Heartsong (Logan 2)

The driveway was circular. Like Grandma Olivia and Grandpa Samuel's grounds, the lawn was pampered and designed with fountains, walkways, and small rock gardens, but there was almost twice as much acreage here. When we entered the circular drive, I looked off to the right and saw the dock, the moored sailboat and motor boat, and some small dinghies. Just behind the house was a large gazebo and another area for flowers, where I saw a swing seat under a large maple tree.

The judge's car was in front of the garage so I felt confident he was home.

"How much would it cost to have you wait for me?" I asked the taxi driver.

"How long?"

"About twenty minutes," I said. He shrugged.

"I have to charge you another fifteen dollars for half hour or part of," he replied.

"That's fine," I said and got out. I think he would have waited for nothing just to satisfy his curiosity. He didn't take his eyes off me as I stepped up to the front door and rang the bell. I heard a deep ding-dong sound on the inside and waited. Moments later, a short, balding man who looked to be in his early sixties opened the door. He wasn't dressed like a butler or a servant. He wore a white shirt opened at the collar and a pair of dark slacks. The small ridges of gray hair resembled steel wool over the sides of his head and down the back where it was a great deal thicker. He had a caramel complexion with dark brown eyes and his nose was thick at the bridge and his lower lip was fuller than his upper.

He took a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his top pocket and placed them slowly over his eyes to gaze out at me. They magnified his eyes and made them look even rounder. Without speaking, he looked over at the taxicab and then he turned back to me.

"Didn't hear you drive up," he said. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Melody Logan. I'd like to see Judge Childs," I said.

"Judge expecting you?" he asked. He seemed astounded by my visit. Didn't the judge ever have people calling on him?

"No, but he asked me to drop by when I had an opportunity," I replied.

"That so?" he said and stood there chewing on the idea for a moment. Then he shook his head. "He don't usually see people unless they have an appointment with him," he added.

"Can you please tell him I'm here?" I asked, not hiding my impatience.

He didn't move.

"He might be nappin' in the den. That's where he usually is if he don't go someplace on Sunday. He falls asleep after he reads the papers."

"I have a taxicab waiting for me," I pointed out so he would appreciate the time he was wasting. He nodded.

"Yeah. Okay. I'll go check." He started to close the door on me. suppose you could wait inside," he decided and stepped back to let me enter. He closed the door. "Be right back," he promised and started down the short corridor.

The only illumination in the entry way and the living room on my right came from the sunlight that penetrated the windows with their curtains drawn back, but I could see some decorative wood ornaments applied to the walls in the corridor. There were paintings on these walls as well, but I didn't think any of them were Kenneth's. They weren't his style. They were original oils depicting colonial scenes, realistic with subdued colors, all set in thick, ornate frames.

All the furniture I saw looked antique. It was as if it had come with the house and it, too, had been restored. I felt as if I had stepped into a museum or one of those" reconstructed homes open to tours. It didn't feel lived in, warm. Yet from somewhere deep in the house came music I recognized. I listened hard until I recalled it from music class. It was Debussy's La Mer.

Moments later, the balding man appeared, followed by Judge Childs dressed in a maroon satin robe with matching slippers. His hair was a little disheveled, and as he drew closer, I saw he hadn't shaved. His eyes were somewhat bloodshot and he looked flushed, as if he had been jolted out of a deep sleep.

"Melody, my dear. What a wonderful surprise," he said, holding out his hands. "When Morton told me I had a beautiful young lady visiting, I thought he was joking. You did right to wake me, Morton," the judge told his butler.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," I said.

"Oh nonsense. Old men like myself need to be disturbed. Otherwise, they would just waste away musing about their glorious lost youth. How about something to drink? A lemonade perhaps?"

"That would be fine," I said.

"Morton, we'll be in the sitting room," the judge said. "Two lemonades if you please."

"Very good, Judge."

"My maid, Toby, is off today," he explained. "This way, my dear," he said, moving toward the room to our right. When we entered, he rushed over to turn on the lamps. "Please have a seat," he said, indicating the strange looking bench to his right. I hesitated. "Oh, you can sit on it," he said with a smile. "It's actually comfortable."

"I've never seen anything like it," I said.

"Neither had I until my wife bought it at an auction in Boston. It's called an empire hall bench and it was made around 1810. Most everything in this house is an antique of one sort or another. Our furnishings are quite eclectic, as is the artwork. My wife made the house her life. She would rush off for hours, go miles and miles if she heard the