Free The Devil's Serenade by Catherine Cavendish

lavender border whose bounty now fragranced her room.
    I took hold of the brass handles and pulled open the top drawer. Inside, notepaper and envelopes were neatly arranged on one side, while on the other, I found a book—leather bound, with a gold-colored clasp. My heart beat a little faster as I lifted it out, and I hesitated before snapping it open. A pang of conscience hit me. I may be about to intrude on my aunt’s most intimate secrets. I nearly put it back, but my desperate need for answers made me flip it open. It was a notebook which I quickly discovered—as I flipped through the pages—Aunt Charlotte had adapted into an occasional diary. A page-long entry would be followed by a gap of days, or weeks, until the next one. Most of the earlier entries concerned her gardening or the shortcomings of some of the staff she had employed on Nathaniel’s behalf. One entry was dated June 16th, 1960.
    I played “Serenade in Blue” for Mr. Hargest on the piano today. If ever the old saying about music soothing the savage breast was true, it is true of his reaction to it. He had been reading in the library and startled me when he opened the door. I thought he was going to tell me to stop, and be quite angry for disturbing him, but on the contrary.
    “What is that song, Charlotte?” he asked. He put his hands on the piano, and I noticed his palms were flat on the surface, not clenched or in any way threatening.
    “It’s an old Glenn Miller song,” I told him. “I’ve always loved his music but I think ‘Serenade in Blue’ is my favorite. It brings back memories.” I didn’t tell him they were bittersweet and that for ten years or more I couldn’t bear to hear it or play it. Now, I seem to want to do both all the time. Perhaps that is a signal I have moved on.
    “I have never heard it before,” he said and I must have looked startled, because he laughed—the first time I can ever remember him laugh. “I never listen to popular music,” he said. “Only classical. But henceforward, ‘Serenade in Blue’ will also be my favorite. You can play it as often as you wish.”
    He couldn’t have surprised me more. I wish he hadn’t spoiled it by looking at me in that way that makes me so uncomfortable. His eyes seem to pierce through to my soul, as if he is trying to possess me. Sometimes I think I shall have to leave this place and find another position but where would I go? It isn’t easy being a woman alone in this world. Especially one without any money or much family to support her.
    Oh, Aunt Charlotte, I thought. Surely, even in 1960, you didn’t have to stay where you felt uneasy around your boss. But that was over fifty years ago, I reminded myself. A different world—especially for women.
    I read on, discovering things about my aunt’s life she had never talked about. To me, at any rate.
    Playing “our” song reminded me of that wonderful summer with Freddie before he turned 18 and joined up. 1944. How long ago it seems and yet, in another way, it could have been yesterday. We went to the village midsummer dance and I wore a blue dress I’d made from an old gown of Mother’s she no longer wore. I was so proud of myself for saving on my coupons.
    “You look a proper sight for sore eyes,” Freddie said as he led me out onto the dance floor. The band struck up a familiar Glenn Miller song. Freddie held me close and hummed along with the melody. “You’ll always be my ‘Serenade in Blue’,” he said.
    I was so happy, tears filled my eyes. Some must have spilled over onto Freddie’s cheek because he stopped dancing.
    “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?” He looked so worried, poor lamb.
    “Oh no,” I said, feeling silly. “You said everything perfectly. As always.”
    He smiled and I loved the way his eyes creased up. Such a handsome man, my Freddie.
    “You’re my girl now, Lottie,” he said. No one ever called me Lottie but him. Always Charlotte. Not Freddie. I was always