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John Siemens joined Gil beside the podium. “Now, Timmy, we don’t know for sure enough boys will be interested to form a full band. I’m going to ask Reverend Ediger to mention it at service on Sunday morning. If other parents want their boys to be in it, they’ll come talk to Mr. Baty.”
Joseph sat back, stunned. Gil’s pedestal seemed to grow another foot in height.
Mr. Siemens bent down to the boy’s level. “You make sure you come to church with your Taunte on Sunday, because she needs to hear about the band. And you’ll need her permission to be part of it.”
Delight danced in the boy’s eyes. “She’ll give me permission. She’s always telling me to go find something to do.” He turned a hopeful look on Gil. “Could I stay and listen to you practice? I was trying to listen from outside, but it’s a little hard to hear from on the street.”
Gil nodded. “You can stay.” He pointed to Bernard and Ava. “It looks like there’s still some gingerbread on the tray. Go ask Miss Flaming if you can have a piece. When practice is over, I’ll walk you home.”
The boy scampered off, and Gil stepped behind the podium.He picked up his baton. “Well, men, let’s take a look at ‘Come, Thou Fount.’ We’ll find out if we remember the dynamics from our last practice.”
Joseph had a hard time focusing on the song. He kept thinking about Gil forming a boys’ band. It would happen. The people of this community loved music. They’d leap at the chance to have their boys study under a New York composer, even if the New York composer was really only a local boy. It seemed just one more way for Gil to look important. His thoughts took a turn. If Gil was doing Roald’s route, taking care of Roald’s house and property, leading the men’s band, and getting a boys’ band started, he’d be pulled mighty thin, as Ma would put it.
Maybe, even though it wasn’t exactly what Joseph planned, it would work out after all. One of Gil’s responsibilities would surely suffer, and his halo would lose some of its shine. Best of all, if he was leading two bands while taking care of Roald, there’d be no time for him to think about courting. A girl wanted more than a few minutes a week with her fellow.
A boys’ band. Joseph wished he’d thought of it himself. It was exactly what Gil needed to occupy his time until he returned to New York.
Gil
Gil deposited Timmyand his tuba at the back door of the café, where he said he lived with his great-aunt. The woman thanked Gil for seeing him safely home, then immediately scolded Timmy for pestering the men. The harsh words continued to ring in Gil’s ears, reminding him of so many criticisms he’d received from Taunte Dorcas when he was a boy. Nothing he ever did, no matter how hard he tried, had everpleased her. His heart went out to Timmy. Although directing a boys’ band would take a lot of time, he hoped the townsfolk would support the idea. Timmy needed someone—the way Gil had needed someone—to build him up.
Gratitude for the ones who’d been his encouragers swelled in his heart. He’d lost the chance to thank Mr. Goertz, but there were two other people who’d provided a safe haven for him. He checked his pocket watch. Only half past eight. He’d stop by the Flamings’ house and tell Onkel Bernard and Taunte Maria what he should have said years ago. He’d thank Ava, too, for bringing the treats. He’d yet to enjoy some himself, but the men appreciated them. He would tell her so.
He picked up his pace, keeping time in his head with a brisk Sousa march, and found himself in the Flamings’ front yard as the tune came to an end. A lamp glowed behind their parlor windows. They were still awake. He stepped up on the porch and reached for the doorbell’s key. Before his fingers gripped it, the inside door opened and Ava stood framed behind the scrolled screen door.
“Good evening, Gil. I saw you coming. You seemed in a hurry.” Wariness colored her expression and tone. “Is everything all right? Timmy…?”
She’d think he wasdaumlijch—crazy—if he told her his speed was set by a tune only his ears could hear. “Timmy is home, and everything else is fine, too.”
She let out a little breath of relief, and finally she smiled. “That’s good.”
Yes, it was good. Standing on her porch while crickets sang, with the screen door offering a proper separation yet letting him gaze at her pretty face, was very good. “I came to talk to your folks.”
She pursed her lips. “They’ve already gone to their room for the evening.”
“Ah. Well, then, I’m sorry I bothered you.” Searing words from his childhood—“You are bothering me, Gil. Go find something to do”—roared through his mind. He involuntarily winced.
“You’re not a bother, Gil.”
Her kind statement chased away the painful memory. His stiff shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
“May I give them a message?”
What he wanted to say he should say himself. Even if he couldn’t thank Ava’s parents this evening, he could thank her. He shouldn’t go in the house, though. Not with Bernard and Maria closed in their room. Two wicker rocking chairs flanked a small round table in front of the parlor window. They were the same chairs he remembered from years ago, although their paint color had changed from white to green. He and Ava had sat in them and enjoyed many long conversations. Those memories were sweet. Reliving them might completely erase the ugly ones from his mind.
He whipped off his hat and held it against his thigh. “Could we talk for a few minutes? Out here?”
She hesitated, uncertainty pinching her expression, but then she nodded. “I suppose it’s all right.” She squeaked the screen door open and came out, then led him to the chairs. She settled in the more feminine of the pair, and he sat in the larger one, as they’d always done. Then she fixed him with a curious look. “What did you want to talk about?”
There were so many things he could say. How sorry he was to have left her behind. How sorry he was for Maria’s poor health. How sorry he was for her responsibilities in her parents’ house that prevented her from becoming the matron ofher own home and family. How sorry he was for not making it big in New York. But talking about any of those things wouldn’t change them. He’d only open old wounds and rub salt in them.
He placed his hat on the table and propped his elbow on the armrest, leaning slightly toward her. “I wanted to thank you for bringing baked goods to band practice.”
She tilted her head slightly and stared at him, but he wasn’t sure if she was puzzled, surprised, or pleased.
He cleared his throat. “It’s an extra chore for you, and I appreciate the time, expense, and effort it takes to treat the men.”
A soft, musical laugh left her throat. “You really came by to say that?”
