No Ordinary Sound: A Classic Featuring Melody - Denise Lewis Patrick American Girl

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helps the chorus. Let’s all remember that.” She clicked her baton on the edge of the piano. “Now, choir, rise!”

      Everyone stood. After Miss Dorothy led the group in vocal warm-ups, she repositioned the microphone in front of Diane, who was doing a solo for Mother’s Day.

      Diane stood straight and tall. She didn’t blink. She didn’t seem nervous at all. Melody had to admit that when she thought of her own faraway solo, she thought about what could go wrong. When Diane sang by herself, she acted as if she expected that everything would go right. She had what Dwayne called “stage presence.”

      Miss Dorothy stood at her piano and began playing. She played and directed and sang, all at the same time. Melody had always found it fascinating that she could do everything at once.

      Diane sang the first line of the song. “Be not dismayed whate’er betide…”

      The other children hummed in the background while Miss Dorothy played the chords. Diane sang the rest of the verse, and then the chorus came in with the refrain.

       God will take care of you,

       Through every day, o’er all the way;

       He will take care of you,

       God will take care of you.

      Miss Dorothy stopped playing. “Sopranos, I can’t really hear you. Let’s try that again,” she called out.

      Melody looked at Yvonne, who was watching her. Yvonne cupped her hand behind her ear and grinned. She was telling Melody to sing out. When the choir began again, Melody heard Lila clearly in the row behind her, and Sharon beside her. Encouraged by their voices and by Yvonne’s smile, Melody sang louder. Miss Dorothy nodded her approval.

      “Well done,” Miss Dorothy said. “Let’s go on to ‘His Eye Is on the Sparrow.’”

      Miss Dorothy played the first chords. Diane began to sing again, and she did sound wonderful. Melody looked out and saw Mommy come in to sit down beside Yvonne. When it was time for the chorus, Melody sang out with all her heart.

       I sing because I’m happy. I sing because I’m free.

      His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

      Melody felt the entire choir’s sound swell around her, and she was filled with a peaceful calm that made her feel happy and free.

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      After school the next day, Melody was sprawled on Big Momma’s living room rug watching an old movie on TV. In it, a lady was coming home after a long trip and her friends gave her a “Welcome Back” party. Melody sat up, hugging her knees. It would be a great idea to have a party for Val! They could have cookies and punch, and she could make a big sign that said “Welcome.” She could pick some flowers from her garden—pink ones, because that was Val’s favorite color.

      Melody didn’t have any homework to do, so she could start on the sign right away. She got up to get the art supplies Big Momma kept in a shoebox. Big Momma called it the “just in case” box, just in case somebody wanted to create something beautiful.

      Melody found the box in the dining room and set it on the table. Then she headed back into the living room to get the construction paper from its spot in the piano bench. Big Momma came downstairs and shut off the TV.

      “Big Momma, I think we should have a welcome party for Val and her parents,” Melody said excitedly. “I’m going to make a banner with all their names on it.”

      Big Momma smiled in approval. “That sounds like a fine idea,” she said. “You go on and work quietly in the kitchen, though. It’s time for my first afternoon lesson.”

      Melody gathered her supplies and went to the kitchen, closing the door behind her as the doorbell rang. She arranged her crayons on the table, spread her paper just so, and carefully began to outline the word “WELCOME” in big block letters. She could hear the low hum of Big Momma’s voice, a few piano chords, and then a familiar child’s voice.

      It was Diane Harris! Melody stopped working to listen.

      The metronome that Big Momma used to show her students how fast or how slow to play their music started to tick, tick, tick! Diane’s fingers fumbled over the piano keys. “Try again,” Big Momma said calmly.

      The choppy playing started and stopped, and then started over very slowly.

      “Go on, go on.” Big Momma sounded encouraging.But suddenly the piano was silent.

      “Mrs. Porter, I can’t do it!” Diane said. “I’ll never play the piano as well as I can sing.”

      What had happened to Diane’s bossy gym voice, Melody wondered. And her sure and steady choir voice? She sounded just the way Melody felt about doing a solo—nervous.

      “Don’t fret,” Big Momma said to Diane. “This is new for you. Sometimes people are afraid of what they don’t know.”

      Melody felt that Big Momma was speaking directly to her about the Youth Day solo.

      Big Momma went on. “You have to take your time, and open your heart to learning. It may not be easy, but the things worth having usually don’t come easily.”

      “Do you really think so?” Diane asked.

      “I really do,” Big Momma assured her. “You can shine with this instrument if you work hard enough.”

      In the kitchen, Melody smiled. Maybe, she thought, Diane and I are more alike than we are different. Melody picked up her crayon again, and drew a big yellow sun in the corner of her sign.

      Dances and Dollars

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      inline-imagen Thursday afternoon, Poppa picked Melody up from school so that she could help him in his flower shop. Poppa knew all about growing things. Melody knew that back in Alabama he had grown vegetables and fruit trees as well as peanuts on his farm, and he had an enormous flower garden. He’d taught Melody how to plan a garden and how to care for it through all the different seasons. When her flowers bloomed, Melody loved to pick a bouquet and arrange it so that all the blossoms looked their best. Putting different colors and shapes together reminded her of different voices blending together in the choir. Melody had learned so much that now Poppa let her work in the shop sorting his weekly flower shipment and getting ready for the big weekend orders.

      Melody settled back in the worn seat of his old work truck. It smelled like warm soil and flower petals. She inhaled deeply.

      “How was school today?” Poppa asked, shifting gears.

      Melody was distracted for a moment because she was watching people drive. Daddy said she was a true daughter of Detroit, the Motor City—the place where so many cars and trucks were built. Melody dreamed of driving her own car one day. She’d play the radio loud and sing along, maybe to one of Dwayne’s hits…

      “Melody?”

      “Oh! Sorry, Poppa. School was okay.”

      “Just okay?” He gave her a curious look. “Hmm. Well, I have an idea that I think is more than okay.”

      Melody took her eyes off the sleek blue Thunderbird hardtop car passing by. “What is it?”

      Poppa laughed. “Now I have your attention!” He slowed on 12th Street in front of his shop, Frank’s Flowers, and pulled the truck around to the delivery entrance at the back. “How

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