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“Look here, it’s Gil Baty! Gil is in town!” The shout came from behind Gil and saved him from stuttering through a reply. Which was just as well, because he had no idea how toanswer Bernard’s question. Within minutes, it seemed every shop owner and customer in town abandoned their business dealings. Townsfolk surrounded Gil, all talking and laughing and clapping him on the back.
“It’s too bad we don’t have a band to give you a rousing welcome-home tune, Gil,” the town banker said.
The barber nudged the banker on the shoulder. “Now, John, we do have a band. But we didn’t get enough notice to round up our instruments.” He aimed a mock scowl at Gil. “Why didn’t you send word, Gil? We’ve been working on a rousing rendition of ‘When the Saints Go Marching In.’ It would have made a fine welcome-home tune for our town’s most successful young person.”
Gil swallowed a knot of mortification. If these people knew how unsuccessful he was, they wouldn’t be overjoyed to see him. He didn’t deserve their congratulations, and he should tell them so. But weariness from the days of travel and heartache from the years of rejection prevented the words from forming. He shrugged and forced a grin. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rempel. Next time I’ll give everyone plenty of notice.”
The man slung his thick arm around Gil’s shoulders and squeezed. “Ach, boy, you don’t owe me an apology. We are all just so happy to see you home.”
Others echoed the barber’s statement, then several tossed questions at Gil about big-city life, his musical pursuits, and his future plans. Gil’s head spun. He shouldn’t have come back here. Even though he’d lost his roommate and couldn’t afford the rent for his apartment in New York City on his own, he should have tried harder to find another roommate. He should have temporarily taken a room at the YMCA. He should have—
He shook his head, dispelling the should-haves. It was too late for them now. He was back in the town of his childhood,the place he hoped to lick his wounds, rediscover his peace, and perhaps finally compose a musical piece that would bring accolades rather than yawns from the elite of New York’s music community. He held up both hands, and to his relief, the barrage of questions ceased.
“Fellows, I appreciate your kind welcomes. You’ve made me feel right at home again.” His half-hearted comments earned smiles and nods. “But it’s a long train ride from New York to Falke, and to be completely honest with all of you, I’m too tuckered to talk.”
Laughter rolled, and with farewells and promises to catch up after he’d rested, all the townsfolk except Bernard ambled away. Gil reached for his bag, but Bernard got hold of it first.
The man beamed at Gil. “Let me tote this to your uncle’s place for you. Now that I get a good look at you, you’re pale and seem as weak as a day-old kitten.” He winked. “Did the train ride have such an effect, or did life in the big city wear you out?”
Suddenly a comment whispered through his mind.“Did you hear that hayseed sawing away at his fiddle? He said he wrote the song himself. I could barely hold back my laughter. What a joke.”The criticism, made by a fellow violinist auditioning for a spot in a Broadway orchestra, stung so much in remembrance, Gil winced. He had no intention of honestly answering Bernard’s question. “Thank you, Mr. Flaming, but—”
“Mr. Flaming?” Bernard’s voice boomed out on a note of disapproval. “I think we know each other too well to be so formal. You’re still the same boy who banged in and out of my house, begging for cookies or the chance to drop a line in the creek, aren’t you?”
Somewhere inside him, that boy still existed. Didn’t he? Gil gave a meek nod.
“Well, then, I’m still Onkel Bernard to you.”
Warmth flooded Gil. So many things had changed since he packed his bags and chased his dreams to New York. Having this one thing stay the same meant more than he could understand. “Thank you, Onkel Bernard.”
The man snorted under his breath. “No need for that. Now come.” He started toward the south edge of town where Gil’s uncle, aunt, and cousins lived, and Gil fell into step beside him. “I don’t recall finding a recent a letter to Hosea and Dorcas in the mailbag from you.” Bernard peeked at Gil from the corners of his eyes. “Do they know you are coming?”
Gil hadn’t written to his only remaining family for close to a year. Why bother? He had little to report, and they rarely wrote back except for the occasional penny postcard. The townspeople had welcomed him to Falke, but how would Onkel Hosea and Taunte Dorcas react to his appearance? He turned a sheepish grimace on his old friend, his feet slowing to a halt. “No. No, they don’t.”
Bernard stopped and pinched his chin, his brow crinkling. “Well, then, we should make things as easy on them as possible. Dorcas probably already has her evening meal planned out. So here’s what we’ll do. We’ll let you get settled in at your uncle’s house”—
Strange how Bernard didn’t sayyourhouse, considering Gil had lived there from the time he was eleven years old. Maybe it wasn’t his house anymore. Maybe it never really had been.
—“and then you’ll come for supper at my table at seven.”
Gil jolted. “Oh, no, sir. That…that’s kind, but it’s an inconvenience for your wife.”
Bernard gently pushed Gil’s leg with the suitcase, sending him into motion. “It’ll be a pleasure, not an inconvenience. Trust me. Ava won’t mind a bit.”
Gil stopped again and gawked at Bernard. “Ava? Ava cooks for you?”
Bernard released a deep sigh. “Jo. Your Taunte Maria is too weary by day’s end to prepare meals. So Ava sees to it.”
“So she still…she still…” Gil couldn’t make himself finish the question. He really didn’t want to hear the answer.
Bernard’s lips quivered into a sad grin. “Yes, Maria still suffers, and our dear Ava still lives with us.” Then a real smile broke across his round face. “But Ava is a fine cook. So fine, in fact, the owner of the café orders all her pastries and cakes from Ava. She’s even asked Ava to take over the whole restaurant. Imagine our little Ava a businesswoman. Ach, such a wonder! Jo, she’s a very good cook. You won’t regret sitting at our table.”
Bernard was wrong. Gil already regretted it. How could he face Ava? The fact that she still lived at home meant he’d most certainly ruined her life.
Chapter Two
Ava
“Oh, Papa, why?” Ava didn’teven try to hide her dismay at the announcement that her father had invited Gil Baty to supper.
