A quick look in the mirror gave Maizie confidence. She was wearing a cool, fitted dress with short cap sleeves, a large white collar, and large buttons up the front. The print was a summer dance of flowers, foliage, and birds. She felt pretty and aglow from her sun-kissed cheeks. She made her way into the kitchen.
As the Glidewell dinner guests gathered in the grand hall, Meadowlark sat down at the piano to run through a couple of old sets of musical numbers from yesteryear. People gathered around the piano, sipping on libations of their choosing.
While most were listening to the piano concert, Glidewell architect Theo Tillerman engaged a small group sitting in the cowhide chairs; he was animated as he told the story of Glidewell Ranch. He went to great effort to describe in detail the design and construction of the horse facility as well as the residence. He referenced Frank Lloyd Wright’s philosophy of designing structures to be built into the contours of the land as he talked about the racetrack and the man-made knoll that was used as a spectators viewing area. He talked about the rock quarry and the removal of limestone from the outcroppings. He described the beauty of the mock castle that one day seemed to magically appear on the horizon. “One stone cutter yelled, ‘Look that outcropping is the shape of an Irish castle,’” Tillerman said. “We were in awe. With its location so close to the artesian well, all the Irish workers said it must be a sacred spot. But the Osage Indians had said that long before.” He talked about the trees he planted for shade along the lanes on the property. He teared up a bit when he talked about the raising of the big barn and the original horses that quickly filled it. The Glidewell Ranch property had been part of his professional life for well over a decade. “James and Mary gave me artistic license to create a ranch of beauty. Most architects never get such an opportunity,” he said to a small crowd of patient listeners.
James and Mary moved around the room and suggested all in attendance come to the dining room for a French-country summer dinner. Once the guests were in their seats, Ruby and Maizie began to serve the first course, a classic vichyssoise, cold creamed potato and leek soup, followed by sausages and rustic cut vegetables stewed in wine. Maizie offered more water and bread, while Ruby began removing the plates.
When Maizie got to Capp, he looked up at her. “Sure like your boots, Maizie. Haven’t seen you wearin’ ’em before.”
“Mrs. Glidewell bought them for me. You nervous about the racing?”
“Just worried about the start. My horse doesn’t like that start barrier. Spooks him a bit.”
“Hope all goes well.”
“Mr. Glidewell wants us to win so bad. Makes me nervous.”
The dinner continued through its various courses of fresh green salad, cheese, and bread, followed by a chocolate mousse for dessert. When the final bite of mousse and sips of coffee or tea were finished, the guests joined in on a sing-along with Meadowlark at the piano.
Meadowlark, in his rhythmic style, began each song with a complicated introduction and then signaled to the crowd when to start singing. Sing they did, some arm in arm. Philippe, Leon, Maizie, Ruby, and Claire were invited in from the kitchen. Leon surprised everyone with a glass of brandy to insure a good night’s sleep. Some declined; most didn’t. Some of the songs included were “Home on the Range,” “Swanee,” “In the Jailhouse Now,” “Bye Bye Blackbird,” “Yes Sir, That’s My Baby,” and “My Blue Heaven.” He eventually concluded with “I’ll See You in My Dreams.”
“One more, Meadow, one more,” called out James. The jazz musician ran his fingers gingerly over the keys, sounding a few more blues transitions, and then stopped. “Maizie Bean, come here. You feel like singin’ for your mama tonight?”
Maizie looked shyly at Meadowlark and around the room. Mary gave a look of encouragement and James gave her a nod. Capp smiled his slow-blooming Kentucky smile. Ol’ Jon looked into her eyes with warmth. Philippe said, “Oh oui, mon cher, si’l vous plait.”
Meadowlark got off his piano bench and went to Maizie, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to the piano. The crowd began to clap. “Come, Maizie Bean, we will sing to your mama together.” So, sitting on the bench of the grand piano next to Meadowlark, Maizie waited through the opening notes. Meadowlark turned his head to Maizie and nodded, and the two began slowly in harmony.
After the completion of the first verse, about a lazy river and noonday sun, Meadowlark held up a finger indicating to wait. He changed the rhythm slightly to bluesy in mood. Meadowlark gave Maizie a nod to begin singing; he remained silent. At first it was unclear what to do, so Meadowlark, sensing her confusion, said softly, “Sing for your mama, Maizie Bean. Sing so she can hear you.”
“Oh Meadow, I can’t. Sing with me,” she begged softly.
“I will, but you take it for now.” Looking into the crowd, Maizie saw the familiar faces, which gave her a sense of confidence. Her shyness began to slip away. Finding courage, she swallowed nervously and began. After a rough beginning peppered with a few missed notes, her voice grew louder, more sure, and Meadowlark nodded as he banged on the keys. Maizie moved gently to Meadowlark’s jazz rhythms, rocking slightly, patting her leg. Then feeling constrained by the piano bench, she stood and moved with feeling around to the front of the piano, the music and words defining her performance.
Maizie’s voice grew stronger and more bell-like. Meadowlark harmonized effortlessly with his young protégé. As Maizie relaxed, her throat opened and her breathing deepened. She looked at the guests, all standing and moving slightly to the music. Soft smiles brightened their faces. Ol’ Jon’s eyes
