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Instantly the glint faded. She sank into her chair and picked up a mug. But she didn’t pour herself any coffee. “Are you happy there…in New York?”
He didn’t want to talk about New York. If he told her the full truth, he’d have to admit he’d left Falke for no good reason. The Ava he remembered wouldn’t be unkind enough to sayI told you so,but the realization could hurt her. After all, she was the most important part of the life he’d left behind. He wouldn’t compound her pain by confessing his pursuits had been fruitless. He forked up a bit of the tart, chewed, and swallowed. “I’m happy enough.”
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his short answer. “Did I hear Papa ask you to direct the men’s band?”
Gil broke loose another bit of the tart. “Yes. He asked.”
A tinyhumphescaped her throat. “Papa means well, but he doesn’t always think things through. Please don’t let himpressure you into something you don’t wish to do. I’m sure that directing Falke’s little band would be terribly dull compared to the opportunities you’ve enjoyed in New York.”
He’d never admit how few opportunities had opened for him in New York. He took a big bite and chewed slowly, savoring the flavors of apple, cinnamon, and nutmeg. He swallowed, then pointed at the tart with his fork. “If this is the reward for directing the men, then I think it would be worth it.”
Her genuine smile gave a sweeter reward. “Practice hasn’t changed much since you lived in Falke.” She poured coffee into her mug. “They still meet on Tuesday and Thursday evenings in the room above the bank. The time has changed a bit, though, since Papa took over. He preferred starting at six-thirty and ending by eight. But if you wanted to revert to Mr. Goertz’s schedule of seven to eight-thirty, I doubt the men would mind. I’ve been providing cookies or gingerbread or some other sweet, as Papa said, midway through the practice.”
Gil put a sizable bite in his mouth and spoke around it. “Has the band grown since your father took it over?”
Ava took a sip of her coffee. “I don’t believe so. Why?”
He scooped up the last bit of tart. “Because treats like this would entice anyone to pick up a horn and start playing. Ava, the tart is wonderful. Your father was right—you have become a very good cook.”
He expected her to blush, perhaps stammer an embarrassed yet grateful thank-you. But she turned her face away from him and sucked in her lower lip. What had he said to upset her? He put down his fork and pushed the saucer aside. “I’m sorry.”
She jerked her attention to him. “For what? You paid me a very kind compliment.”
“That’s what I intended to do.” He chose his words carefully. At one time he would have said anything to Ava withoutworry of offending. During their growing-up years, he’d been at ease with her, certain she could read the true meaning behind any statement no matter how much he bungled its delivery. But that had been the girl. She was now a woman and something of a stranger. A stranger who still held the ability to play the strings of his heart like a harp. Disconcerting. “But it seemed to bother you instead of please you. Did I say something wrong?”
A sad smile toyed on her lips. “No, you didn’t. I was thinking of Mama. She often tells me I’ve become a good cook, then laments that I’ve become so by necessity since she is so useless.” She waved her hand, as if scrubbing the air. “Not that I view her as useless. Oh, my, not at all. But it’s how she sees herself because her heart is so weak.”
The fever that swept through Falke when they were children had left a permanent impact. Gil’s parents, both of Ava’s brothers, and many others in the community succumbed to the illness. Maria Flaming survived, but her life was forever changed. “I’m sorry she feels that way. It must be difficult for her to want to do things yet her health holds her back.”
Strange how well he understood—although his circumstance was so different. He longed to write musical pieces good enough to be performed in Carnegie Hall or other prestigious venues. Yet no matter how hard he tried, the notes never came out on paper the way he heard them in his head. He was weak as a composer. Taunte Maria might never gain strength in her heart. Would he eventually gain the skills needed to become a renowned musician?
Ava sighed. “She often quotes Proverbs 24:10, ‘If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small.’ She won’t stop trying to do the things she used to do, even if physical activity wears her out.”
Gil pondered the verse. Had he made his escape back home to Falke because he lacked the strength to keep trying? Was his failure in New York the result of weakness in the face of adversity? Gil hung his head. “Your mother’s determination puts me to shame. I hope I will be more like her someday—determined despite obstacles.”
Ava examined him, her lips sucked in as if holding back a comment. She lifted her coffee cup and took a sip. “I also heard you ask Papa about payment.”
The change in topic disappointed him. He’d hoped for something…more.
“The band won’t pay you anything to lead them—”
“Except the promise of a special baked treat,” he said, hoping to earn a smile.
A small one briefly fluttered on her face. “Except a baked treat.” She put down her cup. “But if you need to earn a wage, I might have an idea.”
He sat forward. “What is it?”
She ran her finger around the rim of the mug, her eyes following its path. “Mr. Goertz gave music lessons to children in town. With his death, the lessons stopped. Parents might hire you, instead, to teach their children.” She glanced up, then focused on the cup again. “That is, if you intend to stay in Falke long enough for it to be worthwhile to them.”
Gil guarded his expression. If Ava was still able to read him as well as she’d done when they were nearly inseparable, he might offend her. She’d offered it with a sincere desire to help, and he would accept it as such even though the idea nettled him. He’d been invited to teach music at a small private school on Staten Island. He hadn’t rejected the offer, but neither had he accepted it. He’d planned to pray about it while he was in Falke, but deep down he hoped he wouldn’t be led to take it.Teaching was a far cry from composing musical scores and conducting professional musicians. But even if he did decide to take the position, he wouldn’t need to return to New York until late August.
He asked, “Do you suppose parents would see three months of time a sufficient investment?”
Her finger picked up speed on the cup’s rim. “So you plan to stay the whole summer?” She sucked in her lips again.
He really hadn’t made any set plans when he bought his ticket to Kansas, but a few shaky ones now formed in his mind. “I suppose I do.” He stared at the part in her light brown hair, wishing she’d look at him. “Will that”—he searched for the right word—“bother you?”
Her finger stilled. She didn’t lift her head, but her eyes met his. Her lips parted, and she must have been holding her breath because she released a little puff of air. “Why should it?”
