To Sing Another Day Page 6

  She swished away her tears with her fingertips. Her chin trembled. “I—I’ll try.”

  He knew what effort it took for her to make the concession. He squeezed her shoulders and then let his hands fall away. “It’s cold out here, and you need to get the youngsters on home. You ridin’ the trolley?”

  “We never ride the trolley.”

  Bernie understood. He reached into his pocket and withdrew two quarters. “Then take this—get a taxi cab.”

  She stared at the coins. “Oh, but...”

  He grasped her wrist and pressed the coins into her palm. “For me, Helen, so I don’t hafta worry about Lois catching a cold. Please?”

  With a deep sigh, she closed her fingers over the silver disks. “Thank you, Bernie. You’re a very kind man.” She gestured to the children, and they dashed to her side. Curling her arm around Lois’s shoulders, she offered Bernie a quavering smile. “Thank you for your prayers, Bernie. I promise, I’ll be listening for God’s voice.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Over the next week, Helen honored her promise to Bernie. As she cleaned hotel rooms, she kept her heart tuned to guidance concerning continuing the job or taking up singing in the opera company with Richard. While she saw to the children’s needs, she searched her mind’s eye for images of someone stepping in beside her to help her parent her siblings. When she lay in bed in night, she petitioned God to give her the peace and strength Bernie had mentioned. And, although her circumstances didn’t change, she discovered she slept more soundly and felt less burdened than she had before. Could that mean God was answering her prayers? Her heart fluttered with hope that maybe, just maybe, God was near.

  Richard began the habit of visiting each evening. He always brought gifts—frivolous items like lace handkerchiefs for Lois or chocolate bars for the boys. Helen tried to be grateful, but she wondered why he’d ceased leaving items they could really use, the way he’d done before. With each visit, she tried to envision him as a permanent fixture in their lives. He was willing to accept her and the children—he’d said so—but somehow she couldn’t get comfortable with the idea. So although he pressured her continually to set a wedding date—“And make it soon, darling,” he’d whispered into her ear—she hesitated. Only when she knew for certain Richard was the helpmate God wanted for her would she give her answer.

  Sunday morning, December seventh, bloomed like many other December days. Cold, crisp, with snowflakes dancing on a stout breeze. Helen held a steaming mug of coffee between her palms and looked out at the gray morning. Both Carl and Lois had the sniffles, so although she hated to skip church services, she chose to let them sleep. Henry was dressing, however, unwilling to miss attending church. He’d stated firmly he could go on his own.

  Her heart swelled, thinking of the fine young man her brother was becoming—responsible, caring, mature beyond his years. And much of the change she’d seen in the past months was the result of Bernie O’Day’s influence. Henry quoted Bernie, emulated Bernie, and respected him as a mentor. Henry didn’t have a father any more, but he had Bernie, and Bernie filled the hole their father’s passing had left in Henry’s boyish heart. What a kind, good man is Bernie O’Day. A flutter in her chest accompanied the thought.

  “Sis?” Henry bustled into the room, interrupting Helen’s musing. “Want me to stop at that hamburger stand and pick up some burgers for our dinner? They’ll be yesterday’s leftovers, so only a nickel a piece.”

  Both Lois and Carl loved the greasy sandwiches with ground beef and grilled onions. They might be enticed to eat if offered such a treat. Although Helen had little money to spare, she retrieved her purse and gave Henry two dimes to purchase burgers. Then, as if something—or Someone—encouraged her fingers, she plucked out one more dime and dropped it into Henry’s waiting palm. “Put that in the offering plate.”

  Henry beamed in approval. He dashed out the door, his knitted cap tugged low over his ears.

  The house quiet, Helen curled on the sofa with her coffee and her Bible. If she couldn’t attend service, she could at least read from God’s word. She flipped pages, scanning passages, and finally settled on one of the letters to the Corinthian churches. Nestled in the corner of the sofa, she read, content. When she reached the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, her reading slowed, her finger underlining the words describing God’s idea for love.

  Without conscious thought, she began to read aloud. “‘Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth...’” She closed the Bible, the final line replaying in her thoughts. Charity—love—never failed.

  An image of the engraved coin she’d sold to Bernie O’Day flashed before her mind’s eye. Slipping to her knees, she clasped her hands and offered a heartfelt prayer. “God, Bernie told me Your love never fails or forsakes. I want so much to believe You’ll always be there and You’ll meet the needs of my brothers, sister, and me. Bernie is praying for my strength to find You. I’m seeking You. Will You please make Yourself known to me? Make Yourself known to me in a way I cannot misunderstand, because I need You, God. I need You...” Her last sentence choked out on a sob.

  She pushed to her feet just as the front door burst open and Henry charged into the room. He dropped a grease-stained brown paper bag as he raced to her and took her hands in his icy grasp. “Helen! The burger man said there’s a rumor that Japan attacked the United States!”

  Chapter Nine

  In all of his twenty-eight years, Bernie had never kept a radio going day and night, but the events of December 7, 1941, changed that. For the next three days he hovered near the Philco, determined to stay abreast of the latest developments concerning the United States’ involvement in the war that, up ’til now, had seemed distant.

  When Henry arrived after school, he too drifted to the radio frequently, and more than once Bernie overheard the boy mutter, “Soon as I’m old enough, I’m puttin’ on a uniform and going to battle. Won’t let nobody attack my country and get away with it!” Bernie admired Henry’s determination, but at the same time, his heart quaked. He prayed the war would be over long before Henry reached his eighteenth birthday. At the same time, a desire to do as Henry stated—don a uniform and march in defense of America—continually played at the fringes of his mind.

  Posters of a bearded, serious looking man dubbed Uncle Sam with his finger extended and the words “I Want You!” appeared in windows all over town. Banners claiming the Army’s need for fighters hung from lamp posts. Everywhere Bernie went, the tug followed him, and by mid-December, he’d made a decision. After Christmas he’d close the shop, visit the Army Recruitment office, and sign up to defend his country.

  He had only one concern. What would Helen do without the income Henry earned? He added another prayer to his list of daily petitions. Lord, help me find a way to ascertain the Wolfe family won’t go hungry. Even if I’m not here, meet their needs, my Father.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What are you saying, Richard?” Helen stared at the man, disbelief raising her voice several decibels.

  “It isn’t difficult to understand,” Richard retorted, his eyebrows fixed in a supercilious angle. “With the U.S. focus on that European skirmish, people will lose their interest in attending operatic performances. We have no choice but to move the Opera Company into Canada.”

  “But...but I can’t move to Canada!” Helen held her hands outward, indicating the simple yet homey parlor in which they sat together on her parents’ sofa. “This is my home.”

  Richard huffed out a breath, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket. “Then stay. Honestly, Helen, you can be so stubborn.”

  Helen reared back, her pulse thudding so hard she felt as though a bass drum beat in her head. A snippet from her re
ading in First Corinthians whispered through her heart—Charity... seeketh not her own. Richard claimed to love her, yet he was willing to walk away from her to pursue his own interests. Again.

  She jolted upright and marched several feet away. Aware of her brothers and sister studying in their bedrooms, she deliberately kept her voice low although every part of her wished to rail at him in righteous indignation. “Richard, why did you bother to come back? You haven’t changed. All you really care about is seeing to your own selfish desires.”

  He glowered at her. “What about you—insisting on holding onto this little house and wasting your life taking care of a bunch of kids that aren’t even yours? You aren’t concerned about me and what I want or need. We had plans, you and me, and you threw them all away!”

  “If you truly loved me, you’d understand how much Henry, Carl, and Lois mean to me. You’d never ask me to discard them.”

  Richard rose and advanced at her, his lips curled in contempt. “I thought a year of separation would be enough to bring you to your senses—to make you see what a fool you’d been. But apparently I was wrong.” He tossed his head, releasing a derisive snort. “Well, I’m going on to Canada where I will continue to build my career. And by the time the war ends, my name will be up in lights. But what of you, Helen? What will you have achieved?”

  Helen shook her head slowly, silently berating herself. How could she ever have desired this man’s presence in her life? He was right when he’d called her a fool, but he’d chosen the wrong reason to accuse her of foolishness. Now that she recognized the truth, she was more certain than ever that she did not want a future with Richard. Not even for the financial security he could provide.

  She spoke softly, her voice quavering with conviction. “I love singing—I always have and I always will—but I love my brothers and sister more.” Peace swept through her, assuring her she’d made the right choice. “Someday, Richard, God will give me the chance to sing again. But not for myself. When I sing again, it will be for Him.”

  Another snort blasted from Richard’s sneering lips. “That won’t bring much fame and fortune, my naive little Helen, but who am I to stand in your way?” He buttoned his jacket and headed for the door.

  Helen called after him, “Before you go...”

  He turned back, his expression impatient.

  She drew in a breath, gathering the strength needed to set aside her pride and utter the thank-you so she’d owe him nothing. “I appreciate the boxes of food and the other items you left. They helped us a great deal.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Helen, I don’t have the foggiest notion about any boxes. I didn’t leave anything here.”

  “Y-you didn’t?”

  “No.” He wrenched the doorknob. “Good-bye, this time for good.” He stepped out, slamming the door into its frame behind him.

  Helen stood in the middle of the room, confusion coiling through her middle. If he hadn’t left the boxes, then who had?

  “Sis?” Henry’s voice sounded from the hallway. Helen turned and spotted her brother half hidden in shadows. He held the brown corduroy jacket he’d been given. “I’ve got a loose button on the pocket. Can you fix it?”

  Helen stared at the jacket. Comprehension tickled the far corners of her mind. Could it be...? Hopefulness tried to rise in her chest, but she refused to allow it free rein. She’d made a grave error in assuming Richard was the mysterious gift-giver. She wouldn’t jump to another conclusion. She needed solid proof.

  She held out her hands. “Give me the jacket, and I’ll stitch that button on securely for you.” As Henry placed the warm coat in her hands, she smiled. “Come sit beside me while I stitch. I need to talk with you about something important.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Bernie rose from his knees in prayer. His knees and shoulders ached—he’d remained on the wood-planked floor of his bedroom, hunched over the edge of the bed, for nearly an hour—but he smiled in satisfaction. God had answered his prayers in bigger ways than he could have imagined. The plan was perfect. If only Helen agrees. He winged up one more petition for God to move in Helen’s heart as effectively as He’d moved in his own so they could be in one accord.

  He headed down the darkened stairway to the lower level of the building. He tugged the overhead string dangling from the single lightbulb just inside the shop. Light flooded the room. For several minutes, Bernie stood in the glow and examined the shop, allowing memories to creep from every corner. He’d lived his entire life in the upstairs of this shop. He’d worked side by side with his father, learning the trade, earning an honest living. He loved this shop—loved serving people. How it had pained him to think of it closing. And now it wouldn’t have to.

  Thank You, God. Thank You.

  Gratitude warming him, he moved to the store room and rummaged around for a suitably sized box. He had one more task to complete before marching into war. One final gift for Helen and her siblings. Then he could leave, secure that she—and his shop—would be just fine.

  ~ ~ ~

  As the calendar inched toward Christmas, Bernie took advantage of every minute to prepare for his time away. In the past, he’d only given Henry clean-up and organization chores. Now he taught the boy every aspect of running the pawn shop. He drilled Henry on the value of items so he could offer a fair exchange without losing money on the transaction. He taught him how to keep the meticulous records and to make out tickets as well as how to rotate stock on the shelves so his regular customers wouldn’t miss any new arrivals.

  Henry soaked up the information, never questioning an instruction. Instead, he listened attentively and applied the lessons, proving his trustworthiness. Yes, Bernie had made the right decision.

  During the evening hours, Bernie accumulated items for one last, special delivery to the Wolfe family. Clothing in sizes he hoped were appropriate for Lois, Carl, and Henry. Bolts of fabric so Helen could sew suits and dresses. Canned goods and bags of beans, flour, and sugar. Necessities—those things needed for survival. Satisfied with his choices, he turned his attention to things intended to bring pleasure.

  For Henry, he selected a set of Encyclopedias Britannica—the 11th edition, published in 1911—but still very serviceable and containing information perfect for a studious young man like Henry. He chuckled as he wrapped a Little Slugger baseball bat, mitt, catcher’s mask, and chest gear for Carl. He wished he could be a fly on the wall when Carl spotted the signature in the mitt’s pocket—Jumbo Brown, pitcher for the Giants in 1940. A baseball fan like Carl would take excellent care of the mitt—Bernie just knew it.

  The biggest gift—too big to wrap—lurked in the corner beneath a moth-eaten white sheet. Bernie’d had to promise the produce stand owner a silver dollar to borrow his horse and cart to deliver the clavichord, but it would be worth it to please Lois. The old clavichord wasn’t a piano, but it was pretty with its elaborate paintings of flowers and vines, and it would take up less space in their parlor. He needed to find someone willing to give the little girl lessons, but he had a few more days to work out that detail.

  Helen’s gift was the smallest. It fit perfectly in a foil-covered box with a hinged lid. And he knew the item nestled in the velvet interior would deliver a message directly from his heart to hers. His fingers trembled as he tied a bright red bow around the box. Only two more days, and he’d make one more trip in the darkness of night to leave gifts on the Wolfe family’s porch. Then, on Christmas evening, he’d visit to share his plans. And after that, he’d leave.

  Pain stabbed. It would be hard to leave them, but it was the right thing to do. His country needed him. And he was leaving his shop in good hands. God would carry them through. Bernie had no doubt.

  Chapter Ten

  Lois and Carl awakened Helen early Christmas morning, bouncing on the bed and squealing for her to get up now! Although Helen would have considered it a gift to sleep in a bit on her one day off, she stifled a groan, tugged on her robe, and allowed the rowdy pair to drag her to t
he parlor where they’d decorated the tree the evening before. Their cries of delight at the sight of the packages she’d tucked beneath the sagging branches of the little tree chased away the vestiges of sleepiness, and she instructed Carl to fetch Henry so they could open their gifts.

  Although the presents were simple and mostly practical, the children raved anyway, pleasing Helen. How proud Mom and Dad would be of them—so unspoiled, so unselfish. Despite her misgivings and stumbles, they were growing up just fine. She whisked a prayer heavenward in gratitude to God for working in their hearts even when she’d wished to refuse His presence.

  Henry bestowed Helen with a package marked “To Helen from all of us,” and Helen pretended great surprise before removing the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside, she found a neat stack of yellowed music sheets—hymns and ballads and even a couple of haunting spirituals. The desire to burst into song exploded through her chest as she fingered the music. Someday, God, I know You’ll let me use my voice again. She thanked her siblings enthusiastically, giving each of them a heartfelt hug, and then they trooped to the kitchen for a Christmas breakfast of pancakes with globs of strawberry jam.

  When they’d finished, Helen shot an impish grin around the table. “All right, are we ready to deliver our Christmas surprise?”

  Carl and Lois cheered, and Henry pushed away from the table. “Let’s go!”

  “Dress warmly,” Helen admonished as the trio raced for their bedrooms. She followed, trying to imagine Bernie O’Day’s face when they showed up outside his shop. Over the past two weeks, they’d practiced Christmas carols in three-part harmony, with Henry singing baritone in his newly discovered man’s voice, Carl and Lois sharing the alto line, and Helen carrying the melody. Although they had no other gift for Bernie, she was certain he would accept their offering with much appreciation. His kindness knew no bounds.