Michael had a lot on his mind and the piano only added to his concerns. He knew it was in bad shape. He hadn't been entirely truthful when he said he had no idea what was wrong with it. George Banks had always dreamed that one of his children would play and had hired a teacher when Michael was eight. Neither Jane nor Michael got on well with the teacher and they both hated practicing. So one day when he was alone in the library Michael had used his pocket knife to cut a string. It was a lot harder than he thought it would be and the resulting snap when the tension on the string released scared him half to death. Fortunately he wasn't hurt.

The string rattled around inside the case when the piano was played and made noise. The teacher was not pleased. Neither was George Banks, but by now he had given up on his offspring exhibiting any talent for music. If he suspected anything he never said. He managed to remove the string and since it was in an upper register there were still two strings left to sound the note. Piano lessons, however, were officially over.

Kate had taken lessons as a child and enjoyed playing now and then. George had the piano tuned for her the first year she and Michael were married. Michael vaguely remembered her saying something about a hammer and some other repairs that needed to be done, but the piano was playable and Kate didn't want George to spend any more money on it. She had had it tuned one more time about a year before she got sick. That must have been when she had the tuner look at it and tell her how much it would cost to have it repaired.

In the hustle and bustle of trying to move out of the house, Michael had known that there was no way he could take the piano. It had been shoved into a corner of the library and covered with a blanket. Annabel had removed the blanket and the cover was up so she could practice. Michael ran his fingers over the keys noting that they were uneven and some of them stuck. He decided to talk to one of his friends from university and see what he thought.

Fritz was an accomplished pianist though he had never gone on to study seriously. The law had offered him a much more stable career. When Fritz stopped laughing he realized that Michael looked serious. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you said you were going to get your piano repaired so it was playable."

"I did," said Michael. "Annabel is taking lessons."

"It's a lost cause my boy," said Fritz. "I've played on that thing and you can't afford what it's going to cost. You'd be better off getting rid of it and buying a decent upright."

"So you're saying the piano is worthless."

"No, not worthless. Five years ago you might have found someone willing to buy it and spend the money on the repairs. But times are different and money is tight. Now the cost of the repairs will be more than anyone would be willing to pay for a piano in good condition. You already know there's a string and a hammer to replace. The action is going to have to come out and the keys need leveling and new felts. That's just the stuff that's obvious. Who knows what else the tuner will find when he opens it up. Then once everything is done it will have to be tuned at least twice to bring it up to concert pitch. How much are you willing to put into a forty year old piano that no one will be playing in a year or two?"

Fritz pulled out his wallet and sorted through it. He pulled out a business card and wrote something on the back. "Look, this is the name of the best piano tuner in London. He'll look at it and give you an estimate. And if you decide it's not worth it he'll help you find a piano you can afford. He doesn't have a phone but he works out of this store. Tell him I sent you and he'll take good care of you."

Michael took the card and tucked it absently into his wallet. He was really sorry he hadn't taken Evelyn up on her offer to give them her piano. Any way he looked at it this situation was going to cost more than he could afford. He didn't know how he was going to do it. There was still all the remodeling to be done on the attic to turn it into a proper studio. Michael wished he knew more about household repairs and carpentry so he could do his own work. He envied the careless ease that Jack and his friends had when they approached a new project. He was probably going to have to hire one of them to do the job and it would be expensive. Annabel was just going to have to make do with the old piano for a while longer.

Two days later Michael returned from the bank only to be caught off guard by the unholy mess in the library and the adjoining dining room. The gutted piano was back in the center of the library and all of its insides had been spread across the table. Who? Who had done this? Not even George Banks on his best days could match the bellow that came out of his son.

"Ellen! John! Annabel! Georgie! Get in here now!"

"Coming, just give me a minute," called Ellen from the kitchen.

"What is it Father?" asked John running into the room.

"This! Who did this!"

"Jack did," said John. "He's fixing the piano for Annabel. He says I can help. Isn't it great?" John walked to the table and started pointing to various parts in the jumble of pieces. "Did you know that a piano has over 9,000 parts and that it takes over 100 just to move one key?"

Michael could well believe it judging by the explosion of debris on the table.

Just then Ellen came into the room. "What is it? What's wrong?" she asked.

"Jack! Did Jack do this?"

"He did. Spent most of the afternoon workin' on it. Oh I forgot. I told him I'd get a sheet to cover it up with so it don't get disturbed. I better go get it before I forget."

"Wait, Ellen. Why did Jack do this?"

"Because it was broke. Which is true the old thing sounded dreadful even after Miss Kate got it tuned last time."

"But what made Jack think he could fix it? And what about Annabel's lessons? What is she going to practice on?"

"Miss Annabel is over next door practicing on Miss Lark's piano. Jack asked her if it was all right before he got started."

Michael's head was spinning. He had been more worried about the piano than he wanted to admit. But at least there had been a piano to worry about. Looking about the room at the wreckage of the old piano Michael was faced with the certainty that now he was going to have to buy another one. What business did Jack have coming into his house and destroying his property without a word to him? He had been grateful for Jack's help over the last several weeks. but as a man who was not in the least mechanically inclined the leerie's confidence about approaching any repair job had always grated a bit. This time Jack had gone too far. Just because you could repair a window sash or an electric outlet didn't mean you knew what to do with an expensive instrument. Well he would have something to say about that!

He went to the phone and called the gas company.

"Hello," he said. "This is Mr. Banks of Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane. I need to reach the lamplighter that works my route."

"That would be Jack", said the voice on the other end. "I can put a note on his time card if you wish, but he doesn't always come in before his evening rounds. You could try and catch him when he comes by your house."

"No, I need to reach him now. Do you have an address?"

"I'm sorry we don't share employee's addresses," said the voice. "But Jack sometimes has people leave messages for him on the organ at St. Matthew's Church."

"On the organ?"

"Yes, he's usually there once a day. I've left messages there for him myself. You might catch him if he's still there."

"All right. Thanks." Michael picked up his hat and headed out the door. "I'm going out Ellen," he called. "Don't let the children touch anything."

"Now I wonder what's got him so riled up?" said Ellen. She had decided to cover up the table with an old table cloth rather than going upstairs to find a sheet. John helped her spread it over the piano guts, which is how he liked to think about the pieces on the table.

"I don't know," said John. "Father's strange sometimes."

"That's the truth," Ellen agreed.

Michael strode quickly to the church wondering what in the world Jack did at St. Matthew's everyday. Michael hadn't picked up on him being particularly religious. Of course there was a great deal about Jack he didn't know. In fact, now that he thought about it, he didn't know much of anything.

The walk had done nothing to calm his temper. He entered the church and looked around. Should he call Jack's name out loud or find someone to ask.

"May I help you," asked a polite voice. "The rector had entered the nave when he heard the door open."

"I'm looking for Jack," said Michael.

"You just missed him," said the vicar. "Can I help you with something?"

"Someone told me I can leave him a message on the organ."

"Oh yes, go right ahead. The stairs to the loft are right over there. Though he won't see it until tomorrow morning when he comes in to practice."

"Practice?"

"Yes. He's our "Jack of all trades." Does most of our repairs and such. I wish we could afford to pay him, but he settles for us letting him use the organ. He usually comes in on the weekdays after his morning shift and practices for a bit. He was in later today because he had a lesson."

Lesson? Baffled Michael climbed the stairs to the loft and approached the console. There was an open book on the music rack above the keyboard. It had been years since his piano lessons but Michael recognized notes when he saw them, and there were a lot of notes on these pages. The paper was almost black there were so many. He closed the book to read the title—Bach Toccatas and Fugues. He leafed through the music stacked neatly stacked on the bench. Bach, Handel, Mendelssohn, he recognized most of the composer's names.

Were these Jack's? Apparently the man knew more about music than he'd let on. Who was this guy and what else was he hiding? And it still didn't explain the nerve it took to destroy a piano that didn't belong to him.

Michael had rushed out of the house. He didn't have pencil or paper to write with and, now that he thought about it, he realized he'd see Jack before Jack even saw the note. Better to tackle him in the morning after his rounds and have this all out.

Looking down at the floor Michael noticed a small notebook that had fallen under the pedals. He picked it up and thumbed through it. It was made of blank score paper and was filled with note scribbles and tiny handwriting. A long time ago Mary Poppins tape measure had said extremely stubborn and suspicious. He should have put the notebook right back on the pile of music where it belonged. Instead he tucked it into his coat pocket and went to see Fritz.

"You need to put this back right away," said Fritz. "Whoever it belongs to is going to be very upset that it's missing."

"But what is it?" asked Michael.

"Do you remember that little sketchbook you always carried back in the day?"

"Yes. I used it to jot down ideas and make sketches for bigger projects."

"Well this is the musical equivalent." Fritz walked over to his piano and played several measures out of the notebook. "My guess is that it probably fell out of the owner's pocket and he hasn't missed it yet." He played another set of measures. "Damn these are good. Do you have any idea who this belong to? Where did you find this?"

"In a church."

"Well march right back and give it to the priest and make sure he knows it's important," Fritz said. And then when he noticed Michael's skeptical expression he added. "Just think how much you'd hate it if someone kept one of your sketchbooks. This is the same thing."

Fritz was right. It wasn't so much that a sketchbook contained the finished product it was the fleeting ideas and creative sparks that were important. You couldn't always get those back. Michael took the notebook and tucked it into his pocket. He would see Jack tomorrow morning and return it when he got to the bottom of all this.