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“But please don’t get the idea that they’ll win him over. Think of Gil as the flu.”
She blinked rapidly, then sputtered, “Th-the flu?” He must be teasing.
Joseph didn’t grin. “That’s right. The flu sweeps through, makes an impact, then sweeps out again. A lot of the time, it leaves heartache in its wake.”
She bit the corner of her lip, battling tears. She’d never know which was worse—mourning the loss of her brothers or witnessing her parents’ sorrow at their absence.
He let go of the tray and brushed his knuckles along Ava’s cheek. “I don’t want to see you heartbroken again, Ava. Be careful. Will you?”
She turned her back on him and stomped to Mr. Willems’s front door. She put the tray on the porch floor and started to knock, but Joseph reached past her and rapped his knuckles on the doorjamb. She gave him a smoldering glare. “What are you doing?”
“Remember I said I needed to stop by here? I told Gil I’d take Mr. Willems’s tuba to McPherson. To get it repaired.” He winked. “You’re not the only one who does nice deeds, Ava.”
“Come in,” Mr. Willems called from inside.
Joseph turned the knob and gestured her in. Mr. Willems was sitting sideways on his settee with the round-bellied cat curled in his lap. She told him about the cookies and put them on the dry sink as he instructed. She couldn’t help noticing the dirty dishes and a pot of something that smelled savory still on the stove. She shook her head. Gil needed help keeping up with things over here. She’d talk to Mama and Papa about it. But she wouldn’t offer to help. If what Joseph said was true about everyone thinking she brought cookies to the practices to please Gil, her assistance would only add fuel to the gossip fire. She would stomp that fire out.
And never, ever again would she let Joseph Baty give her a ride home, no matter how much her feet hurt.
Gil
Gil locked thedoor, dropped the key in his pocket, then turned to Timmy. He hid a grin. The boy still wore a few molasses cookie crumbs on his upper lip. Had he blown any into the tuba? He should teach Timmy how to clean the horn. But not tonight.
“Jo, well, are you ready to go?”
“I guess so.” The boy heaved a man-sized sigh. “Mr. Baty, can I tell you something?”
Gil nodded, although he wasn’t sure he should offer such an open invitation. The boy might tell him something his Taunte preferred remained private.
“I wish Friday came right after Monday.”
The comment was so unexpected, Gil laughed. He sobered quickly, though, when Timmy’s face clouded. Gil put his hands on his knees and peered into Timmy’s eyes. “Why do you want Friday to follow Monday?”
“Because…” For a moment, the boy’s chin quivered. “Because then I’d get to come back tomorrow for another practice.” A wobbly grin appeared. “I like the band, Mr. Baty. I like the band better than anything else, ever.”
Gil used his handkerchief and swished the remaining crumbs from Timmy’s mouth. “Even better than Miss Flaming’s cookies?”
Now the child laughed, brightening Gil’s spirits. “They go together, don’t they? Band practice and Miss Flaming’s cookies.”
They go together…The way he and Ava had once gone together. Gil pushed the thought aside. “I suppose they do. Now, come along. We need to get you home before it gets dark.”
He took the tuba, as he’d done the previous times he walked Timmy home. Although the boy had jabbered nonstop beforepractice, he now seemed out of words. Gil wondered if he should ask Timmy about spending some time each day with Mr. Willems, practicing the tuba and fetching things for him. But he decided it was better to wait. To first ask Roald if he was willing to have the boy come around, and then ask Timmy’s aunt if she minded. He sensed she would jump at the chance to get Timmy out from under her feet for a few hours every day, but he still needed to ask.
The short walk to Dirks Café was pleasant as dusk fell and fireflies began making their appearance in the patches of grass between buildings. After his years of being in the always-awake city where electric lights erased the appearance of stars, the gentle whisper of wind and the endless expanse of star-sprinkled sky were like a soothing balm on his soul. Even though taking this detour with Timmy meant a later return to Roald’s, where chores still awaited him, he wouldn’t send the boy alone. These were good minutes. Healing minutes.
They reached the café’s false front, and Timmy held out his arms for the tuba. “Thanks for walking me back, Mr. Baty.”
“I’ll carry the tuba inside for you.”
He shook his head. “No need. I have to put it in the shed before I go in.”
Gil looked into the child’s bereft face, and something he didn’t expect to say spilled from his lips. “If you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, and if your aunt says it’s all right, would you like to ride the mail delivery wagon with me?”
Timmy’s eyes bugged. “Ride the wagon with you? All day?”
Gil chuckled. “Well, not all day, but a good portion of it. I leave by nine o’clock every morning and get back to town around four. If your aunt approves, you can meet me at the post office before nine and ride along on the route.”
Timmy bounced in place. “She’ll say yes. I know she will.” He started walking backward, smile bright and tuba wrapped tight in his arms. “Thanks, Mr. Baty! I’ll see you tomorrow.”
