Cassandra's Song. Carole Gift Page

imagining his beloved daughter looking exquisite in a white bridal gown of satin and lace. She would be standing at the altar on the arm of a handsome Italian tenor, as Andrew, the proud papa, pronounced them husband and wife.

      Yes, indeed, mused Andrew, tomorrow promised to be a fascinating day!

      But on Sunday afternoon Andrew began to suspect that perhaps Cassie shouldn’t have invited her two guests, for never had he seen his daughter so agitated before a performance. Three times she checked to make sure the sound system was operating properly. At rehearsal she fretted over how the choir sounded, and whether the program was too long, and whether the church auditorium was too warm.

      Finally, a half hour before the cantata, Andrew stopped his daughter backstage and gripped both her hands in his. “Why are you so nervous, Cass? Where is this coming from?”

      She shook her head miserably. “I don’t know, Daddy. I just can’t seem to get it together tonight.”

      “Maybe because you’re trying to make this something it’s not. You’re performing in a nice little church cantata, honey, not Carnegie Hall. I’m sure your Italian tenor will understand that.”

      “He’s not my Italian tenor,” she snapped.

      Andrew smiled tolerantly. “All right. The point is you’re not in competition with him.”

      “I don’t even think I can play.” She held up trembling hands. “Look at me, Daddy.”

      “I’m looking, sweetheart. You’re beautiful and talented and you’re going to be fine. Just relax and go out there and enjoy yourself.”

      “Relax? How can I, with Antonio Pagliarulo in the audience?”

      “Honey, you’re forgetting something. You’re not playing just for Antonio. You’re performing for the Lord.”

      A tear glistened in the corner of Cassie’s clear blue eyes. “I know, Daddy. It’s just…why does everything always have to be a competition with me? Why do I feel I always have to be the best?”

      “Maybe because you’re my oldest daughter and you feel you have to be an example for everyone else. But you don’t, sweetheart. Just be yourself.”

      Cassie touched his cheek. “You’re so wise. I love you, Daddy.”

      Andrew slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Cass, let’s ask God to give us a great evening, okay? Then you go out there and play your heart out.”

      They prayed briefly, then exchanged a quick hug. “I wonder if they’re here yet?” She peered out through the curtain at the audience, then looked back at her father. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll just do my best and leave the rest with the Lord.”

      “That’s the spirit, honey. And I’ll be applauding you all the way.”

      To Andrew’s relief the cantata went without a hitch. The choir sang with spirit and vitality, and Cassie’s piano solos were the best he’d ever heard. If anything, her performance exhibited a new gusto and passion. He felt a thrill of pride as he watched her deft fingers scaling the keys, filling the auditorium with the triumphant strains of a Mozart concerto. She accompanied the choir in several selections she had adapted from Beethoven’s Choral and Pastoral symphonies, then concluded the program with a moving Beethoven sonata.

      As the audience broke into resounding applause, Andrew clapped the loudest, his eyes misting as he reflected silently, Oh, my dear Mandy, if only you could have seen our daughter performing this evening. You would be so proud, so very proud!

      After the cantata, Andrew greeted his parishioners in the vestibule, nodding with fatherly pride as they complimented the performance. “Wonderful program…such talent…like a choir of angels…such glorious music gives us a little taste of heaven.”

      “Indeed it does…yes, amen,” Andrew was saying when he spotted Cassie coming toward him with a handsome man on one arm and a very attractive woman on the other.

      Cassie was beaming. “Daddy, this is Antonio Pagliarulo and his mother, Juliana Pagliarulo. Antonio and Juliana, this is my father, Reverend Andrew Rowlands.”

      Andrew couldn’t take his eyes off Juliana. She was everything Cassie had described…and so much more. Exotic. Poised. Glamorous. Regal. Stunning. Her dark eyes flashed with vibrance and warmth, her flawless, bronze skin glowed, her black-velvet tresses shone. She offered her hand and he clasped it in both of his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Paglia—”

      “Juliana, please.”

      “Of course. Juliana.” The name seemed to dance on his lips.

      “The pleasure is ours, Reverend. My son and I enjoyed the program very much.”

      “Call me Andrew. Reverend sounds so…stodgy.”

      “Andrew. A fine name.” Juliana’s smile enveloped him in its warmth. “And your daughter…she is so talented.”

      Andrew realized suddenly, to his embarrassment, that he had neglected Antonio, who stood waiting to shake his hand. Andrew turned and gripped the young man’s hand perhaps a bit too hard. “Mr. Pagliarulo, my daughter tells me you are a very gifted man yourself.”

      He returned the firm handshake. “Thank you, sir. Your daughter is very generous in her praise. And, may I say, she is a marvelous pianist.”

      Andrew chuckled heartily. “Sounds like we have a mutual admiration society going on here, if you ask me.”

      Cassie clasped her father’s arm. “Daddy, I told Antonio we’ll be having dinner at the Palazzo Ristorante on La Jolla Boulevard.”

      “Yes, I think you’ll like it. The food’s great,” Andrew told Antonio. “It’s about six blocks from here. Would you like to ride over with us?”

      “That won’t be necessary,” said Antonio. “I have my car.”

      “You could follow us,” suggested Cassie.

      “No, I know the restaurant. It’s one of my favorites.”

      Cassie smiled. “I thought it might be.”

      Andrew turned confidentially to his daughter. “Are your sisters joining us?”

      “No, they both said they have previous commitments.”

      “I’ll bet,” he said under his breath. He looked back at Antonio and Juliana. “Are we ready to go?”

      During the brief drive to the restaurant, Andrew noticed a smile playing on his daughter’s lips. He hated succumbing to his suspicious nature, but he couldn’t help wondering if Cassie was anticipating a delightful evening with the handsome Antonio Pagliarulo, or was she conniving ways of pairing off her father with the lovely Juliana? Guess we’ll just have to wait and see who wins at this matchmaking game, he mused silently.

      Palazzo was a quaint, dimly lit café with lots of greenery surrounding cozy tables with red-checkered tablecloths. A jug with a flickering candle and a slim vase with a single red rose graced each table. The walls boasted a series of bright, impressionistic paintings of Venice and Naples. Tantalizing aromas of garlic, olive oil and oregano assailed Andrew’s senses as the hostess led them to a table in a private corner. His mouth watered as he caught glimpses of plates piled high with steamy baked manicotti and fettuccini smothered in creamy alfredo sauce. To his surprise he was hungrier than he had felt in days.

      “What’s good tonight?” he asked the waitress, a young woman with a pretty face and black hair piled on her head in an odd little twist.

      “The linguini alla portafino is good if you like shrimp and clams in a rich cream sauce,” she said in a high, singsong voice as she placed a basket of garlic bread on the table. “And everyone likes the veal parmigiana. But my favorite is the tortellini calabrese.”

      “And what is that exactly?” Cassie asked, looking up