Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

know. I thought it would be better if I practiced for a while on my own and brought myself at least back to the level I had been at before the tragedy had befallen us.
    At first it was very difficult for me to sit down and run my fingers over the piano keys. I couldn't help but see Mommy's proud smile every time I tapped out a page of sheet music. I had never realized just how much of a part she had played in my musical development and just how important it had been for me to please her. Now, with her gone, there was such a great emptiness around me and an even greater emptiness in the pit of my stomach. To me, my music sounded mechanical, lifeless, hollow, but apparently, not so to Uncle Philip.
    One afternoon, when I was trying to relearn a Beethoven sonata, I finally felt the notes take over and for a while provide a kind of escape from my unhappy world. I was so involved in it that I didn't hear Uncle Philip come in and sit down, but when I finished the piece, he clapped. I spun around on the stool and saw him sitting there, smiling.
    "I'm so happy you've gone back to the piano," he said. "Your mother would be happy too, Christie."
    "It's not the same for me," I replied. "Nothing is."
    "It will be," he promised. "Give it time and keep practicing."
    He was so happy about my playing that he made it the chief topic of conversation at dinner that night. Aunt Bet smiled and said encouraging things, too. Only the twins looked glum. Jefferson, as usual, ate quietly, kept to himself, and left the table as soon as he was permitted. Dinners would never be the same for him, never hold the magic and warmth they had when Mommy and Daddy and the two of us sat around and talked and teased each other lovingly. Mrs. Boston wasn't coming out of the kitchen to chide Daddy for teasing me or Jefferson. She had been as protective of us as Mommy.
    Anyway, I continued to practice and two days later took my first lesson with Mr. Wittleman. He said I had remarkably maintained and even improved some of my skills. That night, at dinner, Uncle Philip begged me to play something for the family afterward. I tried to refuse, but he pleaded and pleaded until it became embarrassing. Finally, I agreed. After dessert had been served, everyone, including Jefferson, came into the parlor and sat behind me. I played a nocturne by Chopin I had been practicing with Mr. Wittleman.
    When I was finished, Uncle Philip stood up and applauded. Aunt Bet did too. Richard and Melanie clapped quickly, both looking annoyed.
    "That was spectacular, absolutely fantastic!" Uncle Philip exclaimed. He turned to the twins. "Your cousin is going to be a very famous pianist some day and you will be proud to be related to her," he told them. Neither seemed impressed.
    "I can't wait for the hotel to be rebuilt and a new season to start," Uncle Philip continued, "so that Christie can play for our guests. We'll be the envy of every coast resort from Maine to Florida."
    He rushed over to give me a kiss, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Melanie look down. Uncle Philip's over-exuberant accolades embarrassed me, but there was nothing I could say or do to stop him once he had begun. Finally, Jefferson asked to watch some television and we were able to escape. The twins rarely watched television with us. They usually read and listened to music or played one of their board games.
    But late the next afternoon, when I went into the parlor and sat down to prepare for my next lesson with Mr. Wittleman, I touched the piano keys and then screamed in shock. Both Mrs. Stoddard and Aunt Bet came running in from the kitchen. And the twins came flying down the stairs.
    "What's wrong?" Aunt Bet asked grimacing. I was holding my hands up, bent at the wrist, my fingers dangling.
    "Someone . . ." I couldn't speak for a moment. "Someone poured gobs and gobs of honey over the piano keys!" I cried. "They've ruined my piano."
    Richard and Melanie approached and stared down at the keys. Melanie touched one and smelled the tip of her finger.
    "Ugh," she said, turning to show Mrs. Stoddard and Aunt Bet.
    "Oh dear," Mrs. Stoddard said, shaking her head. "How dreadful."
    Aunt Bet's face turned pink with rage.
    "That's a horrible, horrible prank," she declared. "I must tell Philip immediately." She marched out of the house. Mrs. Stoddard ran to the kitchen for some washcloths, but it was futile to try to repair the damage, for the honey had dripped down in between the keys and under them, making them