Cassandra's Song

Antonio clasped her hand reassuringly. “Not at all, Cassandra. Mother and I reserve our Sundays for worship. We would be pleased to come hear you perform at your church tomorrow night. It would be a treat to be in the audience for a change instead of onstage.”

“Wonderful,” said Cassie, her smile so tight she feared her teeth might break. What had she gotten herself into? She would be a basket case performing before this man. Had she somehow taken leave of her senses? Until this evening Antonio Pagliarulo had been a stranger to her; now suddenly his opinion of her mattered more than anything she could imagine.

Chapter Four

A ndrew Rowlands was sitting in his squeaky rocker by the bay window in his bedroom, listening to the clock strike midnight and wondering why his oldest daughter hadn’t come home yet. Usually this was his favorite place for studying the Bible and thinking and praying. And, at times like this, worrying. How could he sleep well until he knew all of his daughters were safely in for the night?

Still, he chided himself for fretting. Cassie had gone to a concert with a man who seemed harmless enough—a mild-mannered fellow who looked like a bookish and absentminded professor. He was surely not Cassie’s type, but then, who on earth was Cassie’s type? Except for that one unfortunate incident years ago, she had never been serious about any man. And to make matters even more frustrating for Andrew, she didn’t even appear to be looking for a suitable young man. At this rate she would surely end up an old maid.

All right, they didn’t call them that anymore. Old maids. These days there was no stigma attached to being unattached. Unmarried. Lots of young women preferred the single life.

But that’s not what Andrew wanted for his daughters. He wouldn’t be around forever to look after his girls, and after he was gone, who would be there for them? Sure, they had one another, but they each needed a strong, capable, trustworthy man to be there when the road got tough.

“Mandy, what are we going to do about our girls?” Andrew said aloud in a soft, husky voice. He gazed out at the full moon hanging in the dark heavens like a beacon light. That pale white globe was always comforting, reassuring. That familiar moon had remained steady and bright in the night sky, sometimes full and brimming, sometimes little more than a fingernail, but so often there through his long nights of grieving.

It was as if God had personally given Andrew the moon and stars for his own private comfort. They were reminders that God Himself was there, never changing, always ready to console. Andrew couldn’t have made it these past five years without God’s sweet solace.

“Lord, I’m concerned about my girls,” he said, rubbing his hands thoughtfully. “I want them to have husbands and families of their own, but they still seem perfectly content to stay here at home with me. As much as I enjoy having them around, I think it’s high time they stop fussing over me and establish their own lives and homes. What do you think, Lord? I’m right, aren’t I?” He shook his head ponderously. “But I can’t tell them to move out. It would break their hearts to think I don’t need them anymore. And to be honest, Lord, I do need them.”

Andrew gazed off into the shadows of his room for a moment. He had prayed this prayer often in recent days, but he still didn’t have an answer to his dilemma.

In the old days his dear Mandy always knew what to do. She was the perfect mother with just the right balance of love and discipline. He still remembered how she would check on the girls each night. Like a fragile wraith in her long white cotton nightgown, her red hair twining around her shoulders, she would flit from room to room, peeking in the door to be sure her daughters were slumbering peacefully. Andrew hadn’t realized what an arduous task and yet what a privilege mothering was until he was forced to be both mother and father.

“Mandy, I’m doing the best I can for our daughters, but I sure miss you, sweetheart.” He sat forward and raked his fingers through his thick russet hair. “And I know the girls have suffered deeply from the loss of their mother. Cassie has thrown herself into her music career. Practices hours every day. She’s beautiful, talented and ambitious, but sometimes I think she puts all of her emotions into the piano, so she won’t feel the pain of losing you…plus that no-good scoundrel who broke her heart the year after you died. Sure, Cassie loves her music, but that won’t replace the love of a good man someday.”

Andrew put his head in his hands. “And our darling Bree is much too serious about her counseling work. She’s always helping others and bringing home every poor, needy soul who needs a place to stay, but she refuses to allow herself a serious romantic relationship. And Frannie, our baby, has taken over the household and does the cooking and watches over me like a little mother hen. But she should be pampering a husband, not me.”

Andrew stared up again at the star-studded sky, moisture gathering in his eyes. “You would know what to do, Mandy. You would know how to encourage and guide our daughters in matters of the heart. You would know how to set them free and shoo them out of the nest so they could create their own homes and families. Me, I’m awkward at these things. I don’t know the right words. You know me better than anyone, Mandy. You polished a lot of rough edges, but I’m still a bull in the china shop. All thumbs. Two left feet. I wish I had your sensitivity, your knack for reading our daughters’ moods and knowing what they needed even before they asked. I’ve asked God to help me, but—”

A noise came from downstairs. Andrew paused, listening. Yes, it was the front door. Cassie was home. He got up and walked out to the landing and looked down. Cassie was standing in the foyer, stepping out of her high heels, the overhead lamplight turning her tousled mane of hair to spun gold.

He tied the sash of his robe and padded downstairs in his leather slippers. Cassie looked up and smiled as he approached.

“Hi, Daddy. What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Waiting for you,” he confessed.

“Daddy, I’m twenty-six years old. You don’t have to wait up for me anymore.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I know. Can’t help myself.”

Picking up her shoes, Cassie walked in her stockinged feet to the living room and sank down on the overstuffed sofa.

“Tired?” he asked, following a step behind.

She nodded.

“Have fun?”

Another nod, and the hint of a playful smile.

“So Gilbert what’s-his-name wasn’t so bad after all?”

Cassie chuckled. “Oh, he was just what I expected, but nice enough in a cerebral sort of way. If you happen to like walking textbooks.”

Andrew sat down in the recliner across from his daughter. “So if your date was nothing to write home about, why the mysterious little smile?”

Cassie’s face flushed crimson. “Oh, Daddy, you’re not supposed to notice that smile.”

“Really? Maybe I’m getting better at this parenting thing than I thought. So tell me, or my imagination will run wild, and we don’t want that, do we?”

“Okay, but it’s nothing really.” Cassie pulled the pins from her French twist and gracefully swept her fingertips through her cascading curls. “I met a couple of interesting people tonight, that’s all.”

“Of the masculine persuasion, I trust?”

“A man and a woman.”

“Married?”

“Mother and son. What is this, Daddy, twenty questions?”

“Just want to know what has put that new light in your eyes.”

She lowered her long lashes. “Daddy, really, there’s nothing to it. I just met the man who performed tonight. A very talented tenor.”

“Single?”

“I assume so. I got the impression he lives at home with his mother.”

Andrew’s thick brows arched. “His mother? Not a mama’s boy, I hope.”

“Oh, Daddy, you wouldn’t say that if you saw him.” Cassie rushed on before her father could interrupt again. “I met his mother quite by accident. At the reception. We got to talking and, Daddy, she’s an absolutely fascinating woman…”

Andrew sat back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Okay, I’ve got it, muffin. She’s my age and single and coming to dinner tomorrow night. Am I right so far?”

“Not coming to dinner, Daddy. There’s the cantata. But I did suggest getting a bite to eat afterward.”

“And this time we’ll make it a threesome instead of a double date. The tenor’s mother and Lydia Diddlehopper…” he said dryly.

“Dibbles.”

“And Emma Sawhorse, of course.”

“Sorenson! Really, Daddy, you think you’re so clever.”

Andrew sat forward and eyed his daughter intently. “I’m just trying to make a point, Cass. No matchmaking. You hear me?”

She examined one long polished fingernail. “Of course, I hear you, Daddy. I’m not matchmaking. You’re just being your usual paranoid self. Besides, what makes you think I’m trying to pair you up with Antonio’s mother?”

“Who’s Antonio?”

“The tenor. Antonio Pagliarulo.”

Andrew grinned. “I like the way you say his name.”

Cassie pointed one red lacquered fingernail at her father. “Now who’s matchmaking?”

Andrew raised his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “Just making a small observation!”

“All Italian names roll off the tongue like that. It’s one of the romance languages, after all.”

“Romance? Is there the possibility we’re speaking of more than languages here?”

Cassie crossed her arms resolutely. “Not a chance, Daddy. Mr. Pagliarulo is a snob, a recluse, a loner. Everyone says so.”

“And that was your impression of him?”

Cassie chose her words carefully. “We met only for a few moments. He seemed nice enough.”

“Well, unless you plan to see him again, I suppose you’ll never know what he’s really like.”

“Oh, I’m going to see him again,” Cassie said quickly.

Andrew shook his head, puzzled. “But you said—”

“I didn’t invite Antonio and his mother over for dinner, but I did invite them to the cantata. They agreed to come.”

Andrew grinned knowingly. “I see. And you’re hoping I’ll hit it off with…with…”

“Juliana.”

“Juliana?”

“Juliana Pagliarulo. She’s beautiful, Daddy. And so full of life and spirit. I know you’ll like her.”

Andrew got up and crossed over to the sofa and planted a kiss on the top of his daughter’s head. “Maybe we’d better get some sleep, baby. It sounds like tomorrow will be quite a day.”

Cassie caught her father’s hand. “Oh, and Daddy, one more thing.”

He paused. “I hate to ask.”

In a small voice Cassie said, “I invited Antonio and Juliana to join us for dinner after the program. Maybe that little Italian restaurant near the church?”

Andrew sighed. “All right, Cass. On one condition.”

“Of course. What is it, Daddy?”

“No matchmaking!”

Just a hint of mischief played in Cassie’s smile. “I’ll promise if you promise.”

“Promise,” said Andrew. But as he climbed the stairs to his room, he was already imagining his beloved daughter looking exquisite in a white bridal gown of satin and lace. She would be standing at the altar on the arm of a handsome Italian tenor, as Andrew, the proud papa, pronounced them husband and wife.

Yes, indeed, mused Andrew, tomorrow promised to be a fascinating day!

But on Sunday afternoon Andrew began to suspect that perhaps Cassie shouldn’t have invited her two guests, for never had he seen his daughter so agitated before a performance. Three times she checked to make sure the sound system was operating properly. At rehearsal she fretted over how the choir sounded, and whether the program was too long, and whether the church auditorium was too warm.

Finally, a half hour before the cantata, Andrew stopped his daughter backstage and gripped both her hands in his. “Why are you so nervous, Cass? Where is this coming from?”

She shook her head miserably. “I don’t know, Daddy. I just can’t seem to get it together tonight.”

“Maybe because you’re trying to make this something it’s not. You’re performing in a nice little church cantata, honey, not Carnegie Hall. I’m sure your Italian tenor will understand that.”

“He’s not my Italian tenor,” she snapped.

Andrew smiled tolerantly. “All right. The point is you’re not in competition with him.”

“I don’t even think I can play.” She held up trembling hands. “Look at me, Daddy.”

“I’m looking, sweetheart. You’re beautiful and talented and you’re going to be fine. Just relax and go out there and enjoy yourself.”

“Relax? How can I, with Antonio Pagliarulo in the audience?”

“Honey, you’re forgetting something. You’re not playing just for Antonio. You’re performing for the Lord.”

A tear glistened in the corner of Cassie’s clear blue eyes. “I know, Daddy. It’s just…why does everything always have to be a competition with me? Why do I feel I always have to be the best?”

“Maybe because you’re my oldest daughter and you feel you have to be an example for everyone else. But you don’t, sweetheart. Just be yourself.”

Cassie touched his cheek. “You’re so wise. I love you, Daddy.”

Andrew slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Cass, let’s ask God to give us a great evening, okay? Then you go out there and play your heart out.”

They prayed briefly, then exchanged a quick hug. “I wonder if they’re here yet?” She peered out through the curtain at the audience, then looked back at her father. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll just do my best and leave the rest with the Lord.”

“That’s the spirit, honey. And I’ll be applauding you all the way.”

To Andrew’s relief the cantata went without a hitch. The choir sang with spirit and vitality, and Cassie’s piano solos were the best he’d ever heard. If anything, her performance exhibited a new gusto and passion. He felt a thrill of pride as he watched her deft fingers scaling the keys, filling the auditorium with the triumphant strains of a Mozart concerto. She accompanied the choir in several selections she had adapted from Beethoven’s Choral and Pastoral symphonies, then concluded the program with a moving Beethoven sonata.

As the audience broke into resounding applause, Andrew clapped the loudest, his eyes misting as he reflected silently, Oh, my dear Mandy, if only you could have seen our daughter performing this evening. You would be so proud, so very proud!

After the cantata, Andrew greeted his parishioners in the vestibule, nodding with fatherly pride as they complimented the performance. “Wonderful program…such talent…like a choir of angels…such glorious music gives us a little taste of heaven.”

“Indeed it does…yes, amen,” Andrew was saying when he spotted Cassie coming toward him with a handsome man on one arm and a very attractive woman on the other.

Cassie was beaming. “Daddy, this is Antonio Pagliarulo and his mother, Juliana Pagliarulo. Antonio and Juliana, this is my father, Reverend Andrew Rowlands.”

Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off Juliana. She was everything Cassie had described…and so much more. Exotic. Poised. Glamorous. Regal. Stunning. Her dark eyes flashed with vibrance and warmth, her flawless, bronze skin glowed, her black-velvet tresses shone. She offered her hand and he clasped it in both of his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Paglia—”

“Juliana, please.”

“Of course. Juliana.” The name seemed to dance on his lips.

“The pleasure is ours, Reverend. My son and I enjoyed the program very much.”

“Call me Andrew. Reverend sounds so…stodgy.”

“Andrew. A fine name.” Juliana’s smile enveloped him in its warmth. “And your daughter…she is so talented.”

Andrew realized suddenly, to his embarrassment, that he had neglected Antonio, who stood waiting to shake his hand. Andrew turned and gripped the young man’s hand perhaps a bit too hard. “Mr. Pagliarulo, my daughter tells me you are a very gifted man yourself.”

He returned the firm handshake. “Thank you, sir. Your daughter is very generous in her praise. And, may I say, she is a marvelous pianist.”

Andrew chuckled heartily. “Sounds like we have a mutual admiration society going on here, if you ask me.”

Cassie clasped her father’s arm. “Daddy, I told Antonio we’ll be having dinner at the Palazzo Ristorante on La Jolla Boulevard.”

“Yes, I think you’ll like it. The food’s great,” Andrew told Antonio. “It’s about six blocks from here. Would you like to ride over with us?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Antonio. “I have my car.”

“You could follow us,” suggested Cassie.

“No, I know the restaurant. It’s one of my favorites.”

Cassie smiled. “I thought it might be.”

Andrew turned confidentially to his daughter. “Are your sisters joining us?”

“No, they both said they have previous commitments.”

“I’ll bet,” he said under his breath. He looked back at Antonio and Juliana. “Are we ready to go?”

During the brief drive to the restaurant, Andrew noticed a smile playing on his daughter’s lips. He hated succumbing to his suspicious nature, but he couldn’t help wondering if Cassie was anticipating a delightful evening with the handsome Antonio Pagliarulo, or was she conniving ways of pairing off her father with the lovely Juliana? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see who wins at this matchmaking game, he mused silently.

Palazzo was a quaint, dimly lit café with lots of greenery surrounding cozy tables with red-checkered tablecloths. A jug with a flickering candle and a slim vase with a single red rose graced each table. The walls boasted a series of bright, impressionistic paintings of Venice and Naples. Tantalizing aromas of garlic, olive oil and oregano assailed Andrew’s senses as the hostess led them to a table in a private corner. His mouth watered as he caught glimpses of plates piled high with steamy baked manicotti and fettuccini smothered in creamy alfredo sauce. To his surprise he was hungrier than he had felt in days.

“What’s good tonight?” he asked the waitress, a young woman with a pretty face and black hair piled on her head in an odd little twist.

“The linguini alla portafino is good if you like shrimp and clams in a rich cream sauce,” she said in a high, singsong voice as she placed a basket of garlic bread on the table. “And everyone likes the veal parmigiana. But my favorite is the tortellini calabrese.”

“And what is that exactly?” Cassie asked, looking up from her menu.

“Meat tortellini and sausage in marinara sauce topped with mozzarella cheese. It’s awesome.”

Cassie nodded. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

Juliana handed the waitress her menu. “I’ll just have an antipasto salad, please.”

“I’ll have the linguini alla portafino,” said Antonio.

“I’ll try the tortellini,” Andrew said. “And bring us an appetizer, okay? Some of those sauteed mushrooms and fried calamari. Might as well do this thing up right.” He looked over at Cassie and grinned. “Looks like I should have brought our bibs for a feast like this, right, muffin?”

Cassie’s face reddened. “Oh, Daddy, really!”

“Bibs?” echoed Juliana.

Andrew grinned. “We have these big, wonderful bibs we use at home on spaghetti nights. I’m as klutzy as they come, but those bibs work wonders.”

“Daddy, Juliana doesn’t want to hear about our bibs,” Cassie admonished.

“Oh, but I do. What a clever idea.”

Andrew chuckled. “You’ll have to come over for spaghetti sometime and try them out.” The words were out before he realized what he had said.

Juliana met his gaze for a long moment, her dark eyes flashing with merriment. “I’d love to, Andrew,” she said softly, her beguiling Mona Lisa smile curling the corners of her lips. Andrew couldn’t pull his eyes away from that smile, couldn’t stop the sudden roller-coaster tickle in his stomach. Maybe he was coming down with something, the way his heart was racing and his face was feeling flushed. Had to be a fever coming on. The flu maybe. You might know. He’d probably be sick in bed on his day off tomorrow.

Or maybe it wasn’t the flu at all. Maybe he was having an allergic reaction to…to Juliana!

He was more than a little relieved when the waitress brought their food. As he bit into a crusty slice of garlic bread, he resolved that he would have to watch his step around this woman. She had a way of making him feel like a bumbling, tongue-tied teenager again. Why did she have to look at him that way, as if she could see through to his heart and read his very thoughts?

“Andrew,” she said in her light, lyrical voice. “Andrew?”

He cleared his throat and stared at her. “Yes?”

“You were staring. I thought you were about to say something.”

His composure shattered, he groped for a suitable answer. “Yes, you’re absolutely right, Juliana. I was about to say—”

“You were going to ask her about her life, weren’t you, Daddy?” prompted Cassie.

“Her life? Yes, of course.”

“Ask her about her music,” Antonio said. “Mama is quite an accomplished performer in her own right.”

Andrew gave Juliana an appraising glance. “Is that so? Do you sing?”

Juliana gazed down at her plate. “From time to time.”

Antonio reached over and squeezed his mother’s hand. “Mama is too modest. She has performed in concerts around the world.”

“When I was young,” Juliana protested. “Rarely do I sing anymore.”

“Why not?” prodded Andrew. “Cassie and I would love to hear you sing sometime.”

“And I would love to hear you deliver a sermon, Andrew.”

“Oh, he’s good at delivering sermons,” Cassie teased.

Juliana laughed lightly. “I mean, from the pulpit. I imagine you are a very eloquent man.”

“Eloquent? I doubt that. But I do try to help folks catch a glimpse of what God has for them in His Word.”

“Then I will come hear you some Sunday morning. Unless there’s a better time.”

“Actually, our church is joining with several others for a city-wide crusade in November. I’ll be preaching every evening during the week…presenting some of my favorite messages.”

“Wonderful. Perhaps Antonio and I will come hear you.”

An idea struck. “You could do better than that. You could come sing for us.”

“Me? Sing for you?” A radiant glow suffused Juliana’s face. The blush of modesty had never looked so lovely. “Oh, Andrew! I couldn’t! I do not sing for large crowds anymore.”

He retreated, feeling a discomfiting warmth around his collar. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot or embarrass you. Sometimes I blurt things out without thinking.”

Juliana placed her slim hand over his. “Do not apologize. I am flattered. And touched by your offer. But I am not the one you should be asking. Antonio is the one who should sing for your crusade.”

Andrew broke into a grin. “Maybe you’re right, Juliana.” He gazed across the table at Antonio. “How about it? Would you consider singing for our city-wide crusade?”

Antonio looked over at Cassie, as if to gauge her reaction.

Cassie beamed. “Oh, Antonio, please! We would be honored to have you sing at the crusade!”

“I’ll check my calendar, and let you know. But I think we can work something out.”

Andrew nodded, pleased. “And I’ll submit your name to the committee. It’s just a formality. I’m sure they’ll approve.”

Antonio cast another searching glance at Cassie and said with a hint of merriment, “I’ll sing, Cassandra, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” she asked with a note of caution.

“That you accompany me on the piano.”

Cassie sank back in her seat. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

Antonio squeezed her hand. “Of course you can. We will do a marvelous duet together. Everyone will be enchanted.”

Andrew’s grin deepened. He broke into silent applause. “Wonderful! Splendid! I’ll arrange everything. The two of you will make beautiful music together!”

“Daddy!” cried Cassie in the scolding, horrified tone she reserved for her father’s worst blunders.