced around the living room, taking in everything she had done in preparation for his return. Alex had helped her with the decorations, and the house looked beautiful.

The fresh-cut white pine stood six feet tall in front of the large, double living room window. Alex had dragged it into the house and set it up. Then they had covered it with hundreds of soft, white lights, and tied ivory-colored, linen bows onto the tips of the branches.

Strings of cranberries crisscrossed the evergreen needles from top to bottom. An antique, hand-punched tin star sat at the top. Covering the bottom was an embroidered, burgundy red tree skirt, a gift from her Grandmother Randall.

With everything now completed, Beth had time on her hands. Alex had gone home for a while. Perhaps she should put Buster out for a few minutes and then take a short nap.

“Want to go outside, Budder?” She asked the sleepy-eyed terrier.

The little dog grinned and raced to the back door. “Good boy. When you come back, we’ll snuggle on the sofa for a while.”

When she opened the door, he took off running and barking to the far end of the backyard. Beth looked up into what, an hour before, had been a clear-blue sky. Steel-gray clouds now gathered into a brewing storm. The wind, taking advantage of the open door, shoved its way inside with a whiny howl, blowing her Farmer’s Almanac calendar off the mudroom wall.

When she bent to pick it up, the realization hit her in the gut, almost knocking her to the floor. December 13. She braced against the kitchen doorsill. How had she let today slip up on her? Especially this year.

And then she remembered the bear.

She turned and walked purposefully through the house, down the hallway, and into the guest bedroom. She knew exactly where the box was stored. On the top shelf of the closet, safe and nondescript, just like the memories she held of this date ten years ago.