Melody Ellison 3-Book Set. Denise Lewis Patrick

      Dwayne shoved the last corner of one of the sandwiches into his mouth and pulled Melody away from the table. “You love singing, don’t you?”

      “Yes,” she said.

      “And you want to do this solo, don’t you?”

      “Yes!” Melody answered right away.

      “Here’s the thing about that, Dee-Dee.” Dwayne sat on the sofa so that he and Melody were eye to eye. He looked and sounded serious when he talked about music with Melody. “The songs you sing don’t just have to be right for your voice, or for whatever audience you’re singing for, okay? Your song has to feel right. The words have to mean something special to you. When they do, amazing things happen.”

      “Is that why all your songs are so good?” Melody asked.

      Dwayne nodded. “I kind of think so.”

      Melody wondered if this was why Diane always sounded so good, too. Did the songs she sang feel right to her? Suddenly the tunes from dozens of songs popped into Melody’s head: songs that made her happy, silly nursery rhymes that made her laugh, church songs, dancing songs, sad songs.

      “Oh, I can see your music brain working hard!” Dwayne said, and Melody realized that her shoulders were moving to the music in her head. She stopped and laughed.

      “See what I mean?” Dwayne smiled at her.

      “Yes,” Melody said. “But how will I know which one is right?”

      “You’ll know.” Dwayne patted her shoulder. “You’ll know when—”

      Dwayne stopped talking when he heard their mother’s key turn in the front door.

      “Dwayne! Get off the sofa!” Melody whispered. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

      He jumped and ran.

      “I’m home!” Mommy called out the way she always did when she came in. “And I’ve brought company!”

      “Hi, Mommy!” Melody rushed to give her mother a hug. She looked curiously at the older woman who followed Mommy in. Her hair was snow white and she carried a wooden cane, but her dark face had no wrinkles at all. The woman’s sharp dark eyes twinkled as she looked back at Melody.

      “This is Miss Esther Collins. She’s just joined our church, and she’s helping me on the finance committee. Miss Esther, this is my youngest, Melody. And those are my other two daughters, Yvonne and Lila, and Cousin Valerie.”

      “Hello, Miss Esther!” the girls said.

      “Hello there,” Miss Esther said in a high, quivery voice.

      “Please sit down while I get those phone numbers for you,” Mommy said, going upstairs.

      Instead of sitting, Miss Esther headed to the dining room, clicking her cane across the floor. “You young people are always busy,” she said. “What’s this you’re doing?”

      “We’re making posters for the Walk to Freedom,” Melody told her.

      “Oh, yes.” Miss Esther nodded. “It’s going to be quite an event. That young Dr. King is speaking.”

      Yvonne looked up, impressed. “You know about it?”

      Miss Esther nodded. “We’ve been fighting this fight for a long time, child. You’re never too old or too young to stand up for justice.”

      Just then Mommy returned, carrying a sheet of yellow paper. At the same moment, the sound of a new Miracles hit came from the kitchen.

      “What’s that record?” Miss Esther asked. “Is that one of those Motown boys?”

      “It’s not a record,” Melody said. “That’s our brother, Dwayne!”

      Miss Esther looked surprised. “My! He could be a professional singer.”

      Melody looked proud. “He sure could.”

      “After college,” Mommy said gently, handing the yellow sheet of phone numbers to Miss Esther.

      Miss Esther looked thoughtful. “Nothing takes the place of a good education,” she said. “But each of us has our own path to follow.”

      It almost sounded to Melody as if Miss Esther knew Dwayne’s secret.

      “Let me walk you out,” Mommy said brightly.

      “Good-bye, all!” Miss Esther waved. “You take care of this wonderful family, Frances,” she said.

      When Mommy and Miss Esther stepped out of the house, Melody threw open the kitchen door. “Hey, Dwayne,” she said. “Guess what?”

      “What?” Dwayne popped his head out.

      “Somebody just thought you were a record!”

      “No joke?” He chuckled and walked through the dining room with his head held high in the air. “See?” he said to Yvonne over his shoulder as he passed. “I’m not walking to freedom. I’m singing my way up.”

      The Power Inside

       CHAPTER 9

       week later, Melody and Lila were in the kitchen eating bologna and cheese sandwiches and drinking ginger ale when they heard someone at the front door.

      Lila stopped chewing. “Who in the world is that in the middle of the day?”

      Melody put her cup down. “Maybe Yvonne came home early.”

      Before Lila could call out, the first notes of one of Dwayne’s tunes came from their living room. Three male voices harmonized to the music.

      “It’s Dwayne and his group!” Lila whispered.

      “Where’s the music coming from? We don’t have a piano,” Melody whispered back.

      Lila rolled her eyes. “Obviously they got a tape recorder from somewhere!” She got up and motioned for Melody to follow. The two stood at the kitchen door, listening.

      The song was so lively that Melody started dancing to the beat. Then she bumped the butter knife that Lila had left on the counter, and it clattered to the floor. The music stopped.

      “Oops!” Lila snickered.

      In a second, Dwayne swung the kitchen door open. “Are you two snooping?”

      “Sort of,” Melody said.

      Instead of getting upset, Dwayne shrugged. “So why don’t you come on in? Be our audience.”

      Lila headed for the living room, but Melody held back and grabbed her brother’s arm. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asked. Melody was still keeping Dwayne’s secret about the Motown audition. Now it seemed as if Dwayne was keeping a secret from her.

      “I’ll tell you later,” he whispered. “I promise.”

      Melody followed him to the living room and plopped onto the couch beside Lila, who was talking to Artie and Phil. Dwayne, Artie, and Phil had been friends forever. Melody’s earliest memories were of the boys showing her how to beat the bottom of a saucepan with a wooden spoon like a drum, to keep up with their doo-wop beat. Big Momma had taught Dwayne piano, and he started making up his own music. For the last year, the three boys had been singing all over the city.

      Dwayne seemed nervous as he huddled with the other guys. When he turned around he said, “Okay. This is a song I wrote for us. Check out our sound.”

      Artie, Phil, and Dwayne lined