Patti's Piano A romantic short story Set in the fictional town of Maple Grove In the USA In the 1950s In 1950 In 1954,
When the radio crackled to life with a waltz,
Or a sentimental ballad,
Patti Page would stop mid-scrub,
Hands deep in sods,
And close her eyes as if someone had just called her name.
Music had always felt like someone was speaking just to her.
It was as though she'd been chosen by the person singing.
As a girl in the late 30s,
She would linger outside the Five and Dime on Main Street in Maple Grove,
Listening to the funny little phonograph in the window.
She had once fashioned a pretend music roll from brown grocery paper and paraded it down the dusty road,
Imagining herself on the way to lessons.
But lessons in music cost money,
And money was only for rent,
Flour,
And coal.
By the time she got to 38 years old,
Patti Page was a widow.
Her husband had worked at the mill until his heart gave out one winter morning,
Leaving her with nine-year-old girl,
Penelope.
There was no room for dreaming in the life of Patti Page,
Only laundry steam,
Grocery ledgers,
And the steady tick of the kitchen clock.
Yet on the top pantry shelf stood an old stoneware jar,
And into it went dimes from returned soda bottles,
Quarters saved from hemming the neighbour's skirts,
And a rare,
Shiny,
Hard dollar slipped in like a secret promise.
For two whole years,
Patti Page had fed that jar,
For Penelope,
Not for herself.
That October,
The piano came.
Mrs.
Grayson,
Who was moving to Florida for the winter,
Agreed to rent her upright for 50 cents a month,
And when the delivery men wrestled it into the parlour,
Patti Page's heart beat so loudly,
She feared the whole town could hear it.
The old instrument smelled faintly of lemon oil and age.
Its keys were yellow,
But to Patti Page they gleamed like ivory from a palace.
That afternoon,
She walked to the white cottage of Maple Grove's favourite music teacher.
Miss Gale charged 35 cents an hour and kept her appointment book in neat blue ink.
She pencilled in Penelope Page,
Saturday's 10am.
Patti walked home floating on a cloud.
She had not told her daughter,
But she imagined her face lighting up like a Christmas tree.
Instead,
When she led her little girl into the parlour and flung open the door with trembling hands,
Penelope went pale.
Am I in trouble?
She whispered.
No,
Darling,
Said Patti.
It's better than that.
It's a piano,
And you're going to learn how to play.
Oh,
Said Penelope.
Oh,
Said Patti,
Shocked.
Her joy wavered for a moment,
Then she steadied it with hope.
Children never really knew what they want until it was given to them,
Did they?
That Saturday,
The piano lessons began.
Patti hovered in the hallway while Miss Gale tapped rhythms and corrected Penelope's posture.
She memorised every instruction,
And Penelope afterwards was asked to repeat it in front of her mother every day.
When she walked home with her friends,
Patti made sure to slip into the parlour and sit at the bench herself.
The first time she laid her fingers on the keys,
The sound starkened her.
This piano was for her daughter,
So what was she doing?
But she couldn't stop herself.
She shifted her fingers till the notes began to sound like the song she'd heard on the radio.
Something inside her loosened,
Like a ribbon pulled free.
Maybe I could,
She whispered to herself.
Maybe I almost could.
Day after day,
Once her daughter had left,
She continued the exercises Miss Gale had taught,
But this time for herself.
Scales first.
She would have to do those carefully,
Practice those every day.
Then slowly,
A new sound came to her.
Something from deep within.
Something not written on any of the pages of the books Miss Gale had given Penelope.
She had never felt so alive.
There were songs waiting in the hands of Patti Page,
And the more she played,
The more they sang.
They sounded like the low rumble of approaching storm clouds over the Mill Pond.
They sounded like the sway of cornfields in August,
And the ache of winter evenings,
When her husband used to sit by the stove,
Reading the paper aloud.
Suddenly,
Everything Patti saw had a voice.
There were sounds to represent all her memories,
The good and the bad.
Her mind wandered to Thomas Hale.
He'd returned that spring after serving in Korea.
He was leaner than the boy Patti remembered from school,
With a quiet way of speaking,
And a habit of listening fully before answering.
He'd fixed her screen door without charge one afternoon,
And later mended the loose pedal on the piano.
Patti felt lonely sometimes,
And it was nice to think about Thomas.
You play?
He asked casually one afternoon.
My daughter does?
Patti replied,
Smoothing her apron.
His eyes lingered on her hands.
She noticed that.
Then afterwards,
He always seemed to find reasons to stop by,
Once simply to ask if the piano was holding its tune.
Patti wasn't looking for romance.
She was just getting used to being alone.
But she kind of liked having Thomas around.
Patti did not know he was there.
She was lost,
Her fingers moving as though they'd always known how,
Weaving longing and memory and quiet hope into something tender and bright.
When at last,
The final chord faded.
She sat silently for a moment,
Thinking what a lovely friendship theirs had become.
You sound like you've been playing your whole life,
He said,
Making her jump.
That wasn't in any lesson book.
Colour flooded Patti's cheeks.
I was just fooling around.
I like to make up my own songs sometimes.
That evening,
Penelope came home early and stopped in the doorway just as her mother played again.
The melody rose and fell like a confession,
And Penelope dropped her schoolbooks.
Mother,
She breathed eyes wide,
Why didn't you tell me you could play like that?
Patti got up and gathered her in close.
I didn't want you to think I was stealing your thunder.
But I find it so difficult,
Said Penelope.
And I can see you find it really easy.
You're absolutely fantastic.
You could be on the stage.
You're the real person this piano is for.
No,
Said Patti.
Since father died,
We've not had a lot of money,
But I've managed to save.
And I don't want to spend that money all on me.
But you're amazing,
Mother.
I insist,
Said Penelope.
You can't give the piano back now.
It was a month later,
And Thomas Hale had made up his mind.
For weeks he stood quietly in Patti's parlour,
Listening as she coaxed music from the borrowed upright that would soon be reclaimed by its owner.
This piano had changed her,
Put colour in her cheeks and light in her eyes.
And as a local neighbour,
He'd come to understand something simple and certain.
Patti didn't just love music,
She belonged to it.
Every time he passed the house she was playing.
And Thomas now intended to see that music would be part of her life moving forwards.
Since coming back from Korea and collecting his inheritance,
He'd been quite busy.
But not too busy to go searching for a new piano.
He'd found just the one in a shop two towns over.
It was elegantly refurbished with a warm mahogany case and a tone as deep as church bells at dusk.
He set up a careful instalment plan but said nothing to Patti.
His plan was to take it to the church where Patti and Penelope attended.
He would need Penelope's help if his plan would work,
And she proved perfect.
One afternoon they met on the church steps.
Conspirators beneath the budding maples.
This was the first church of Maple Grove.
You've got a surprise,
I know it,
Said Penelope.
The best kind,
Said Thomas,
Will have it delivered to the church hall this Saturday.
And after Sunday school,
You're to tell your mother you want to show your friends how beautifully she plays.
Penelope clasped her hands in delight,
But she'll be so embarrassed.
Maybe,
But I think she'll just about forgive us,
Said Thomas,
Smiling.
Sunday came,
Bright and mild,
With a pale blue sky that stretched clean over Maple Grove.
The town was filled with the scent of lavender and the sound of buzzing bees.
It was nearly time for Sunday school.
Are you ready?
Mouthed Thomas,
Catching Penelope's eyes.
She gave him the thumbs up,
And in they went.
Sunday school went a lot faster than usual that day.
And when she was let out,
Penelope tugged at her mother's sleeve.
Come quick,
I want to show the girls something,
She said.
In the fellowship hall?
Asked Patty,
Puzzled.
Yes.
When they entered,
Thomas was already there.
He was standing by the doorway,
Trying and failing to look completely innocent.
Next to him,
At the front of the hall,
Beneath the tall arched window,
Stood a piano Patty had never seen before.
Bright sunlight streamed through the stained glass,
And fell upon the polished mahogany.
I told my friend you play,
Said Penelope.
Oh no,
Said Patty.
No,
You can't put me on the spot like this.
But you play every day at home,
Said Thomas.
Not on this beast.
It's the most beautiful piano I've ever seen.
Thomas smiled.
But where's the harm in it?
We're all friends here.
Patty lifted the lid and took a seat on the piano stool.
It's yours,
Mother,
Said Penelope quietly.
Patty froze.
Then she turned towards Thomas.
Thomas Hale,
What have you done?
Silence settled over the room.
I got tired of listening to borrowed music.
You're going to have to give that piano back you're renting.
And it's time the town heard what it's been missing,
He said defiantly.
Mother,
Please play,
Said Penelope.
Don't worry about that now.
Just see how it sounds.
I told everyone you're the best in Maple Grove.
Patty looked over her shoulder at the small circle of Sunday school children that had gathered.
Please,
Miss Paige,
Just one song,
They begged.
But once Patty started,
She couldn't stop.
For one fleeting moment,
In the middle of her performance,
She looked across at Thomas.
He nodded back and she carried on.
The melody sang through the hall,
Gentle but hopeful,
Threaded with something tender and triumphant all at once.
This was the sound of years of waiting,
Of Patty's quiet endurance,
Of love having been given without any promise.
And as the music swelled,
The conversations in the hallway faded away and the children joined their mothers.
Until at last,
It was just Patty,
Penelope and Thomas.
When at last she finished,
Patty stood up and traced the smooth curve of the piano's edge with her soft fingers.
You planned all of this together,
She said softly.
And Thomas smiled at Penelope and she smiled back.
You've been giving beautiful things away your whole life,
He said to her.
It seemed like the time you got something back.
Patty smiled.
This was the beginning of something steady and certain and brave.
This was the start of the real Patty.
And just like the piano,
This love was playing out in a major key.
