To Sing Another Day Page 5

  Bernie sent her a serious look. “I’d like to see him quit working for me and go on to college. He’s a bright boy. He oughtta aim higher than being the helper in a pawn shop.”

  Although he’d paid her brother a compliment, his words stung. Mom and Dad had wanted college for Henry. But how would she provide it? Forcing a laugh to hide the hurt his comment had inflicted, Helen turned toward the kitchen. “Well, if Henry’s to attend college, my gift-elf will need to leave more than school supplies and woolen socks on the porch. We’ll need a bag of gold.”

  Bernie scurried after her. “Your gift-elf?” Humor and interest tinged his tone.

  Helen placed the dirty dishes on the counter then faced her guest. “Have you ever heard the story about the elves and the shoemaker?”

  Bernie nodded.

  “Apparently we have our own version. Someone...” It had to be Richard, trying to butter her up. Helen’s stomach churned. “...has left items on our porch once or twice a week for the past couple months. It reminds me of the little elves seeing to the needs of the shoemaker when he isn’t looking.”

  A smile twitched on Bernie’s clean-shaven cheeks. He smelled of bay rum, too. He must’ve cleaned up and shaved right before coming over to look so fresh. Helen hurried to the dining room before temptation to ran her fingers along his smooth cheek overcame her.

  He followed. “That story always reminded me of a Bible story—the one about a pitcher of oil that never ran dry. God made sure the widow and her son’s needs were met.”

  Helen paused in gathering the dessert plates. She shifted slowly to look at Bernie. His open, honest gaze met hers. “Do you really believe God meets our needs?”

  Without so much as a moment’s hesitation, Bernie nodded emphatically. “I believe that with all my heart. He might not meet them the way we think He ought to do it, but He gives us exactly what we need.”

  The past months of worry, frustration, and heartache rose up in one mighty tidal wave of emotion and spilled from Helen’s mouth before she could stop it. “What I need most is a helpmate, and if God puts him on my front porch, maybe I’ll finally believe He really does care about me.”

  Bernie stared at her, open-mouthed and red-faced. Embarrassed, Helen spun away from him. She reached for the last dessert plate, but as her fingers closed around it, a loud knocking sounded on the front door. “Excuse me,” she muttered and bustled through the parlor.

  The knocking came again—harsh and impatient. Helen called, “I’m coming!” She threw open the door then stumbled backward in shock.

  Richard Mason swept his hat from his head and gave a dapper bow. “Happy Thanksgiving, Helen!” His gaze roved from her head to her toes and up again. A knowing grin climbed his cheek. “You’re just as pretty as you always were.” He held out his arms. “How about a hug, honey?”

  Chapter Seven

  Bernie strode around the corner from the dining room in time to see a well-dressed young man with a dark mustache step into the house and wrap his arms around Helen. Helen stood within the circle of his embrace with her arms dangling, as if she’d suddenly turned into a giant rag doll. The clatter of footsteps intruded as Henry, Carl, and Lois thundered into the room. The man released Helen and turned his broad grin on the children.

  “Well, lookit here, if it ain’t the whole gang! How you doin’, Hank? Looks like you’ve grown a foot since I saw you last.” He punched Henry’s shoulder then whirled on the younger two. “Carl! Little Lois!” He rubbed his hand over Carl’s head, further tousling the boy’s unruly hair, then swooped Lois in the air. The moment he released her, she scooted behind Henry. The three stared at the man, unsmiling. But his wide smile never dimmed. “Good to see you all.” Finally his gaze found Bernie, and a scowl quickly marred his brow. He pointed. “Who’s that?”

  Henry answered. “My boss, Bernie O’Day. We invited him for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  The man’s lips formed a smile, but his eyes remained narrowed slits of distrust. “That so? Well, nice to meet you, Mr. O’Day. I’m Richard Mason, Helen’s fiance.”

  Helen delicately cleared her throat. “My former fiance.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Children, would you please finish clearing the table for me?” She raised her brows at the trio, and they trooped past Bernie. Still holding her arms in the defensive position, Helen faced Richard Mason. “Richard, I wondered when you’d finally show your face.”

  From her tone, Bernie couldn’t determine whether she was pleased, apprehensive, or controlling herself for his sake. He knew he should leave—he had no place here—but his feet seemed mired in concrete.

  Richard tossed his hat onto the sofa and leaned his shoulder on the doorjamb, his easy smile pinned directly on Helen’s face. “Aw, you know how busy stage life can be, doll. Hardly a minute to spare. But I couldn’t let the holiday go by without at least popping in and saying hello.”

  Helen inched backward, her fingers holding tight to her elbows. “Well, I suppose I should thank you for the gifts you left on the porch.”

  Mason smoothed his finger over his mustache. “Gifts?”

  Helen’s curls bounced with her nod. “I know they’re from you. Who else could have known that spiced peaches are Lois’s favorite, or that Carl loves baseball cards?”

  Bernie nearly bit through the end of his tongue, trying to hold back the truth. Helen needed to hear it from Mason rather than him. He waited for Mason to admit he had no idea about the gifts.

  Mason cleared his throat, his head ducked low as if modesty held him captive. “Yes, well, spiced peaches are a delightful treat. And of course what boy doesn’t like baseball cards, hm?”

  Bernie found the ability to move. He stormed forward, his elbow brushing against Mason’s sleeve as he went. “Thanks again for the invitation to dinner, Miss Wolfe. I enjoyed my time with your family.” Aware of Mason’s steely glare on him, he paused long enough to give Helen a soft smile. “You and children enjoy the rest of the holiday. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon.” Without waiting for a response, he charged out of the house and down the street, his strides wide and arms pumping.

  He was halfway home before his chilly ears reminded him he’d left his hat behind. With a disgruntled huff, he slowed his pace. Should he go back and get it? Part of him itched to turn around. To check on Helen and make sure that weasel Mason—because he was certain the man was a weasel—was behaving himself. But in the end he let out a sigh of resignation. His breath formed a cloud of condensation in the evening dusk then dissipated. Watching the puff disappear, Bernie wished he could make his feelings for Miss Helen Wolfe float away so easily. It hurt more than he cared to admit to think of her taking up with Richard Mason again. Especially if what Henry said was true and the man callously tossed her aside when she gave up her dream of singing in lieu of caring for her siblings. A woman who acted so unselfishly deserved a man who would cherish her.

  Lord, what’s Your will for Helen...and me? The prayer whispered from his heart. I want to show her Your love in action, but would it be all right if I let her see my love in action, too? Can I be the helpmeet she’s seeking?

  Bernie didn’t receive an answer, but he felt better having asked the question. In time, God would answer. He trusted his Father to lead him when the time was right. He set his feet in motion again, determined to leave Helen and her needs in God’s hands, where they belonged.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sunday morning as Helen dressed for church, her thoughts drifted back to Thanksgiving day. Bernie’s prayer and the emotions it had stirred contrasted with the surprise of the visit from Richard. He’d stayed well past bedtime and had apologized repeatedly for his hasty exit from her life. She still wasn’t completely sure she wanted him back—not in the way he wanted to be back—but she couldn’t honestly say she was ready to permanently sever her ties with him. They’d known each other since they were youngsters, and they shared a common goal of singing on the stage. Surely they’d be able to build a life together if only
she could learn to trust him not to abandon her again.

  Carl’s and Henry’s voices drifted to her ears—fighting over first turn for the washroom. She should go break up the argument before it turned into fisticuffs, but she stood behind Lois at the mirror and shaped her sister’s naturally curly hair into fat rolls instead. While brushing, she idly asked, “Lois, would you like it if Richard moved in here with us and became part of our family?”

  “Richard?” Lois wrinkled her nose at her reflection. “He’s a dandy.”

  Helen snorted out a laugh. “Where did you learn a word like that?”

  “From Henry. He called Richard a dandy, and I think Henry’s right. Richard smiles funny—like he doesn’t really mean it—and he’s afraid to get his hands dirty. He wouldn’t even help you with the dishes the other night. He laughs too loud, and sometimes he laughs when you don’t mean to be funny, which I think is mean.”

  Helen supposed she should scold Lois for speaking ill of Richard. But she couldn’t make herself condemn her sister for her honesty. The things Lois mentioned were things that bothered Helen, too, yet Richard also had good qualities. He was very talented and already had a good paying job with the opera company as their lead singer. He’d claimed he could easily get her hired into the troupe, as well, allowing her to live out her long-held dreams. When she’d asked about the children, he’d said, somewhat disparagingly, “Well, this isn’t a traveling troupe, doll.” She took his comment to infer she’d be available to them.

  Lois stepped away from the hairbrush and sucked in a big breath. “None of us are very fond of Richard, Helen. He’s hardly the cat’s meow.”

  Helen clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

  Her hand on her hip, Lois tossed her head. “But if you like him, then...” She flounced out of the room in a perfect Mae West imitation.

  Helen sank onto the edge of the bed, shaking her head. She’d have to forbid Carl from taking Lois to the picture show if her sister was going to pick up such habits. But she had to admit, Lois’s antics were amusing. And her depiction of Richard far too accurate. Helen sighed. She wished her parents were there to advise her concerning making a commitment to Richard. Without warning, her mother’s voice echoed through her memory: You should pray before making any decision, Helen, and ask for God’s guidance.

  Helen whispered, “But I don’t pray anymore.” She waited, her head tipped, expectant and hopeful. But her mother’s voice didn’t return. With another sigh, she pushed off from the bed and retrieved her black pumps from the closet. She’d be late getting the children to church if she didn’t hurry.

  As she buttered slices of toast for a simple breakfast, another thought crossed her mind, carried with the remembrance of Bernie’s easy prayer at their Thanksgiving table. Helen no longer prayed, but Bernie did. And Bernie obviously cared about Henry’s future, which meant he’d want the best for her brother. If she asked Bernie to seek God’s guidance about allowing Richard back into their lives, she had no doubt he’d do it.

  Helen desperately needed answers. She could send a message with Henry tomorrow to give to Bernie, and he’d probably send a reply on Tuesday. But she really wanted him to begin praying now. She needed financial help now. She needed an emotional helpmate in her life now. She didn’t want to prolong seeking an answer.

  Setting aside the butter knife, she dashed to the hallway and called, “Henry?”

  Her brother poked his head out of the washroom. “What?”

  “Which church does Mr. O’Day attend?”

  “The big brick one on the corner of Fourth and Applewood.”

  Helen nearly groaned. The church was huge! How would they locate Bernie in that massive sanctuary? She tapped her chin, thinking. If they sat in the back, they could scoot out the doors quickly at the end and watch every parishioner leaving. If they were lucky, they’d spot Bernie in the crowd.

  “Everyone, hurry now,” she ordered, clapping her hands to emphasize her words. “We’re going to Mr. O’Day’s church this morning, and it’s quite a walk.” The distance to his church was much greater than to their own little chapel, so she’d need to bundle Lois well and make sure she kept her scarf over her nose and mouth.

  For a moment she hesitated, uncertainty holding her captive. Was she doing the right thing, taking her siblings to meet Bernie O’Day and placing such an important issue in his hands? And why did she trust him with her dilemma? She hadn’t a clue. She only knew, for the first time in a long time, she believed she’d found someone who wouldn’t let her down.

  “Please let my trust in this man not be misguided,” she mumbled as she hurried back to the kitchen to pour juice. But she told herself the plea wasn’t a prayer.

  Chapter Eight

  Bernie rose after the closing benediction and turned toward the aisle. His heart felt burdened by the minister’s impassioned plea for the parishioners to pray for the people in Europe caught up in war. Here in his cocoon of security, Bernie admitted to giving little thought to the horror raging overseas. While he moved toward the double doors leading to the street, a man brushed against him, nearly knocking his Bible from his grip.

  “Sorry about that,” the man said.

  Bernie grinned. “No problem.” He slipped the Bible into his jacket’s pocket and glanced around. “Crowded today—hard to walk without bumpin’ each other.”

  The man nodded. “Holiday Sundays always bring in a lot of visitors.”

  Bernie agreed. He wished those who flooded the pews at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter would make church attendance an every-Sunday event. He couldn’t imagine getting through the week without the nourishment his soul received each Lord’s day. As he stepped from the warmth of the sanctuary into a blustery Sunday noon, his gaze roved across the small groups of people chatting together. Although he glimpsed many cheerful faces, he also noted somber ones. He passed between groups, overhearing snatches of conversation, and realized many of the sober expressions accompanied comments about the war. Bernie blew out a little breath of relief. Apparently he wouldn’t be the only one praying for peace in Europe.

  He stepped from the crowds and turned his feet toward home, but then a female voice—a familiar female voice—called his name and stopped him in his tracks. He whirled around to see Helen, with the younger Wolfe siblings on her heels, scurrying toward him. She wore the same blue suit she’d worn on Thanksgiving day, but a cream-colored hat with blue feathers and red beads sat at a jaunty angle over her curls. Bernie gulped. Had any woman ever been as appealing as Helen Wolfe?

  She reached his side, and the fervency in her blue eyes nearly stilled his heart. “Oh, Bernie, thank goodness we caught you.”

  Bernie whisked a glance over each of their faces. Rosy cheeks and bright red noses let him know they’d waited in the cold for quite a while. “Is something wrong?”

  “I needed to speak with you.” She curled her hand through his elbow and turned to her brothers and sister. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a minute.” Then she guided Bernie a few feet away, to the curb, where she released his arm and clasped her gloved hands in front of her. “Bernie, you’re a praying man, and I need to ask you a favor.”

  Bernie’s heart swelled. She’d just paid him the biggest compliment ever. Whatever favor she needed, he was ready.

  “Remember Richard Mason? He came over Thanksgiving evening as you were leaving.”

  Bernie stifled a growl. He gave a brusque nod.

  “Well...” Suddenly Helen turned shy, angling her gaze away from him. “He’s asked to begin seeing me again—courting me. But I’m very confused about whether or not to allow it. You see, he...he...” She didn’t directly meet his gaze, but her eyes fluttered in his direction. “He broke off our engagement when I refused to send Henry, Carl, and Lois to an orphans’ home. He didn’t want the responsibility of seeing to their needs.”

  “Is that so?” Bernie tried to rein in his contempt for a man who’d ask Helen to cast aside her
siblings, but when she blanched he knew he’d failed.

  “But he must have changed his mind,” she hurried on, once again looking off to the side, “because he’s back, and he’s been very kind to the children. So I was wondering if, maybe...” Very slowly, she turned her face to look fully into his eyes. “Would you please pray for me to know what to do? I desperately need someone to help me support the family. If I were to marry Richard, our financial problems would be solved. He’s well-established with the opera company and he says if we’re married, he’ll secure a spot for me, too. The salary would far exceed what I make now as a hotel maid.” Her words tumbled out faster and faster, her breath forming little clouds of condensation that drifted beneath Bernie’s chin. “The children deserve security, Bernie, but I want to make the right decision. Will you pray for me?”

  Bernie lifted his hands to cup her shoulders. Her tight muscles beneath the fabric of the blue suit spoke of her inner turmoil. How he wished to draw her into his embrace, to offer her comfort. But she’d only asked for prayer. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed before speaking. “I already pray for you, Helen. Every day I pray for you, and for Henry, Carl, and Lois.”

  She blinked up at him, her pink-painted lips slightly open. “Y-you do?” Tears flooded her eyes, deepening the blue irises.

  “God put you on my heart, and I’ve been praying for Him to give you peace and strength.”

  One tear broke free of its perch on her thick lashes and rolled down her cheek. Gratitude glowed from her eyes.

  “So now I’ll pray for God to make clear to you what you’re to do. But, Helen?” He paused, uncertainty making his pulse pound. “Be careful. Don’t be looking for a man to meet your needs. Men’ll let you down. They can’t help it—they’re human and they fail. But God? He can’t forsake you. It’s not in His nature. So lean on Him before anything or anyone else. Trust Him to meet your needs. Will you do that?”