THE UNPLAYED PIANO by
Celine Rose Mariotti
A cool breeze blew through the screen window in Mrs. Chauncey's white Victorian home which was set back on Willow Street. There were many pretty magnolia trees in Mrs. Chauncey's yard and a big bed of flowers — zinnia, bachelor button, marigolds, petunia, pansies and some snapdragons too. South Carolina was so pretty this time of year, especially in the pretty town of Bridgeton. The fall of 1959 had come so quickly. Mrs. Chauncey had been a widow now for almost ten years. Ten years without the sound of Arthur Chauncey's voice, the smell of his cologne, and the sweet sound of the music he played on their Steinway piano, which now sat in silence.
Lila Chauncey finished knitting another row of the sweater she was making for the nice boy, Peter, who always came to cut her hedges and mow her lawn. His Mom was poor and they needed money. Peter also came to bring her the sweet potato pie his Mom always made. He was a beautiful boy. The doorbell rang. Mrs. Chauncey went to see who it was and to her delight, Peter was standing there with his books in his hand.
"Come on in Peter. So nice to see you this afternoon. I wasn't expecting you. Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Yes Ma'am, I would."
"Then I'll make us some. You sit down and make yourself at home."
Peter took a walk around the parlor of Mrs. Chauncey's home. He loved to look at all the pretty paintings she had hanging on the walls and the Grandfather clock that stood in the corner. Peter looked at the piano in awe. He wondered if Mrs. Chauncey played. She never said. He also wondered if she would mind if he played. Peter thought it over and decided she wouldn't. So he sat down at the Steinway and his small black hands began to play Fats Domino's song "Blueberry Hill". His hands flew across the keys. Mrs. Chauncey entered the room and her heart was full of joy to hear the piano playing once again. It was like having Arthur in the room.
"Peter! You're a wonderful musician. Who taught you to play like that?"
"My Grandpa. He used to play in a band years ago."
"My husband Arthur was a piano player. The piano has been silent since he passed away. You must come to play it as often as you like. I want to hear the music again. I will get Mr. Bakerfield to come and tune it up for you. Would you like to come and play it for me?"
"Yes Ma'am, I would like that. You're a good lady."
"Why thank you. Come let us have some tea."
"I know you said you taught English so I was hoping you could help me with my Grammar assignment. Would you, Mrs. Chauncey?"
"I sure would. Come let me have a look. Drink some tea. I'll go get my glasses."
Mrs. Chauncey read over the grammar assignment and it brought back memories of her own teaching days. Carried away with her memories, Peter's voice startled her.
"What was that?"
"I'm sorry Mrs. Chauncey. Didn't mean to give you a fright like that. I was just wondering what you think of President Eisenhower? Do you like him?"
"Yes I do Peter. I think President Eisenhower is a fine man. A good American. A hero. He led our boys to victory in World War II. Certainly he has made his mistakes as President. Next year we will vote for a new President. They say the Vice-President, Richard Nixon will run and that young Senator from Massachusetts, John Kennedy, he is going to run too. Should be an interesting election year. Now for your assignment."
Peter listened intently to Mrs. Chauncey as she instructed him in grammar. Soon it was almost six o'clock and Peter had to leave. He said good-bye and promised to come back the following afternoon to play the piano for Mrs. Chauncey. Lila Chauncey smiled as Peter waved and walked away. Her heart was full of happiness to hear the piano once again. If only Arthur were here.
Peter came up the road the following afternoon, his book bag in one hand and a dish in another. Mrs. Chauncey was expecting him and she was on the porch waiting for him with a pitcher of lemonade.
"Peter, so nice to see you. How about a glass of lemonade before you mow the lawn?"
"Thank you kindly Mrs. Chauncey. It is awful hot today. Kind of like Indian Summer, don't you think?"
"Yes quite like Indian Summer. I see you brought me something."
"Yes Ma'am, I did. I stopped at my home on the way to see you 'cause my Mama told me she was baking you a pie. It's some rhubarb pie, Mrs. Chauncey; I know you told me once it was one of your favorites."
"Yes, yes it is. What a wonderful boy you are."
"Looks like the grass grew a bit since last. You want me to plant some of those bulb flowers? I would love to do it."
"Why yes of course. You go mow the lawn first and I'll put this pie in my refrigerator. Your Mama is such a good baker."
"Thank you Ma'am. Ain't nothing like my Mama's blueberry pancakes on a Saturday morning with lots of melted butter, and warm maple syrup. I am making you hungry now, I suspect."
"Oh yes you are. You get to work on the lawn and I am going to find those bulb flowers I bought the other day. Then afterwards we'll have some hot tea and a piece of your Mama's pie, and I'll show you some of Arthur's sheet music. Would you like that Peter?"
"Yes I would Mrs. Chauncey. Thank you."
Peter mowed the lawn for Mrs. Chauncey while she made some hot tea. Lila Chauncey lifted the cover of the piano chair and took out some of Arthur's music sheets. She sat in the wicker chair on her porch and watched Peter as he planted the bulb flowers. He made nice careful rows and alternated the bulbs, one hyacinth, one daffodil, one narcissus, and repeated this for several rows. Mrs. Chauncey was looking over the sheet music when she came across one of her favorite songs, The White Cliffs of Dover. In her mind, she could hear Arthur playing the song and herself singing along. Peter came up on the porch.
"They're all planted Mrs. Chauncey. Just the way you wanted them to."
"Yes you did a magnificent job. I think you have a green thumb. My Arthur was good with the flowers. He spent a lot of time growing his favorite perennials. Ah, now we'll have our tea and some rhubarb pie and then I want you to play this song. It was always one of my favorites, White Cliffs of Dover, all about the war."
"My Mama likes this song too. She hums it whenever she feels blue, she told me."
"It's a good song. Brings tears to your eyes."
"You sad a lot, Mrs. Chauncey?"
"No, not really sad, just kind of melancholy sometimes, wishing I were young again. Wishing I could relive my youth … and be with my Arthur again. We shared so many good times together. All memories now."
"I was reading the newspaper this morning, Mrs. Chauncey, and it seems Senator John Kennedy has a lot of support to run for President. I think he is just what we need for our country, Mrs. Chauncey. We need a young man with new ideas. Don't you think?"
"Yes I think we do need some young blood, some new ideas. Our country has to keep moving forward, and keep progressing, for all people, not just white, but black people too."
"I am so glad to hear you say that Mrs. Chauncey. A lot of white folks don't want black folks to get ahead. Especially here in the South Ma'am. They are always trying to keep us down. It isn't fair."
"No it isn't fair, Peter. If I ruled the world, I would make sure all of God's people were treated with kindness."
"I like that thought Mrs. Chauncey."
"Your Mama makes the best rhubarb pie."
"She sure does Ma'am."
"Come, let's hear you play the song."
"Yeah, sure."
Peter sat at the piano and began to play the White Cliffs of Dover. His fingers seemed to fly over the keys and the music was so sweet. Mrs. Chauncey began to sing.
Tomorrow, just you wait and see
There'll be love and laughter and peace ever after
Tomorrow when the world is free
Peter played a few more songs and it was starting to get late. He had to hurry home as his Mama was waiting for him.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Chauncey. I could use some help with my Math homework."
"Certainly Peter. Be careful going home. And here's ten dollars for all your good work."
"Thank you very much. I will Mrs. Chauncey."
Peter was up at his usual time, and he ate his breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, orange juice and a glass of milk. He grabbed his books and went off to school. On the way home from school, he stopped by Mrs. Chauncey's as she promised to help him with his Math homework and he liked visiting with her. He especially enjoyed playing the piano for her. He stopped and noticed that the door was open, so unlike Mrs. Chauncey. He gently pushed the door open further and he found Mrs. Chauncey on the floor, her mouth was twisted, and she couldn't move.
"Mrs. Chauncey! What happened to you Mrs. Chauncey? Dear Sweet Jesus! What do I do? Got to call for help." Peter cried.
He dialed old man Henderson at the police station. "Officer Henderson, this is Peter Matson. I'm at Mrs. Chauncey's and she is out cold on the floor and there's something wrong with her, Officer Henderson. She ain't movin'! Send someone quick! Please!"
"Just stay there Peter. Call your Mom. I'll send the ambulance. And I'll be there in a jiffy."
"Thank you sir. Hurry!"
"Mrs. Chauncey! Can you hear me?" called Peter as he knelt beside her. "You can't leave me Mrs. Chauncey. I love you; please don't leave me. I need you! You got to teach me more of the songs that Arthur played. You got to tell me more about Arthur, Mrs. Chauncey. Please, please don't leave me!" cried Peter holding her hand in his. Officer Henderson came and the medics came too. So did Peter's Mom.
"Sweet Jesus, Lord, don't let this nice lady die. She's the nicest lady I ever knew," prayed his Mom. "Come here Peter. Come stay beside me."
"Tears flowed down Peter's face. He loved Mrs. Chauncey so much.
"The medics shook their head. "She had a stroke. I don't know how long she was like this. But she's with the angels now."
"No, no!" cried Peter. "She can't leave me!"
"It's alright child. Go on and cry. Just let it out."
"I'm sorry Amelia. I know you and your son were both close to Mrs. Chauncey. She got any kin you know of."
"Some nieces and nephews she told me of. They live out of town."
"Okay. We'll have to get in touch with them."
"Her lawyer, Mr. Keats could help you sir."
"Thanks Amelia. You need a ride home Ma'am."
"No thank you. We'll walk."
"You sure?"
"Yes the air will be good for us. Thank you, kindly sir."
"Good evening."
"Good evening sir. Let us know when the services are for Mrs. Chauncey."
"Will do."
Amelia and Peter walked home together. Being that it was 1959 and it was South Carolina, Amelia did not stay where white folks might not want her. Mrs. Chauncey was a special kind of person. She would always keep her in her heart. Peter choked back the tears. All he wanted to do was run all the way back to Mrs. Chauncey's home and have a piece of pie with her and play the piano.
Officer Henderson came by a day later and told Amelia the service for Mrs. Chauncey would be held the following morning. "We'll be there Officer Henderson. Thank you for coming by."
"I'll give you both a ride. It's an awful long walk and I don't want you to take the bus to the funeral. I'll be here at 9 o'clock sharp."
"Thank you Officer Henderson. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"No thank you Ma'am. I have to make my rounds. Have a good day."
The next morning at 9 o'clock sharp, Officer Henderson came to get Amelia and Peter. They talked about Mrs. Chauncey all the way down to the church.
"I remember back during the war, Amelia, when Mrs. Chauncey was out helping sell savings bonds. She took up a lot of causes in her time."
"She sure did. God rest her soul. She wasn't afraid to let a black person in her house. She didn't have a prejudice bone in her body. Not Lila Chauncey."
"She was a good teacher too, Mama. I learned a lot of things from her," said Peter.
"You sure did son."
The service was beautiful and the church was packed. So many people, white and black, had come to say good-bye to their dear friend, Lila Chauncey. The minister gave a eulogy. Amelia wiped her eyes with her handkerchief several times. Peter sat with tears flowing down his face.
At her gravesite, Peter and Amelia each placed a rose on her coffin. "I'll never hear her voice again Mama, or have a piece of pie with her. But I won't ever forget her Mama."
"Neither will I son."
It was about two months later that a man with horn-rimmed glasses, a hat on his head, suspenders on his pants, and a briefcase in his hand, knocked on Amelia's door. Amelia peered at him. She opened the door slightly and asked what his business was.
"Ma'am, I'm Percival Keats, Lila Chauncey's lawyer. Can I come in Ma'am?"
"Yes of course. Here sit yourself down and I'll make you some coffee. I just brewed a fresh pot. How are you doing?"
"Fine Ma'am. Is your son at home too?"
"Yes, he is. Peter, come here."
"Yes, Mama."
"Peter this is Percival Keats and he is Lila Chauncey's lawyer."
"Hi. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too. Mrs. Chauncey told me what a fine boy you are Peter."
"She was a special lady, Mr. Keats. I loved her a lot."
"She had a will. And I would like to read what she left to both of you."
"She left us in her will?"
"Yes, Amelia. She did."
"To my good friends Amelia and Peter, whose thoughtfulness and love kept me alive and gave me a reason for living, I leave Amelia my home to live in, and I leave Peter the piano to play to his heart's content as my Arthur always did. I will hear Peter playing from up here in heaven."
"God bless her! I can't believe this!" said Amelia in astonishment.
"You can move in the house as soon as you like."
"Thank you."
"After Mr. Keats left, Peter looked at his Mom and said, "The best gift we ever got Mama."
"Yes, the best gift."
******
Copyright by Celine Rose Mariotti
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