To Sing Another Day Page 3

  Almost feeling like a burglar, she creaked the doorknob and stepped into the room. A musty odor tickled her nose. Sheets covered the bed and bureau, protecting the furniture from accumulated dust, but she stirred dust with her feet as she crossed the wood floor to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. She closed her eyes, allowing memories to surface. The first one to rise from the dark corners of her mind was a Sunday morning memory—Mom and Dad in their church clothes, Bibles held in the crook of their arms, leading her and the children down a sunshine-splashed sidewalk toward the chapel.

  Helen tried to push the memory aside to focus on something else, but it persisted. The memory collided with her dream, and Henry’s comments at supper last night rang through her mind: Mr. O’Day says God can make what’s left over meet all our needs when we bless Him with our tithe. And she finally understood why the dream and memory were so closely intertwined. They both pertained to God.

  Longing filled Helen’s breast—a longing to return to the carefree days when she truly believed God cared about her, heard her prayers, and met her needs. Mom and Dad believed it, and they’d taught her to believe it. But first Mom and Dad died from injuries in the awful trolley accident, and Richard said he didn’t want to be responsible for three snotnose kids and deserted her when she needed him most, and then Lois fell ill and came so close to slipping away. And somehow in the midst of all that heartache, Helen lost her belief in a caring God.

  But Bernie O’Day believed in Him and now encouraged Henry to believe. Would Henry one day suffer the same deep disappointment that plagued Helen by placing his trust in a God who kept His distance? She couldn’t allow that to happen. As much as they needed the money Henry made at the O’Day Pawn Shop, she’d have to tell Henry to stay away from there if Bernie was going to fill his head with unrealistic notions.

  A scuffling sound in the hallway intruded in her thoughts, and moments later Henry poked his head in the room. He scowled across the shadows at Helen. “What’re you doin’ in here?” He stayed in the hallway, not even the loose toes of his socks crossing the threshold.

  “Thinking.” Helen pushed off from the bed, the creak of the springs discordant in the quiet morning hour. She stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her and sealing away her parents’ room the way she wanted to seal away the troubling thoughts that plagued her. “Henry, when you go to work today, I want you to turn in your notice.”

  Henry gawked at her. “What? But why?”

  “We’re caught up on bills now.” Her conscience pricked. They weren’t caught up, but the more time Henry spent with Bernie O’Day, the greater the chances for his heart to be broken. “We don’t need the money.”

  “Oh yes, we do.” Henry folded his arms over his chest. He’d grown so tall in the past year—he now peered down his nose at his older sister. “And I’m not quitting.”

  “Henry...”

  “No, Helen. It’s a good job, and I can still go to school, just like you wanted.” Henry inched backward toward his bedroom. “Both of us working is better than only one of us, and I’m going to do my part to take care of the family. I’m keeping my job.” He stepped into the bedroom and clicked the door closed behind him.

  Helen stared at the closed door, her heart pounding. Should she go after him, insist on him quitting? Dad wouldn’t have allowed Henry’s backtalk, but she wasn’t Dad and she had no real authority over Henry even if she was responsible for him. She buried her face in her hands, the longing rising to have someone else to help her with her brothers and sister. Someone on whom she could depend. She wished she could still rely on God.

  Lifting her face, she pressed her fists to her hips and scowled at the ceiling. She had no help anymore—not from her parents, from Richard, or from God—and she’d manage. If Henry wouldn’t quit that job, then she’d just have to make sure his boss understood what he could and couldn’t say to Henry. On her way home from work today, she’d stop by the O’Day Pawn Shop and have a firm talk with Bernie O’Day.

  Chapter Four

  Tired, footsore, and frustrated by her nearly empty pocket, Helen trudged down the street toward O’Day’s Pawn Shop. Cleaning hotel rooms wasn’t beneath her—it was honest work, and she was grateful to have been hired—but her dependence on guests leaving a few coins behind as a thank you for her service worried her. She never knew from week to week what she might be bringing home to pay bills. Even on a good week, the money barely stretched to cover their needs. And now Henry, thanks to Bernie O’Day’s prompting, wanted her to give some of her precious earnings to the church? The man obviously didn’t understand how much she needed the money she made.

  We also need the money Henry makes. The thought had plagued her all day as she planned exactly what she would say to Bernie O’Day. She wished so much she could say, “Henry doesn’t need a job, so please release him from your employment immediately.” But wishing didn’t change the facts. They did need Henry’s money. All of Henry’s money. So Mr. Bernie O’Day would simply have to understand he was Henry’s boss, not his preacher or father or even his friend. No more advice-giving.

  As she approached the shop, she saw the door open. and Henry stepped out. He waved, a smile on his face, and waited for her to reach him. “Hi, Helen. Good to see you. We can walk home together.”

  Helen shook her head. She didn’t want him overhearing this conversation. “Carl and Lois are already home. Would you go on so they aren’t alone?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. See ya later.” He trotted down the street. When he turned the corner at the end of the block, she hurried to the door, which now sported a CLOSED sign, and rapped on the glass.

  Moments later, Bernie O’Day appeared on the other side. A smile broke across his face when he spotted Helen, and he opened the door quickly. “Miss Wolfe! How good to see you. Please come in.”

  His cheerful greeting stung, considering the purpose of her visit. How she hated to see his bright smile fade. Just as she’d noted from her dreams, Bernie was a handsome man, with neatly combed sandy-colored hair and thick-lashed hazel eyes. If circumstances were different, she’d be drawn to him. But her intention was to push him away. Away from Henry, and consequently away from herself. She swallowed a lump of regret and forced herself to meet his friendly gaze.

  “Mr. O’Day, I must talk to you.”

  His smile faltered, but then he released a light chuckle. “From the sound of your voice, I’d say it’s serious. Should we have a seat?” He indicated a pair of cozy-looking rocking chairs nestled in the far corner of the store.

  Although her sore feet and tired body yearned for the comfort of one of those chairs, Helen shook her head. This wasn’t a social call, and she must remain brisk and impersonal. “I’ll only be here a short while. Mr. O’Day—”

  “Bernie, remember?”

  She pursed her lips. Would he stop being so kind? This task was growing more difficult with each second that ticked by. She cleared her throat. “Bernie, I’ve come to request that you do not speak about God with Henry. He holds a great deal of respect for you, and he likes you as well. Everything you say, he takes to heart. If you continue to speak of God, Henry could very well begin to accept your words as truth. And I know all too well that God is not the loving father my parents believed Him to be.”

  Sadness clouded Bernie’s hazel eyes, bringing a rush of sorrow through Helen’s frame. He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and set his head at a thoughtful angle. “Exactly how’d you come to the conclusion that God isn’t a loving father?”

  Helen nearly snorted. “A loving father gives good gifts. He doesn’t bestow hardship and trials on his children.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  Bernie’s genuine surprise took Helen by surprise. She blinked at him. “Well, of course he doesn’t!”

  Setting his feet widespread, hands still tucked in pockets, Bernie gazed at Helen with twinkling eyes and chuckled. A low-in-his-throat chuckle like distant thunder that sent a tremo
r of pleasure down Helen’s spine. “Miss Wolfe, when you were growin’ up, did your father ever find it necessary to bestow a little pain on your...er, sittin’-down place?”

  Heat flooded Helen’s cheeks. She looked sharply away. “I suspect most fathers inflict the occasional rod of discipline. Mine was no exception.”

  The chuckle rumbled again. “And did that make you think he didn’t love you?”

  She jerked her face around to meet his grin. “Of course not! If he didn’t love me, he’d let me grow up without any sense of right and wrong.”

  Bernie nodded wisely. “That’s exactly right. Your father—being the loving man he was—guided you with painful lessons every now and then, knowing there’d be a good result.” He shrugged slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “So why is it so hard to believe God wouldn’t do the same? Use painful lessons for a good result?”

  Helen couldn’t think of an answer. Which irritated her. She glared at Bernie.

  For long seconds they stood in silence, staring into one another’s eyes. Finally Bernie sighed. “I don’t wanna overstep any boundaries, Miss Wolfe. I like Henry. He’s a good boy, and I’d like to keep him employed here. But I can’t promise not to talk about God. You see, God and me...we’re pretty close. I can’t shut Him in a drawer and pretend He doesn’t exist when Henry’s around. So I’ll probably keep talking about Him.” He shrugged again. “I just can’t help myself, Miss Wolfe.”

  Helen suddenly realized she’d think less of him if he agreed to change. The recognition confused her. Her tongue refused to form a retort.

  Then Bernie confounded her even more. “Miss Wolfe, do you and your brothers and sister enjoy picnics in Central Park?”

  Immediately, memories swept through Helen’s mind of the many summer picnics she’d shared with her parents and siblings when she was a girl. She gulped. “Y-yes. Yes, we do.”

  “Would you care to join me for a picnic after church tomorrow? My treat. Nothin’ fancy—just sandwiches and fruit. Maybe a jug of sweet tea. But I’d like to get to know you and Carl and Lois after hearing Henry talk about you all so much.”

  Helen shook her head. “Tomorrow? But...it’s late October. Not summertime.”

  He used his chuckle again to disarm her. “There some rule says you can only have picnics in the summertime? I happen to think October’s a fine time for a picnic. No leaves to hide the blue sky from view. Nice crisp breeze drifting from the lake. And no flies.”

  Helen’s lips twitched, fighting a giggle.

  “We can spread a blanket on the bridge at the pond and toss bread scraps to the ducks. What do you say?”

  Deep regret pierced Helen. She lowered her head so he wouldn’t see the desire to join him glimmering in her eyes. “I’m afraid it’s out of the question. My sister, Lois, is still recovering from a very serious illness. She shouldn’t breathe in the cool air.” She flicked a gaze upward and caught a disappointed frown on his face. “I appreciate the invitation, though.” She did appreciate it. No wonder Henry liked his boss so much. Bernie O’Day was a very kind man.

  Flustered, Helen turned toward the door. “I need to get home. My brothers and sister expect me.”

  He reached past her and opened the door. “Thanks for stopping by, Miss Wolfe, and thanks for letting Henry work for me. He’s a fine boy, and you should be proud of him.”

  Helen scurried out the door without answering. Not until she was halfway to her bungalow did she realize she’d completed failed in what she’d set out to do. And to her chagrin, she discovered it really didn’t matter.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sunday morning, Lois pushed her barely touched bowl of oatmeal toward Helen and wrinkled her freckled nose. “This doesn’t taste right.”

  The milk had started to turn. Helen had hoped, mixed into the oatmeal with a tiny dash of cinnamon for flavoring, no one would notice. But the way Henry and Carl stirred their oatmeal rather than eating it, Helen knew she hadn’t managed to mask the slightly spoiled taste. Even so, they couldn’t waste food, so she assumed a brisk tone. “You’re probably just hungry for something else, so your tastebuds are feeling fussy.” She sent a nod around the table. “It’s all we’re having for breakfast, so eat up or you’ll be awfully hungry by lunchtime.” She scooped a bite and resolutely swallowed, ignoring the little tang on the back of her tongue.

  With sighs, her brothers and sister followed her example. Within minutes, the bowls were empty. Helen gathered the spoons and bowls. “Go dress in your Sunday clothes now. And bundle yourselves well. The wind howled all night, so it’s likely to be chilly this morning.”

  “Wonder if it rained, too.” Carl screeched his chair from the table and bounded toward the door. He swung it wide and stuck his head out, looking left and right. “Nope. It’s not wet, but—hey!”

  Helen’s hands stilled in their task at her brother’s excited exclamation. “What is it?”

  Carl darted onto the porch, letting the screen door slam behind him. Moments later, he clomped back inside with a large basket in his arms. “Look what I found on the porch!”

  Lois and Henry bustled forward to meet him, and Helen followed, curiosity filling her. She reached past Lois to lift the checked cloth covering several lumps within the basket. When she revealed the contents, she gasped.

  “Lookit all this!” Carl’s face glowed with wonder. “Sliced ham, deviled eggs, sweet and dill pickles...”

  Lois reached into the basket and withdrew a fat jar. She squealed. “Spiced peaches! My favorite!” She hugged the jar to her skinny chest, beaming.

  Henry pushed items around, continuing the recitation. “A whole loaf of bread, white cheese, two packets of cookies—looks like Snickerdoodles and oatmeal-raisin. Mmm.”

  Helen’s heart began to pound. Spiced peaches for Lois, Snickerdoodles for Carl, deviled eggs for Henry, and oatmeal-raisin cookies for her. All of their favorites were nestled in the basket, wrapped in wax paper and cushioned with checked napkins. Only one person besides Mom and Dad could have put this basket together with each of their favorite items. The person who’d often joined her family for summer picnics in year’s past. Richard...

  Dashing past her clustered siblings, who continued to gaze into the basket and ooh and aah in delight, she clattered onto the porch and searched the street. Her heart thudded almost painfully against her ribs. When she’d broken off their engagement, Richard had vowed to make her change her mind. An entire year had slipped by without any contact from him, and she’d given up hope of reconciliation. But now, this basket of treats both she and the children loved ignited a flame of emotion that couldn’t be quelled.

  She hugged herself, seeking any sign of Richard, both hopeful and apprehensive. Was he back? And more importantly, did she want him back?

  Chapter Five

  Bernie could hardly wait for Henry to arrive after school on Monday. It had taken some doing to gather the food items he recalled Henry mentioning as family favorites, but putting that basket together had brought more pleasure than anything he could remember in quite a while. After Helen had left his shop, he’d prayed for a way to show God’s caring to her. Feeding her physical body seemed a good place to start. Would she recognize the gesture as evidence of God wanting to meet her needs?

  Henry sent the bell above the door clanging at three forty-five, prompt as always, and darted directly for an apron and the broom. “Lots of leaves out front. I’ll get to sweeping, and when that’s all done, I’ll—”

  “Hold up.” Bernie caught Henry’s jacket sleeve. In the past weeks, Henry’d grown even taller, and at least three inches of his arms stuck out from the bottom of the sleeves. His current jacket wouldn’t last him through the winter. Bernie led Henry behind the counter then held up a brown corduroy jacket with a sturdy zipper and pockets that buttoned shut. “Can you make use of this?”

  Henry took the jacket and held it up in front of him.

  Bernie said, “It isn’t new. It’s a trade-in, but it looks to be your si
ze. If it fits, you can have it.”

  Henry removed his old jacket and slipped on the brown one. He wriggled his shoulders, as if testing the fit, then stuck his arms out. The cuffs reached halfway to his knobby knuckles. Bernie nodded in satisfaction, watching. Plenty of growing room remained, which was good since a boy of Henry’s age would probably keep adding to his height for a while yet. The heavy corduroy with its wool lining should keep Henry warm.

  “So what do you think? You like it?” Bernie examined Henry’s face, seeking signs of approval.

  Henry sighed, rubbing his hands up and down the chest of the jacket. “I like it plenty, Mr. O’Day, but I can’t keep it.” He removed it and offered it to Bernie.

  Bernie didn’t take it. “Why not?”

  “Helen’d have a fit.” Henry laid the jacket on the counter and stood gazing at it, longing on his face. “She’s got a lot of pride. Wants to take care of us herself. She’d feel like she’d failed if I brought this jacket home.”

  “Helen won’t let you accept a gift?” Bernie wondered what she’d done with that basket of food. He sure hoped she hadn’t tossed it out!

  “Well...” Henry scratched his head. “Don’t really know what she’d think if I called it a gift.” He looked at Bernie, his brow puckered. “Are you giving it to me outright, or am I earning it? ’Cause if I did something extra for you—something beyond what I usually do around here—then I could say I earned it.”

  “And then Helen would let you keep it?”

  Henry nodded.

  Bernie’s thoughts bounced around erratically. He’d wanted the jacket to be a gift—a sign of God meeting her family’s needs. But he didn’t want to insult Helen. That would distance her even more. Distancing her was the last thing he hoped to do. But only to draw her to God, of course. He nearly laughed. He wasn’t fooling himself any more than he could fool God. Sure, he wanted to draw Helen back to God, but he wanted to draw her to himself, too.