“This is yours, Josie,” she had said.

“What do you mean?” I had asked, confused.

“I’ve never heard this music. This isn’t something you heard…this is something you created.” She had beamed, joyfully.

I thought of the music now as Samuel sat next to me, waiting patiently, hoping I’d concede. The music had come to me after we’d quarreled about Heathcliffe and the meaning of true love. When I thought of the music, I thought of Samuel.

I brought my hands to the keys and exhaled slowly, letting the music seep into my fingers. I played intently - there was a yearning in the melody that I recognized as my own loneliness. The music never became powerful, but moved me in its simplicity and in its clarity. I brushed the keys gently, coaxing the song from my timid soul. It was a humble offering, not nearly worthy yet of Mozart even at a young age, but it echoed with the passion of a sincere heart. When the last note faded and Samuel had still not spoken, I peered up at him apprehensively.

“What is it called?” He whispered, bringing his ebony eyes to hold mine.

“Samuel’s Song,” I whispered back, staring at him, suddenly brave and unapologetic.

He turned his face away from me abruptly, and he seemed unable to speak. He stood and walked to the door. He paused there, with his hand on the doorknob, his head bowed.

“I need to go now.” Samuel looked at me then, and there was a battle being waged in his eyes, turmoil on his face. “Your song…that is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” His voice was filled with emotion. And with that, he opened the door and walked out into the icy stillness, shutting the door softly behind him.

7. Dissonance

The last week in February, Samuel didn’t come to school. On Monday, I thought maybe he was sick or something, but after a few days I was worried about him. By Thursday, I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I came up with a plan to see him. Nettie Yates had given me a recipe for chocolate chip zucchini bread when we were canning the summer before. She’d shredded the zucchini into freezer bags and taped the laminated recipe to the pouches so that I could “just whip some up whenever I wanted to!” I had yet to make it. Zucchini and chocolate chips seemed like an odd combination.

I was grateful now for an excuse to go see her and hopefully find out what was up with Samuel. I pulled some shredded zucchini out of the freezer, made up a couple loaves of the chocolate chip zucchini bread, and headed out into the icy February evening, a loaf of the hot bread wrapped in a dish cloth and held against me, keeping my fingers warm.

Nettie Yates answered the door after a couple knocks and seemed glad to see me.

“Josie,” she exclaimed happily. “How nice to see you! Come in, come in! Oh, it’s miserable out there! Did you walk?”

“It’s not far, Mrs. Yates,” I said trying to talk between my chattering teeth. “I made zucchini bread from that recipe you gave me and thought maybe you’d like to try it, maybe give me some pointers,” I lied smoothly.

“What a perfect day for warm zucchini bread! I’d love some! Come into the kitchen. You can put your coat and boots back in the mud room by the back door.”

I handed her the loaf, bound tightly like a baby in a blanket, and pulled my coat and boots off. I didn’t see any sign of Samuel. I padded through the kitchen on stocking feet, trying to search without looking obvious about it. Samuel’s coat wasn’t hanging on any of the hooks in the mudroom. I turned to hurry back in the warm kitchen, when I heard someone coming up the back steps. The door whooshed open and Don Yates came tumbling in, nose and cheeks red, cowboy hat pulled low. I scurried out of the mudroom into the kitchen, not wanting to be standing there staring if Samuel was right behind him.

“Woo Wee! It is colder than a witch’s kiss out there!” Don Yates slammed the door closed behind him. I heard him pulling off his boots and unzipping his coat. Samuel wasn’t with him.

“Josie Jensen is here Don!” Nettie called out from the kitchen. “She brought us some nice zucchini bread. Come on in and I’ll get you some hot coffee to go with it.”

Don came tottering in, still bundled in thermals and flannel, rubbing his hands together.

“Hello, Miss Josie.” Don went to the sink and washed his hands and face while Nettie cut the zucchini bread and spread butter thickly over the top. I sat down, not sure how I was going to get the information I needed. Samuel obviously wasn’t here…unless he was sick in his room.

“Josie, the bread looks wonderful!” Nettie exclaimed. I took a big bite of the slice Nettie set before me, chewing it slowly, trying to buy myself some time to plot. It was really good. Who knew zucchini would work with chocolate chips? You couldn’t taste the zucchini - it just made the bread moist. The bread tasted like thick spicy cake, the chocolate chips imbedded around the edges. I felt a surge of pride that it had turned out so well.

“It’s gonna be ten below tonight,” Don muttered to himself. I’ve got the horses inside, but it’s gonna be miserable for ’em all the same. I hate February…most miserable month of the year,” Don grumbled under his breath.

“So…Mrs. Yates….I noticed Samuel wasn’t on the bus....is he sick?” I stunk at subterfuge.

“Oh, heavens no!” Mrs. Yates declared, covering her mouth as she tried to answer between bites. “Samuel went back to the reservation.”

Time stopped, and I stared at Nettie Yates in horror.