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Joseph’s eyes narrowed, his frame tensing. “Who invited you?”
“The Pletts for Tuesday and the Rempels for Thursday.”
Joseph seemed to wilt. He nodded. “Ah. Good.”
Adelheid, the elder of the only two girls in the family, giggled. “You might want to eat a sandwich before you go to the Pletts.MumkjePlett is a terrible cook. She burns everything.”
“Don’t be unkind,” Taunte Dorcas said. “Maybe her food gets burned because her family delays gathering at the table. Ruined dinners aren’t always the cook’s fault.”
Gil suspected his aunt’s scolding wasn’t meant for Adelheid. One of the twins—whether Menno or Simon, Gil couldn’t be sure since the towheaded boys looked exactly the same to him—pushed away from Adelheid and tottered across the rocking wagon bed. He flopped into Gil’s lap. Gil hummed and manipulated the giggling toddler’s hand into directingthe tune, grateful for the distraction. He needed to try harder not to upset his aunt while he was in town. Maybe he could avoid it completely by finding a different place to stay.
—
Gil stood besidethe oak podium, fidgeted with his tie, and silently counted. Thirty-three men crowded into the upstairs room of the Farmer’s Bank. They sat behind the music stands Gil and Bernard had brought from the storage closet, and all stared at him expectantly. He looked at them, suddenly uncertain how to proceed.
The banker, Mr. Siemens, held his polished brass baritone upright on his knee and bounced it. “Gil? Are you going to open us in prayer?”
Gil blinked. “P-prayer? At a band practice?” He’d come prepared to use his baton, but he hadn’t considered being asked to pray in front of everyone.
Mr. Siemens laid his baritone across his lap and linked his hands on top of it. “We generally start with prayer.”
Gil sent a frantic look at Bernard, who stood at the wall of windows. When Gil had confessed how nervous he was, the kindly man agreed to stay even though he hadn’t yet begun thetrumpet lessons. Now he strode forward and joined Gil at the podium. “I’ll pray, if you’d like.”
Gil nearly sagged with relief. “Thank you, Onkel Bernard.”
While Bernard dedicated their evening to God’s glory, Gil silently begged God to help him do a good job so the men wouldn’t regret asking him to step into the director’s place.
“Amen,” Bernard said.
Gil echoed theamenin his head, then took a deep breath. “Bernard said you intend to play ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ at the July Fourth parade, so we’ll work on that tonight.But I’d like to start with ‘Come, Thou Fount.’ ” The slower-paced song would help steady his racing pulse.
Everyone brought their instruments into position. Gil held up his baton. At the first downstroke, the opening note blared out. Gil took them straight through the piece without stopping, listening with a critical ear to the blends and volume. He experimented a bit with the tempo to see whether they would match the beat of his baton. To his delight, the bass drum player, a farmer whose name he couldn’t recall, stayed perfectly with him, and the others all followed his lead. He had them hold the final note longer than the written four counts, then gave a decisive swish of the baton’s tip.
The players all silenced their instruments, with the exception of Mr. Willems, whose tuba rumbled a full measure after everyone else stopped.
The barber, Mr. Rempel, waved his hand in Mr. Willems’s direction. “Give Roald a solo, Gil, and he won’t try to make his own.”
The tuba player’s cheeks blazed red, and everyone laughed, including Gil. He’d always liked the jovial bachelor who lived next door to the Flamings.
The man peeked at Gil from around the horn’s bell, his expression sheepish. “I am sorry for that extra-long note. I have a hard time seeing you from behind this thing.”
Gil crossed to Roald and helped him angle his chair so he would have a clear view of Gil directing. Then Gil resumed his position at the front of the room and went through the piece of music bar by bar. He verbally instructed the men where to increase or decrease the volume and where to watch for changes in tempo. He asked the brass instruments to always play more softly when they served as an echo for the woodwinds, and hereminded the woodwinds to look for the curved lines joining notes. “When you see a slur, please play legato, gentlemen—play through smoothly and without taking a breath in between notes.” Then he tapped the podium and said, “All right. Once more, from the top.”
As he led, his nervousness melted. His hands moved instinctively, creating in reality what he heard in his head. A smile pulled up the corners of his lips even though he’d been told by one of the most respected conductors in New York that a good leader maintains a sober countenance at all times. “You want the musicians led by the baton, not by your expression,” the man had said in a monotone, his face impassive. But Gil couldn’t help himself. Whatever emotion the music stirred always found its way to his face. And this tune was so lovely, so soul-stirring, what else could he do but beam?
Roald ended with the others this time, and Gil dropped the baton onto the podium and clapped. Someone joined in, startling him. At the back of the room, Ava stood next to a rolling cart with a towel draped over its top. She applauded even more enthusiastically than he did. When had she arrived? He hadn’t even noticed. Joy now exploded through him. She’d seen what he could do, and she applauded it. He let his smile bounce from Ava to Bernard before returning it to the band members.
“Excellent, men, excellent. And I see Miss Flaming is here, which means it is break time. We’ll resume after you’ve partaken of whatever treat she’s furnished this evening.”
The men laid their instruments on or beside their chairs and ambled to the cart. Ava lifted the towel, revealing a large tray of cookies and a stack of cloth napkins. She folded the towel, placed it under the cart, then hurried across the floor to Gil, wonder shining in her eyes.
“The song sounded wonderful. So much better than when Papa led the band.” A flush brightened her face. “But please don’t tell him I said so.”
Gil grinned. “I won’t repeat it, but thank you. I was very nervous before we started. But once I started directing, I…” He closed his eyes, reliving the glorious moments of bringing the notes to life. “I felt right at home.”
“As well you should.”
He opened his eyes and found her smiling at him. Something glowing in her irises made him pull in a breath and hold it, although he couldn’t explain his reaction.
