Moonlight Sonata

CHAPTER 4

Moonlight Sonata

I sat by the window, looking outside. It was snowing once more. My mother played Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on the old piano. The music filled the otherwise quiet room with a sense of calm melancholy. It had long ago gotten dark outside. The snow flurries danced about frantically in the light of the moon. I sighed and laid my head on my arms, listening to the classical music echo around the house. The familiar D – F – D – F – D progression filled my ears. As my mother continued playing the sonata I thought back to two years ago. The deal that went wrong for my dad.

I was twelve years old and my father stared down the businessman Ezra Hamilton, with flames of anger in his eyes. I wasn't sure what was happening, but I had never seen my dad so angry in his life. He had always been a quiet man, not one to show much emotion, and even though he would get mad at me when I'd messed up or said something stupid, it was nothing like this.

"You are here today because you have something that belongs to me," my father roared. "And I will be taking it back!"

The restaurant was silent as everyone looked over to see what was going on. Ezra's face turned pale white. My father stood up from his seat and leaned towards him slowly, while pointing a finger at him.

He reached for the deed for my family's farm and stared Mr. Hamilton down with an icy glare.

"This is mine!" He shouted, his voice cracking. "I've worked my whole life to build this farm up! You're just going to take it away?"

Mr. Hamilton nodded slowly.

"Yes sir," he replied softly. "It's all part of the deal."

"No!" My father yelled, and Ezra jumped back into his seat, almost falling out of his chair. "I don't care about your deal! This is my land, not yours!"

There was a loud bang as my father slammed his fist onto the table. His eyes were wide with fury. It made me nervous being so close to him, but I couldn't look away.

"You will pay me back every penny you owe me and then some," my dad continued. "And if you do not, I will make you suffer until you do! Now, hand me that deed back! This business deal is done."

Ezra sat there quietly. When he didn't move, my father got up and began to walk around the table. The room grew still again and I could hear the sound of breathing through the silence.

"You know what? Fine!" My father yelled, slamming his hand against the table again. "Whatever you say is fine, just give me my deed back!"

Ezra stood up quickly and reached into his pocket, pulling out the deed. My father snatched it from his hands and held it tightly in his own.

"I'm sorry," he told Ezra. "But I cannot trust you anymore."

With that, he walked out of the restaurant without looking back. People whispered and stared behind me as they watched in shock. Mr. Hamilton sat back down, shaking with fear. Outside the restaurant a woman in a pinstripe suit confronted my father.

"What did you just do?" she asked my father.

"Exactly what I said I was going to do, Miranda," he answered coldly. "Get me my deed back and we'll call it even."

She shook her head in frustration and stormed off. My father turned around and headed back to where he had parked his truck. I followed him, watching his long legs move as fast as they could. We climbed inside and drove away before I knew it.

We drove straight home, and I ran up to my room. Once we arrived, I opened my drawer and pulled out the picture of us together. I stared at it for a few seconds until I heard my mother calling for me. I went downstairs to see my parents seated at the dining table, the deed to the farm in the middle.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" my mom asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "I am now."

They both smiled and my mother kissed me on the cheek. She handed me a big glass of milk and told me to go to bed early.

That night I had dreams about my dad going back into the restaurant and ripping Mr. Hamilton apart. I tried to wake myself up, but I couldn't stop seeing it. I was terrified by what I saw. I felt safe at home, knowing that my parents would protect me, but I wasn't so sure about the people outside our house. They hadn't done anything yet, but who was to say they wouldn't?

I woke up the next morning to my little brother crying. I rushed to his room and picked him up. He wrapped his arms around my neck and buried his face into my shirt. I rocked him in my arms, feeling his tears soaking into my shirt. I wiped my sleeve across his face and he stopped crying immediately.

"What's wrong, buddy?" I asked. "Did you have another bad dream?"

"Nooo," he answered. "I had a good dream."

"Oh yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah, Daddy came home last night and took away the man who wanted to buy our farm!"

I smiled and leaned in closer. I kissed his forehead and laid him back down. I grabbed his blanket and tucked it around him, then went back to my room. I crawled under the covers and waited until I fell asleep.

When I finally did fall back asleep, the dreams returned. I dreamed that I was in the same restaurant, only this time Mr. Hamilton was sitting at the table with me. I saw my father walking in with a gun in his hand.

"Dad, what are you doing?" I asked.

He ignored me and pointed the gun at Mr. Hamilton.

"Give me the deed," he demanded.

Mr. Hamilton reached into his pocket and pulled out the deed to the property. He handed it over to my father, and my dad shot him in the chest. He slumped down in his seat, blood pumping from his body.

I screamed and covered my mouth with my hands. In horror I watched as my father turned toward me.

"Look what you did," he said, pointing the gun at me. "You killed him. And now I'm going to kill you."

In the distance I saw someone coming towards us. It was Mr. Hamilton, alive and well. He put his hand on my father's shoulder and pushed him back. My father stumbled backwards with the gun in his hand.

"Don't," Mr. Hamilton pleaded. "Please don't do this."

My father looked at him, then lowered the barrel and put the gun to his own temple.

"Goodbye, Harper," he said. "I love you."

The scene went black and I jolted awake, gasping for air. I ran to the bathroom, filled my lungs with fresh air, and threw up everything that I had eaten. The smell of the food still lingered in my nose. I cleaned myself up, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. Then I crawled back into bed, hoping that I would fall back to sleep.

It took a few minutes, but eventually I drifted off. I slept restlessly, waking up every time I heard a noise. I rolled over in my bed, trying to find the most comfortable spot, but I couldn't get any shut eye. I tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to relax. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, I gave up. I got dressed and snuck out of my bedroom.

I tiptoed down the hallway, trying to avoid waking my mom and dad. I crept into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of granola bars, and ate them on the couch. I waited for the sun to rise, hoping that maybe I could get a few more hours of sleep.

Just as I was about to nod off, the phone rang. I picked it up.

"Hello?" I said.

"Is your father home?"

It was Mr. Hamilton. I froze in panic.

"Yes, he's still sleeping," I replied. "Why?"

"Okay, good," he said. "I'll send someone over right away."

I hung up the phone and slumped back against the couch, letting the tears stream down my cheeks. What was happening? Was my dad going to sell the farm? Why? As soon as I thought about it, my mind started racing. Maybe it was the right thing to do. We needed the money, and we had no other options. But what would happen to the farm? Would it be taken away from us? Would we still have a place to live?

I put my head in my hands and let the tears come. I didn't want this. How could they do this to us? Why did they have to leave me with such a mess? I cried for hours, wishing that things could go back to the way they used to be.

My mother came downstairs and saw me on the couch, crying. She rushed over and hugged me tightly, asking me what was wrong. I explained to her what had just happened and how I was scared of losing our home.

"Well, we'll figure it out," she assured me. "We'll think of something."

I nodded and wiped my eyes dry. We sat there and talked for a while longer before my dad woke up. I didn't tell him about what had happened, but I hoped he would talk to Mr. Hamilton instead.

He insisted on going to the cornfield that day, though, so I went along with him. We rode to the field in silence, and we barely spoke. When we arrived, he went inside the barn and I sat outside, waiting for him. After a few minutes he emerged, wearing his overalls and boots.

"Let's get this done," he said to me. "We have a lot to do."

We walked over to the tractor and he started it up. I climbed onto the seat beside him and he turned it on. He pulled the lever forward and we drove through the field, plowing through the heavy stalks of corn.

After a while, we stopped to fill the tank with more gasoline. The tractor filled slowly, and when we finished filling it he turned towards me, looking me over with something like melancholy in his eyes.

"Harper, I don't want you to worry about this. It's not good for a girl your age to. We'll figure it out. Somehow, we will. We always do. This family has lived on this farm for generations and through thick and thin we have always persevered; that isn't going to change now."

I smiled and leaned back against the seat. His words made me feel better, but deep down I knew that nothing would ever be the same.

I spent the afternoon helping him work on the tractor, running errands for him, and mowing the grass. Before long, the sun was setting behind the fields and the sky was darkening. I watched it set with my father, talking about how pretty the colors were. The sunset reminded me of all the memories that we shared. I remembered the day that I first met Jonathan. I was only eight years old, and I was so excited to meet my new baby brother. I loved him instantly, and he and my father became inseparable as he grew up.

When the sun was gone and the stars appeared in the sky, I climbed down from the tractor and started gathering the tools that we had used. My father and I worked side by side, cleaning everything up. We took care of the tractor and then walked inside.

As we entered the barn, I noticed a few men standing in the corner. My heart skipped a beat, wondering if my father had decided to sell the farm to them. I quickly hid behind my father and stared at them as they talked quietly amongst themselves.

"It's really no problem," one of them said. "We already have the money to pay you."

I frowned.

"No," my father responded. "I haven't agreed to sell it."

The man shrugged and walked away. My father shook his head and continued to clean up. Soon the others left and he came over to me.

"Who were those guys?" I asked.

"That was Mr. Hamilton and his lawyers," he answered.

I breathed out deeply.

"So, what are you going to do?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm not selling the farm."

For the rest of the week, my dad stayed at home, working on the tractor and doing chores around the house.

It was then that my brother got sick. His sickness escalated to the point that my parents had no choice but to put him in the hospital. The doctors had no idea what was wrong with him. They couldn't pinpoint the cause of his illness, and as the days went by, he only got worse.

On the thirtieth day, my parents decided to visit him for a moment. They held him in their arms and thanked God that he was still alive. I tried to comfort them, but I felt helpless. I didn't know what else I could say or do to help them. All I knew to do was pray.

Over the next few weeks, my brother got weaker and weaker. He lost weight and he developed sores on his skin. My parents called the doctor and begged him to look at him, but there was nothing he could do. They told me that they had done all that they could. Even if they had taken him to the best doctor on Earth, he probably wouldn't have gotten better. Eventually, they decided to bring him home.

They placed him in a special bed in the living room and brought over a kit of life support things. My mother stayed with him around the clock and my father was often too busy in the fields to help.

On the evening of July 16th, my dad came home late, exhausted. I had been waiting up for him for hours, pacing back and forth across the room. I was worried about my brother, and I was afraid that he might die.

"Daddy!" I screamed. "Where were you?"

He sighed heavily and dropped the bag he was carrying on the floor. He opened the door and walked inside.

"I've been working," he answered. "I'll check on him in a minute. You wait here."

"But why didn't you stop when I asked?" I pleaded. "What if he dies while you're gone? What am I supposed to do then?"

My father laid his hand on my shoulder.

"I love you, Harper," he said. "And I'll always take care of you. Now, go to bed."

With that, he closed the door behind him. I stood there for a few moments, watching as he walked past me. I didn't move until he returned to check on Jonathan.

I cried myself to sleep that night, unable to understand what was happening. It wasn't fair. I should have been allowed to be with my brother when he died.

The funeral was held on a Thursday. The sky was overcast and thunder rumbled in the distance. It felt like the rain would never end, but finally, after everyone had said goodbye to my brother, it started to clear up. The sun came out and shone brightly over the cemetery where they buried him.

I didn't stay for the service. My parents wanted me to be there, but I wasn't strong enough. Instead, I went outside and took a walk. I wandered aimlessly through the cemetery, following the winding paths and admiring the flowers that lined the graves.

I stopped in front of my brother's grave and looked at his nameplate, which read "Jonathan Lee Harper, beloved son and brother", and I burst into tears, falling to my knees in the wet grass and mud. I didn't care that I had muddied up my dress. I lay there, sobbing hysterically over my brother's grave. It seemed so cold and lonely without him. There were times when I missed him so much that I thought that I'd go insane. I knew that he was with God now, but sometimes I wished that he could return to us. That he could come back to life and see how much he meant to me.

Eventually, I got up and calmed myself down. My father and mother were waiting for me at the car, and I climbed into the backseat and curled up in a ball. My parents tried to talk to me but I said nothing. I didn't want to speak; the truth was too painful. I couldn't bear the thought of a reality without Jonathan. I stayed at home for the next week, refusing to leave the house. I wanted to escape reality and pretend that everything was normal again, but it just didn't seem possible anymore. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my brother lying in his coffin, lifeless and alone.

I had never felt so alone in my life.

I woke up late the next morning and took a shower. I hadn't slept well the night before and I felt groggy and weak. Once I was done washing my hair, I glanced at the mirror and stared at my reflection. My skin was pale and my features gaunt.

I had lost weight since the funeral, and my clothes hung loosely on me. I looked like I was dying.

I wondered how my parents were doing. Were they suffering? How were they coping with their loss? I went downstairs and poured a cup of coffee, wondering if I should eat breakfast or not.

I took a sip of the coffee and my stomach grumbled loudly. I realized that I hadn't eaten anything in almost two days. I headed to the kitchen and made an egg sandwich, which I ate on my way out the door. I sat on the porch swing, lost in thought, recounting the past several months. The attempted buyout of the farm, my brother's illness and his sudden death. It was too much for me to bear. I sat there in silence, listening to the birds sing their songs, but I no longer found any joy in their music. The ducks down by the lake chattered loudly, splashing around in the water.

I looked over to the paddock where the horses were, watching them graze lazily. I sighed deeply and stared into my cup, the tears falling fast and loose. I felt hopeless. I didn't know what to do; I didn't even know who to turn to for help. I wanted to scream but I knew that no one would hear me. No one would understand how I felt.

I heard a faint noise and I turned towards the barn. I stood up and stepped towards the doorway. Inside, I saw my father sitting in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked as though he had aged ten years overnight.

"Dad," I said softly. "Are you okay?"

He didn't respond at first, but he soon lifted his head and turned towards me. His face was grim, and his eyes were sunken. His skin was dry and pale, and his hair was disheveled and messy. He was completely unrecognizable.

"You look terrible," I muttered.

"I'm fine," he snapped.

"Dad..."

"Harper," he interrupted. "For once, just be quiet and let me finish."

I stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I'm sorry," he answered. "This is hard for me. Jonathan... he loved this place. He loved our home. But now that he's gone, I don't feel like we can keep it anymore. We need to sell the farm."

I froze.

"There's no sense in keeping it," he continued. "It's not fair to you."

"Why?" I asked. "If you're saying that because Jonathan passed away, then..."

"I'm not talking about Jonathan," he replied. "I'm talking about me. I can't do this anymore. I'm too old to continue working on the farm. I don't have the strength to keep up with all of this."

"No! No, no, no! You can't do this! You promised! You promised we'd never leave here. This is our home!"

He sighed heavily and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It's time for us to sell. I'm done. I made a promise to your grandfather that I would provide the best life possible for you and I intend to keep it."

His voice was calm and collected, but something about it seemed so wrong.

"But Dad, please don't give up," I pleaded. "Please don't do this. This is all I have left of Jonathan. Please don't... please..."

I ran over to him and wrapped my arms around him tightly. He held me tight, stroking my hair and telling me that everything was going to be alright.

"I won't give up on you," he answered. "Don't worry."

I nodded slightly and released him from my grip.

"Dad, are you sure?" I asked. "Do you really think you should sell?"

"I... I don't know," he answered. "I've scheduled the meeting with Mr. Hamilton. His lawyer will be coming over in a few weeks."

I slumped down onto the porch steps and stared at the ground, feeling defeated. I didn't have any fight left in me. I didn't know what to do or where I belonged.

"Harper," he said softly. "Let's get some lunch."

I followed him to his truck and we drove into town, to the diner by the old saloon. The drive felt long and was silent. We sat down at the table. My father ordered a large plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I was famished after crying so long and the food tasted delicious. We ate in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

After lunch, my father grabbed his jacket and headed outside. He threw the keys to the truck into his pocket and I watched him from the window. He stood there for a few moments, looking out at the trees, and then he turned towards me, motioning for me to come outside with him.

"I love you, Harper," he whispered. "Always remember that."

I nodded, not saying anything.

We got back inside his truck and he dropped me off at home, before driving away, a cloud of dust being kicked up behind him.

I stood there in the yard for a few minutes, trying to process what was going on. I couldn't understand what was happening. Jonathan's death had really affected my father, and I was worried about him. I hoped he wasn't going to hurt Mr. Hamilton. Or worse—that he might kill himself.

I stood up slowly and walked inside. I decided to go upstairs and lie down on my bed. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but my worries wouldn't leave me alone. Finally, I gave up and I opened my laptop and began to write.

I wrote about Jonathan, about what happened to him. I told the story of how he fell ill and how he eventually died. I described how I felt when I learned of his passing, and how he looked in the casket. I even included a few photographs that I had taken of him.

The more I wrote, the clearer things became. I remembered everything. I remembered the day I met him. I remembered his laughter. Everything was so vivid in my mind. I didn't realize how important Jonathan was to me until it was all coming back to me.

As I wrote, a smile crept across my lips. The first smile I had in weeks. The last thing that I wrote was that I loved him. Then, I closed my computer and laid down, hoping to fall asleep peacefully.

But I didn't. Instead, I stared at the ceiling for hours.

The following days were different.

I spent most of my time writing in my journal. I was motivated to write, and I found myself thinking of Jonathan often. I would find myself staring at his photograph and wondering what he was doing right now in heaven. What he was experiencing. I was lost in my thoughts, lost in my memories.

Sometimes, I would dream about him. In those dreams, he would come back to visit me. He would sit beside me and tell me that everything was going to be okay. Together, we would work through whatever problems we faced.

I was happy in my dreams, but the waking world was dark and gloomy.

My father was still distant and cold, spending all of his time in the fields or driving to mysterious places. Eventually Mr. Hamilton and his lawyers returned to the farm. My dad met them outside, dressed in his overalls and wearing his straw hat. I looked out of my bedroom, feeling utterly hopeless and helpless. They spoke for quite a while, but I could barely hear them because of the noise of the cars.

Later that day, they announced that they had reached an agreement. We would be selling the farm to Mr. Hamilton.

I didn't say anything. I didn't feel like arguing with my dad. I knew that he had no choice. He couldn't take care of the farm anymore. All he did was work tirelessly. There were no breaks for him. Not anymore.

That evening, I cried myself to sleep.

The next week was filled with lawyers and contractors. To my shock, the sheriff pulled in to our yard and asked for Mr. Hamilton.

"He's wanted for fraud," he said.

I stood in the doorway, stunned.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm afraid so," he answered. "He's wanted on several counts in Oregon."

"Oregon?" my father asked. "How did he end up here?"

"No idea" the sheriff replied. "but all of his business deals have been found to be fraudulent."

"What does this mean for the farm?" I asked my dad.

"Does this mean the farm is safe?" he asked the sheriff.

"Well, seeing as he's on the run," the sheriff said, "the buyout is null. He's been on the lam for the past few months after stealing millions from investors."

"Millions?" I gasped. "What are you talking about? What happened?"

The sheriff explained to me that Mr. Hamilton had been accused of embezzling money from a few business partners, and had fled to Oregon. He had recently resurfaced in Montana, where he set up his new company, hoping to start fresh. He used the same tactics to lure investors and buyers to his new ventures. Only this time, he had duped the wrong people.

I started shaking.

"This is...," I muttered.

The sheriff nodded.

"I'll notify the authorities in Oregon. Hopefully they can track him down and bring him back."

My father thanked him and he left without another word. When my father came back inside, I collapsed on the couch.

"Dad, I can't believe Mr. Hamilton is a con artist," I breathed.

He sighed and sat beside me.

"I don't know if he's guilty or innocent," he said. "But if he is, then he's scammed a lot of people."

"I'm just glad we got to keep our home," I said. My father smiled and came over and hugged me tightly.

"I'm also relieved," he added. "We can finally move forward."

That night, when I went to bed, I thought of Jonathan again. I stared at his photo as I lay in my bed, recalling every memory I had of him and wishing he would appear in front of me. He would talk to me, tell me everything would be okay.

I drifted off to sleep quickly that night.

The next morning, I woke up refreshed and ready to tackle the day with a renewed vigor. I went downstairs and ate breakfast. As usual, my dad wasn't there. He was likely out in the fields. My mother greeted me and I got on my tiptoes and kissed her cheek. The news that we would not have to sell the farm had given me a brighter outlook on life that I had not had in months.

I walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, flipping through the channels. I stopped when I heard the sound of a horse trotting down the road toward the house.

My heart jumped and I scrambled to the door. I opened it wide and looked out. it was my dad. He was riding his horse, a brown mare that I recognized from the barn.

"Harper," he called out. "Are you home?"

I stepped out on the porch and waved to my dad. He rode up to the porch and dismounted.

"Hey, Dad," I said. "Where have you been?"

"I've been busy with the horses," he answered. "Go get dressed. I have something to show you."

"Okay," I answered. "Be right there."

I went inside and changed my clothes. When I came back downstairs, my dad was sitting at the kitchen table, talking to my mom. He noticed me and smiled.

"That was quick!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah," I answered. "What's up?"

"I wanted to take you out to the pasture," he said. "Come with me."

I followed him outside and he took me down to the stables. I saw the mottled Appaloosa foal standing in the corral. I gasped and ran forward, leaning hard against the fence.

"She's beautiful," I whispered.

"Yes she is," my dad agreed. "And she belongs to you."

I held back tears and looked up at my dad.

"Really?"

He nodded and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I know the past few weeks, the past few months, really, have been really difficult. I haven't been there for you the way a father should be, and I wanted to say I'm sorry. I love you more than life itself, Harper. I want you to know that."

I hugged him tightly and he returned the hug, burying me in his warm embrace.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He patted my back gently.

"You deserve better than this," he said. "And I promise you that things will get better. You're a smart girl. I know you'll be able to figure things out. You always do."

"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate that."

He smiled.

"I'm just glad that the sale has been canceled," he said. "I'm glad we get to keep the farm."

We stayed in the corral for a while longer, watching the foal run around with the other horses. She was so lively, so full of energy.

Eventually, my dad led me back inside. I sat down at the table with my parents. The three of us talked and laughed as we ate lunch. Afterward, I made myself some hot chocolate and joined my dad in the living room. He sat beside me and leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"I love you, baby girl," he said.

I woke up to the sensation of being shaken. I raised my head to see my mother leaning over me. The piano music had stopped.

"My goodness, Harper, I thought you would never wake up. Dinner is ready," she said. I sat up straight and stretched my arms high above my head, and stood up. I looked out the window to see that the snow had stopped falling. I sighed and went into the kitchen, joining my parents for dinner. It was all just a memory. Just a dream.

But it was real.

It was all true.

I was glad that I had written down my experiences. They helped me recall the details. I was able to relive my memories of Jonathan by reading them. Now I could remember him whenever I wanted.

My journal was full of letters to Jonathan. Every day, I wrote about something new that happened or how I felt. On the final page of my journal, I wrote one last letter to him. I told him how much I loved him and what an amazing man he would have turned out to be.

I thought back to how I had treated Emma and felt so much guilt. My experiences in the past were no excuse. I made a vow to myself that I would set aside my past moving forward. Rich girl or not, she was not responsible for the actions of others. I thought about her emerald eyes and that weird feeling returned to my gut. My face turned red, though I did not know why.

It was like I could feel her presence nearby. Like she was trying to reach me.

I glanced around the room and noticed a small box sitting on top of my bookshelf. I picked it up and opened it. Inside were a few notes. One of them contained a poem, which read:

A song

A whisper

Called out to me

In the darkest hour

Of my life

I wandered

Into the wood

And I discovered

Something new

Was alive within me

I felt it

Like a fire

Burning inside me

Just waiting to burn

The rest of my life

With passion

My heart beats faster

When I look at you

And I feel a smile

Cross my lips

When I think of you

I feel

Love

And I know

That

You and I are meant to be

I threw the note into the box and quickly shut it, placing it back on the shelf. The box fell and hit the ground with a dull thud, and I stared at it. Why was I so frantic all of a sudden? It was just a poem. It had nothing to do with Emma.

I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else. But my mind kept going back to Emma and her eyes. I reached down and picked it up. I carefully put it back on the shelf and gingerly locked it. I breathed a sigh of relief, though I had no idea what I was relieved about.

It was just a stupid poem.