A Worthy Pursuit by Karen Witemeyer

slow song with deep tones and a beat that seemed to keep the piece moving forward. It was a much simpler tune, yet the boy played it hesitantly, his gaze scouring the empty space in front of him as if for directions.
    Then all at once, Miss Atherton appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on her apron. She raised a brow at seeing Stone there but didn’t comment on his presence. Instead, she crossed the room to stand behind John, placed her hands gently on the boy’s shoulders, and exhaled a long, steady breath.
    “Feel the music, John.” She spoke so quietly, Stone almost missed it. “Remember? Let it move from your ears . . . through your mind . . . down into your heart . . . and then out your fingers.”
    The boy visibly relaxed. The notes became less stilted.
    “Better,” she praised. For a moment, her fingers mimicked John’s, playing out the notes upon his small shoulders. Then they slid off and disappeared into the folds of her apron. Leavingher pupil to carry on without her, she stepped away from the piano.
    Stone met her halfway across the rug. “I thought I’d return your writing desk. Oh, and the plate from lunch.” He held out the stationery box to her, keeping the dish in place on top of it with his thumbs. “I appreciate the use of both.”
    Miss Atherton accepted the items then immediately handed the stationery box to Lily. “Take this to my room, please.” The girl gave a little huff but then grabbed the box and scampered off. The teacher turned back to Stone. “I understand that Dr. Ramsey volunteered to post your letter for you.”
    “That’s right. He took it with him last night. Seemed like a trustworthy fellow. Should I be concerned?”
    Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh no. The doctor is a fine man. Extremely responsible. I’ve no doubt your letter has already been delivered to the post office. I just . . . I wondered how you planned to occupy your time while you wait for a reply.”
    Stone stepped closer to her, catching a glimpse of Lily running back into the room out of the corner of his eye. “You know exactly what I plan to do, Charlotte.” He spoke in a low murmur. Her mouth gaped just a touch at his use of her Christian name, but he was tired of the forced formality between them. It was time for her to accept that the barriers needed to come down. No more holding him at arm’s length and keeping Lily away from him. “I plan to convalesce and enjoy your hospitality. Maybe help out with some chores around the place.” He gave her a pointed look. “Spend time with the kids.” The tiny lines between her brows warned that a frown was coming, so he quickly steered the discussion to less threatening ground. “I never imagined I’d be treated to such an impressive concert. John has a rare talent.”
    “Yes. He does.” The frown lines didn’t completely disperse,but pride sparked in her eyes, thawing the frost that had started to collect around their edges. “They all do. In their own way.” She nodded toward Stephen, who had managed to completely gut the clock during their short conversation. “He’s taken that clock apart and put it successfully back together three times now. Faster each time. And each time he finishes, the clock ticks down perfect time. It didn’t run at all when we first arrived here.”
    “And Lily?” Stone asked.
    Charlotte glanced down to a spot near his right elbow and smiled. “Let her read a story with you, and you’ll see.”
    A small hand wormed its way into his oversized paw and gave his arm a tug. “Come on, Mr. Hammond. Come read a story with me. It’ll be fun.”
    His fingers closed reflexively over Lily’s hand as he allowed her to lead him to the sofa. It felt strange, foreign, to have something so tiny and delicate curled in his fist. His hands were made to wrap around a revolver or rifle, the hilt of a knife, or the horn of a saddle. They were made for subduing lawbreakers, not reading stories with little girls.