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Joseph
Joseph stacked eight-feet long planksof two-by-six-inch oak boards on the brick platform in the corner of Pa’s workshop. Eventually the boards would be cut to size, glued and mitered, and turned into tables or chairs or cradles. Ordinarily he enjoyed inhaling the aroma of the freshly milled wood. How often in the past had he stopped to admire a swirl in the grain or touch a knot where a branch had once emerged, imagining the mighty tree that had been felled to provide for him and his family? But today he found no pleasure in his task.
His cousin had returned from New York less than a week ago, and already Gil was hailed as the town hero. When Joseph had taken his brother Herman to the barber for a haircut midmorning, Mr. Rempel refused payment—“Nä, today anyone with the name Baty gets a free haircut. You deserve it for giving my good friend Roald so much help.” Neither Joseph nor Herman had done a thing for Mr. Willems. The only Baty helping Roald Willems was Gil.
On their way home, they stopped at Wallace Grocery & Sundries to purchase a tin of baking powder at Ma’s request. The owner, Adolph Wallace, leaned his elbows on the counter andspent five minutes singing Gil’s praises. If the tins weren’t kept on a shelf behind the counter, Joseph would’ve grabbed one and departed, but he had no choice but to listen. “Ach,” the man had finished with a sigh, “so good to know the big city didn’t steal the heart from our hometown boy.”
He’d been relieved when Pa sent him to pick up the lumber he’d ordered. Mr. Neufeldt never took time to chat. He was too business-minded to waste time in idle conversation. But to Joseph’s chagrin, even Mr. Neufeldt had patted Joseph on the shoulder. “I was sure surprised when your cousin came by here today in the mail wagon. He said he’s running Roald’s routes while the poor man recovers from his bad fall. What a decent thing for him to do, especially since he isn’t even related to Roald and has been away for so long. You must be proud of him.”
Proud? No, not proud. Aggravated. And—admittedly—jealous. That Gil…always the center of attention. Joseph had loaded the lumber as fast as he could and gotten out of there. Now he slid the last few boards from the back of the wagon and added them to the pile. He swiped sweat from his brow and frowned at the neatly stacked planks. Each board was so in alignment, the stack resembled one big chunk of wood. Beautiful in its presentation. But he wouldn’t get any praise from Pa for doing his work. Why applaud someone for doing what he was expected to do? Hard work was a reward in itself, Pa always said.
What had Ma said at lunchtime when Joseph explained why he hadn’t given Mr. Rempel the quarter for Herman’s haircut? She’d quoted a verse from Proverbs—something about pride going before a fall. Well, Mr. Willems took the fall, and then everyone’s pride in Gil came to a full swell. Joseph ground histeeth. Sure, Gil was talented. Smart, too. But he wasn’t the only smart, talented person in the Baty family. Joseph hadn’t played his trombone since he graduated from high school, but he’d been pretty good. Maybe he should dust it off and join the men’s band. Keep an eye on Gil. Keep him humble.
“Joseph?” Pa hollered across the workshop floor. “Why are you just standing there? Take the wagon back to the barn and put the horses away.”
Joseph spun on his heel, but instead of going to the wagon, he strode to Pa. “My trombone is up in the attic, isn’t it?”
Pa bit the tip of a finger on his leather glove and pulled his hand free. He grabbed the glove from between his teeth and nodded. “Jo. As far as I know, it’s up there, waiting for Earl’s arms to get long enough to play it.”
Earl wouldn’t need it for another year or so, then. “I’ve been thinking about joining the men’s band. I was pretty good on the trombone, and since Mr. Willems won’t be playing, there’s a spot open.”
Pa stood quietly, his narrowed gaze pinned on Joseph’s face, as if he was waiting for Joseph to ask permission. Well, he’d wait a long time. Joseph was twenty-two already. He shouldn’t have to ask. Yet he knew he wouldn’t join the band if Pa said he shouldn’t. Such an awkward feeling, to be a man yet still a boy.
“I suppose that would be a good thing,” Pa said slowly, his intent focus never wavering. “Your cousin might appreciate having you there, seeing how most of the players are much older than the two of you.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Joseph’s mouth. “Jo, I thought so, too. I’ll go tomorrow evening.”
“Fine. Now go put the wagon and horses away. And whenyou’re done, go to the house and tell Earl and Herman I need them to sweep up in here.”
Pa’s orders sometimes made Joseph bristle, but not this time. He trotted off, grinning. The men in town would soon learn there was more than one musically talented Baty. And this one was in Falke to stay, unlike Gil, who would soon abandon them all again for New York.
Gil
Gil worried thatsome men would stay away after hearing about Mr. Willems’s accident. He worried they’d blame him. He worried if they did come, they would be morose and distracted. But he prepared for the practice because he’d promised to be the band leader.
Bernard came early and helped him set out music stands. Thirty-three of them, the same number they’d needed on Tuesday. He said Ava had baked gingerbread for their treat, and Gil hoped it wouldn’t be wasted. But what if nobody came? Gil angled the last chair into position, then looked across the room. His podium stood at the front with his baton and the sheet music in place. All they needed now were the instrumentalists.
He paced back and forth behind the podium, glancing repeatedly at his pocket watch, his concern growing with every passing minute. And a little before six-thirty, he heard the sound of voices and footsteps on the stairs. He stopped and stared at the doorway. Men spilled in, one after another, carrying their instruments and smiling and chatting with one another. They went to their chairs and sat. When everyone was in place, only one chair remained empty. Roald’s.
Gil stared at the chair. Everyone else seemed to focus on it, too, and silence fell. Gil gulped, sadness descending. Then the patter of someone running up the stairs intruded. As if choreographed, every man shifted in his chair and looked toward the doorway. Joseph burst in, carrying a trombone. He slid to a halt right inside the doorway and gaped at the men, who gaped back at him.
“Why, Joseph,” Bernard boomed, “what are you doing here?”
Joseph untucked the trombone from under his arm. “I came to play, if the band’ll have me.”
Smiles broke on the men’s faces. Several of them nodded, and others spoke words of welcome. Bernard gestured to Roald’s chair. “Of course we’ll have you. And there’s a seat right over here.”
While Joseph crossed the floor, Gil sent a genuine smile across the men. “I’m so glad to see all of you.” Especially Joseph. He hadn’t realized how much he needed his family’s support until his cousin arrived. “I was afraid you might not want to come after what happened on Tuesday. If it’s all right with you, I would like to dedicate tonight’s practice to Roald Willems.” His voice caught, and he cleared it with a gruffahem!He sent a hopeful glance at Bernard, who leaned against the wall at the back of the room. “Would anyone like to open our practice with prayer?”
Larkin Plett waved his clarinet in the air. “You open us tonight, Gil.”
Gil’s pulse skipped a beat. As the band’s leader, he probably should be the one to pray. He only wished he felt as capable praying aloud as he did swinging his baton. “A-all right.” He bowed his head and closed his eyes.Help me, Lord.“Father, thank You for bringing us together here this evening. Please be with Mr. Willems and bring healing to his body.”Please, Lord.Please.“Strengthen us as we use the gifts You’ve given us, and let our music bring glory to Your name. Amen.”
“Amen,” several men echoed, Bernard’s voice rising above the others.
Gil glanced at his friend and caught his nod of approval. “Onkel Bernard, do we have news from Dr. Graves about Mr. Willems?”
Bernard shook his head. “No telegram came today from Aiken. If I don’t receive word tomorrow, I’ll send an inquiry. I already sent one telegram to the doctor and asked him to let Roald know he doesn’t have to worry about his house, his pets”—a few chuckles rumbled—“or his job. Everything is being tended to.”
