A Distant Music

by BJ Hoff

  Maggie couldn’t tell if the younger girl heard anything she said, but she chose to believe she did. She spoke of inconsequential events at school and within her own family, updated her on how plans were progressing for Mr. Stuart’s birthday party, and gossiped a little about her sister Eva Grace’s latest admirer, Russell Gibbon, who worked at the bank with his father—and who was, according to their da, “about six long years too old for Eva Grace.”

  Before she left, Maggie did something she had never done before. Summer seemed to be sleeping deeply, even peacefully, her breath still labored and phlegmy, but without the terrible cough that had plagued her for so long. Maggie stood watching her for a moment, and then she bent, brushed a strand of silver-blond hair away from Summer’s face, and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

  “Well…goodnight for now, Summer,” she said, her voice wavering. “You have a good rest.”

  She left in a hurry, slipping out the back door without stopping to talk with any of the family.

  Two days later she came home from school to find her mother sitting at the kitchen table. When Maggie walked in, she looked up, as if she’d been waiting for her.

  Supper was on the stove, but the table hadn’t been set. There was no sign of Da, her sisters, or Baby Ray. From the look of her mother’s eyes and the handkerchief in her hand, Maggie knew that her mother had been weeping.

  And immediately she knew why.

  “Maggie…” her mother said, rising part way from her chair, but Maggie stopped her.

  “No,” she said sharply, lifting a hand as if to shield herself. “Don’t! Just don’t…I don’t want to hear…”

  She turned and stumbled outside. Then she started to run. With the raw, cutting wind slapping her in the face and the freezing rain slashing her skin, she ran down the road away from home, away from what she couldn’t bring herself to hear, as if shutting it out would somehow keep it from being real. Her lungs felt as if they would ignite and explode, and her face stung beneath the icy rain. She ran until her breath was gone and her legs were numb, and she began to stagger like an injured animal. Finally, she collapsed, drenched and shivering, beneath the mammoth old willow tree on the bank of Skingle Creek, where she and Summer had sometimes spent long, hot afternoons wading or splashing their bare feet in the water. She stayed there, rocking on her knees in the ice-glazed mud, shaking, not so much from the cold rain and wind but more from the wall of pain slamming at her heart.

  Memories came roaring in on her like a flood…Summer, before she took so sick, pelting her with snowballs, giggling and ducking her head as Maggie hurled them right back at her…she and Summer riding double on Mr. Dunbar’s old chestnut mare, swatting the flies and gnats away from the horse’s mane and each other’s hair…she and Summer chasing fireflies after dark at the Rankins’, who were never strict about bedtimes like Maggie’s folks were…Summer, just this past October, growing so tired and weak after collecting colored leaves for her scrapbook that Maggie carried her piggyback the rest of the way home…

  Summer. How could she really be gone? And where was she now? In heaven, yes, but where in heaven? What was she doing? Would she be sleeping, resting, and getting healed by Jesus? Did she know how much Maggie would miss her, how much she was missing her right now, at this minute?

  Maggie didn’t know much about heaven. She reckoned no one did. And it had never bothered her, the not knowing, not until Summer got so sick. Even then, she’d not found it to her liking to think much about it, knowing Summer would be there and she’d be here and there would be no time together anymore. Truth to tell, she deliberately didn’t think about it.

  Now she wondered what it was like and wished she knew more about it. It was God’s place, and Pastor Wallace talked a lot about it being a better place—a beautiful and happy, peaceful place. That being the case, she supposed Summer was a lot better off there than she had been here. But why did she have to go now?

  Nine years wasn’t very long to live. It was hardly time enough to even start living. And part of that time she’d been too sick to do much of anything.

  She thought of the Christmas cards they’d been making for their families and Mr. Stuart, still at home in the bedroom, waiting to be finished. Now they never would be finished.

  For some reason, that was the thought that undid Maggie and sent her tumbling over the edge from her pain and anger and bewilderment into the dark, bottomless pool of the hopelessness of it all. She choked on a sob trapped in her throat and, unable to contain the river of her grief any longer, she gave way. She wept until her heart grew so sore and wrung dry that she couldn’t get a breath without pain slicing through her.

  Later—she couldn’t have said how much later—when she finally got to her feet and started for home, she was soaked through and engulfed by a fog so heavy she could barely find her way back to the road.

  She had gone only a few feet, slipping with almost every step on the icy pools of water, when she saw her da walking out of the fog, coming toward her. Without a word, he took the coat off his back and wrapped her in it, then he picked her up in his arms and carried her home.

  Maggie saw that his face, still black with the dust of the mine, was tracked with thin streams of water. From the rain, she reckoned, for Da would never, ever be caught weeping.

  Over the next few days, Maggie seemed to live in a cave. She got up, did her chores, went to school, then the company store, and came home. She was scarcely aware of anyone or anything around her. She seldom talked with anyone, not even with Kenny. Her sole purpose was simply to get through the day so she could go to bed at night and sleep. When she was awake, she couldn’t stop thinking about Summer, and when she thought of her, it seemed as though the ache in her heart would crush her entirely.

  She took no comfort in the fact that Summer had at least known about the birthday party, had known as well that the gift she was so set on giving Mr. Stuart was being made according to her wishes. In truth, Maggie could find no comfort in anything. Summer’s death seemed to be the final page of a story in which neither comfort nor hope played a part.

  She hadn’t realized until now that losing someone she loved would make her feel as though a part of herself had died too. And in a way she couldn’t begin to understand, right alongside the cleaving pain that never quite left her, day or night, there was also a terrible, aching emptiness within her.

  It was the same feeling that had seized her the day of Summer’s funeral, when the lid to the coffin had been closed for the last time. She’d suddenly felt as though a piece of her own self had been locked inside that small wooden box and would be buried in the ground with her friend.

  Her first thought every morning before she set her feet to the floor was that Summer was gone. Gone forever. Yet at night, when she tried to say her prayers, she still caught herself asking God to make Summer well.

  Then she would remember again and either sob the rest of the way through her prayer time or just crawl back into bed, unable to voice another word.

  At school the vacant desk across from her own was like a knife, twisting deeper and deeper, cutting away some secret part of herself that she had shared only with Summer.

  Somehow she went on seeing to the details of the birthday party because she didn’t know how not to go on. But all the plans and preparations, the mounting excitement as the time drew near, seemed to be taking place at a distance and held no reality, no real pleasure or sense of anticipation.

  Without Summer, Maggie lived in a shadow world, where all the lights were dim and all the rooms were cold and there was nowhere she could run to get away from the pain. So she carried it with her.

  Wherever she went, whatever she did, the pain was her constant companion.

  She reckoned this was what grown-ups meant when they talked about grieving. Although she had never heard anyone say so, Maggie wondered if it wasn’t a little bit…or maybe a lot…like dying.

  The child was inconsolable.

  It had been
only a few days, of course, too soon for healing. But Jonathan saw no sign that Maggie MacAuley’s grief might be easing, not even a little. The girl was a shadow of herself, pale and drawn, her eyes so solemn, so stricken, it wounded him simply to look at her.

  He had asked her to stay after school in hopes of finding a way to encourage her, perhaps prompt her to talk about her feelings. Her father had mentioned that Maggie seemed locked inside herself and scarcely spoke unless absolutely necessary.

  “Her mother has tried to talk with her, and before, Maggie would usually confide in Kate, but not this time. Not at all. We don’t quite know what to do…”

  He shook his head, his words falling away. After a moment, he added, “I’ll admit that I’m not much good at this sort of thing, Mr. Stuart. Not even with one of my own. Maggie’s mother and I, we were wondering if perhaps you could have a word with the girl?”

  His question had been so like a plea that Jonathan couldn’t say no.

  But now, with Maggie sitting in wooden silence beside his desk, he found himself at a loss as to how to begin. He cleared his throat, attempted a bolstering smile, and felt it break and fall apart.

  “Maggie…I’ve been wondering…how are you doing by now? I know you must miss Summer terribly.”

  She didn’t look at him but simply gave a small nod, and then she continued to sit motionless, staring at her hands, which she had clenched into tight fists on her lap.

  Jonathan groped for the right words, at the same time recognizing that any words that came to mind would be woefully inadequate. So he simply said what was in his heart. “I miss her too, Maggie.”

  Finally she looked at him. Her eyes were always smudged and red-rimmed these days, as if she cried herself to sleep every night.

  “Would it help to talk about it?” he said gently.

  She shook her head. “I don’t reckon anything will help.”

  The voice that usually held such a lilting confidence was now dull and thin. Jonathan drew a long breath, wishing for some insight, some shred of wisdom with which to comfort her. But his own heart was so tired and heavy at the moment, his own hope so precarious, he hesitated to even speak.

  Still, he had promised Matthew MacAuley he would try.

  “Maggie,” he said, again fumbling for words, “we’ll always miss Summer. But everything she was, everything that made her so very, very special will always be with us. In our memories. We never completely lose someone we love, you know.”

  Abruptly he stopped, realizing how trite his words must sound to this heartbroken young girl. The usual bromides would do nothing but insult a child like Maggie. She was too astute by far, too sensitive of spirit, for such banality.

  “Maggie, are you angry?”

  Her head came up, and although the green eyes remained guarded, Jonathan thought he detected a spark of something else, a kind of recognition.

  “Angry?” she repeated.

  Jonathan nodded. “Angry with God because He didn’t heal Summer? I’m sure you asked Him to. I know I did.”

  Her gaze was unnervingly intense. “Why didn’t He, do you think? Why didn’t He heal Summer?”

  Behind that bluntly posed question, Jonathan thought he could hear the cry of the ages. A cry he himself had uttered, and not so long ago.

  He attempted to give her the only answer—the only honest answer—he was capable of. “I don’t know why, Maggie. I honestly don’t know. But I wish with all my heart that He had.”

  He saw tears well up in her eyes and thought she might break into a fit of weeping. Instead, she looked at him straight on, her chin slightly lifted. “So do I, Mr. Stuart. I wish that more than anything. But since He didn’t, I reckon what I have to do now is figure a way to just…be going on. That’s what Summer always said after she had a bad sick spell. She’d say she reckoned she’d be going on, now that she was feeling better.” She paused. “I expect if she could, that’s what she’d tell me to do.”

  She paused, and again Jonathan saw her control falter as she blinked and looked away. “Summer said I was good at getting things done and making sure everything turns out proper.”

  It occurred to Jonathan that Summer had known her friend very well. Very well indeed. He said nothing, sensing that his own control was none too reliable at the moment.

  Maggie turned back to him, and now Jonathan did see anger in those grief-darkened eyes. “I reckon she was wrong,” she said, her voice edged with bitterness. “I wasn’t able to do a thing for her. Nothing at all.”

  Her voice broke.

  Jonathan studied the damp eyes and the taut, strained features that were so strong and yet so vulnerable. “There are some things only God can make right, Maggie,” he said quietly. “He expects us to do the best we can, and nothing more. He doesn’t ask us to do what only He can do.”

  She wiped a hand over her eyes, roughly, as if to banish any sign of emotion, and then abruptly rose to her feet. “I’d best be getting on to the company store,” she said.

  Reluctant to let her go like this, feeling that his awkward attempt to comfort her had failed miserably, Jonathan stood, saying, “Maggie, is there anything I can do to help? Anything else…you’d like to talk about?”

  An entire parade of emotions seemed to scurry across her face—surprise, alarm, a hint of hopefulness—all of which quickly faded. “No, sir,” she said, her voice so low he could scarcely hear her words. “There’s nothing else.”

  Jonathan hesitated, and then he said, “Maggie, you can trust me. If there’s anything troubling you—besides Summer, I mean—I wish you’d tell me and let me try to help.” He wanted to tell her that he knew. He wanted to assure her that he would take care of everything: her grief, her fear, her sense of hopelessness. He wanted to somehow make everything right for her, and for Kenny too.

  As for the grief, only time—time, and God’s love and comfort—would heal the pain. And the other? There was still the unanswered question: What could he do that wouldn’t make things worse?

  She looked at him, and again Jonathan saw a kind of longing in her expression. But in an instant it returned to the same shadowed mask of restraint. “No. No, there isn’t anything.”

  Jonathan swallowed down his disappointment. “I see. Well…all right, then. You go along. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

  She turned to go, but then she stopped and faced him again. “Mr. Stuart?”

  Jonathan waited.

  “I-I like to think that Summer probably isn’t coughing anymore. More than likely, she’s completely well now, don’t you think?”

  Jonathan swallowed against the knot in his throat. “Oh, yes, Maggie, I do! I believe that with all my heart. And I’m glad you believe it too. Summer is well and strong now. She won’t be coughing anymore. No doubt she’s singing. Singing with God’s angels.”

  He could sense the girl measuring his words. At last she nodded, apparently satisfied with his reply. “That’s what I think too,” she said solemnly.

  “Maggie—” On impulse Jonathan again delayed her. “There’s something I want you to remember. When you’re missing Summer most—when you’re feeling lonely without her—think about this. One day the two of you will be together again. You’ll be reunited. And all the things Summer wasn’t able to do while she was here because of her illness? Well, she’ll be able to do them in heaven. You’ll do them together. Summer will be healthy and whole and happy. You won’t be separated from each other forever, Maggie. Only for now. And in heaven, I expect we’ll finally realize that all this, this life and all it holds today, was only a brief moment in time. But heaven…heaven is forever.”

  Help me to remember this too, Lord…I need this assurance just as much as Maggie does…oh, how I need this engraved upon my heart.

  As he watched, something flickered in her eyes, the eyes still damp with unshed tears. And then, for the first time in days, Jonathan saw just the faintest trace of a smile. It disappeared as quickly as it came, but it was something.
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br />   “Thank you, Mr. Stuart,” she said. “Thank you for talking to me.”

  Jonathan watched her slender, straight-backed figure as she walked down the aisle, stepped outside, and closed the door behind her.

  A cold silence fell over the room as he returned to his chair. After a moment he removed his glasses and folded his hands on top of the desk.

  Somehow, he had to help that child. The weight of trouble coming against Maggie MacAuley was too much for one so young. It must seem to her that nothing in her world was right or good anymore. He couldn’t stand the thought that her heart…or her faith…might be bruised, or even broken, under the burden of pain she was carrying.

  How can I help her, Lord? There must be something I can do to lessen her pain and restore her hope. Give me the wisdom to know what it is…and the grace and the strength to do whatever I can. If nothing else, give me at least a part of her pain. It’s too much for a child to carry alone. It’s just too much…

  Twenty-Four

  In Praise of Good Men

  And if my heart and flesh are weak

  To bear an untried pain,

  The bruised reed He will not break,

  But strengthen and sustain.

  John Greenleaf Whittier

  When Pastor Ben Wallace walked into the schoolroom on Wednesday, Maggie’s stomach clenched.

  Something must be wrong. Pastor Wallace almost never came to the school except when there had been a bad accident in the mines or when somebody’s mother or father had taken real sick or maybe even died.

  She liked Pastor Wallace a lot, but just the sight of him today was enough to strike fear in Maggie. All she could think was now what? What has happened?

  She was puzzled when the preacher remained near the door, even more curious when Mr. Stuart went to meet him, spoke a few words with him, and then stood waiting while Pastor Wallace went back outside.

  Maggie turned to exchange looks with Kenny. She could tell from his expression that he was thinking the same thing she was: Something must be wrong.