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“Pa will be. Dunno about Ma. She wasn’t too sure she wanted me in the band. But Pa said I should do it. I’m sure glad he did.” He yanked a rolled sheet of paper from his back pocket and shoved it at Joseph. “Gil wanted us to leave our music here, but I asked, and he said I could take this home and use it to practice. Will you help me find a safe place for it? Somewhere Herman or the twins can’t bother it.”
Joseph figured their seven-year-old sister, Louisa, would be the most likely one to take it. She loved to color with the wax crayons she’d found in her Christmas stocking last year. No piece of paper was safe around her. He slung his arm around Earl’s shoulders and herded him toward the wagon. “You can keep it in my room. No one”—not even snoopy little Louisa—“will bother it there. And…” Should he offer? He’d never before invited any of his siblings into his private domain.
Earl marched alongside him, jolting from side to side. “And what, Joe?”
He looked into his brother’s happy face, and the invitation spilled out. “And you can play your horn in there instead of the attic. It’s brighter in my room, with so many windows, so it’ll be easier to see your music, and the playing won’t bother Ma if she’s trying to get Menno and Simon settled down for a nap.”
“Thank you!” Earl threw his arms around Joseph’s torso.
The trumpet bit into Joseph’s back, and he gently dislodged his brother, laughing. “Whoa there. You’re going to dent either me or that horn.”
Earl laughed, too, and tucked the trumpet tight to his chest again. “I don’t want to hurt the trumpet.”
“But it’s all right to hurt me, hmm?” When had he last teased with Earl? He couldn’t remember, but it felt good. It reminded him of the good-natured teasing he and Gil had bandied back and forth when they were a little younger than Earl.
Earl waggled his eyebrows, his grin impish. “I’m sure glad Gil came back to Falke. Being in this band is the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.” He sighed and resumed his pace.
When they reached the wagon, Joseph gave his brother a boost onto the seat, then pulled up behind him. Earl’s statement about the band repeated in Joseph’s mind as he drove home. He was happy for his brother and at the same time very worried about him. Gil was here, but not for long. Which meant the boys’ band wouldn’t last for long. Would this newfound excitement and joy go away when Gil left and the band ended?
Chapter Fourteen
Gil
The first Monday in June,Gil rushed through supper. He had to have the room set up and ready for the boys’ practice by six-thirty, which meant being at the bank by six. It hadn’t been a problem previously, since the wonderful ladies providing meals delivered them by four, about the time Gil returned from the mail route. He and Roald usually ate at five, after which Gil tended to important needs, then headed to the bank building.
But over the past weekend, steady rain falling both day and night turned the dirt roads into quagmires. The wagon wheels sank deep in the muck, and the horse’s feet grew mud boots. Between the slower passage and taking time at each stop to scrape mud from the horse’s hooves, Gil didn’t return to Falke until a quarter past five. He hurried through releasing the horse from its rigging and jogged across the soggy yard to thehouse, calling as he entered, “Roald, I’m sorry I’m late. The rains—”
Roald was at the stove, crutches under his arms, stirring something in a pot.
Gil came to a halt. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The man shrugged and gave the wooden spoon another lazy swirl. “Cooking.” He chuckled. “Well, warming up whatMrs. Regier brought. Rabbit stew, she said.” He leaned over the pot and sniffed. “Rikje goot,jo?”
Gil couldn’t argue that the dinner smelled good, but Roald had no business standing at the stove. He walked over and removed the spoon from the man’s hand, took him by the elbow, and gently steered him to the sitting room. “I wish you’d waited. You’re not supposed to be up so much yet.”
Roald sank onto the settee and lifted his cast onto the cushion. “A man can’t just sit all day.”
The statement worried Gil. How much was Roald up when Gil was away from the house? Tomorrow would mark three weeks since Roald’s fall. Every day the man was more restless, more determined to return to his normal activities. But the doctor had emphasized the importance of keeping weight off his leg until the bones had a chance to heal. It could be up to twelve weeks, Dr. Graves had said. Roald was going to do himself permanent injury if Gil didn’t keep better watch.
The calico cat slinked out from behind the settee and put her front paws on Roald’s knee. He lifted her up. “Besides, I know how awful the roads get after a good rain shower. I knew you’d be late coming in. You’ve got practice soon and need something in your belly.”
“I appreciate your consideration, Roald. I really do.” Gil meant it, but at the same time worry tugged at him. He crossed to the stove, still talking. “But the doctor”—not to mention half the town—“will have my hide if your leg doesn’t heal properly. I’m supposed to be taking care of things, you know.”
“I know, I know.” A mighty sigh heaved from the man’s throat. “I’m used to being out with folks. This sitting here…it’s making me lazy and dull. I don’t like it.”
Gil filled bowls with stew and carried them to the sitting room. He handed one to Roald. “I’m sorry. I’m sure the daysare long and lonely here by yourself. But if your leg doesn’t heal, you might never be able to climb into the delivery wagon and make your rounds again. So you have to do what the doctor said and stay down.”
Roald muttered something Gil didn’t catch, then said, “Let’s pray and eat.” He bowed his head, and the men prayed silently. Gil added a plea for Roald’s leg to heal properly to his gratitude for the food.
They ate in silence, then Gil rose. “Do you need to visit the outhouse before I leave?”
Roald held his bowl to the cat, who lapped the gravy from the bottom. “Nä. I’m fine. You go on before you’re late.”
Gil fidgeted, eager to take Roald’s bowl to the dry sink. If he didn’t take it there, Roald would. The cat kept licking. Gil checked his timepiece. He didn’t have time to wait. “Leave your bowl and spoon on the side table in here. I’ll tend to them when I get back from practice.”
Roald glanced at him. “All right, Gil.” He puffed his cheeks and blew out the air. “I wish I could practice my tuba. I miss playing it.”
Mr. Plett at the hardware store had told Gil about a silver craftsman in McPherson who could probably repair the damaged tuba, but Gil hadn’t had a free day to take the instrument there. He also didn’t have the funds to pay for it yet. The money he earned on the mail route really wasn’t his. The route was Roald’s, so the pay was Roald’s. The kind man wanted to share it, but Gil felt guilty taking it when there was a doctor bill to pay. But he couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to get ready for the boys’ practice.
