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“If they can’t compete, they can’t win. Maybe my hurt wrist is God’s way of saying He wants me in New York.”
Ava frowned. “Gil, how did you injure your wrist?”
His expression turned sheepish. “Do you really want to know?”
“Jo, I do.”
“Joseph knocked me down.”
Ava’s mouth fell open. “He…he knocked you down? Why?”
“He was angry about…well, about a lot of things. But when he pushed me, it was in retaliation for Earl taking that tumble in the middle of the street.”
Ava huffed. “Earl’s fall was not your fault.”
“Jo, well, Joseph saw it differently.” He fingered his jaw. “It’s too dark to tell, but I have a bruise from his fist, too. That won’t take long to heal, but my wrist…”
Ava reached across the little table and placed her hand over his. “I think it’s too soon to give up. How can you know if the boys will win if you don’t take them? They’re so excited about the contest. They have these uniforms to wear. I think they should go. I don’t think you can know for sure about the fleece unless you actually compete in McPherson.”
He turned his hand upside down and linked fingers with her. A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Will you come to the practices and wave my baton for me?”
She laughed. “Ach, can you imagine what kind of music I would make?”
He gave her hand a tender squeeze. “I know what kind of music you make. You play my heartstrings and fill my soul with song.”
A flutter filled her chest. He’d told her the same thing when he asked her to be his sweetheart more than five years ago. The words had filled her with joy then, and they affected her the same way this evening. Happy tears swam in her eyes. “Oh, Gil…”
He sighed, and his thumb stroked hers—up and down, up and down in a gentle rhythm. “You’re right about the boys. They’re excited about the uniforms, and they’ve worked so hard. They need the chance to compete with the other bands. It wouldn’t be fair to take it away from them now. But we’d better pray hard for Earl’s foot and my wrist to heal faster than Dr. Graves predicted.”
“Let’s do that right now.”
They bowed their heads.
Gil
On the morningfollowing what he’d dubbed the Fourth of July catastrophe, Gil arrived a little before ten at the lot behind the bank building to prepare for the boys’ practice. To his surprise, the entire band—except for Earl—was already seated on the grass in a tight circle, instruments in their laps.
Ralph, the self-proclaimed spokesman of the group, bounded up and hurried across the ground to him. “Mr. Baty, we’re allwondering about the End of Harvest competition. Will we get to participate since Earl got hurt?” His gaze fixed on Gil’s sling. “And you’re hurt, too? What happened?”
Gil put his good arm around the boy’s shoulders and turned him toward the group. “Go ahead and sit with the band, Ralph, and let’s talk about the competition.” Gil wished he could sit in the grass with the boys, but getting down and then up again was too hard with only one hand. So he stood in front of them and assumed a casual pose, left hand pushed into his trouser pocket.
He started by praising the boys for their performance yesterday. Even though the song had come to an unexpected, abrupt end, they deserved accolades for a well-executed rendition of the song. He told them to give each other pats on the back, which they did with grins and a few chortles. The next part of what he needed to say wouldn’t be easy.
“About the McPherson contest…”
Every pair of eyes fixed on his face and every pair of lips pressed tight. Every set of shoulders tensed, including Gil’s.
He cleared his throat. “As you know, the competition involves playing two songs. I planned to spend one day a week reviewing the marching piece and the other four days working on the piece we’ll play standing in front of the judges.” He bounced his injured arm against his belly. “I’m sure you noticed my sling.”
Heads bobbed, and two of the baritone players whispered to each other.
Gil hoped the rumor mill hadn’t caught wind of his and Joseph’s fight. What a poor example he’d set by engaging in a wrestling match with his cousin. Not that he’d had much choice. “I sprained my wrist. I’m not able to grip anything with my fingers, which is going to make it hard for me to direct. ButI’m going to do my best, just as I trust you’ll do your best to learn the song.”
A cheer rose from the group. Gil let them whoop for several seconds, then he held up his left hand. “There’s one more thing we need to discuss.” The boys quieted. Gil said in a somber tone, “Earl.”
Leo Friesen jammed his hand in the air. “Mr. Baty, me and Jack have been talking. We need Earl. There’s all those baritones, but just the three of us trumpets. We know he fell and made the band look bad, but we don’t think it was all his fault. We don’t want him kicked out.”
“That’s right.” Jack folded his arms and jutted his chin. “If he isn’t allowed to play, I won’t play.”
