Michael hung up the phone and slumped back in his desk chair, his spirits unaccountably flat. Rather than feeling more connected to home as he usually did after his Friday night call, he felt even more distant.

He hadn’t expected Nan to be out and while the brief chat with his father assured him that all was well, his Dad’s update lacked the all little details that Nan filled in: what was growing, how Gabi was progressing with her wedding plans, what Angie and Jemimah had been up to.

Last Friday night Nan had told him that Jemimah had given a Bible to her young friend Jarrah, and had starting talking about Genesis with her. He’d been praying for both of them and had looked forward to hearing how Jemimah had gotten on this week. It was great how she had already involved both herself and Angie in the lives of the young people in the church. She was like a fresh new breeze gently moving in their small community.

He picked up the roll of racquet grip tape he’d bought that afternoon and turned it over in his fingers. When he’d noticed it in the bargain bin outside a sports store he’d passed that afternoon, it occurred to him it would be the perfect fix for the split in his grandfather’s axe handle.

Michael glanced down at his hand. The blood blister where the wood had pinched him was completely healed, only the faintest mark reminding him of the colourful Band-Aid Jemimah had put over it. He smiled, remembering the gentle heat of the autumn sunshine, the smell of the drying grass. It had been a great holiday - had it really only been two weeks ago? Right now it seemed like another life-time.

The past week had been a long one, and Friday had felt longer still with most of the school away at camp. He’d had only a couple of classes scheduled for the few students who hadn’t gone to the camp, as he would again the coming Monday. Hopefully this grey ennui would lift once he’d settled properly back into the Sydney routine.

The clock down the hall struck ten, and Michael sighed.

His dad said that Angie had arrived safely in Sydney and he’d wondered if she’d get in touch with him while she was there. Probably not, he admitted to himself, and obviously not tonight.

He was expecting a quiet weekend with a visiting missionary speaking at both the Sunday school classes and the church services. For the first time in months he had nothing pressing to prepare for. Maybe Angie would like to catch up on Sunday afternoon? Experience told him she wouldn’t, but he’d offer anyway.

As he picked up his phone to give his sister a ring he saw that he’d missed a call. For a moment he thought it might be Angie after all, but dialling into his message-bank disabused him of that idea. The call was from his school’s administrator letting him know a local excursion had been organised for the remaining students for Monday, and Michael would not be required back at school until Tuesday morning.

The unexpected opportunity for a long weekend stirred a sense of excitement in him – he couldn’t think of anything nicer than a long drive home and a couple of days out on the farm.

Heavy footsteps sounded along the upstairs hall, heading toward the kitchen, and Michael hurried out of his room to catch Pastor McCrae. He had no objections to Michael ducking home for the weekend, but they’d started chatting and it was after 11p.m by the time Michael returned to his room to throw a few things in his overnight bag.

Too late to ring home now, he decided. He set his alarm for four a.m., more than willing to trade a few hours' sleep to arrive home for lunch. It would be too early to ring before he left in the morning, he noted, but that was fine, too.

Going home on the spur of the moment wasn’t something he’d ever done before, but it would be fun to surprise his family when he arrived.

“You know you’re very welcome to come over to the Peters' with us, Jemimah?” Nan said, as she and Pastor Turnbull gathered their things ready to visit Mrs Peters out at her farm. “Are you sure you won’t be too lonely on your own?”

Jemimah shook her head with a smile. “Thank you, but actually, I’m revelling in the quietness. It was so nice to lie in bed and not hear the cotton headers this morning. You don’t mind me staying while you go out?”

“Oh, not at all sweetheart. Make yourself at home. Now there’s some cake and fruit for your morning tea, and you know where the kettle is. Is there anything else you might need?”

They were only going to be away for a couple of hours, but it was sweet that Nan was making sure everything was in order for her.

“Um, actually,” Jemimah began a little shyly. “If you didn’t mind–”

“Of course not,” Nan assured her before she finished, “Go on.”

“I just wondered if it might be okay to play on your piano while you were out? I’m not very good, but–”

“Oh, you’re very welcome, sweetheart! Anytime you like. I didn’t even know you played.” Nan led the way toward the piano, and lifted the lid of the wooden stool. “There’s several different hymnbooks and some other music in there from when the kids were learning – help yourself.”

“Are you ready, Nan?” Pastor Turnbull called from the hallway near the front door.

“Coming right now,” she replied and Jemimah followed her to the door.

Pastor Turnbull held the screen door open for Nan, and as he closed it behind them they said their goodbyes, the two cattle dogs snuffling around their legs outside the door.

“Oh, one more thing before you go,” Jemimah called after them, keeping the door firmly closed and the dogs on the other side of the screen to herself. “Is there a key for door? So I can lock it?”

Pastor Turnbull laughed. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about locking the door out here, Jemimah. It’s very unlikely anyone will disturb your peace this morning, and if they do – trust me - they won’t get past the dogs.”

“Okay,” Jemimah nodded, still finding this part of the country lifestyle a little disconcerting.

Nan turned back toward Jemimah, “You can just flick the latch there, if you’re worried, that locks it from the inside without needing a key. Same with the kitchen screen.”

Jemimah nodded, embarrassed but grateful. Unnecessary or not, she liked feeling secure. She waved them off from inside the door, then as soon as they were out of sight flicked the lock across and went and did the same with the kitchen door.

She wandered slowly back through to the lounge area. It was strange being in the Turnbull’s house – Michael’s home - all alone , feeling as though she could just soak in so much of who they were. She paused at the line of photographs, her eyes lingering as usual on the portrait of Michael in his graduation gown. For once she could stare as long as she liked without worrying that anyone would notice – and yet the thought made her uncomfortable. She appreciated the trust the Turnbulls had demonstrated in leaving her the run of the place, but it felt as though she’d be abusing that by doing something behind their backs that she wouldn’t do if they were home.

Shaking off the thoughts of Michael that never seemed far from her, Jemimah opened the lid of the piano stool and explored the treasure trove within. Amongst the grade books of examination pieces and assorted sheet music were the hymnbooks – and warm pleasure ran through her as she recognised the hymn book she remembered from visiting her grandparent’s church as a child.

No longer interested in any of the other music, she turned the pages, her smile widening as she recognised the hymns – many old friends from her childhood holidays and some she’d become newly acquainted with since being part of the church in Jacaranda Plains.

She quickly replaced the lid on the stool and propped the hymnal on the piano. Now would she remember the tunes as well as the hymns themselves?

The first chords came a little hesitantly, but soon Jemimah lost herself in the beautiful words and the music flowed unconsciously. She made many mistakes, stopping and starting when she went wrong, but it was good enough to sing to for her own pleasure.

Her parents had taken both her sister and herself to piano lessons when they were younger, but while Jemimah enjoyed music, the moment someone listened to her play or sing – even her piano teacher - she’d become so nervous that she’d been given up as unmusical. But now, in an empty house with no chance of being overheard, Jemimah’s heart was full of joy, both with the pleasure of making beautiful music and soaking in the glorious meditations of saints from generations past.

One favourite hymn followed another, until the barking of the dogs broke into her reverie. She stopped abruptly, to hear the crunch of car tyres on the gravel driveway. A glance at her watch confirmed it was too early for the Turnbulls to be back – unless they had forgotten something?

She walked to the door, suddenly anxious at seeing an unfamiliar champagne coloured sedan driving towards the house. Surely it would be just someone from church or a friend of the Turnbulls?

The dogs ran beside the car, vociferously heralding its arrival, and it pulled up in the sunshine not far from the front door. Jemimah watched from behind the closed screen as the driver, an unfamiliar man probably aged in his forties, started to open his door – and then snapped it shut just as quickly as the dogs rushed towards him, their manner less friendly than Jemimah had seen before. It would seem the visitor was a stranger to them as well.

The man noticed Jemimah, and wound down his window partially.

“Morning!” he called out as the dogs quietened slightly, but remained on guard and regarded him warily. “I’m from Bancrofts.” Jemimah stared at him blankly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Bancrofts Insurance. Farm insurance.” He held up a folder with an official looking emblem on it through the window, but the movement triggered a renewed and more aggressive barking frenzy. “If you would call off the dogs I’ll…”

Jemimah looked gratefully toward Aspro and Flash, and actually felt warm toward them for the very first time. Pastor Turnbull hadn’t been exaggerating when he said she’d be safe at home with the dogs.

The stranger probably was just an insurance salesman, but she couldn’t have let him in even if she’d wanted to. She opened the door slightly and poked her head out. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m only a guest here,” she called back, gesturing with a helpless shrug in case he couldn’t hear her over the dogs. “Perhaps if you call by another time?”

The dogs turned toward her at the sound of her voice and she quickly pulled the door shut again.

The man looked a little discomposed, but nodded. “Righto then, I’ll leave my card. Um–” The dogs had risen toward his raised hand and he withdrew it smartly, “– in the mailbox.”

“Righto, then,” Jemimah answered in kind, and watched with satisfaction as his car disappeared down the driveway, the dogs escorting him all the way to the distant gate. They were panting hard when they returned to the door several minutes later, but now with their tails waving and grinning as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

“Good doggies,” Jemimah praised them. The idea crossed her mind that she ought to pat them or something for doing such a good job – but the thought was not hard to dismiss. The excitement over, she started to head back to the piano, but then continued through to the kitchen, deciding it was a good time to have some morning tea before getting back to the music.

She made herself a cup of tea – Michael’s way - and lingered over the piece of the cake Nan had put on a plate for her. This morning was just what she needed after the strain of the last several weeks, a time to be at peace and be refreshed through simply worshipping God and meditating on the words of the hymns.

After washing up her cup and plate she returned to the piano, eager to make the most of the opportunity. She was enjoying herself more than she could have imagined, and was aware there was no way of knowing when she might have a chance like this again.

Anticipation made the hours of driving pass by nearly imperceptibly and now Michael could almost smell home it was hard to keep his speed down to the limit.

He eased the accelerator up as he took the final corner before the home stretch so that the plume of red dust that rose like a banner behind his car would settle before he was close enough for it to blow across the paddocks to the Jones' home, and then his own.

Michael turned in at his own gate, pulling up beside the letterbox as he spied a folded brochure poking out of it. He wound down the window to retrieve it, but as he took it a small card fell from its folds and fluttered down to the ground.

He climbed out of the car, limbs slightly stiff as he bent to pick it up, and heard the sound of scrabbling gravel and the unmistakable panting of a very doggy welcome moments before it hit. He grinned and stayed crouched beside his car until Aspro and Flash had expended their very gratifying store of affection. When the dogs were finally satisfied and whiffled their way back into the long grass that had sprung up since he’d last mowed, Michael straightened up and looked at the card in his hand.

It was from an insurance agent, with a scrawled note noting the time just an hour earlier and with a number he could be contacted on should they wish him to call again while he was still in the area.

Michael smiled ruefully. Obviously Angie was away, and his dad had mentioned last night that Gabi would be spending the day over at the Hart’s to help out with the cotton picking, but it hadn’t occurred to him that Dad and Nan might be out when he arrived.

So much for his big surprise.

He climbed back into his car with a philosophical shrug. It really didn’t matter if he had a few hours on his own – just being home and out of the city was great. He pushed his black baseball cap further back on his head and looked across the flat land, his eyes refreshed simply by drinking in the unbounded vista.

Instead of driving toward the house he turned into the nearest machinery shed. He’d use the unexpected time on his own to change the oil in his car – the extra mileage of this trip would bring it due earlier than he’d planned – and it was much easier using his dad’s ramps here than sliding under his car on the back lane behind the manse in Sydney. But first, a nice cup of tea and something sweet to eat.

Michael drove his car deep into the shed, and grabbed his overnight bag from the seat beside him. His grandfather’s axe caught his eye on his way out and, thinking of the grip tape in the bottom of his bag he picked up the axe as well. He’d try out his idea of taping the split handle while he had a cuppa. As he passed the empty carport adjacent to the house, Michael realised he might even need to unlock the door. He fished out his rarely used “home” key ring from the bottom of his bag as he walked, his ears pricking at the unexpected sound of music.

For a moment he wondered if it was his imagination, but it came again, like a snatch of song on the breeze.

He walked more slowly now, listening; the sound becoming clearer as he neared the house until he could make out the sound of hymn music.

Perhaps Nan had left on one of her CDs while she was out? Unlike her, but not impossible.

Perhaps she wasn’t out at all?

His hand went out to the screen door handle. At the same moment that he realised the screen was indeed locked he became aware that it was not a CD that he could hear – the music was coming from the piano in the lounge room and a female voice he didn’t recognise was singing in sweet accompaniment.

Curiouser and curiouser.

He unlocked the door quietly, intrigued by the pleasant mystery. Her voice was beautiful – enchantingly so. Tender, yet clear and confident. As though the words of the hymn were her own soul’s expression.

Michael carefully eased the door closed behind him, instinctively knowing the moment he announced his presence the singing would cease. And he didn’t want it to stop – not a single moment before it had to. His hands still full, he stepped silently into the hall and peered through the doorway into the lounge room.

The moment of discovery flowed over him, warm and satisfying: both the solution to the mystery of music from the locked house and the unfolding of the mystery that was Jemimah Parker.

It all made sense now. Although it hadn’t crossed his mind Jemimah might be visiting there was no reason why she wouldn’t be, even with his family away from home. There could be any number of reasons to explain that; perhaps she was merely escaping the noise and chaos of a cotton farm during picking.

But it was the second part of the discovery that was most captivating. He’d been in a church service with Jemimah five times and had never heard her sing loudly enough for her voice to be audible amongst the congregation but here, on her own, her voice was a perfect expression of herself - exactly what he’d have expected if he’d thought of it. Like the flowers that only open in the evening, entirely hidden in the darkness but their fragrance scenting the still night air.

Unable to keep from smiling at the poetic imagery conjured by the stolen glimpse, he slunk back into the shadow of the archway. He felt a little guilty watching unobserved like this, but he might never have the chance to hear her sing like this again. Just a few more minutes, perhaps when she finished this hymn, he’d re-close the screen door and let her hear him come in …