A Melody of Lilies

An old grand piano has been sitting in the corner of the McDormick farmhouse for longer than Lily can remember. It’s beautiful in the way forgotten things sometimes are, with its dark mahogany wood, ivory keys yellowed slightly with age, tiny scratches along the legs from generations of furniture being moved around it. Her mother keeps a vase of fresh daisies, sunflowers, and wildflowers on top whenever something is blooming in the fields, as though the piano is still an important member of the family despite no one actually knowing how to play it. Lily has tried playing many times since she was five years old, and even at twenty-two, she still hasn’t managed to play a simple song like “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”

Sitting on the matching dark mahogany bench, she tries again.

Plink.

Disappointed, she presses another key.

Plink.

“That’s beautiful.”

Lily glances over her shoulder. Her father stands in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, doing an absolutely terrible job of hiding his amusement.

“Don’t,” Lily says, half-smiling.

“I didn’t say anything.” He raises his hands in surrender, a whimsical look crossing his face.

“You were going to. Don’t be coy with me. I’m trying to concentrate.” She turns back toward the piano, scanning for the next key to hit. “Don’t you have to help Mama with something?”

Plink.

“You may be right, but your beautiful music stopped me in my tracks. I had to stay for the show.”

“Mmm.” Lily glances back at him. “As much as I appreciate the audience, this is a paid show. I may need to call security about the freeloaders.”

He smiles, raising his hands again in defeat as he walks away. “Okay, okay. Next time I’ll pay.”

Lily turns back toward the piano and presses three keys together, creating an awful, eerie sound.

I appreciate the perseverance.

The thought comes softly, and Lily laughs, recognizing the familiar way the Lord sometimes speaks to her heart.

Someday, she thinks.

She has been saying that for years.

Someday she will learn.

Plink.

She doesn’t dream of standing on a stage, receiving applause, or having strangers around the world know her name. If fame ever comes with the music, fine...but that’s the part that frightens her most. The thought of standing on a stage with thousands of people staring right back at her sounds horrifying.

Her heart simply wants to play for the Lord.

There are melodies she sometimes imagines during worship on Sunday mornings, tiny pieces of music that seem to form somewhere inside her, especially when she prays. She can hear exactly what she wants them to sound like, but her hands can’t understand how to find the keys that match the notes in her head. She places her fingers carefully over the keys and tries again.

She sighs in defeat. “All right… You win.”

She closes the fallboard over the keys and stands to look out the window. Outside, Glimbridge stretches beneath the late-afternoon sun. Little cottages with stone walls and metal roofs dot the countryside. There isn’t much to the town. It’s tiny, with only about 543 people calling it home, but that’s exactly how most of them prefer it. Fields roll across the countryside in long patches of green, gold, and lavender. Old farmhouses sit between weathered barns and narrow roads. Chickens, horses, and goats roam freely through a large field, enjoying the vast land around them. A huge church steeple rises beyond the trees in the distance, and farther down the road sits the small collection of old-town shops and farmers markets that constitute downtown. People wave when they pass each other. Neighbors still appear with homemade soup and get-well cards when somebody gets sick. And everybody knows everybody else’s business whether they want them to or not. That was the one thing Lily loved about this town. Well, most of the time…

She steps outside, letting the screen door slam behind her. Warm spring air brushes against her face, carrying the smell of grass and lavender. Her family’s property stretches farther than she can see from the house. The farmland has belonged to the McDormicks for generations, and although Lily occasionally wonders what it would be like to live somewhere enormous like New York, she can’t imagine waking up without smelling fresh lavender in the morning. She tucks a couple of her black curls behind her ear. The single white curl immediately falls back across the right side of her face.

“It seems to be one of those days.”

She stopped fighting with it years ago and has come to terms with the fact that it will forever be her mark, one little streak of white in the midst of her soft black curls. She heads toward the far field, following the worn path beside the barn. The small, dainty gold cross around her neck moves gently against her chest as she walks. She’s heading to the place where she and the Lord can be alone, where she prays most often. Not because she believes God hears her better in a field than inside the house. There are just no distractions.

No phones. No conversations. No expectations.

Just the wind moving through the grass and enough open sky to remind her how small she actually is. She reaches the old wooden fence near the edge of the property and rests her arms across it. For a while, she says nothing. Then she notices a cloud in the distance. It looks almost perfectly like a heart.

“Well, hello,” she says quietly, smiling to herself.

Starting conversations with God rarely begin impressively.

“I tried the piano again. Fourth time this week.”

The wind stirs the grass as a dragonfly zips past.

“It went terribly, but I heard You.”

She looks toward the horizon.

“I know... practice. But Father, I’ve been doing it for years.”

A small giggle escapes her.

“Lessons? Yes, I know those exist too.”

A comfortable silence settles around her. Lily lowers her eyes.

“I just wish I could play what’s in here, Lord.” She places a hand against her chest.

“I can hear it, but...” Her smile fades slightly. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Sometimes during prayer, the melodies are so clear she can almost separate every note. She’s tried humming them. She’s tried recording them. Once, she even attempted to explain one to the pianist at church. Nothing captures what the Lord places in her heart. The melodies live somewhere between thought and prayer. Maybe that’s where they’re supposed to remain.

“If You want me to learn someday, Father,” Lily whispers, “I’d really like that.”

She pauses. “But if not...” She smiles. “I’ll survive.”

Lily pushes herself away from the old, worn wooden fence. She has taken only a few steps when she hears something.

Snap.

She stops. The sound comes from somewhere near the old equipment shed.

“Hello?”

She squints, trying to make out something in the distance. By now, dusk has settled over the fields, and it’s getting harder to see.

Nothing.

Lily looks toward the house and realizes she’s too far away for her father to hear her without shouting.

Probably an animal.

Deer roam the woods often and occasionally wander into the fields to eat the corn. She continues toward the shed.

Crack.

This time, it’s louder. Lily stops again. Something in her spirit feels off. Not frightening exactly. Just...wrong. The air has changed. The hairs along her arms rise.

“That’s new...”

She takes a cautious step backward. Something moves in the darkness of the woods. Or at least she thinks it does. Another step. Her heel catches on something hidden beneath the tall grass. Lily stumbles backward, reaching instinctively for the wooden fence to catch herself. Her fingers slip past it. Pain explodes through her chest, and she immediately clutches at her necklace. Her breath snaps into a gasp as she falls backward, her back striking the earth with a thump. For one bewildered second, she simply stares at the tall grass surrounding her.

What is happening?

She tries to inhale.

Nothing.

Her heart slams violently inside her chest.

Once. Twice.

Then, strangely...nothing. The world tilts.

“Lily!”

Her father’s frantic voice sounds impossibly distant. She tries to answer with what little air she has left, but not one sound comes out. The field blurs around her as the sky begins to fade into a final beam of sunlight. She can hear her father’s footsteps growing closer, yet somehow they still sound miles away. Then his hands are beneath her shoulders, trying to prop her up.

“Lily. Lily, look at me, honey.”

She wants to. But she can’t lift her eyes. She can feel herself drifting away.

“Lily!” His voice breaks. “Rebecca! Our daughter!” Fear fills the cracks of her father’s voice. She has never heard that much fear in him before. Her vision narrows until his face is surrounded by darkness. Lily thinks she should be terrified. Instead, something unexpected happens. She hears music. Not from the house. Not from town. Not from anywhere she can identify through the haze surrounding her.

It is the melody. Her melody.

Clear as day, drowning out her father’s voice and, eventually, her mother’s. The one she has been trying to find for years. Except now she can hear all of it.

Every note.

Every harmony.

Beautiful beyond anything she has imagined. Her parents’ voices disappear completely. Then the field. The sky. The pain. Everything succumbs to the darkness...except the music. And for one impossible moment, Lily understands exactly how to play it.

Then her heart stops.

And Glimbridge goes silent.