To Sing Another Day

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  But getting her focused on God was most important. Therefore, he couldn’t ask anything in return for that coat or it would destroy the message that God cared enough to meet her needs.

  Bernie put his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Henry, this coat is a gift, pure and simple. God laid it on my heart that you needed a new coat, and this coat—a coat just the right size for a boy like you—showed up in my shop. It would be wrong of me to take payment for it, because it really came from God, not me. Does that make sense?”

  Henry crunched his face into a scowl of indecision. “It kind of makes sense to me, but I don’t know how I’m gonna explain it to Helen.”

  Bernie scooped up the coat and pressed it into Henry’s arms. “You just tell Helen your loving heavenly Father wanted you to be warm this winter and leave it at that.”

  Henry pushed his arms into the sleeves and closed the zipper all the way to his throat. He smoothed his hands over the sleeves, noting how they reached beyond his wrists. He sighed. “Thanks, Mr. O’Day.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Bernie said. “Thank God.”

  Henry gave a solemn nod.

  [TIME JUMP]

  Over the next weeks, as Thanksgiving approached, Bernie spent a significant amount of his prayer time lifting up Helen Wolfe and her siblings. He’d learned from Henry that their parents died in the horrific trolley accident that claimed more than a dozen lives two years ago. It gave him a start to realize he and Pop had prayed together for the accident victims’ families, unknowingly praying for the Wolfe siblings even before he met them. It connected him more firmly to Helen, Henry, Carl, and Lois, and made him all the more determined to reawaken the faith their parents had lived.

  Henry enjoyed talking to Bernie, and Bernie filed away everything the boy said about his sisters and brother. He learned Helen loved to sing but now rarely lifted her voice in song, too busy working and caring for a household. He learned Carl was a good baseball player, and that Lois hoped to learn to play piano someday. He also discovered Henry had a head for business and possessed a number sense that exceeded Bernie’s. Henry could add in his head faster than most people did on paper. A boy like that should think about college, and Bernie began praying for a way to make sure Henry had the chance to further his education after he graduated twelfth grade.

  Learning bits and pieces of the Wolfe siblings’ lives offered lots of ways for Bernie to reach out to the family. He began a practice of leaving packages on the porch of the Wolfe home. Never anything elaborate, fearful Helen would reject items of great monetary value, but little things he knew they needed or that would bring one of the family members some pleasure. Baseball cards for Carl, new gloves for Lois, paper tablets for Henry. And song sheets for Helen—vocal arrangements for a mezzo soprano. According to Henry, she had a rare gift and her parents had encouraged her to use it. Apparently, her song died when she buried her parents. Bernie hoped holding those song sheets would entice her to sing once again. And he prayed raising her voice in song—using her God-given talent—would help her open her heart to God again.

  The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Henry arrived early since school let out at noon. As soon as he donned his apron, he offered an apology. “I hope it’s all right, but I can’t stay clear ’til closing today. Helen asked me to stop by the grocer and get everything we’d need for our Thanksgiving dinner.” He flapped a sheet of paper, covered on one side with neat lines of script. “She’s been saving up so we could have a good dinner. If I wait too late to choose our sweet potatoes and roasting hen, all the good ones’ll be picked over.”

  Bernie smiled. “That’s fine, Henry. In fact, I rarely get much business the day before Thanksgiving—people are too busy cooking. So why don’t you just take today off? Tomorrow I’m closed, too, so that’ll give you a nice break.”

  “Are you sure?” Henry fiddled with his apron ties. “I don’t wanna shirk my duties.”

  Bernie clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Henry, if there’s one thing I would never suspect you of doing, it would be shirking your duties.” He pointed to the hooks. “Hang up that apron and scoot on out of here. Pick your sister the biggest, freshest sweet potatoes you can find. But...” He stepped around the corner and grabbed the crate he’d put together that morning. “You won’t need to spend money on a roasting hen. There’s a fine turkey in here—enough to feed your family and then some.” Bernie had also packed in bags of flour and sugar, a dozen eggs, and two loaves of bread—one for slicing and eating, the other to chop into pieces for stuffing. The Wolfe siblings would have a veritable feast.

  Henry stared at the crate. “A-are you sure?”

  “Yep.” Bernie thumped the crate on the counter. He rested his elbow on the corner of the crate, peering at Henry over the slatted side. “Y’know, it’s not uncommon for employers to give their workers something at holidays. Your sister won’t fuss about this, will she?” Bernie hadn’t asked about Helen’s reaction to the gifts he’d been leaving. Partly because he feared Henry would say she resented them, and partly because he wanted to remain anonymous.

  Henry shrugged, zipping up his brown jacket. “I think she’ll appreciate it. Getting harder and harder to satisfy Carl’s appetite. He eats more than the rest of us put together.”

  Bernie snorted out a laugh.

  Henry balanced the crate against his belly. “I’ll let her know it’s from you, though, so she doesn’t think Richard gave it to us.”

  Richard... That name had come up before, and every time he heard it, Bernie prickled. He didn’t want to feel jealous of the man who’d once asked for Helen’s hand in marriage, but despite his best efforts, the emotion welled. His voice tight, Bernie said, “Why would she think it’s from Richard?”

  Henry waddled toward the door. “He’s been leavin’ stuff on the porch for us. Helen’s sure it’s him, ’cause he leaves things somebody who’d have to know us pretty good would leave.”

  Bernie’s mouth went dry. Helen credited Richard for the gifts? But that meant she wasn’t seeing them as God-blessings. “She—she’s certain it’s Richard?”

  Henry shot Bernie a puzzled look. “Who else could it be?”

  Bernie clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t blurt out the truth. He swallowed. “Is she...happy...that Richard’s leaving her presents?”

  For a long moment, Henry stood silently, rubbing his lips together. Then he shrugged. “I dunno about happy, necessarily. It hurt her pretty bad when he broke off their engagement. But I know she’s lonely. I know she’d like to have somebody to help her out with the youngsters. So maybe she’s happy Richard’s back. I haven’t really asked.”

  Bernie shuffled past Henry and opened the door for him. “Well, I better not keep you. You’ve got some shopping to do.” He shifted out of the way so Henry could push through. It made a tight fit with the bulky crate in his arms. Once the boy was on the sidewalk, he said, “Have a good Thanksgiving, Henry.” He heard his sad undertone and forced his lips into a smile. No sense in worrying the boy.

  Henry angled his head to peer over his shoulder at Bernie. “Thanks. You too.” He took one step then cried, “Oh!” Henry whirled around, nearly tipping the crate. “Mr. O’Day, what’re you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  Slowly, Bernie lifted his shoulders in a shrug. He had no plans. He’d just be here at the shop, probably going through unmarked inventory in the back room. Things tended to stack up back there. “Not much. Why?”

  Henry’s cheeks streaked with red. “Helen told me to ask you if you’d like to eat Thanksgiving dinner with us. A thank you, she said, for giving me this job.”

  All of Bernie’s sadness washed away in one swoop. A smile broke across his face. “I’d like that, Henry. I’d like that a lot.”

  “Good.” Henry flashed a quick grin. “See you tomorrow then, around six. Can’t eat earlier than that ’cause Helen has to work.”

  “Six o’clock.” Bernie touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll be there.” He closed the door
and danced a quick jig, excitement stirring in his middle. Helen had invited him to dinner! As a thank-you. But not for the gifts he’d sent. She didn’t know they’d come from him. Bernie’s feet paused mid-step. The joyful feeling faded and lump of consternation settled in his stomach.

  Had Helen invited Richard, too? And if she had, how would he be able to sit at the same table with the man who’d so wronged this woman who’d sneaked her way into the center of his heart?

  Chapter Six

  Standing on the porch of the Wolfe family’s bungalow, Bernie adjusted his bow tie one last time. Nervousness, excitement, and apprehension created a flutter in his belly. He hadn’t been to a real family Thanksgiving since he was a boy, when his grandparents were still alive and the aunts, uncles, and cousins all gathered together. With Grandmother’s death, the family get-togethers ceased, and not until he’d received the invitation from Henry had he realized how much he missed being part of a family gathering.

  But today, thanks to the Wolfes’ kindness, he’d once again have the chance to sit at a noisy table. But exactly how noisy, he couldn’t help but wonder. Would Helen have invited the man named Richard as a thank-you, too? A thank-you he didn’t deserve?

  Pressing one palm to the buttons of his best blue suit coat, he raised his other hand and gave the doorjamb several brisk knocks. Within seconds, the door creaked open, and a young girl with a thin, pale face and a tumble of shoulder-length sausage curls gazed up at him. Thick black lashes swept up and down with each blink of her bold blue eyes.

  Bernie found himself immediately smitten. “Hello there. You must be Lois.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Bernie O’Day.”

  The child hunched her skinny shoulders and took his hand in a quick, embarrassed shake. “Hello, Mr. O’Day. Will you come in, please?”

  Wonderful aromas greeted Bernie’s nose as he stepped over the threshold. His stomach turned, but this time from eagerness rather than apprehension.

  Lois closed the door behind Bernie then fixed him with a serious look. “May I take your hat?”

  Her impeccable manners and formal speech belied her tender years. Bernie swallowed a grin and mimicked her courtly attitude. “Why, of course, miss. And thank you.”

  A tiny giggle found its way from the little girl’s throat. She placed his hat on a chair in the corner then gestured toward a wide doorway at the far side of the simple parlor. “This way, please.” She led him through the doorway to a dining room where a long table covered in a crisp white cloth, flowered China plates, and gleaming silverware sat ready for Thanksgiving dinner. Bernie gawked in amazement. Helen had gone all out to make this dinner a festive affair. He quickly counted the chairs—six in all, but the one at the foot of the table had no place setting. Apparently he was the only guest. He nearly collapsed in relief.

  Lois gestured toward a chair on the left hand side of the table. “Helen, Henry, and Carl are dishing up the food right now. We’ll be eating in a few minutes. You can sit down, an’ we’ll be out in a little bit.” She dashed through a doorway in the corner of the dining room, her voice trailing after her. “He’s here, Helen! We can eat now!”

  Bernie stood behind the chair, unwilling to sit until his hostess had taken her seat. Clanks, scuffles, and mumbled voices carried from beyond the doorway, painting a picture of busyness. He wished he could go in and offer his help, but he didn’t want to intrude. So he stood, gaze aimed at the doorway, alternately smoothing his hair into place with his palm and checking the buttons on his jacket while he counted down the seconds.

  In less than two minutes, his patience was rewarded by a small parade led by Lois, who carried a basket of sliced bread and a round dish of creamy butter. Henry came next, his hands filled with bowls of steaming mashed sweet potatoes and buttery green beans. A shorter version of Henry—Carl, no doubt—clomped behind Henry with some sort of green wobbly tower balanced on a plate. And finally Helen emerged, holding a platter containing a beautifully browned turkey and a mound of moist stuffing. Bernie barely noticed the bird. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman.

  She’d done something different with her hair—pulled it up so it formed a smooth sweep from her slender neck to the crown of her head. Soft curls spilled toward her forehead. Her cheeks sported soft pink, and the color also graced her full lips. The deep blue of her two-piece, well-fitted suit brought out the bright blue of her eyes. She was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.

  The three younger Wolfe siblings placed their offerings on the table and settled into chairs with a noisy scraping of legs against the wood floor. Lois took the chair next to Bernie, and Henry and Carl sat side by side across the table, leaving the seat at the head for Helen. She wiped the back of her hand daintily across her perspiration-dotted brow and sent Bernie, who stood stupidly behind his chair staring at her, a shy smile. “Welcome to our home, Bernie. Won’t you be seated?”

  Bernie darted to her chair and pulled it out. “Ladies first.”

  Henry coughed into his hand, and Carl smirked. Bernie chose to ignore the boys and kept his focus on Helen. Her cheeks deepened—a natural blush much more appealing than the powder she wore—and she slipped into the chair, her head low.

  “Thank you, Bernie.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She smoothed her skirt over her knees and lifted her face slightly. “You already met Lois, and of course you know Henry. Please meet our other brother, Carl.”

  The freckle-faced boy grinned at Bernie. “Hi, Mr. O’Day. Nice to meet’cha.”

  Bernie stifled a chuckle at the boy’s lack of formality. He gave a quick nod in reply then returned to his chair, feeling clumsy compared to Helen’s swanlike motions. As soon as he sat, Carl reached for the nearest bowl—green beans—and started to serve himself.

  Automatically, Bernie cleared his throat. “Would you like me to say grace?”

  Carl’s hands froze on the serving spoon.

  Bernie wished he could kick himself. He was a guest—he had no business inflicting his belief system on this family. But how could they sit down to such a fine feast and not offer thanks? He flicked a glance at Helen. She wasn’t smiling, but neither was she frowning. Her sweet face wore a pensive expression Bernie wished he could translate.

  After a few tense seconds of silence, Helen folded her hands. “Please do so.”

  Everyone folded their hands and bowed their heads, and Bernie delivered a short prayer of gratitude for the food and the hands that had prepared it. He finished, “Thank You, our Father, for your bountiful blessings. May we be ever mindful of Your presence in our lives. Amen.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Helen swallowed the lump that filled her throat at the sweetness in Bernie’s tone as he talked to the God he called Father. Dad had spoken to God with the same ease and familiarity, and as a child she’d experienced such security while listening to her father pray. Bernie’s prayer sent a spiral of warmth around her, as comforting as a cozy quilt on a winter day, but at the same time a chill whisked through her heart. The emptiness that had plagued her since her parents’ deaths and Richard’s departure returned, coupled with an aching realization:—the emptiness was due to more than burying her parents and her dreams of a future with Richard. It was due to her decision to refuse God any part of her life.

  Her hands shook as she carved the turkey and placed succulent slices on each plate. But no one seemed to notice her turmoil. Her brothers and sister passed the bowls and dove into the hearty meal. While they ate, they chatted with each other. And with Bernie. Carl and Lois seemed as at ease with this newcomer as if he’d visited a dozen times. Bernie, too, appeared completely comfortable after his initial shyness. He teased Lois, talked to Henry like a peer, and drilled Carl on baseball facts. Helen found she needed to contribute nothing to the conversation, which suited her—she couldn’t think of a thing to say—yet also left her feeling left out. Her topsy-turvy emotions confused her, and the food which she had so anticipated lost its appeal.

  Wh
en they’d nearly emptied the bowls and consumed a good quarter of the turkey, the boys clamored for pie. Helen brought out the sweet potato and pecan pie made from Mom’s recipe and cut it into six equal portions. Conversation ceased while they ate dessert. Helen wasn’t sure if they’d all run out of words or if they were just too full to speak, but in the silence that fell—only the clink of forks on plates and satisfied sighs creating a soft backdrop—she grew more and more unsettled. If only she could make sense of her tumbling emotions!

  As soon as the boys were finished eating, they staggered to their bedroom to change out of their church clothes, which Helen had insisted they wear for the dinner. Lois yawned widely and asked to be excused. Looking into the child’s dark-rimmed eyes, Helen decided not to insist Lois help with clean-up. Lois scuffed around the corner, and Helen and Bernie were left alone at a messy table with chairs all askew.

  Bernie sat back and patted his stomach. “That was delicious, Miss Wolfe. Thank you so much for including me.”

  “You’re very welcome.” Helen’s voice sounded unnaturally high. She cleared her throat and tried again. “After your kindness toward Henry, it’s the least we could do.” She hadn’t intended to intimate she’d invited him out of obligation, but she realized her statement could offer that meaning. She scrambled for a way of rephrasing, but before she could think of anything, Bernie spoke.

  “Henry gives as much as he gets. He’s proved himself invaluable.”

  Relieved that he hadn’t seemed to take offense, Helen rose and began stacking dirty plates. “He loves his job, and—truthfully—his income is very helpful.”

  Bernie gathered silverware, filling both fists with forks, spoons, and knives. “I’d like to keep him on until he’s finished with school. But after that...”

  Helen gestured for Bernie to put the silverware into the empty green bean bowl. When he’d released the handfuls of clattering silverware, she put the bowl on top of the plates and lifted the stack. “After that...what?”