Dad threw an arm around my shoulders. And I hoped that was his way of saying, This time, Tommy, I won’t let you down.
Mrs. Scully was thrilled to see us. “How’s my favorite sewing project?” she cooed to Boots, who jumped up and licked her face, then sniffed around her kitchen, looking for sausages. His cut was healing well. The scar was still pink and raised, but I’d carefully snipped and pulled out the bits of thread a few days before and it hadn’t bled a bit.
After she petted Boots, Mrs. Scully made me go into the living room and put on Dad’s suit and stand on this big square box while she measured and tucked and pinned. “I’ll take the shoulders in and have those cuffs sewn up in no time,” she said.
“One more thing,” Dad said, clearing his throat. He pulled a green bundle out of a bag. “The dress you made for Catherine turned out to be a little too small. Could you take it out a bit?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Scully said, turning to me. “Tommy, why didn’t you tell me?!”
I blushed and shrugged.
Mrs. Scully had the suit alterations done by the next evening. And when she brought it over to our house, it fit perfectly. Before she left, Mrs. Scully turned her attention to Mrs. Glazov, who was just finishing the dishes.
“And you, Mrs. Glazov,” she said, “what are you going to wear?”
“Me?” Mrs. Glazov blushed. “Just one of my old dresses.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Scully. And she made Mrs. Glazov hold out her arms as she measured and made notes on a small pad of paper.
“But I have no money for new dress!” Mrs. Glazov protested.
“This is a concert to raise money for Mary Lou.” Mrs. Scully sniffed. “Now, I don’t have a lot of cash, but I do have an extra bolt of cloth in the basement. Please. Let me make sure you are well dressed.”
So Mrs. Glazov got a new dress as well, a black gown fit for an opera star. When Mrs. Scully brought it back the next week for a fitting, Mrs. Glazov wept as she put it on.
April sped by and pretty soon it was the twenty-first, the morning of the concert. Pa stopped me on the paper route. “Ma and I have something for you.” He handed me a small thin box and I carefully removed the top.
It was shiny black satin bow tie with bits of silver thread running through it.
“Thought you could wear it for the concert,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s much nicer than my old school tie.”
Pa smiled. “The chickens haven’t escaped once since you fixed their coop.”
“Good.”
“You’d better go,” he said. “It’s a busy day.”
“Yeah.” I turned to leave, then stopped. “Do you really think Mom is ready to come home?”
“Well, Tommy,” he said slowly, “I will continue to see your mother once a week. But I’ve taught her to take a deep breath when she’s upset. And to listen more. And I’ve asked her to accept help when it’s offered. I can’t offer you any guarantees, but I do think she’s changed. I think it’s worth a try.”
That evening, Mrs. Glazov and I were dressed to the nines. My suit was ironed and I’d polished my accordion until all the keys shone. Mrs. Glazov’s long black dress swooshed as she walked, and her hair was pulled back in an elegant bun and held in place with bobby pins. Mrs. Scully had even put some lipstick on her. She no longer looked faded and gray at all.
“Ready to go?” Dad asked.
I nodded, too nervous to speak.
Pinky ran into the room then, clutching something small in her hand. “Tommy, Tommy, you can’t forget this!”
It was the silver sheriff’s star from Mary Lou. I stood still as Dad pinned it to my lapel.
“Come on, cowboy,” said Mrs. Glazov. “Time to break leg.”
We all piled into the car. There was still a big dent in the front bumper from where Mom had plowed into the other car in the hospital parking lot, but our car ran fine. Luckily. There wasn’t any money to fix it.
When we got out in front of the Tivoli, the first thing I noticed was the marquee. It read: First Ever Concert of the Downers Grove Musical Society.
I turned to look at Mrs. Glazov. “Pretty neat.”
“Yes.” She grinned. “Last year, I spent all time in house. All alone. Now I part of music society!” She laughed. “Very glad you came to sell me magazine.”
“Me too.” I offered her my arm. She took it and we started to walk inside.
“Hey, Tommy!”
We turned and saw Eddie hurrying down the street. His blond hair stood up even messier than normal. “Dad didn’t want me to come,” he mumbled. “Said the Musical Society is just a bunch of communists. Mom wanted to see the concert, but they had a big fight and . . . I snuck out the back.”
Mrs. Glazov leaned over and gave Eddie a big hug. “We glad you’re here.” She picked up her accordion. “Tommy, I see you inside.”
As she walked off, Eddie pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. His eyes were a little red and I wondered if he’d been crying.
“Thanks, buddy, for coming,” I said.
Eddie stood up straighter. “What did you think? I’d miss seeing you make a fool of yourself?”
“Ha-ha,” I said. “Thanks for your support.”
He punched me in the arm.
“Watch it!” I cried. “That’s my bellows arm.”
We grinned at each other.
Mrs. Scully and a group of women in suits and fancy hats arrived next, talking a mile a minute. I figured they must be her League of Women Voters friends and I was pretty sure one of them was the lady who had wanted to buy Sam’s mimeograph machine. “Did you see Edward R. Murrow on See It Now last month?” she was saying.
“Oh yes,” replied the next. She lowered her voice to a gravelly growl. “‘We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. We must remember always that accusation is not proof. . . . We will not walk in fear, one of another!’”
Mrs. Scully laughed. “You sound just like him!”
The lady blushed. “Well, he sure put Senator McCarthy in his place.”
They all breezed into the lobby then, and I followed them inside. Mr. McKenzie had set up a huge buffet and was dressed in his usual suit and white apron.
“The sandwiches look delicious,” said one of the ladies.
“Sam’s Sandwich Shop is opening next week,” said Mr. McKenzie. “There’s an order form for your next party right here.” He handed them a mimeographed sheet.
Sam had borrowed an usher’s hat and one of the red coats with gold braid as well. He looked delighted as he showed person after person to his or her seat. It was a dollar to enter. Refreshments were a quarter.
I stood in the wings, waiting for my turn to go on. My hands were sweating so much, I kept drying them on my shirt. First, the trumpet player played a tune, then the old lady who always played the organ at church, and then the milkman, who was actually quite good on the clarinet. The guitar player and the flutist did a duet, and finally, one of the local piano teacher’s students pounded out “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Then it was our turn.
I followed Mrs. Glazov onto the stage. The lights were bright and shining and at first I couldn’t see a thing. She was talking into the microphone, but I couldn’t understand a word. Suddenly, I was afraid that she was speaking Russian, and that this was some weird communist trap after all. But everyone laughed at what she said, and then she came over to me and said, “A von, a two, a von, two, tree,” and we started playing “On Top of Old Smoky.”
And as soon as we started playing, I began to relax. My fingers knew what to do. By the time our first song was over, I was much calmer. Everyone clapped as Mrs. Glazov walked back over to the microphone.
“And now,” she said, “our very own Tommy Wilson will play ‘The Ballad of High Noon.’”
She looked over
at me and nodded. I took a deep breath and started to play.
The first few notes sounded small and weak. This was the theme song from High Noon, and it made me feel brave, if a little sad, every time I heard it. Mom liked it too. I pulled the bellows deeper and stronger, and the notes filled the theater like only an accordion can. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs. Glazov beaming at me from the wings of the stage. Mrs. Scully sat in one corner of the auditorium, the league ladies surrounding her. Pa and Ma were in another, swaying gently in time to the music. Sam and Mr. McKenzie and Eddie and the choirboys were down front. Officer Russo sat next to them. Sister Ann and some of the other nuns were in the middle. Even the friends Mom had insulted, the Starrs and the Colvins, were there, as well as most of the girls from my class, including Lizzie Johnson. I couldn’t believe how many people had shown up.
And my family. Dad and Pinky were in the very first row. Next to them was my mother. She was wearing the green dress we’d given her for Christmas. It fit perfectly now and I couldn’t even see where Mrs. Scully had made her adjustments. Next to Mom was Mary Lou. One of the nurses had offered to drive her. In fact, there were a whole bunch of nurses from the hospital, and even a couple of doctors too, all sitting in the row behind my parents.
Mary Lou smiled at me, pointed to the pin on my lapel and winked. And then I didn’t have to think about playing anymore. My fingers just flew over the keys. As I started into the very last verse, I noticed my father mouthing the words to the song.
“Do not forsake me, oh my darlin’
Although you’re grieving, don’t think of leaving
Now that I need you by my side.”
I finished the song with a flourish. There was a second of silence in the theater. And for a horrible moment, I thought they hadn’t liked it, that I’d somehow messed up without knowing it.
Then there was applause.
47
AFTER THE MUSIC
After the concert, I stood in the lobby, looking back in at the theater. Not quite believing that I’d done it. That I’d managed to play and perform and do a good job in front of all those people. I felt a tap on my shoulder.
It was Mary Lou. She was standing. Leaning on a cane, sure, but standing. A nurse waited patiently a few feet away.
“You did a great job,” Mary Lou said, smiling.
“It wasn’t just me,” I said. “Lots of people—”
“No, Tommy,” Mary Lou said. “It was mainly you.”
My ears itched and my cheeks felt hot.
“You’re blushing,” Mary Lou teased.
“No, I’m not.”
“Anyway,” Mary Lou said, “I just saw Sister Ann and she said I should be able to finish the eighth grade with my class after all and go on to high school next year.” She said “high school” like it was the World Series.
“That’s great.”
“’Course, I need to get out of the hospital first. The doctors said maybe in another month.”
“A month’s not too long,” I said.
“No,” Mary Lou said, “it’s not.”
The nurse came up and gently touched her arm.
“We have to leave soon. I’m going to go say bye to Mom and Dad. See you soon!”
I gave her a big hug and watched her hobble off with the nurse standing right beside her.
Lizzie Johnson came up to me next, her red hair pulled back in one big French braid, though little curls kept escaping. I wanted to tuck them behind her ear.
“Hi, Tommy,” she said. “I didn’t know you could play the accordion!”
“Yeah, well, I learned.”
We both stared at our shoes, as if there was something really interesting on the carpet.
“Hey, Lizzie,” I said finally.
“Yes?” She looked up at me eagerly.
“I shouldn’t have said your freckles looked like a lizard,” I said. “I actually like them.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, Mary Lou has freckles too.”
“Oh.” Lizzie looked disappointed.
Perhaps telling a girl she looked like your sister was not the right thing to say. “Do you like ice cream?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Who doesn’t like ice cream?”
“Yeah, well, they’re gonna have some at Sam’s shop.” Then I added quickly, before I could chicken out, “We should get a float there sometime.”
She smiled. “That’d be nice.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
And before I could say anything else, she walked away.
Sister Ann came over to me then, with two other nuns from school. “Tommy,” she said. “You’ve done a wonderful thing. Over a hundred people showed up. Many gave more than one dollar.” She gestured to the basket she was holding. “I’m going to take all this money over to your father.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“And I was thinking,” Sister Ann said, “maybe we should have another concert next year. Make it a tradition.” As they walked off, I heard her say, “Did you know, Sister Rose, that in my youth I used to play the oboe?”
Sister Rose laughed. “No, Sister Ann. I did not.”
I looked for something to eat then, but the buffet Mr. McKenzie had carefully laid out had been picked over till there was nearly nothing left. Ma pointed at it as she walked off. “I do have to admit,” she said, “those watercress sandwiches were really good. Almost as good as mine.”
“Better,” said Pa.
She whacked him with her purse, and they both laughed.
“Like your bow tie,” Pa said, and winked at me.
“Thanks,” I said, and smiled as they walked out.
After they left, Mr. McKenzie came up to me. “Look at this, Tommy!” He held up a bunch of papers. “Did you see how many order forms I got?”
“How many?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said excitedly. “I haven’t had a chance to count them. All the league ladies ordered something. And you know that man from the hospital? Well, they’re having some sort of a picnic this summer and they wanted to know if I could provide all the sandwiches. For a hundred people. And—”
“Is it . . . is it going to work?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Tommy. We have minds to change. Some people will probably always think I’m a communist. But you know what?”
“What?”
Mr. McKenzie grinned, his dark eyes flashing. “It feels awfully good to have a chance to try out my dream.” He picked me up in a big bear hug, lifting me off the ground.
“Hey!”
He put me back down and laughed. “Got to go count my forms!”
Mom came over to me next. The green dress made her eyes shine. Despite the new gray in her hair, she looked younger than she had before. Susie was sleeping in her arms.
“Hi, Tommy,” Mom said shyly.
“Hi,” I said.
“The concert was wonderful.”
“Thanks.”
We stood there in an awkward silence.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“For everything.” Her voice trembled a little. “Pa suggested that maybe the next time you get in trouble, I let Dad give you your punishment. I think that’s a good idea.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.”
Now both my parents had apologized to me. It felt weird. Not bad, but kind of strange. Maybe talking with Pa really had done her some good. And suddenly, like a flash flood in a dry canyon, all the reasons I loved my mom came roaring back. The pies she baked. How she danced to polka music in the kitchen. Even her toughness, because without that, how would she have found the strength to smother the flames and save Mary Lou?
“Does it help?” she asked. “S
aying I’m sorry?”
“Yes,” I said, and smiled. “It does.”
Susie woke up and started to cry, and as Mom walked off to feed her, Sam came up to me. “You ever played before an audience before?”
I shook my head.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Terrifying,” I admitted. “But then, once I got started, I guess it was kind of okay.”
“You did a good job,” he said, and handed me some rolled-up papers.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“One of my stories,” he said. “I figured, if you can play in front of all those people, I can let you read one of my stories.”
I glanced at the front page: The Adventures of Cowboy Sam. “Thanks.”
Sam gave me a shy smile. “I’m going to leave now before I change my mind.”
I laughed as he ran off.
Everyone was just about gone by then. The lobby was almost empty. Sam had given his hat and jacket back to one of the real ushers, who was sweeping up and getting ready for the next day’s show.
The only person I didn’t get to say good-bye to was Eddie. Through the big glass doors, I saw him on the sidewalk in front of the Tivoli, arguing with his father. His dad pointed at us, then angrily shoved him into the car. I waved, but I don’t think he saw me.
Finally, it was just Dad and me, looking at an old ad for High Noon.
“You know,” Dad said softly when I walked up to him, “I was wrong before when I said cowboys were reckless, vengeful and independent to a fault. It wasn’t the shoot-out that made Gary Cooper a great man. It was that he cared for others. He faced his problems. He didn’t walk away. He solved them. A good cowboy is a leader who looks after his herd and his posse. No one goes missing. Kind of like you.”
And for the first time in ages, for the first time since before Mary Lou had gotten burned, I knew who I was. I was Tommy John Wilson. A paper cowboy.
48
FISHING AT NOON
Everyone was on their best behavior on the way home. Dad drove the car and Mom sat in the front with him, Pinky leaning against her, Susie snuggled in Mom’s lap. Mrs. Glazov and I rode in the back, our accordions between us. Mom’s suitcase of belongings from Ma and Pa’s was in the trunk.
The Paper Cowboy Page 23