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“I’m no expert, but I am impressed with what I saw and heard. Mostly, I’m awed by what I saw in you.” She glanced aside, then met his gaze again. The rosiness in her cheeks increased. “The baton…it belongs in your hand.”
Gil’s breath eased out. He picked up the slender, silver-tipped ebony rod and ran his finger up and down its length. “Mr. Goertz gave this to me when I graduated from the Falke school, remember?”
She nodded.
“He told me I was a fine musician but I could only play one instrument at a time unless I utilized this.” He drew a circle in the air with the baton’s tip, the way a story wizard practiced with a magic wand.
Her eyes seemed to follow the baton’s movement, then she looked at him again. “I’ve come to every practice since Papa started directing the men’s band. For a full year I’ve come. I’ve heard the men at practice, and I’ve heard them in performances. But, Gil, tonight was the first time since Mr. Goertz passed away that I heard the music.”
As much as he appreciated her praise, she was giving himtoo much credit. “The men are good music readers, Ava. I didn’t teach them that.”
“Yes, they can read the notes. They can even play the notes. But with you leading them, they played themusic.” She placed her hand on his sleeve, shortening the gap between them. “I heard the music’s heartbeat, Gil. I heard its soul.”
Chapter Six
Ava
He stared at her withhis mouth slightly ajar, as if he’d never seen her before. Embarrassment struck with force. She’d said too much. And what was she doing, touching his arm? She wasn’t Gil’s sweetheart anymore. She couldn’t even call him a friend after so much time apart. Yet she was addressing him as intimately as one would a beau.
Ava yanked her hand free and took a backward step. “I only wanted to say you’re doing very well as director.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “If you want some of the cookies, you’d better hurry.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”
“Very well. Suit yourself.” She started toward the group of band members, who gathered around the cart and chatted with one another.
“Ava, wait.”
The urgency in his tone stopped her.
“What you said a moment ago…” He spoke in a husky whisper, as intimate as her hand on his arm had been. She should hurry away before the men finished their snack and noticed the two of them huddled together, but something held her in place. “I came back to Falke because I didn’t think I belonged in New York. I didn’t think I had what it took to bea real conductor. I came back here to figure out what I’m supposed to do with this love for music that refuses to leave me. And you…you just gave me the confirmation I’ve been praying for.”
She tilted her head. “I did?”
“Yes. I came here to explore my heart and decide what I was meant to do.” His words came out in a rush, as if some inner baton had picked up its tempo. “But if you heard what I hear in the music, then I’m doing something right.”
If her impulsive yet sincere words had given him some sort of confirmation, would he return to New York right away? His departure would make things easier on her heart. Having him in town, physically near yet emotionally so far from the relationship they’d once shared, was excruciating. She needed him to go, for her peace of mind. But she didn’t ask the question. Because deep down she feared the answer.
The men had finished their snack. They were picking up their instruments and settling into their chairs again. Relieved to have a reason to escape, Ava skirted around them and gathered up all the discarded napkins. She piled them on the crumb-laden tray, listening as Gil announced the title of the next piece of music they would practice. He apologized to Mr. Willems about the song not having a tuba solo, and she descended the stairs with the men’s laughter ringing in her ears.
As had become her routine during the months that Papa directed the band, she went to the barn and deposited the soiled napkins in the laundry tub before entering the house through the connecting door. Their home, with its attached barn, marked their family as one of Falke’s first residents. The newest arrivals from Russia all built their houses and barns together, as they’d done in Russia where blizzards might otherwise keep a farmer from safely seeing to his livestock. WhileKansas winters were rarely as severe as those her parents described in the “old land,” Ava appreciated the convenience of avoiding rain or snow or—more often than not—gusting winds when she saw to their few animals.
Lamplight glowed at the far end of the hallway, inviting Ava to follow it the way a moth was drawn to a flame. She stepped into the parlor and found Mama in her chair. She was already dressed for bed, but she was busily putting knitting needles to work. The puddle of woven yarn in her lap proved she’d been industrious while Ava was away.
Mama looked up and smiled. “Ah, here you are. I’ve been waiting for you. How was the practice going?” She transferred the needles and partially completed project to the basket beside her chair.
Ava hid a smile. Mama had never asked about the practices when Papa directed. But Mama liked Gil so much. Of course she was curious about his first time leading the men. Ava sat in Papa’s chair. “Very well, I think. The men seemed quite responsive to Gil’s leadership, and he looked at ease in front of them.” The expression on Gil’s face—a blend of concentration and exultation—as he guided the men with intricate movements of the baton filled her mind’s eye. “In fact, Mama, he looked happier than I’ve ever seen him. And when the men played, I…”
She hadn’t been shy about telling Gil what she’d heard. But she’d also been so caught up in the moment, she hadn’t given herself time to think before speaking. Should she tell Mama how the music had reached her?
“When the men played, you…what?”
Ava met her mother’s attentive gaze. Their role reversal, with Ava as caregiver and Mama as receiver, made it awkward for her to open up and share her thoughts. Yet the emotions rolling through her needed a release. Restlessness drove her toperch on the very edge of the seat and lean toward Mama. “I heard the music behind the notes. I told Gil it was as if I could hear the very heart and soul of the melody. Does that make sense?”
Mama’s face lit with a youthful smile. “Of course it does. Anyone can learn to recognize and play notes. But there’s a vast difference between playing the notes and playing the music. Your brothers had that gift.” For a moment, her expression clouded, then became dreamy. “They inherited it from my father. He was a gifted musician, could make a violin sing so mournful or sweet, his listeners were moved to tears. He even played for Alexander the Second by invitation at the palace. The monarch was quite taken with your grandfather.”
Ava had never met her grandfather, who died shortly after Mama and Papa left Russia for America, but she remembered being enthralled when Anton or Rupert played their shared trumpet. She made noise with the instrument when they allowed her to touch it, but not once had she managed to produce anything anyone would classify as music. Perhaps the gift had skipped her. The thought made her sad.
“Mr. Goertz coaxed music from the band,” Ava said, “and Gil must have learned it from him.”
