“Is this a private meeting?” Bud asked with a smile.
“Not at all,” Maeve said, standing and smiling. “Ivy’s son wanted us to try to find her hearing aids . . . and Tallulah came in to check on me.”
“Does that mean she’s okay?” Bud asked hopefully.
“She’s critical, but stable.”
“That’s good,” Bud said, “but it might be the beginning of the end. Sometimes something like that can be . . .”
Maeve nodded—he didn’t need to finish—and then she remembered the picture she was holding and looked at it. “I love this old photo of her . . . and thank goodness I picked it up to look at it again, because her hearing aids were behind it.”
“I didn’t know she wore hearing aids.”
“That’s because she never puts them in.”
“Maybe that’s why she seems lost all the time—she can’t hear anything.”
“It’s possible,” Maeve agreed, “but she was able to hear your fiddle.”
Bud nodded. “Well, we were standing right next to her.” He paused thoughtfully. “She really did respond to it, though—it was wonderful to see her smiling and tapping her feet.”
Maeve smiled. “It was great! She must have some fiddling friends because the young men in this photo are both holding fiddles.”
She held the photo out and Bud took it from her, held it in the light, and frowned. “That’s Ivy?” he said, sounding incredulous.
“Yep,” Maeve said. “Why?”
Bud shook his head. “The fellow on the right is . . . me.”
“No way!” Maeve exclaimed in astonishment.
Bud nodded, still frowning. “I didn’t know her name was Ivy . . . everyone called her ‘Birdie.’”
Maeve shook her head. “That’s odd . . . so Byrd must be her maiden name.”
“It’s possible—that would explain why people called her that.”
Now it was Maeve’s turn to frown. “But she has a son . . . do you know if she ever married?”
“I don’t. I only met her that one time—it was at a Pickin’ ’n Fiddlin’ contest up in Nashville.”
“Do you know who the other boy is?”
“I’m pretty sure his first name was Will—he was one heck of a fiddler!”
Maeve raised her eyebrows. “Ivy’s son’s name is Will.”
“Sounds like you could write a book with this story.”
Maeve laughed. “You could except, sadly, the main character doesn’t seem to remember it.”
“At least we don’t think she does,” Bud said with a laugh.
“It’s such a great old photo,” Maeve mused, “but what’s odd is that you, who only met her that one time, are in a photo she has kept all her life—no offense intended.”
“No offense taken,” Bud said with a smile, “but I can’t explain it, either.”
“Were you interested in her?”
“She was very pretty, but in 1941, I was already taken.”
Maeve nodded, and then she suddenly remembered that she needed to get back to the kitchen. “Oh, my goodness! Sal is going to think I got lost! And you’re going to miss out on his famous snickerdoodles!”
Bud laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t want that to happen.”
Maeve returned the photo to Ivy’s bureau, and then picked up Tallulah—who’d made herself comfortable on the bed. “C’mon, missy, you don’t want to get left in here.” She turned off the lights, closed the door, and set the cat down out in the hall. “I still can’t believe that’s you in that photo,” she said, as she walked beside Bud toward the kitchen. “You were pretty cute!”
“I still am,” Bud said, laughing.
“You are indeed,” Maeve assured him, putting her hand on his arm.
46
GAGE HAD SLEPT ON THE COUCH THE FIRST TWO NIGHTS HE WAS AT THE farm. Prior to falling asleep there, he’d spent the evenings with his mom, brothers, and Liam sitting out on the porch, while Chase—who’d agreed to give a eulogy—jotted down some of the memories they talked about. Afterward, he’d promptly fallen asleep in the living room, and he hadn’t moved until morning, but on Monday night, his mom suggested he sleep in his old room. So, after they got home from the wake, he gathered Gus—who was worn-out from all the sniffing he had to do on the farm every day—climbed the stairs, washed up, switched on the light in his bedroom, and felt as if he’d stepped back in time—the room he had shared with his brother growing up was virtually untouched. There was a twin bed against each wall, each covered with the same—now faded—matching quilt, and with the same small table between them; on the table was the same John Deere tractor lamp from his childhood and the Big Ben alarm clock that had roused them every morning to help with chores—it even had the correct time on it! There were two oak desks—one under each window—and two oak bureaus against the walls. There was also a cork bulletin board hanging on the wall, and on it, the countless blue ribbons they’d won, along with photos of them dressed in white and standing next to their big bovine counterparts. There was even a photo of him curled up next to Chestnut in the dairy barn at the fair. Gage shook his head in amazement . . . and with a little bit of alarm. The room was like a time capsule from his childhood, and it seemed a little crazy that his parents had kept it that way for almost twenty years!
He sat down at his
