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The protectiveness Joseph had always held toward this brother welled up again. Earl was thirteen but barely taller than ten-year-old Herman. Earl’s stature and his clumsy gait from turned-in toes shamed him and invited teasing from other kids. Joining the band might build his confidence. Joseph caught himself smiling, happy for his brother. But what was he thinking? Didn’t he want the band to fail so Gil’s reputation would suffer? He hadn’t counted on his own brother possibly getting hurt in the process.
“Now I’m not sure what I want,” he muttered under his breath.
“Did you say something?”
Ava was standing beside him, also watching the activity atthe front corner of the church. He hoped she hadn’t heard what he said, because he didn’t want to explain it. “Talking to myself,” he replied with a shrug. But she’d given him an opportunity to engage her in conversation, and he would seize it. “Looks like Gil will have a good-sized band to direct.”
Her gaze remained on the group. Or on Gil. Joseph couldn’t be sure which. “Jo, it does. I’m sure he’ll do well with it.”
Joseph prickled. “Of course he will. He does well with everything he tries.”
She shifted her focus to him. Her brown eyes narrowed, and her lips pursed. “He works hard at all he does, Joseph.”
“Except courtship. Or he wouldn’t have chosen New York over you.” Had he really said that? Well, maybe it was best she knew what he was thinking. “Gil will always work hard at music. Because music is Gil’s whole life. Oh, he says he loves other things. Even other people. But he puts music first. He always will. We’ll both be happier when we accept that he is only in town to work on his music and he won’t be here for long.”
“I know he’s only in town for a short time.” Her eyes spat, and her voice had a sharp edge. “I know he’ll return to New York soon.”
He’d touched a nerve. Now to bring a touch of healing. He leaned close. “He’ll go, Ava.” He spoke in a husky whisper. “But I will stay. I’ll always stay. You can depend on me to be here for you.”
She stared at him for several seconds, unmoving. Even unblinking. Then she gave a little jolt. “I know you will. I’ll always stay, too, Joseph, because I’m committed to caring for my mother. I only wish—”
He waited, holding his breath, for to her finish the sentence. She didn’t, so he prompted, “You only wish…?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. I appreciate your friendship, Joseph. I’d better find Mama and Papa now.” She turned with a swish of her skirt and hurried toward the doorway leading outside.
“Joseph!” Gil strode up the aisle, smiling and waving a pad of paper. “Look here. Twenty boys signed up for the band.” He showed the list to Joseph and tapped the names with his finger. “The youngest one is Timmy, and the oldest is the preacher’s son, Ralph. He’s sixteen. His father said he’ll be a good helper for me. I’ll count on that. Twenty boys! I thought maybe twelve would be interested.”
Joseph bit back a sarcastic retort. Why should Gil be surprised? Everything always fell so neatly into place for him. He’d only gotten the idea for a boys’ band on Thursday evening. But already, at Sunday noon, he’d received permission to hold practices in the bank building twice a week.
“It’s a good number.” Joseph headed for the churchyard.
Gil stayed in step with him. “It is, and I’m glad Earl is part of it. I hoped Onkel Hosea would sign up Herman, too, but he said Taunte Dorcas thinks he’s too young yet.”
Joseph didn’t believe it was Herman’s age keeping Ma from letting him join. Pa called Ma a mother hen, always clucking and trying to keep her children under her wings. Ma would want to protect Herman from getting attached to Gil, dependent on his attention, and being distraught when he left again.
“I guess there isn’t an instrument for him to play, either,” Gil went on, “since he’s too small for the trombone and Earl will use my old trumpet. Maybe after we get the band started, she’ll change her mind and we’ll find something for Herman to play.”
Joseph snorted. “She won’t change her mind.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Joseph began walking backwardto his folks’ waiting wagon. “She’s a stubborn one. Once she digs in her heels, she stays put. But have fun with the boys who did sign up. It’ll be a challenge for you, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it work.” He spun and trotted the remaining distance, waving over his shoulder. “See you at Tuesday practice, Gil.”
Gil
Gil climbed uponto the seat of the mail delivery wagon and unwrapped the reins from the brake handle. He gave the slim lengths of leather a gentle snap over the mare’s back and encouraged, “Let’s go, Blossom.”
He nodded farewell to a few of the parishioners vacating the churchyard. He’d felt a little foolish that morning, using the post office’s wagon for a drive to church, but no one seemed bothered by it. Maybe they realized he didn’t have any other means of transportation besides his feet. He walked all over New York City, so a two-mile walk to the church and back wouldn’t have taxed him. But the wagon was faster, and he needed to get back to Roald. Gil had left him propped up in his bed, a pillow supporting his cast-wrapped leg. By now the man probably needed a visit to the outhouse, and he wasn’t supposed to move about without someone close at hand.
Thanks to Taunte Maria’s kindness, a good lunch was waiting for him—leftover from last night’s pot of stew. His mouth watered, anticipating another bowl of the tender chunks of pork, potatoes, carrots, and tomatoes in a flavorful gravy.
He marveled at the calendar Onkel Bernard had given him on Thursday morning. Every evening for the remainder of May, someone was bringing supper. Bernard said when he delivered the schedule that the women planned to provide mealsfor Gil and Roald until Roald was on his feet again. Well, the dinners were mostly for Roald, probably, but Gil benefited. In all honesty, he didn’t mind cooking. He’d learned to prepare several simple dishes during his years in New York. But not having to cook would give him a little time for composing. And wasn’t that what he’d come here to do?
As if he’d triggered a switch in his brain, the sounds of the horse’s soft clops against the ground, birds calling to one another, and wind whistling through gaps in the wagon’s compartment faded away and a song replaced it. “Ava’s Song,” the one he’d written for her as a betrothal gift. But not as he’d originally written it. Trills from a flute, resonating low tones from an oboe, and sweetly haunting runs reverberating from a violin’s strings harmonized in his mind. His fingers itched with desire to record onto a staff the melody he heard.
With determination, he pushed the music to the far recesses of his mind and set his attention on his surroundings. The song had to wait. Wait until he’d seen to Roald’s needs. Wait until he’d made a plan for tomorrow’s first rehearsal with the boys’ band. Wait until his responsibilities—the number of which was multiplying—were addressed. Yes, the song would have to wait, no matter how much it begged to be written down.
Gil reached town and followed the street that passed the Flamings’ property. Without effort, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. So many good memories were connected to their place. Ava, Ava’s best friend, Joseph, and he had chased fireflies in the yard, guzzled glasses of lemonade, and chomped cookies on the porch. They played hide-and-seek in the barn and otherwise entertained themselves when they were children. Even way back then, when they divided into teams, it was always Gil and Ava against Joseph and—what was the girl’sname?—Clara. After the fever swept through town, Clara’s family moved to McPherson, so Ava, Joseph, and Gil became a trio. But somehow he and Ava always formed a pair against Joseph. Even then, Gil had wanted Ava for his partner.
He still did. But he shouldn’t contemplate such a thought. Nothing had changed. He was still devoted to his music. She was still devoted to her parents. One of them would have to abandon their calling in order for them to be together. Sadness settled on him. But he didn’t want to be sad. Not on a beautiful, sunshiny Sunday afternoon. He focused on the good response to the boys’ band instead, his mood brightening.
He drove the wagon into Roald’s small barn, unhitched the horse, and released her into the small fenced corral. Then he entered the house through the back door, calling Roald’s name as he stepped in.
