Once in Every Life

Tess heard the first vague stirring of music. At first she thought she'd imagined the heartbreakingly beautiful

sound.

Her fingers tightened around Jack's. Her breath caught. "Music." She said the word reverently. Emotion coiled around her throat, brought the sharp sting of tears. All her life she'd tried to imagine what music sounded like. She'd tried to remember, but she'd been so young when she'd lost her hearing. Too young to remember.

She'd spent years feeling music as a rumbling beat beneath her feet and watching its effect on people. And wishing?just for a second?to truly hear its magic.

Now here it was, seeping through the open windows and floating gracefully on the cool night air. The music swelled in her soul like a symphony.

"Oh, Jack," she sighed, "it's beautiful...." He gave h

er a stiff-lipped smile and brought the wagon to a stop.

Excitement coursed through Tess. She jumped down from the wagon and quickly organized the unloading. Giving Jack the box of stack cakes, Savannah the basket of chicken, and Katie the cold potato pie, Tess wrapped Caleb in her arms and they were off.

Jack moved slowly, as if each step were fraught with danger. She ribbed him gently in the side. "Lighten up," she said with a grin. "We're going to have fun." He gave her a wan smile.

They walked up the creaking wooden steps and stopped just inside the open doorway. The hall was ablaze with lights and filled with laughing, talking, dancing people. Tess stared in awe. She knew it was just a nothing old

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log building with a few candles on the tables and straw on the floor, but to her, listening to the gay sound of the fiddle music, it was the most sumptuous, magical ballroom she'd ever seen.

Candles and lamps were everywhere, creating pockets of golden, shimmering light that melded into one another. People whirled across the makeshift dance floor amid the rustle of silk and the stomping of heels. The scents of burning wood, fresh-baked foods, cinnamon, and sweat clamored for dominance in the crowded room.

The fiddler stood apart from the crowd, barricaded behind a row of whiskey barrels. Sweat shone from his balding head and slid down his flushed, fleshy cheeks as he played.

He looked up suddenly and saw Jack. The fiddle

squeaked loudly and struck a sour note, then went quiet.

The dancers shuddered to a stomping, uncertain halt and

turned toward the door. Conversations ground to a halt,

laughter died stillborn in a dozen throats.

The silence turned thick, wary. Somewhere a candle sputtered, but it was the only sound in a room filled with people.

Then Minerva Hannah broke from the crowd and came rushing toward Lissa. "There you are," she said loudly enough for all to hear. "We've been waiting for you."

Her greeting severed the unnatural silence. Jim followed on his wife's heels, his hand outstretched to shake Jack's hand. "Hi, Jack. Glad you could make it."

Jack lifted an eyebrow derisively. "A feeling shared by all, I see."

"Give 'em time, Jack," Jim said. "They'll forget." If you don't do it again.

Jack heard the words as surely as if they'd been spoken aloud. He stiffened, nodded curtly. "Yeah, sure."

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"Forget what?" Tess looked in confusion from Jim to

Jack.

Jack's gaze skittered away. "Nothing. Come on," he said, already heading toward the food tables that lined the

far wall.