Red Berry Workshop

Black River Falls was a sharp contrast to the suffocating stillness of Royal, but for Peggy, the silence inside Eleanor’s house felt just as heavy.

That evening, Eleanor had announced she needed to leave to pick up a passenger from the bus station and drive him to his home. She estimated the entire trip would take about four hours, telling Peggy not to wait up. Before heading out, Eleanor gave her instructions: to help herself to the leftovers in the refrigerator, which could be heated up in the oven for dinner, and to lock the doors before going to bed.

Peggy stood by the window, watching as Eleanor backed out of her driveway and drove off. She tracked the vehicle until the car’s taillights disappeared completely down the dark road.

Left alone, Peggy quickly grew bored. To pass the time, she began to explore Eleanor’s home. She started with the coffee table, looking through various newspapers and magazines scattered across it, but nothing seemed to interest her. Seeking some background noise, Peggy turned on the radio and began twisting the dial to find a station to listen to.

The first station she landed on featured religious programming. A preacher’s voice boomed through the speakers, deep in a sermon about whether Jesus wanted to be worshipped as a god. Peggy listened for a few minutes, but she quickly lost interest and turned the dial to find another station.

To her frustration, the next station was also broadcasting religious programming. This one featured a discussion group debating the concept of unconditional love. The speakers were arguing about how various religious denominations all fail to understand how to spread the word of Jesus to the masses, claiming instead that these denominations simply added their own rules or conditions to control churchgoers. Peggy felt a bit taken back by the broadcast. Were all the radio stations around here religious?

Determined to find something else, Peggy turned the radio dial some more. Finally, she managed to tune into a music station. It wasn’t the contemporary music Peggy usually listened to. Instead, it was a stream of easy-listening instrumentals and older vocals. The kind of music her parents listened to.

With the music playing softly in the background, Peggy got up from the couch and walked around the living room, idly inspecting the various knick-knacks and framed photos. Her wandering brought her over to a large bookshelf. She scanned the book spines, looking at the books Eleanor collected, but nothing really stood out.

Peggy kept looking, her fingers brushing past the volumes until she discovered an old photo album. She pulled it from the bookshelf. The album cover was old and worn, and as she handled it, Peggy could smell a distinct, musty scent rising from the pages.

Carrying her discovery, Peggy set the photo album down on the coffee table. She then detoured into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Once it was ready, Peggy returned to the living room with her steaming cup, sat back down on the couch, and opened the photo album to look at the photos.

As soon as she turned the first few pages, Peggy’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. It was the town of Royal.

As she paged through the old photographs, it felt as if she were taking a personal tour of Royal back in the 1950s. Each page displayed various snapshots of familiar landmarks. The bustling shops on Main Street, Saint Helga’s Church, and Royal Park. In one photo, she instantly recognized the town gazebo. The entire town was elaborately decorated, as if captured during some community festival. The detail of the photos was amazing; festive decorations adorned everything from the corner gas station to the Royal School.

Peggy came across a photo of the WRYL radio station. Captured in the frame was a figure walking through the door to the station. Peggy could only see his back, but something about that individual felt hauntingly familiar, drawing her back to the photo. Peggy spotted a magnifying glass on the coffee table and picked it up, hoping to enlarge the individual in the photo, but the image only became blurrier.

Peggy continued looking through the album. There were dozens of photos chronicling the town festival. She saw snapshots of a parade marching down Main Street, complete with the school band performing in formation and elaborate floats sponsored by the various merchants in Royal. Local dignitaries, including the mayor, were photographed walking in the parade, smiling and waving to the crowds of people on the sidewalks lining the street.

For a moment, Peggy closed her eyes, trying to vision herself actually being there in that bygone era.

When she opened her eyes, she smiled and sometimes chuckled at some of the lighter photos, like a messy pie-throwing contest and a tense egg-walking contest.

As Peggy neared the end of the album, the sunlit scenes gave way to the evening festivities. There were photos of a town chicken dinner set up right in the center of Royal Park. Everyone in the town was seated at long tables, visibly enjoying a dinner of fried chicken with mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn on the cob. You could tell by the candid expressions that everyone was truly happy and having a great time.

Following the dinner pages, the photographs shifted to a night time concert and dance. On a banner in the background, Peggy could clearly read the name of the performing group: Tommy Melk and the Melk Duds.

Peggy’s heart began to beat faster. The next page featured a much closer photo of the group, and the lighting was clear enough that Peggy could make out the faces of the musicians quite well. She instantly recognized Ethan’s grandfather playing the accordion. Beside him was a beautiful young lady singing. Peggy recognized Tommy playing the clarinet, alongside the guitar player, bass player, and drummer.

Then, Peggy’s gaze drifted to the violin player. His face was positioned slightly behind the female vocalist, but his head was turned just enough to make him easily recognizable. Peggy picked up the magnifying glass again. Her hands shook as she tried to focus in on the violin player’s features. The magnifying glass slipped from her fingers and dropped to the table. Peggy felt suddenly dizzy, as if all the blood had instantly rushed from her head. Her heart was pounding violently against her ribs. How could this be happening? It defied all reality.

The violin player in the 1950s photograph was Ethan.

Just then, two bright lights cut through the living room window. Eleanor had returned home and was driving up the driveway.

Panicking, Peggy slammed the book closed, rushed over to the bookshelf, and shoved it back into its slot. She quickly turned off the radio and headed straight to her bedroom, closing the door behind her just as Eleanor’s key turned in the back door lock.

Eleanor walked into the house, immediately noticing that the living room lights were still on. She turned to look toward Peggy’s bedroom door and saw that the light was off underneath it, assuming that Peggy had gone to sleep.

Stepping further into the room, Eleanor walked towards the bookshelf. As she approached, she looked down at the floor and noticed a single photo lying out of place on the carpet, evidently dropped in Peggy’s rush. Eleanor picked it up and looked at it. She turned her head to look back at Peggy’s closed bedroom door, then brought her eyes back down to the vintage photograph in her hand.

Slowly, Eleanor smiled.

Carrying the stray photograph, Eleanor walked into her bedroom. She placed the photograph carefully down on her dresser, setting it right next to a framed five-by-seven photo of a young woman. Eleanor got ready for bed. She looked at the two photos one last time. She closed her eyes and smiled, remembering as if it were like yesterday. Eleanor turned off the bedroom light and went to sleep.

The final notes of “The Shadow of Yesterday” drifted into the rafters of the VFW, leaving a silence so profound it felt heavy. The rehearsal was over. The Melk Duds began the ritual of sorting through sheet music and snapping shut music case latches.

Grace stood by the microphone, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller now that the music had stopped. Her angelic radiance was replaced by flickering apprehension. She kept glancing at Ethan. Not with the mystery of the bus stop, but with a look of profound, vulnerable recognition. Paul noticed. He stepped beside her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and whispering something that made her tension soften, though she didn’t look away from Ethan.

Ethan packed away his violin with trembling fingers. His world felt like it was made of glass. He zipped the case and turned to leave, his mind spinning with the impossibility of his grandfather standing just ten feet away.

“Ethan! Don’t run off just yet,” Paul called out. His voice was rich, lacking the gravel of old age that Ethan remembered. “You played beautifully. Tommy is a hard man to please, but he told me your phrasing reminded him of other great musicians he performed with. You’ve got the gift, son.”

Grace stepped forward then, her eyes searching Ethan’s face. She offered a small, tentative smile that felt like a bridge being built across a canyon.

“Thank you,” Ethan managed, his voice sounding thin to his own ears.

A brief, awkward silence fell over the trio. The kind of silence that happens when the most important things in the room are the ones that cannot be said. Paul cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “I don’t know about you two, but that rehearsal worked up an appetite. How about some pie and coffee at the Lunch Box Cafe?”

The walk from the VFW to the Lunch Box Cafe felt like a dream sequence. The neon sign of the Lunch Box Cafe hummed, casting a warm, cherry-red glow onto the sidewalk. Inside, the air smelled of cinnamon and coffee. Paul led them to a vinyl booth, sliding in next to Grace. Ethan sat across from them, his back to the door.

Pastor Dzef appeared almost instantly, three plates of steaming apple pie in hand. He set them down with a flourish, followed by three heavy ceramic mugs of coffee. As he straightened up, he looked at Ethan, then at Grace, and finally settled his gaze on Paul. He gave Paul a slow, deliberate wink and an agreeable nod, as if they were co-conspirators in a grand, benevolent plot.

“How about some music to go with the pie and coffee?” Paul suggested.

“Music is on me,” Ethan said, grateful for a reason to move. He fished a dime from his pocket and walked to the jukebox. The chrome reflected his own confused expression.

As he scanned the titles, Pastor Dzef appeared beside him. “Try B-14 or C-6,” the Pastor whispered. “They suit the mood of a homecoming.”

Ethan looked at Pastor Dzef. “People keep saying things like that. About me being here. About Royal.”

“Because it’s true, Ethan,” Pastor Dzef said, his eyes kind but piercing. “This community… it has its rhythms. It has its seasons. But since you arrived, the town feels whole. Royal feels complete. You’ve brought a spirit back to WRYL that we haven’t seen or heard in a long time. And now, playing with Paul and Tommy? It’s like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place.”

He leaned in closer. “Life is a story, Ethan. There’s a beginning, a middle, and an end. The question is, where do you think you are right now? Is your story just beginning, or are you returning to a chapter you forgot you wrote?”

Before Ethan could answer, the Pastor patted his shoulder and walked away, leaving the question hanging in the air like woodsmoke. Ethan pressed the buttons, and a soft, melodic melody began to play.

When Ethan returned to the table, the conversation was light and happy, but his eyes caught a movement. Paul and Grace were huddled over a stack of old, sepia-toned photographs. They were laughing softly, their heads close together. As soon as they realized Ethan was watching, Grace’s expression shifted back to that maternal warmth, and she quickly tucked the photos into her purse.

“It’s closing time,” Pastor Dzef announced, as he started turning off the cafe lights.

Ethan reached for his wallet, but Paul’s hand was already on his arm. “Not a chance, Ethan. This one is on me.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said. He looked at Grace. She was staring at him with an intensity that made his heart ache. It was a look of pure, unconditional love. The way a mother looks at a child she thought she’d lost. Ethan felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck, but he smiled back, unable to look away.

They stepped out into the cool night air. The street was silent.

“Good night, Ethan,” Paul said. He reached out and took Grace’s hand.

“Good night,” Ethan replied. He turned and began the walk up the street toward his house, the sound of his own footsteps echoing off the brick buildings.

A loud banging noise suddenly cracked through the air like a gunshot or a car backfiring. Ethan spun around, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Paul? Grace?”

The street was empty. The sidewalk where they had stood a second ago was vacant. The Lunch Box Cafe was pitch black. The “Open” sign was dark. There was no sign of Pastor Dzef. No sign of his grandfather. No sign of Grace. The vibrant life of Royal had been sucked out of the world, leaving only the cold, yellow glare of the streetlights.

Another sharp bang echoed from the far end of Main Street. Ethan turned quickly, catching only the red glow of taillights as a car disappeared into the darkness of the night.

He stood alone on the sidewalk. The silence of Royal pressing in on him. The town felt like a stage after all the actors had left. In the quiet of his mind, he could still hear his grandfather’s voice, steady and encouraging.

“Looking forward…”

Ethan tightened his grip on his violin case and began the long, lonely walk home through the ghost town that didn’t want to let him go.

The bus stop had become Ethan’s personal purgatory. Every afternoon, he saw her. The woman with the radiant, angelic glow. Each time, he managed to get one step closer, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

“Miss!” he would call out, but the hiss of the Greyhound’s air brakes always swallowed his voice. She would step onto the bus, the folding doors snapping shut like a definitive period at the end of a sentence. He asked everyone on Main Street if they knew her. He questioned the regulars at the Lunch Box Cafe. No one knew her. Even Pastor Dzef remained cryptic, offering only a vague promise to watch for her at Saint Helga’s.

As the date for his rehearsal with Tommy Melk and the Melk Duds approached, Ethan’s world began to tilt. He practiced until his fingers bled and his shoulder ached. The “rusty” screeching was gone, replaced by a tone that was rich and haunting, drawing neighbors to their porches to listen in hushed awe. But inside, Ethan was a wreck.

The pressure of the upcoming practice triggered a dark, familiar symphony in his head. He could hear his father’s voice, sharp and berating, mocking his musical choices. Calling his passion a waste of time. The overthinking overflowed into his work at WRYL. He missed cues, fumbled his words, and was chewed out by the station manager twice in one week.

Then, the hallucinations started.

As he walked to work, the vibrant, 1950s life of Royal would suddenly flicker. The bright, cheerful storefronts would grey out into a ghost town The people would become translucent. Fading like old photographs left in the sun. He felt himself losing his grip on whatever reality this was.

That afternoon, he stumbled into the studio, his mind a storm of anxiety. But the moment he opened the door, the storm ceased. A hauntingly beautiful melody was playing over the airwaves. It was an accordion, the lead instrument weaving a soul-stirring web of sound. Ethan froze. He knew that touch. He knew that vibrato.

It was his grandfather.

The song was “The Shadow of Yesterday,” the very last piece Ethan had heard his grandfather play. As the notes filled the room, the anxiety evaporated. Ethan’s breathing slowed, his heart rate settled, and a profound peace washed over him. He closed his eyes, letting the music bridge the gap between his two lives.

When the song ended, Ethan opened his eyes. Royal was back, vibrant, alive, and solid. The doubt was gone. He performed his afternoon show with a flawless, effortless grace.

That evening, Ethan walked down Main Street with his violin case in hand. The town felt welcoming. The Lunch Box Cafe glowed with a warm light, and Pastor Dzef tapped on the window, offering a knowing smile as Ethan passed.

The rehearsal was held at the Royal VFW. The hall was mostly empty, save for a few guests Tommy had invited, who sat nursing drinks at the bar. Tommy greeted Ethan with a stack of sheet music and pointed him toward the stage.

Ethan walked to the stage, heart racing, and began to set up.

“Hello, my name is Paul. Nice to meet you.”

Ethan’s jaw nearly hit the floorboards. He looked up into a face he had loved his entire life. But it was a much younger face, vibrant and full of strength. It was his grandfather. He was wearing the same accordion he would eventually pass down to Ethan.

“Hi… I’m Ethan,” he managed to stammer, his voice trembling. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Paul smiled warmly. “A word of advice, Tommy is a perfectionist. But if you play the notes with your heart and soul, you’ll do just fine. Here, let me give you an ‘A’ so you can tune up. Looking forward…”

As the violin and accordion found their pitch together, the room seemed to hum with a secret energy. Paul winked at him, a gesture so familiar it brought tears to Ethan’s eyes.

“Let’s start with “The Shadow of Yesterday”,” Tommy announced, holding his clairinet. “Grace, are you ready?”

A young woman rose from a barstool in the shadows and stepped toward the stage lights. As she moved into the glow by the microphone, Ethan stopped breathing.

She was the woman from the bus stop.

She smiled at Paul, then turned her gaze toward Ethan. Her eyes were deep, knowing, and as radiant as they had been under the Greyhound awning. 

The town’s long held secret finally began to stir. As the first notes pierced the air, Ethan realized this wasn’t just another rehearsal. It was an invitation to something much larger than he had imagined. Ethan was standing at a threshold he didn’t yet understand, waiting for the next note to show him the way.