Amazing Love. Mae NunnЧитать онлайн книгу.
was an obvious sign that he’d been the victim of a fire.
Growing up in a world where every physical imperfection had to be identified, analyzed and corrected, she had a vivid idea of how he must have suffered inside. But there was no sign of residual pain as he left the auditorium and the heavy door closed softly at his back.
“Miss Claire, the mics are all set now. You want to give it one more try?” Dana called.
“Of course. Maybe with our new critic outside I’ll be able to get past my first note.” She poked fun at the earlier annoyance as she climbed the steps to the stage and resumed her effort to perfect her number.
As they rehearsed, Luke assessed the boys who called themselves the Harvest Sons, his eyes trained like lasers on the kid in front. At first glance the four were just a promising cover band, but on closer observation Luke noted ability that went beyond mere talent. These kids were gifted musicians, but they needed professional help.
Houston’s Battle of the Bands festival had gained national attention when the winning group appeared on a network entertainment show. Luke did some homework and found out the Spring Break event offered kids in a dozen states a safe alternative to the temptations of Mexican beaches. The largest high school music competition in the Southwest had become a phenomenon, attracting the attention of music producers and record label executives. The March festival had ended with the Harvest Sons in third place, an incredible showing for a Christian group.
During their meeting Ken had mentioned the boys’ disappointment at their number-three status, and their request for assistance from the church council to cover professional training. So, nobody appeared particularly surprised by the pastor’s statement that night.
“I’m pleased to announce that Mr. Luke Dawson, the owner of Praise Productions, has offered to spend the next two days auditioning with us. Luke’s professional services include coaching, developing and recording youth praise bands. If we can reach a mutual agreement, he’s going to work with our boys to record a CD.”
Beaming their approval, the boys high-fived as the small crowd erupted into applause. Pastor Ken motioned for Luke to join him on the stage. Claire turned along with the others to look in Luke’s direction. He remained in his relaxed position, right shoulder leaning against the wall, not more than ten feet from where she sat. He lifted a hand to wave a brief greeting but shook his head to indicate his refusal to leave his post.
“Well, I see our guest is going to be reluctant to share the spotlight with this talented group of young men.” The pastor turned toward the musicians. “But don’t let that modest response fool you, guys. Luke has given his word that he’ll whip you into tip-top shape or his services are free.”
The adults in the room mouthed collective disbelief and glanced at one another for confirmation of such a commitment. Turn the four high school kids into professionals in a couple of weeks or work for nothing? Quite a gesture from a total stranger.
Claire began her habit of mentally calculating the cost of such an offer. Could this man’s generosity be covering some fine print that could put the church at risk? As head of the finance committee she’d make sure the church was not left holding some financial bag if this guy fell short on his end of the deal. She squinted for a better look at his face, for a clue to his intentions.
He stood with feet planted wide, solid arms folded across his chest, staring forward at some invisible point without making eye contact. While a smile played at his mouth, and his eyes crinkled in conjunction, no spark of joy lit his gaze. He only smiled for the sake of the observers. After all the years of painting that same expression on her face to guard the feelings inside, she recognized the ambivalent stare of a kindred spirit.
A person with something to hide.
She brushed bangs out of her eyes and swept her hand across the gold cross at her throat. If the man had secrets, he was certainly entitled to them, just as she was. As long as they stayed buried too deeply to cause harm to these impressionable boys, who was she to judge? Still, she would be cautious.
Claire would make sure any agreement between Praise Productions and Abundant Harvest was legal and fail-safe for the church that was her family.
Luke worshipped with the congregation that evening from the privacy of the audio/visual booth. During the musical numbers, he observed the equipment and the young female volunteer whose hands moved capably across the dials and levers of the soundboard. The mixing capacity of the Praise Productions mobile unit would more than compensate for any lack of local technology.
He’d gritted his teeth several times during the band’s amateurish performance, but silently applauded the contribution of each member. Shaggy-haired Zach paid too much attention to the girls in the front row. Even so, his drumming was impressive. You could tell he was holding back, itching to liven up the arrangements and break into a rock beat. Given the right musical vehicle he would wow a crowd.
Chad was a prodigy at the keyboard. Luke was certain from the boy’s rigid stance that the teen had been classically trained. With encouragement to loosen up, the bespectacled youth would give any piano man a run for his money.
Brian appeared to be the youngest in the group. Sullen and quiet, his bass was rumbling and low, soulful to the untrained observer. To Luke’s ear it was downright painful. The instrument begged to be tuned to pitch. But the boy had great hands and a keen sense of rhythm. He could be groomed.
Then there was Eric, clearly the leader of the band, and Brian’s older brother. Luke swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat as he watched the boy that the others looked to as their spokesman. Eric lovingly cradled the custom figured Gibson Les Paul guitar like a treasured friend. The long fingers of his left hand wrapped the neck of the instrument while his right hand plucked a sweet melody from the six strings.
Eric closed his eyes, communed with the instrument and seemed to feel the sound to his core. Luke’s heart ached for the enchanted pair as he recognized long buried parts of himself in the boy and the guitar.
A sense of purpose he’d never felt before stole over Luke. As if the Holy Spirit whispered in Luke’s ear, he knew an unusual moment of being at peace.
He’d made the right decision to seek out this kid. He could make a difference here.
The service ended and worshipers streamed from the building as the evening crowd went home to their Saturday night routines. With lights blazing inside the sanctuary, Luke made his way down to the front of the nearly empty auditorium.
Eric looked up from the business of snapping the lid on his guitar case.
“What did you think, Mr. Dawson?”
“Call me Luke, but don’t be so quick to pack up. We have serious work to do.” He glanced around at the others. “Any of you guys working tomorrow or playing for the early service?”
“No, sir,” they chorused.
“Good.” He held a set of church keys aloft and rattled them for emphasis. “We have a lot of ground to cover before we audition on Monday evening and Pastor Ken says we’re free to practice anytime the sanctuary is not reserved. I’m a natural night owl. Think you guys can keep up with me?”
Four pairs of eyes flew wide. The suggestion that they hang around well after normal hours was obviously a novel one. They looked to Eric for a response.
“Sure!” His head wagged agreeably.
“Then y’all call your folks and get permission to stay late.”
Luke would find out fast whether or not they were serious about their craft. If the band was willing to work, and work hard, he could take them to the next level and higher in a couple of intense weeks. When he handed over a master recording there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Praise Productions had fulfilled the agreement.
Claire couldn’t believe her ears. She’d already hung around hours longer than necessary just to keep an eye on things. She was singing at the early service and needed to go home to feed the animals, review