The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against him.
~Daniel 9:9~
1
Maci set her violin case beside the deck rail and turned her face to the breeze. She inhaled the sweet scent of the lilacs blooming along the river walk beyond the band shell. The day was unseasonably warm for early July, with temperatures soaring into the high nineties. The heat caused Maci’s senses to buzz as if she’d dipped her head into a beehive. From behind, she heard the clatter of fellow musicians as they began to pack up their instruments and clear the stage. What remained of the concert crowd quickly dispersed for cooler quarters. Red and white striped popcorn cartons littered the lawn along with crumpled soda cups. Already, the cleaning crew scurried to make quick work of the mess.
Maci leaned against the deck rail and blew a wisp of wavy red hair from her forehead as beads of perspiration dampened the nape of her neck. Summer was gearing up to be a real bear. This afternoon’s concert had zapped what was left of her energy after a full week spent counseling others, and she was thankful the sun had begun to sink low on the horizon, welcoming gentle hues of magenta and lavender. Even with cooling fans blowing into the orchestra’s pit, the temperature continued to lumber toward unbearable while humidity turned everything in its path to a limp dishrag. If it weren’t for the slight, gentle kiss of a breeze, she’d most likely melt. Thank goodness this was the last afternoon concert of Willow Lake’s outdoor series; the symphony was due to move indoors to the newly-renovated concert hall for next Saturday’s afternoon spotlight.
Maci hoisted her violin case and glanced at the delicate silver watch on her wrist. She’d lost track of time; the sweeping second hand was proof as it inched toward a new hour. She’d best be on her way home. A generous stack of case files, the byproduct of what she considered her real job—music therapy—waited for her attention. Despite their beckon, restlessness caused her to pace the open deck that ran the length of the back stage. Though, between concerts and working, her schedule was so full she barely had time to breathe, lately she’d felt as if something was missing from her life, something—
“This heat is killing me.”
Maci turned to find her friend Ali MacLaren—Hawkins, Maci corrected herself— approaching. She still thought of Ali as a MacLaren although she and Ryder had been married nearly a year. Blonde hair punctuated by strawberry highlights skimmed Ali’s shoulders as she swiped perspiration from her freckled nose. Her belly, round with pregnancy, made her labored walk more of a waddle.
“What are you doing out in this heat?” Maci quickly offered the bottle of water she clutched in one hand. Ali’s high-boned cheeks flared crimson. “You look like a teapot about to squeal.”
“With so much work at the inn, I’ve missed every one of your performances this season. I was determined to make this one—to cheer you on, Mace.” Ali splayed one hand across her belly while the other reached for the water. She uncapped the bottle, drew one greedy sip before continuing. “But, I didn’t bargain for this heat. Even the little guy feels it. He’s been awfully quiet today. I think he’s stretched out across my tailbone. It aches .”
“Maybe you’re in—”
“Bite your tongue.” Maci waggled a finger. “I can’t be in labor—not yet. I still have almost a month.” She forced a smile. “You sounded great out there, by the way. The best I’ve ever heard. It was…magical.”
“Thanks, but forget about the concert for now.” Maci took Ali’s arm and guided her toward a folding chair. “We have more pressing business to attend to. You should sit down.”
“I’ve tried.” Ali pushed hair back from her flushed face. “It only feels worse. And dizziness keeps coming and going like a tumbling wave, now joined by a nagging
~Daniel 9:9~
1
Maci set her violin case beside the deck rail and turned her face to the breeze. She inhaled the sweet scent of the lilacs blooming along the river walk beyond the band shell. The day was unseasonably warm for early July, with temperatures soaring into the high nineties. The heat caused Maci’s senses to buzz as if she’d dipped her head into a beehive. From behind, she heard the clatter of fellow musicians as they began to pack up their instruments and clear the stage. What remained of the concert crowd quickly dispersed for cooler quarters. Red and white striped popcorn cartons littered the lawn along with crumpled soda cups. Already, the cleaning crew scurried to make quick work of the mess.
Maci leaned against the deck rail and blew a wisp of wavy red hair from her forehead as beads of perspiration dampened the nape of her neck. Summer was gearing up to be a real bear. This afternoon’s concert had zapped what was left of her energy after a full week spent counseling others, and she was thankful the sun had begun to sink low on the horizon, welcoming gentle hues of magenta and lavender. Even with cooling fans blowing into the orchestra’s pit, the temperature continued to lumber toward unbearable while humidity turned everything in its path to a limp dishrag. If it weren’t for the slight, gentle kiss of a breeze, she’d most likely melt. Thank goodness this was the last afternoon concert of Willow Lake’s outdoor series; the symphony was due to move indoors to the newly-renovated concert hall for next Saturday’s afternoon spotlight.
Maci hoisted her violin case and glanced at the delicate silver watch on her wrist. She’d lost track of time; the sweeping second hand was proof as it inched toward a new hour. She’d best be on her way home. A generous stack of case files, the byproduct of what she considered her real job—music therapy—waited for her attention. Despite their beckon, restlessness caused her to pace the open deck that ran the length of the back stage. Though, between concerts and working, her schedule was so full she barely had time to breathe, lately she’d felt as if something was missing from her life, something—
“This heat is killing me.”
Maci turned to find her friend Ali MacLaren—Hawkins, Maci corrected herself— approaching. She still thought of Ali as a MacLaren although she and Ryder had been married nearly a year. Blonde hair punctuated by strawberry highlights skimmed Ali’s shoulders as she swiped perspiration from her freckled nose. Her belly, round with pregnancy, made her labored walk more of a waddle.
“What are you doing out in this heat?” Maci quickly offered the bottle of water she clutched in one hand. Ali’s high-boned cheeks flared crimson. “You look like a teapot about to squeal.”
“With so much work at the inn, I’ve missed every one of your performances this season. I was determined to make this one—to cheer you on, Mace.” Ali splayed one hand across her belly while the other reached for the water. She uncapped the bottle, drew one greedy sip before continuing. “But, I didn’t bargain for this heat. Even the little guy feels it. He’s been awfully quiet today. I think he’s stretched out across my tailbone. It aches .”
“Maybe you’re in—”
“Bite your tongue.” Maci waggled a finger. “I can’t be in labor—not yet. I still have almost a month.” She forced a smile. “You sounded great out there, by the way. The best I’ve ever heard. It was…magical.”
“Thanks, but forget about the concert for now.” Maci took Ali’s arm and guided her toward a folding chair. “We have more pressing business to attend to. You should sit down.”
“I’ve tried.” Ali pushed hair back from her flushed face. “It only feels worse. And dizziness keeps coming and going like a tumbling wave, now joined by a nagging
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