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He gave a slow shrug. “Because of…memories. Of us.” He gathered his courage. “I’ll be honest. Sitting here in your dining room, talking across the table like we used to, takes me back to good days. Remembering makes me both happy and a little sad. I wondered if you felt the same.”
She turned her face in the direction of the hallway, as if ascertaining no one was eavesdropping. “Those days were a long time ago, Gil.” She spoke so softly, he had to strain to hear her. “I remember them with fondness and…and…” She shifted in her chair and faced him. “You and I were different people then, so revisiting that time really isn’t beneficial, is it? In answer to your question, it will not be bothersome to me for you to spend the summer in Falke. I hope you’ll build new memories to carry with you when you return to New York.” She rose. “I should check on Mama. I’ll have Papa come out and bid you farewell.”
“Ava, I—”
“Have a pleasant evening, Gil.” Her shoulders stiff, she departed.
Ava
Ava hurried upthe hallway to Mama and Papa’s room, then leaned against the door, her pulse scampering. Such a fib she’d just told. Not bothersome to have Gil in Falke for the entire summer? Oh, it was bothersome. More than bothersome—it was terrifying. How could she see him, talk to him, and not remember what used to be? Not wonder what might have been? Not wish for what could never be?
She’d have to tell Papa her days of preparing treats for the band were done. Why should she continue if her father was no longer involved in the band? After all, she’d only brought them, as Papa had put it, to atone for his clumsy attempts at leadership. But Gil was a professional musician. If he took the position, her presence at the practices would only inspire speculation about her and Gil. People in this little town hadn’t forgotten how Gil courted her, asked for her hand, and then abandoned her for an exciting life in New York.
For months after his departure, she’d sensed their pity. But they’d finally moved on, accepting that Ava’s place was with her mama and papa. If she spent even a little bit of time with Gil, they’d wonder if the old spark had reignited. Then, when he left at the end of the summer, she’d have to endure the pitying looks and muttered “The poor girl…” all over again. No. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t!—put herself through it a second time.
She gave the door several brisk taps with her knuckles, turned the crystal knob, then poked her head inside the room.“Papa? Gil is leaving now. Would you like to tell him goodbye?”
“Indeed I would.” Papa rose from the chair near the bed and moved through the doorway with an eager stride. He handed Ava the saucer and fork on his way past.
Only crumbs remained on the flowered china plate. Had Mama eaten the tart? She should ask Mama if Papa had actually consumed it, but first she needed to tell Papa she wouldn’t make treats for the band while Gil was in charge.
She trailed him up the hallway. “Papa? I—”
Gil stepped out of the dining room. Papa bustled to him. “So you are leaving us, hmm?”
Ava cringed at his question. Odd how such a simple query, stated in such a cheery tone, created such a mighty ache in the center of her heart.
“Yes, sir.” Gil put out his hand and Papa grasped it. “Thank you for inviting me to supper. I enjoyed my time with you. And, Ava, thank you for suggesting I give music lessons to children in town. I will give the idea much thought.” He sent a quick, weak smile in Ava’s direction. After the warmth of his full attention only minutes ago, the half-hearted regard stung. “Onkel Bernard, concerning the band…if the men will have me, and you’re sure you don’t mind stepping aside, I’d enjoy directing them. Thank you for asking.”
Papa held Gil’s hand in both of his and beamed. “You’re welcome, my boy, and do not worry. The men will be even happier than I to have a real director leading them again.”
Ava interjected, “Papa, since you won’t be involved anymore, I don’t think I’ll—”
“In fact,” Papa went on, “with you in charge, I might be tempted to try playing an instrument myself. Especially if you decide to offer music lessons while you’re in town. Am I tooold to learn? Both Anton and Rupert played the trumpet, you know.” As it always did when he spoke of his deceased sons, Papa’s voice caught. “Do you think I could, perhaps, play in their honor?”
To Ava’s surprise, Gil leaned forward and embraced Papa. It was a masculine embrace—only one arm slung around Papa’s shoulders while continuing to hold his hand—but she recognized the deep emotion behind the gesture. His empathetic response to Papa’s request brought the prick of grateful tears.
“Jo, Onkel Bernard. I would be happy to teach you.”
The pair separated, and Papa gave Gil several pats on the shoulder, his eyes glistening. Then he turned to Ava with a sheepish look. “Forgive me. I interrupted you a moment ago. What were you going to say?”
Gil’s kindness in the face of Papa’s grief still warming her, she said without thinking, “I wondered if Gil had a preference about what treat I should bake for his first practice as leader of the Falke men’s band.”
Chapter Four
Joseph Baty
Someone was coming. And hewas whistling. Had to a be ahe. Whistling was considered an inappropriate pastime for a lady. Thehewas most likely his cousin, finally back from supper with Ava and her parents.
Joseph moved to a window and lifted the curtain aside. A tall figure topped by a bowler hat approached, a bounce in his step. As he’d suspected, Gil was the whistler. If he was whistling, he was happy. If he was happy, he’d had a good time at the Flamings’. And if he’d had a good time at the Flamings’, Joseph knew the reason why.
Ava.
Dropping the curtain into place, he growled under his breath. Why did Gil have to come back, anyway?
The door squeaked open and Gil stepped inside. He spotted Joseph, and his tune abruptly stopped. “Joseph. Good evening. I didn’t expect to see you out here.”
Joseph raised one eyebrow. “Why not? It’s where I live.”
