Jemimah turned over the next couple of pages in the hymnbook, unconsciously sighing a pleased “Ahhh” as she saw another long-time favourite hymn, to the hauntingly beautiful tune of Finlandia. She smoothed the pages, and began,

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side. Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain. Leave to thy God to order and provide …

There was a man - standing behind her in the archway.

Some instinct kept her from turning around, and for a moment she sat frozen, her hand still on the hymnbook, as hot and cold rushed alternately through her body in sickening turns.

She stared in horror at the reflection beside the hymnbook. The man’s features were in shadow but his silhouette was outlined by the strong sunlight from the front door. One thing she knew for sure – it wasn’t Pastor Turnbull.

Play, play! The thought came urgently into her mind. Keep singing. Don’t let him know you’ve seen him!

Her brain seemed to be operating on an almost subconscious level now, like animal instinct, but her hands felt like rubber as they returned to the keys.

In every change, He faithful will remain. Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heavenly Friend Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

How long had he been standing there? What did he want? If he thought she hadn’t seen him would he just go back away? Dear God, help me!

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake To guide the future, as He has the past.

Her fingers hit a sudden dischord. Did I relock the screen after the insurance man left? Please help me Lord! I don’t know. I don’t know!

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake; All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know His voice Who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart, And all is darkened in the vale of tears,

Then shalt thou better know His love, His heart, Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.

Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay

From His own fullness all He takes away.

… his face was shadowed by a baseball cap

… a bag under one arm – for whatever he would steal?

And in the moment before tearing her gaze away she saw …

… an axe dangled from his hand!

Her breath drew in an audible gasp. Help me, Lord, help me!

Keep playing, keep playing! Her mind screamed in that wretched micro-second. Don’t let him know you know he’s there!

Jemimah forced the sharp intake of air to carry out the first note of the next verse, while her mind scrambled in desperation.

Be still, my soul: the hour is hastening on

When we shall be forever with the Lord.

She choked on the next words.

When disappointment, grief and fear are gone,

Even if she could – how could ringing the police to come all the way out from town possibly help?

It would be far too late …

Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.

Could she get out through the kitchen door before he caught her up? But she’d locked that door too – she’d never get it unfastened in time.

Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past

All safe and blessèd we shall meet at last.

Just keep playing! O God, save me! Keep playing!

She tried to begin the next verse, the chilling terror closing in on her.

Be still, my soul: begin the song of praise

On earth, believing, to Thy Lord on high;

Oh, Lord, have mercy on me!

She saw nothing but the reflection – and saw the man lunge toward her.

Jemimah leapt from the stool, tipping it behind her. Her scream tore through the tightness of her throat, rang in her ears. Sheet music spilled across the floor.

The man was almost at her.

She could hardly see.

Barely breathe for screaming.

She was falling, falling … but just short of oblivion a familiar, oh so familiar voice slipped in through the very edge of her consciousness and called her name.

“Jemimah!”

He caught her just before she hit the floor.

Her eyes flew open, unfocussed and terrified.

“Michael?” Confusion and then recognition warred for a moment, then she clutched at him desperately, her whole body shaking. “Michael! There’s a man here. He’s got an axe, Michael!”

Her voice was rising toward hysteria. Outside the door, the dogs barked like mad. The screen door shuddered under their weight.

“No, Jemimah, it’s just me, it’s only me,” he soothed, his stomach knotted with horror at what he’d unwittingly done.

“No. I saw him -- I saw him in the piano. In the reflection in the piano. He’s got an axe, Michael!”

“Everything’s okay, Jemimah. It was just me, it was just me you saw, waiting by the door. I’m so sorry I frightened you.”

It had all happened so quickly. One moment he’d been watching her, thinking everything was fine -- then in a fraction of a second he’d been hit by the sickening realisation that something was wrong. Very wrong.

A dozen pieces of information meshed in his brain at once: the mistakes on the piano that had seemed incidental a few verses ago were now constant and unmistakable, the tremor in Jemimah’s voice that he must have passed off as an emotional response to the moving hymn was so obviously sheer terror ...

Too late he’d tried to let her know it was him -- the moment he’d moved she’d begun screaming then crumpled like a leaf.

“No -- Michael!” she insisted vehemently. “There’s a man! Behind you!”

He began to feel very frightened for her, but kept his voice gentle as he knelt beside her.

“No, Jemimah. There’s no other man here.”

But there was.

Jemimah screamed again as someone grabbed Michael by the shoulders and hauled him round. Before he could react, a fist swung into his face with a force that knocked him to the floor.

Fragments of light flashed across his vision, and for a moment Michael thought he was going to pass out.

He fought to hold on, thinking only of Jemimah. He could make no sense of what was happening, and as his vision cleared he struggled to return to her side.

She was screaming in desperation, words mingled in with her cries. “No, no -- please stop! It’s Michael -- can’t you see it’s Michael! Please don’t hit him!”

He looked up to see his own father looming over him, his fist clenched and arm recoiled for another strike.

“Please don’t hit him again!” Jemimah sobbed, trying to get to her feet. “Please stop!”

The screen slammed. “Jemimah!” Nan cried out in a tone Michael had never heard before. “Jemimah, darling!”

She was down on the floor in a moment, her arms around Jemimah.

“Michael! Michael?” His father’s voice was incredulous -- but hard and accusing. “What are you doing here?”

Jemimah was trying to speak, but sobbing so hard that she was choking on her words.

“Hush, darling, hush. We’re here now.” Nan hugged her close, then addressed Michael’s father. “Whatever is going on, it’s over now. Give Jemimah a chance to settle down and we’ll sort it all out as calmly as we can. Do you think you can get up, sweetheart?”

Michael pressed his hand against his throbbing face and watched wretchedly as Nan helped Jemimah to the lounge. He turned to see his father staring at him, the look in his eyes shocking him. Then it dawned on him how the situation must appear - and with sickening clarity he understood his expression. Meeting his father’s eyes he shook his head, then slumped back against the base of the sofa.

“I’m waiting for an explanation, son.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Jemimah broke in. “It’s all my fault ... he, he,” she gestured helplessly with her hands in frustration at her inability to get her words out, “So sorry. I... didn’t recognise him. I thought ...”

But she was unable to get any further. Michael turned to her, feeling like his heart would break watching her distress, and relieved only marginally that she seemed to understand now what had happened. “No, Jemimah -- it is not your fault. Please don’t--” he began but she cut him off.

“So sorry ... you’re hurt,” she gestured towards his face, then covered her face with her hands and gave herself over to her tears. Michael would gladly have taken a dozen more punches if only he could have spared her this.

“Sweetheart, don’t try to talk just now. Give yourself a little while to settle, darling, then you can tell me everything, alright?” Nan wrapped her arm around Jemimah’s shoulder and hugged her tight.

“I’m still waiting,” Pastor Turnbull reiterated testily, his burning eyes on his son.

“Well, while you’re waiting would you please get the packet of peas from the freezer and a tea towel to wrap them in -- I think we should get something on Mikey’s eye, don’t you?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Michael couldn’t help appreciating Nan’s masterful handling of his father. His father hadn’t exactly ‘huffed’ as he turned on his heel and left the room, but the tension had ratcheted down a couple of notches with his departure.

“Take your hand away Mikey, so I can see your face,” Nan instructed, and winced as Michael obeyed. “Do you think anything is broken?”

Michael felt his cheekbone and eye socket gingerly. The whole side of his face was painful and swelling and his eye was already beginning to close. “No, I don’t think so.”

He saw Jemimah’s appalled expression and tried to produce a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it looks a lot worse than it feels, though.”

But Jemimah just shook her head miserably, tears rolling down her pale cheeks, still unable to speak.

“Are you still afraid, darling?” Nan asked her softly.

Jemimah answered with a vehement “No,” and another garbled apology.

“Is it Mikey you’re worried about?”

She nodded emphatically, and put her head on her knees and wept inconsolably. Nan stroked her hair and said bracingly, “Oh, Mikey’ll be fine. The Turnbull men are built of stern stuff. Bit of ice on there for a little while and he’ll be good as new.”

She caught her grandson’s eye and nodded toward the upturned piano stool. “How about you neaten that up for me, Mikey?”

Picking up her message of the importance of restoring normality, Michael gritted his teeth and righted the stool. It could only help to have the place looking less like a crime scene. He was gathering the scattered music books when his father returned.

“Here.” His dad held out the wrapped bag of frozen vegetables, still regarding him martially. He shook his head at Michael as he pressed the package against his face with a grimace, and walked past him to where Jemimah was huddled on the couch.

He crouched beside her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, lassie?”

“Yes, yes!” she insisted, desperation in her voice. “So sorry ... for everything ... just panicked ... wasn’t Michael’s fault ... he tried to help.”

“Hmm,” he sounded far from convinced, “I still don’t know what he’s even doing here.” He turned back to Michael. “You certainly didn’t mention anything last night on the phone.”

“No. It was the furthest thought from my mind when I was talking to you. The school had left a phone message for me -- I hadn’t seen it then -- to let me know that I wasn’t needed on Monday. As soon as I heard I had a long weekend at my disposal I jumped at the chance to come home. It was too late by then to ring last night, and too early this morning before I left. I’m sorry,” he finished lamely, “I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“Certainly was a surprise.” His tone made it clear that he didn’t consider it a nice one, however. “So you’ve turned up unexpectedly while we were out and found Jemimah here on her own. What did you do to bring about the scene we just walked in on?”

“He didn’t do anything!” Jemimah blurted out, before sobbing again. “I didn’t hear him ... then I saw him ... and ... and ... please, it’s not ... ”

“Jemimah, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, and I can accept that you weren’t expecting to see Michael -- I certainly didn’t recognise him in that ridiculous baseball cap, and I’ve never seen that shirt before -- but even a bit of a fright doesn’t go anywhere near explaining what was going on here. Lassie, when we pulled up you were screaming for your life. I hope I never hear something so awful again as long as I live. Something happened to make you scream like that. What was it?”

“The ... the axe.”

“The axe?” Pastor Turnbull repeated incredulously, then followed Jemimah’s gaze to where it still lay on the floor just within the archway. He looked at it then briefly closed his eyes as though in pain. “Oh, this I do not believe!”

He threw up his arms and paced for a moment and then turned back to Michael, his hands on his hips. “Would you like to explain what you were doing with an axe?”

“It’s Grandad’s axe -- it’s got a split in the handle. It kept nicking my hand when I was chopping down that tree in the holidays and I bought some tennis racquet grip tape--”

“What? Has this got anything to do with what has just happened?”

“Well, yes -- because I picked up the axe when I parked in the machinery shed--”

“Why did you park in the shed? No wonder we didn’t see your car.”

“When I saw you weren’t home --”

“You knew we weren’t home before we came in? How?”

“There was a note in the mailbox from an insurance broker who’d called while you were out, he’d written the time and since it was still sticking out of the box, I knew you hadn’t returned since he’d left it.” Michael was finding the pieces slowly clicking into place. “Jemimah - he came while you were here on your own, did he?”

She nodded. “The dogs ... “

“Wouldn’t let him out of the car?” Nan finished for her, and she nodded.

“That’s why ... when I saw the man ... over there,” she gestured to the archway, “I wondered why I hadn’t heard the dogs. Then, I saw the outline of the bag ... thought you were a housebreaker,” she drew in a shuddering breath, “then I saw the shadow of ... the axe.”

“And you thought -- Oh, Jemimah! I’m so sorry! When I was standing there I’d completely forgotten I was even holding it.”

“This is still not making a whole lot of sense, Michael,” his dad said.

Michael took the bag of frozen peas off his face, and turned it over, putting the other, cooler side back against his skin. “Dad - how about I start at the beginning?”

“I wish someone would!”

“Michael,” Nan’s voice was soft but firm as she addressed his father. “Would you go and put the kettle on? By the sound of it, it seems that one way or another we’ve all had an unpleasant shock,” she inclined her head meaningfully behind Jemimah’s bowed head, “and the calmer we can all be the sooner things will be mended.”

He returned a few minutes later with a pot of tea, and a tray with the cups, sugar and milk. Michael took his cup from his dad and sipped it gratefully, but Jemimah shook her head when offered one. His dad took his own cup and sat down in a lounge chair at the head of the group. “Before we go any further, let’s pray.

Our heavenly Father, you know all things and your knowledge and wisdom is perfect. We ask that you might give understanding of the truth, and comfort to the hurt. Please help us to sort this situation out in a way that is right and just and true so that you may be glorified in all of us. In the name of your precious Son, Amen.”

“Amen.” Michael echoed his father and then went on. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am for all of this, Dad -- but it’s just a huge misunderstanding. When I stopped at the gate, and got the leaflet out the box the dogs met me then ...”

“The dogs. That’s why ...” Jemimah murmured, as though the pieces were falling into place for her too.

“That’s why you wouldn’t have heard the dogs. Or the car -- because I thought I’d do the oil change in my car if I was going to have a few hours on my own, so I left it in the far shed and walked down.” He ran his hand through his hair, “I honestly thought there was no-one home. I brought the axe inside with me to fix while I had a cuppa, but when as I came to the door I could hear the music. At first I thought it was a CD left playing, then I realised that it was someone at the piano -- but I didn’t recognise the voice. I let myself in, and through the archway I saw it was Jemimah. She didn’t hear me come in, and I didn’t think she saw me either. After a while though, I realised something was wrong ...”

“What do you mean after a while? How long were you there?”

Michael flinched guiltily at his father’s question. “Five minutes? Maybe a little more. I know now I should have made my presence known immediately, but she was absorbed in playing and singing and I didn’t want to interrupt ...”

Nan caught his eye, the unasked question in her raised eyebrows heating his face. He knew what she was thinking about him standing and listening to Jemimah -- but it wasn’t like that at all. But this wasn’t the time to try to explain that.

“When did you know that I -- that someone -- was there, Jemimah? When you were singing ‘Be Still My Soul?’ “

Jemimah nodded, appearing to be settling down as their explanations began to untangle things. “Just after ... I saw a man’s silhouette ... reflected on the piano. Thought it must be a thief. Thought he might leave if he thought I hadn’t seen him.”

“I am so, so sorry, Jemimah.” Michael had almost forgotten Nan and his dad’s presence. “You must have been terrified.”

She nodded again. “Thought I’d try to keep singing and playing ... but couldn’t.”

“That’s when I finally realised something was wrong -- but when I tried to let you know it was only me--”

“I thought the man ... was going to attack me ...with the axe.” Jemimah covered her trembling mouth her hand. “I didn’t mean to scream. I couldn’t help it---I couldn’t stop.”

“Sweetheart, that’s entirely understandable! Just the thought of what must have been going through your mind is horrifying.” Nan hugged her close.

“And that’s pretty much where you two came in. As I came into the room, Jemimah jumped up and knocked over the stool and then, maybe she tripped, but I thought she was fainting. I caught her as she went down. She recognised me -- but was convinced there was still someone else there. And that’s when Dad walloped me.”

The silence seemed to stretch after Michael finished, his dad looking from him to Jemimah. “Is that all there is to it, lassie?”

“Yes!” She seemed distraught at the insinuation there might be more to the story, and her eyes welled with tears again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Nan stroked her hair, reassuring her that everything was okay and shot his dad a warning look. He turned to Michael, extending his hand. “I’m sorry son, it looks like I jumped to conclusions. But if you could imagine what I saw walking into the room ... and I had no idea it was you.”

Michael could imagine it, and the picture in his mind’s eye more than justified his father’s reaction. He went to take his father’s outstretched hand, but stopped short just before grasping it. “Dad -- how is your hand?”

Surprised, his dad turned his hand over to examine it, and Michael saw that the knuckles were swollen red and grazed. “You might need some ice, too.” He held out the frozen peas, but his father waved it away and rose to his feet. “I’ll get myself something from the freezer.”

“And I’d better bring in the esky from the car before everything melts -- we bought a cold BBQ chicken and some coleslaw on the way back through town. Since these two are both too busy finding cold packs, it looks like it’s up to you and me to organise lunch, Jemimah. Come and give me a hand.”

Michael was about to protest that Jemimah was really in no condition to be doing anything of the sort, and then realised his Nan’s wisdom in getting her up and out of the situation. He drew in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly as he watched her leave.

The door shut behind the ladies, and his dad turned to him again.

“Are you sure that’s the whole story, Michael?”

Michael nodded. His father’s doubt hurt, but he could certainly understand it.

“I would do anything to put the clock back to last night and undo all this. It’s hard to accept that two innocent choices could have done so much harm -- deciding to surprise you with a visit, and waiting for Jemimah to finish her playing before I interrupted.”

“You’re a young fool, you know, Mikey,” his dad ruffled his hair as he passed him. “What were you thinking standing there watching for so long.”

“Have you ever heard Jemimah sing?”

He raised his eyebrows in interest. “No. Can’t say that I have.”

“Neither had I.”

His dad stared at him quizzically for a long moment, then shook his head and left Michael alone with his thoughts.