Cassandra's Song
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The women seemed dumbstruck at first as they gazed down at their enormous bibs, but then they began to giggle, and soon everyone in the room was laughing uproariously and making outrageous jokes.
“If we were wearing black, we’d look like penguins,” Emma said with a chuckle.
“I could wear this to the beauty shop when I have my hair done. It’s certainly large enough,” Lydia observed.
“Have you thought of going into business, Andrew?” suggested Emma. “Marketing bibs for adults. I’m sure it’s a fad many of us would welcome. You could personalize them. Oh, there’s no end to what you could do. Cover them with pictures, make them in bright colors…”
“What a wonderful idea, Emma,” said Lydia. “I may try my hand at a few myself. I know several little craft stores that might welcome them.”
“I wouldn’t mind working with you, Lydia. I have a sewing machine and have been known to be quite a seamstress in my time.”
“Oh, that might be fun, dear. What do you think, Andrew? Would you mind us taking your idea and running with it?”
“No, of course not, although maybe you should check with Bree. It was her idea in the first place.”
“No, that’s fine,” Brianna said quickly. “I’d love to see what the two of you come up with.”
When everyone had finished their spaghetti, Cassie served coffee and Frannie brought out her special strawberry shortcake for dessert. It was obviously a favorite of everyone’s.
When at last dinner was finished, Cassie breathed a little sigh of relief. Considering the catastrophe she had expected this evening to be, everything had gone amazingly well. Lydia and Emma were already behaving like long-lost friends, and her father seemed to be genuinely enjoying the company of his two dates. But now that dinner was over she wanted to send them on their way before she pushed her good fortune too far.
“Well, it’s been wonderful having you both here,” she told her two guests as she collected the dessert plates. It’s just too bad we have to make it an early evening. Daddy has to work on his sermon tonight, you know.”
“Oh, yes, Daddy,” Frannie chimed in, “don’t forget your sermon. You must still have hours of research to do.”
Her father looked from daughter to daughter with a question mark in his eyes. “My sermon?” He broke into a self-satisfied grin. “Actually, my sermon is done. I’m as ready for Sunday as I’ll ever be.”
“But, Daddy, you can’t be,” protested Frannie.
“Oh, but I am, muffin.” He grinned slyly. “I’m speaking on the importance of letting God do His work in our lives rather than trying to orchestrate the future ourselves. After all, we end up in quite a pickle when we try to—”
“Yes, Daddy, we get the message,” Cassie said, sweeping over and helping her father take off his bib. “I’ll collect the bibs, and then we can…we can, uh…”
Her father broke in. “Why don’t we adjourn to the music room and let Cassie give us a preview of Sunday’s cantata?”
“Oh, that would be delightful,” said Emma.
“No, Daddy, I really couldn’t tonight.”
Andrew wasn’t about to be deterred. “Well, then let’s gather around the piano and have an old-fashioned hymn sing. How about it, ladies?”
Emma clapped her hands. “Oh, I love to sing. What about you, Lydia?”
“I’m not much of a singer, but I’ll give it the old college try.”
Brianna and Frannie cast sidelong glances at Cassie, as if to ask, Now what do we do? Cassie shrugged helplessly, her arms filled with bibs. Nothing about this evening was going the way she had expected.
Her father gave a contented sigh. “Good dinner, girls. You outdid yourselves as usual.” He pushed back his chair and stood, then helped Emma and Lydia out of their chairs. As he motioned the women toward the music room, he tweaked Cassie’s cheek and said, “You’ll come play for us, won’t you, cupcake?”
Her shoulders sagged. “Sure, Daddy, I’ll be right there.”
“And Bree and Frannie, you’ll join us, too, won’t you?” her father urged. “You girls have such lovely voices.”
“Sure, Daddy,” they said in unison.
For the next two hours they sat around the piano singing every hymn they could recall, Cassie’s tapered fingers moving expertly over the ivory keys as her father’s rich baritone blended with his daughters’ lyrical sopranos and the eager, if unpracticed, altos of their two guests.
At some point Cassie lost track of time and realized, to her surprise, that she was thoroughly enjoying the evening. In fact, it was obvious that everyone was having a marvelous time, especially her father and his impromptu dates.
It was nearly midnight when Lydia and Emma said their reluctant good-nights, “Dear girls, we must do this again very soon! Your father is such a treasure! You must be so proud!” and slipped off into the night, chatting amiably, as if they had known each other forever.
With the ladies gone, Andrew beckoned his daughters close and drew them into what might have been a football huddle, his arms draped around their shoulders, their heads all nearly touching at the forehead. “My darling daughters,” he said in a soft, wily voice, “I know you love practicing your matchmaking schemes on me, but setting me up with two dates in one night? Isn’t that a bit much even for you?”
“Oh, Daddy, we didn’t mean to,” Brianna exclaimed. “I invited Emma—”
“And I invited Lydia,” Cassie said. “I didn’t know about Emma until—”
“Well, girls, next time coordinate your efforts, okay?” Andrew’s expression grew solemn, the sea-blue of his eyes deepening. “In fact, I would prefer that there be no more matchmaking efforts on my behalf. Is that understood?”
“But, Daddy,” protested Cassie.
“No buts, Cassie. I’m very happy with my life just as it is.” An unexpected tenderness softened his voice. “I had a wonderful life with your mother. She was the love of my life, and I don’t expect to find another woman I could love that way again. So, please, promise me, no more conniving to get me to the altar again. Promise?”
“Promise, Daddy,” Frannie agreed.
Brianna looked reluctant, but finally acquiesced. “Promise.”
Cassie turned away, silent. There was no way she could make such a promise. She knew what her father needed even if he didn’t…an extraordinary woman who would love him with the kind of passion and devotion that would erase the grief and loneliness she saw in his eyes when he thought nobody was looking.
Somewhere in this vast, wide world there had to be such a woman.
Chapter Three
O n Saturday morning—a balmy, early autumn day—Frannie poked her head inside Cassie’s door and whispered, “You awake, sleepyhead?”
Cassie rolled over and burrowed her head under the pillow. “No, go away. After last night’s fiasco, I want to sleep till noon!”
Frannie slipped inside the room and curled up on a corner of the four-poster bed. “It wasn’t so bad. We actually had fun, didn’t we? And Dad was a good sport, don’t you think? So it all turned out okay. As long as we don’t try playing matchmaker again.”
Cassie pulled her tousled head out from under the pillow and looked at her youngest sister through bleary eyes. Frannie was sitting cross-legged in her PJs, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders to the middle of her back. “Fran, did you wake me up just to rehash last night?”
“Of course not.”
“We’re not having more dinner guests tonight, are we?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Good!”
“But I, uh, have a favor to ask.”
Cassie fluffed her pillow under her head and closed her eyes. “Your timing is lousy, sis. Whatever it is, no!”
“Then you won’t go?” Frannie’s tone was petulant.
Cassie opened one eye, her curiosity rising in spite of herself. “Go where?”
“To the concert tonight.”
“What concert?”
“At the university.”
“San Diego State?”
“Of course. What other school is there?” Frannie drew in a breath and rushed on. “Antonio Pagliarulo is performing.”
Cassie sat up and forked back her mop of unruly hair. “Who?” she asked, feigning ignorance.
“Antonio Pagliarulo. A fantastic tenor. He teaches music at the university. You teach in the music department. Surely you know him.”
“I’m part-time faculty. I go, teach my two classes, and disappear again. Full-timers don’t mingle with part-timers.”
“Well, I’m only a teacher’s assistant, and I’ve heard of Antonio Pagliarulo.”
“Okay, so I’ve heard of him. They say he’s a recluse, a loner, a snob. Lives in a mansion overlooking the ocean and never socializes with anyone.”
“So?” countered Frannie. “They say he’s as handsome and mysterious as an old-time matinee idol and has a voice like Pavarotti.”
Cassie swung her long legs over the bed. “Okay, you win. I’ll go with you to the concert.”
“Oh, I’m not going,” said Frannie quickly.
“Not going? You just invited me!”
Frannie’s blue eyes flashed. “I want you to go so I can stay home.”
Cassie covered her ears. “Oh, no, I don’t want to hear this!”
Frannie sat up on her knees and seized Cassie’s hand. “Please, sis,” she implored, “just do this one favor for me and I’ll never ask again. I’ve got a date to the concert with Gilbert Dooley.”
“Gilbert Who-ley?”
“He’s very nice. He teaches at the university.”
“And I’m to fill in for you? No way. You always come up with some oddball—”
“He’s not odd at all. He’s a professor, a brain like you, like—”
Cassie managed a teasing smile. “Then what is he doing dating you?”
“We’re not dating. It’s purely platonic. He teaches physical science. We bump into each other once in a while. He said he got the last two concert tickets, and in a moment of weakness I agreed to go with him.”
“Then go.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to stay home and finish my sculpture before the clay hardens. If I don’t, Amelia Earhart will end up looking like Daffy Duck!”
“Amelia Earhart is dead.”
“I know, but I’m bringing her back to life…in clay. Please, Cassie.”
Cassie sank back on the bed with a weary sigh. “All right, I’ll go. But you owe me, Frannie. You owe me big!”
Later that afternoon, as Cassie swirled her saffron hair into a French twist, she was already sorry she had given in. She had no desire to go on a blind date with anyone, least of all some science professor who would probably talk theorems all evening. Or was that math? Whatever.
Hoping for a look that was simple, elegant and tastefully understated, she slipped into a black crepe dress with a tunic top and ankle-length skirt. Good, it was just the look she wanted—classic but certainly not provocative.
Gilbert Dooley arrived at the stroke of six, as he had promised. After his initial surprise, he seemed to take the date switch with surprising aplomb and civility. Or maybe he was a better actor than Cassie suspected. One thing for sure, he was definitely not Frannie’s type. Nor Cassie’s! Tall, middle-aged and balding, he was as lean as a windlestraw, with pale-white skin and faded gray eyes behind enormous bifocals.
On the way to the concert hall in Gilbert’s antediluvian sedan, he kept up a steady stream of conversation, enlightening her as to the laws of thermodynamics, time dilation and universal gravitation. But he became most impassioned when speaking of his favorite topic, the superconducting supercollider.
“Can you imagine, Cassandra?” he enthused. “It has the potential of being the world’s largest particle accelerator. Think of what it will tell us about the Big Bang!”
“I can only imagine,” Cassie mumbled. In her mind she was plotting ways she would get back at her youngest sister. She could spike her oatmeal with raisins—she hated the chewy little beasts—or she could tie her socks in knots or put ice cubes in her bed. No, she hadn’t pulled those pranks since she was ten. There had to be some suitable, but harmless, pranks for grown-up sisters to play on one another.
Cassie and Gilbert arrived at the concert hall with ample time to spare. She cringed a little when two of her students passed by and rolled their eyes as she and the professor walked down the aisle to their seats. She wanted to call out, He’s not my date! I don’t even know what I’m doing here!
At least they had good seats, center section, four rows from the stage. Cassie had performed enough concerts of her own that she always felt a heart-pounding excitement when the house lights lowered and a white-hot spotlight carved a luminous circle out of the hushed darkness. It was happening now, the audience din shrinking to silence as the enormous red velvet curtain rose to reveal a lone man on center stage. Dressed in a black tuxedo, he was tall, dark and imposing, his shoulders as broad as his waist was narrow, an aristocratic air in his demeanor.
As the orchestra began to play, Antonio Pagliarulo launched into an Italian aria with the richest, fullest, most enchanting tenor voice Cassie had ever heard. She sat mesmerized, dazzled, disarmed. No matter what anybody said about this man, he could hold an audience spellbound.
During her two semesters of part-time teaching, Cassie had passed Antonio occasionally on the university campus, but hadn’t bothered to give him a second glance in spite of his swarthy good looks. For too many years she had disciplined her mind to concentrate only on her music, her career. Focusing on attractive men would only divert her from her lifelong goals. Besides, she had already been burned once and wasn’t about to risk a broken heart again. But now, tonight, she was seeing this talented, enigmatic man with new eyes. She liked what she saw…and was hopelessly enraptured by what she heard.
It seemed only minutes had passed and already Antonio was singing his final number. When the audience gave him a standing ovation, Cassie was one of the first to stand. She applauded until her palms stung. Then, all too soon, it was time to leave.
“There’s a reception for Mr. Pagliarulo in the faculty hall, if you’d like to go,” Gilbert told her as they made their way out of the crowded auditorium.
“I’d love to,” she said without hesitation.
A gentle breeze was rising off the ocean as Gilbert escorted Cassie across the darkened campus to the faculty hall. He held her elbow to keep her from falling, and to her relief was no longer talking about centrifugal force and cold fusion. In fact, he seemed as enthralled by Antonio Pagliarulo’s voice as she was. “I rarely go to programs like this,” he was saying, “but Tonio has been more than a colleague to me, he’s been rather like a confidant. So I promised him I would attend one of his concerts.”
“You’re saying Antonio Pagliarulo is a good friend of yours?” Cassie asked, hardly hiding her surprise.
Gilbert’s countenance grew pink. “I admit, Cassandra, I’m not a very social person, but yes, Tonio’s been a good friend to me.”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that I’d heard Antonio was a loner, snobbish, reclusive.”
“I suppose he is, to most people. But that’s not the man I know.”
“I…I’d like to meet him.”
“Then I’ll introduce you.”
The faculty hall was brimming with people, most of them converging on Antonio. Cassie shook her head. There was no way to get close.
“Don’t worry,” said Gilbert. “We’ll have some refreshments and wait for the crowd to thin out.” He led her over to a row of straight-back chairs lining one end of the hall. “Sit down and relax. I’ll get us something to eat.”
Taking the closest chair, Cassie sat down and smiled politely at the attractive woman walking toward her. In her mid-forties, she was an exotic beauty, with ebony hair, olive skin, red lips and flashing coal-black eyes. Wearing a stylish red velvet evening dress swishing over rounded hips, she was a startling contradiction of elegance and flamboyance.
The woman flashed a beaming smile as she pointed to the empty chair beside Cassie. “May I?” she asked with the hint of an accent.
“Please do. I guess we both had the same idea. It’ll be a half hour at least before we can get through the crowd to greet Mr. Pagliarulo.”
“Oh, I wasn’t waiting for the crowds,” said the woman. “I just wanted to sit down. I never should have worn these insufferable three-inch heels tonight. Next time I will wear my comfortable bunny slippers. I don’t care how silly I look, at least my feet will not be in pain.”
Cassie stifled a spurt of laughter. The idea of this sophisticated matron wearing bunny slippers was hilariously implausible.
“You think I am speaking in jest,” the woman said, her smile expanding to reveal perfect white teeth. “Watch this.” With a little flourish she kicked off her shoes and wriggled her stockinged feet. “See? That is much better. Now I may survive this night. Or do I embarrass you with my lack of manners?”
Cassie chuckled in spite of herself. “Oh, no. I love people who aren’t afraid of what other people think.”
“Then you are a young lady after my own heart,” said the woman, patting Cassie’s hand. “My name is Juliana. What is yours?”
“Cassandra. But most people call me Cassie.”
“I prefer Cassandra,” said Juliana with a little wave of her hand. “It is a regal name. A name for a princess. It fits you well.”
Cassie smiled. It was Juliana who looked like a princess. Better yet, a queen. “I assure you,” said Cassie, “I’m no princess.”
“But you carry yourself like one. What do you do? Are you in music…theater? I can imagine you onstage.”
Cassie felt her cheeks glow. “How did you know?”
“I see it in your face, the way you carry yourself. You are a creative person. I guessed music because you are here at this concert.”
“I’m a pianist,” said Cassie. “I’ve performed a few concerts, but nothing as impressive as this. I teach a couple of piano classes here at the university. And I’m the music director at my father’s church.”
“Your father’s church? That is wonderful,” said Juliana. “It is good to use one’s talents for God.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I would love to hear you play sometime.”
Cassie hesitated. “I—I am playing in a cantata tomorrow night.”
“Is it nearby?”
“The Cornerstone Christian Church in La Jolla.”
“Oh, that isn’t far from here. I might be able to attend.”
“That would be wonderful.”
But would she really show up? Cassie wondered. People were always promising to get together or do lunch or stop by, but they rarely followed through.
Juliana touched Cassie’s arm with graceful, tapered fingers. “You do not believe I will come, do you?”
“Oh, no, I—”
“But I will. I must ask my son. He drives me. I have no sense of direction. I would end up in the ocean on my way to Hawaii instead of La Jolla. So I will ask my son and he will bring me.”
“Oh, do come. Both of you,” said Cassie. “Bring the rest of your family, too. Your husband—”
“My husband has been dead for many years, so it can only be my son and me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cassie quickly. “Listen, I’ll write out the directions for your son. The cantata is at 8:00 p.m., but the church will be crowded, so you may want to come around seven.” Like a lightning bolt, an idea struck Cassie straight out of the blue, but she recognized it instantly as pure genius. This Juliana was a woman even Cassie’s hard-to-please father might find fascinating. No harm in setting something up and seeing what happened.
“Maybe you would like to join my family afterward for a bite to eat,” Cassie suggested, her plan already brewing. “I would like you to meet my father…and my sisters, too, of course.”
“Your invitation is very generous,” said Juliana warmly. “I will ask my son. If he has no prior commitment, we will join you.”
“Wonderful,” said Cassie with a pleased little smile.
Their conversation broke off as Gilbert returned with two plates of finger sandwiches and cake and paper cups of red punch. He sat down beside Cassie and handed her a plate and cup. “The crowd is thinning out,” he noted. “After we eat I’ll introduce you to Tonio.”
“Fine,” she said with a nod, then introduced Gilbert to Juliana. “Gilbert and I will be making our way through the crowd to meet Mr. Pagliarulo. Would you like to join us, Juliana?”
The woman flashed a whimsical smile. “Yes, I may do that. So you have never met Mr. Pagliarulo?”
“I’ve seen him come and go in the fine arts building, but we haven’t met.” Cassie lowered her voice confidentially. “I’ve heard he is something of a recluse. A loner. Not easy to know. Does he strike you as snobbish or arrogant?”
Juliana’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Oh, is that how he seems to you? A snob?”
“No, not really. Not when he was onstage. He was absolutely wonderful. But I’ve heard others say—”
Juliana wriggled her stockinged feet back into her shoes and stood up with a jaunty shake of her head. “Come! Let us go see if this Antonio Pagliarulo is an arrogant, unsociable man.”
Flustered, Cassie handed Gilbert her plate and cup and followed Juliana across the hall. “I didn’t mean…Juliana, wait, please.” Gilbert caught up with them, dropping the paper plates and cups into a trash receptacle. Juliana briskly carved a path for them through the remaining cluster of fans.
And suddenly Cassie found herself face-to-face with the handsome, mysterious Antonio Pagliarulo. He gazed down at her with shrewd, dark eyes, a smile playing at the curve of his lips. In person, up close, he seemed even more imposing than he had onstage. Larger than life, his very presence was stunning, unnerving. She found herself feeling as tongue-tied as a schoolgirl.
Gilbert spoke up, his voice taking a shrill high note. “Tonio, I’d like you to meet my date, Cassandra Rowlands.”
Cassie offered her hand, even though it was trembling and her palm was moist. “Mr. Pagliarulo, I—I enjoyed your performance immensely,” she breathed.
He clasped her hand in both of his. His touch was warm, electric, his solemn gaze riveting. “How do you do, Miss Rowlands?”
Cassie turned to Juliana. “Mr. Pagliarulo, I’d like you to meet—”
With a little burst of laughter, Antonio sprang forward and gathered the dark-haired Juliana into his arms. Cassie stared in mute astonishment as the two embraced. “Antonio, you were marvelous this evening,” Juliana enthused.
Antonio held her at arm’s length and boomed, “You always say that, Mama.”
The terrible truth dawned. Cassie gaped at the two. Of course! Mother and son! They even possessed the same striking features, the same coloring, the same bright buoyancy of spirit.
Good heavens, thought Cassie. What awful things did I say to Juliana about Antonio? That he was reclusive, a snob…oh, why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut!
Juliana tucked her slim arm in Antonio’s and smiled in gentle amusement at Cassie. “Antonio, Miss Rowlands was very impressed with your music. So impressed that she has invited us to see her perform tomorrow night at her church. Are we free?”
Antonio flashed a quizzical smile. “Are you a singer also, Miss Rowlands?”
“No, I—I’m a pianist.”
He studied her with an intensity that left her feeling weak inside. “You look familiar, Miss Rowlands. Have I seen you perform?”
She struggled to find her voice. “No. I teach a couple of piano classes here at the university. We’ve passed each other in the fine arts building or on campus.”
“Ah, yes, that’s it. I knew I had seen you before. I would never forget such a lovely face.”
Cassie’s cheeks grew warm with a dizzying mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. “You’re very kind, Mr. Pagliarulo.”
“Call me Antonio, please. After all, we are colleagues.”
“Then please call me Cassandra. Or Cassie.”
“I prefer Cassandra. It has the lilting ring of music. Now tell me about your performance tomorrow evening.”
Cassie groped for words. What was there about Antonio Pagliarulo that left her feeling so rattled and unsure of herself? “It’s—it’s not a big production really,” she stammered. “Just a little church cantata at—at Cornerstone Christian in La Jolla. I happened to invite your mother, but I didn’t realize…I mean, I’m sure a musician of your stature must have other obligations.”