“The name’s Saint, ma’am,” the stranger said. “Mark Saint. I’m here about a letter sent to you by Melinda Darlin’ concernin’ a song?”
At least Granny sighed before she opened the door wider in invitation. “Of course you are. Come on in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Addy paused then carefully placed the egg she’d just washed and dried into the waiting carton. She turned to the newcomer—it would have been unforgivably rude not to—but she was careful to keep back in the shadows of the kitchen.
“This is my granddaughter, Adelaide,” Granny said, moving toward the kitchen. “Can we interest you in a cup of tea, Mr. Saint?”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. I would enjoy that.”
“Where did you come from this morning, Mr. Saint?” Granny asked, reaching for the tea kettle, which was already simmering on the stove. “Good, heavens, you didn’t drive all the way from Nashville this mornin’, did you?” she added, with a quick glance over her shoulder.
“Oh, no, ma’am. I drove across state yesterday and stayed with my folks last night.”
“So you don’t live around here, then?”
“Well, we—my brothers and me—we have a place in Nashville, now, but the family still lives up in Clayton Hollow. That’s near Thorn Hill.”
“I know of it. You still have some family in these parts, then.”
“Well, you could say that, ma’am,” he said, grinning. “Our pa was one of ten and our ma one of eight, so I’d guess that qualifies as ‘some.”’
Granny laughed and gestured toward the kitchen table where the man took a seat. Addy could only stand and stare, frozen in place by the man’s appearance. He was tall—well over six feet—and as broad-shouldered as some of the lumberjacks she’d seen pass through the village. His jeans were worn, as were his flannel shirt and boots, but he was clean and didn’t look at all sloppy. His hair, trimmed neatly short, was the color of the old mink stole Granny kept in her hope chest, and it gleamed where the sunlight touched it through the window. His voice was low-pitched and smooth. She imagined it turned heads when he sang.
“As I’m sure you must have guessed, Mr. Saint,” Granny said, adding boiling water to the tea pot and dunking the tea ball into it, “Addy is the one who wrote the song. I’m just the one who sent it.”
“Well, ma’am, I’m certainly glad you did. It’s a beautiful song, and we’d sure like to record it.
“And would you want a woman to sing it?” Granny asked, placing a mug for him on the table and filling it.
“Granny…” Addy said.
“It sure does seem to call for one, doesn’t it?” Mark said. “That’s one of the things I’d like to talk to your granddaughter about.”
He looked up from his tea mug, and his eyes met Addy’s. She couldn’t quite suppress a gasp, for his were the same deep golden color she saw whenever she looked in the mirror.
“What do you say, Ms. Spencer?” Mark asked softly. “Would you be willin’ to sell us the rights to perform your song? And might you be willin’ to sing it with us? It sure does speak from the heart about this place.” He gestured broadly. “Makes it just the kind of song we like to perform.
“And in case you’re wonderin’,” he added, “The Four Saints don’t go for any of that glitter and bright lights, pyrotechnics and smoke crap—beggin’ your pardon, ma’am. We sing about home and family, love and life. We stick with acoustical instruments only—I play the same bass fiddle my great uncle used to play—and we don’t amplify any more than we have to. We like small gigs and small recording studios, none of the big time concert venues or high tech bells and whistles.
“So, iffen you’d be interested, I’d sure like to take you to Nashville and introduce you to my brothers.”
“You want to take Addy with you now?” Granny asked, shocked into interrupting.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” he assured her. “It’s a long drive to Nashville, so we’d have to leave early in the mornin’. And I can wait a couple of days, though I should be back in Nashville by sometime on Thursday, if that’d work for you. You’ll probably want to talk to Mel on the phone before we leave, too, just to set your mind at ease.”
“Mel?” Granny asked when Addy remained mute.
“Melinda Darlin’,” he said. “She’s our agent at the Konstantine Talent Agency, though truth be told, she a lot more to us, too. See, Mel’s gonna marry my older brother, Matt, in the spring, so she’s pretty special to all of us. Anyhow, she’s got an apartment with a guest room, and she said to tell you she’d be glad to have you stay with her while you’re in Nashville, so you don’t have to worry about a hotel or bein’ alone.”
The last he said to Addy, his expression expectant. Addy still couldn’t move. She felt a panic attack coming on along with the first twinges of what she feared most.
“Addy, darlin’?”
Granny’s soft enquiry broke Addy free from the spell Mark had put her under, and she shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“Sweatheart...”