by BJ Hoff
As Michael’s time with his daughter was limited, Susanna had offered more than once to take her meal alone, but in truth she had been pleased when Michael wouldn’t hear of it. She looked forward to these early-morning times with him and Caterina. Michael also seemed to enjoy beginning the day in this fashion. He was more relaxed and animated at breakfast than at any other time.
Susanna admired the way he so diligently reserved a part of his mornings and as many evenings as possible for his daughter. His travels back and forth to the city and the hours he spent locked up in the music room cut deeply into his time with Caterina, but he was never neglectful. To the contrary, he made every effort to give her his undivided attention—and affection—as often as possible. As for Caterina, she seemed to take her father’s busy life in stride, while clearly thriving on the time they did spend together.
Michael pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “I trust the two of you have not forgotten this evening?”
His question prompted a muffled giggle from Caterina, which her father quickly silenced with one raised eyebrow.
“No, of course not,” Susanna replied. “Is Paul still planning to meet us at the ferry and take us to the hotel?”
“Sì. Cati seems bent on dressing in her finest, but if you would prefer not to, Susanna, that’s quite all right.”
Susanna’s “finest” was the black wool dress she had brought with her from home—not quite shabby, but undeniably well-worn. Still, even if she could afford it, which she definitely could not, a new dress would have been an unnecessary extravagance for a simple dinner after rehearsal. Her black dress would do perfectly well.
Still puzzled by his and Caterina’s odd behavior this morning, Susanna caught herself—just for a moment—wondering…
But, no, neither of them could possibly know about today. Caterina had pried her birth date out of her once, but that had been many weeks ago. The girl was bright, but surely too young to remember a date for so long a time. Besides, even if she had remembered, it was foolish entirely to think that Michael might make an effort to acknowledge it.
Unless Caterina had coaxed…
Really, she was being too foolish. Still, it was rather nice, even pretending that someone might remember her birthday.
She watched as Michael bent to press a good-bye kiss on the top of Caterina’s head. Immediately the child leaped from her chair and whipped around to him. “I wish it were tonight right now, Papa!” she burst out, flinging her arms about his waist.
“Someday soon, mia figlia,” he said dryly, “I hope for you to make the acquaintance of a virtue called ‘patience.’”
“But I know about patience, Papa,” she said, still clinging to him. “Mrs. Dempsey says it means not to rush the cook or we’ll eat the potatoes raw.”
He chuckled. “Mrs. Dempsey is a wise woman, no?”
“She also taught me a poem about patience.”
“Ah! And I expect you are about to recite it.”
Caterina tilted her head, curls bouncing, and looked up at him: “Patience is a virtue. Have it if you can. It’s rarely seen in woman—and never in a man.”
Michael’s dark brows shot up in surprise. Then he threw back his head and laughed.
Beaming, the child turned to look at Susanna.
“I think it’s time for our morning devotions, miss,” she said sternly, then lost the struggle to keep a solemn expression.
Michael tugged at a lock of his daughter’s dark hair. “I must get ready to leave,” he said. “I will see you this evening.”
Caterina was watching Susanna closely, the fingers of one hand pressed against her lips as if to contain another giggle. Yes, there was definitely some sort of collusion between the child and her father. She rose from her chair and started to follow Caterina out of the room.
Michael, however, stopped them. “Caterina, I need to speak with your Aunt Susanna for a moment. You go along to your room and wait for her.”
The little girl frowned, glancing from her father to Susanna, but finally went bouncing out of the room, looking back only once.
“I wanted to talk with you about this before I raise the subject with Caterina,” Michael said, gesturing that Susanna should again sit down.
His lighthearted demeanor had sobered.
“Is something wrong?” Susanna asked.
He shook his head, taking a chair across the table from her. “No, but there is something I want to discuss with you, something that will involve you just as much as it will Caterina or myself. I want to know how you feel about it before I initiate anything or bring it up to Caterina.”
Exceedingly curious, Susanna listened carefully, her astonishment growing as he told her what he wanted to do, indeed what he felt God was calling him to do.
When he had finished, he paused for only a second or two. “What do you think? Would you be willing that I should do this? And to help out if needed?”
Susanna wiped the dampness from her eyes. “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she said quietly. “And of course, I’ll help however I can.”
“And do you think Caterina will agree?”
“Oh, Michael, you know she will! Caterina has a generous heart entirely. And I have no doubt but what she’ll be more help than you can imagine.”
Slowly, he nodded and smiled. “I think you are right. We will tell her together, no?”
He sought her hand across the table. “Thank you for understanding, Susanna.”
Susanna looked at their clasped hands. After so long a time, they had moved from suspicion to acceptance, from acceptance to trust, from trust to friendship. And now they had come together as allies in a common cause.
He squeezed her hand as if he had read her thoughts. How could such a simple touch, Susanna wondered, make her heart feel as if it were overflowing with warm oil?
18
TO GO AGAINST THE GIANT
Use well the moment; what the hour
Brings for thy use is in thy power;
And what thou best canst understand
Is just the thing lies nearest to thy hand.
JOHANN W. VON GOETHE
During the first few minutes of rehearsal, Susanna found it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts kept drifting to Michael and the surprise he’d revealed after breakfast. If she had had any remaining doubts about the kind of man he was, what he had divulged to her this morning would have erased them all.
She could never say this to Michael—he had a way of deflecting any praise that came to him—but Susanna was deeply moved by the thought of what he meant to do. It was a good thing, even a noble thing. She found herself genuinely enthusiastic about the experience ahead—and inordinately pleased that Michael had placed so much confidence in her cooperation.
But for now, she really needed to pay attention to what was happening on stage. In addition to the orchestra, Michael had assembled three choirs: two large choirs from local churches and a smaller but highly talented children’s choir from several of the city’s shelter houses. They could not have been more diverse.
Watching Michael work was a fascinating experience. Most of the time he seemed relaxed, even casual with his people, and their high regard for him was obvious. Even so, in spite of his informal bearing, he insisted not only on perfection, but on total involvement in the music. Under Michael’s baton, no musician dared to daydream or indulge in idle chatter with a neighbor.
He had built a magnificent orchestra, one that rarely received anything but the highest of praise from the critics. There were exceptions, of course. One or two columnists seemed incapable of anything but the most scathing reviews—not only of the orchestra, but of Michael himself. He routinely discarded those reviews that were transparently personal, petty, or spiteful, but seemed to pay close heed to the comments of the few critics he respected, even if their judgments were less than glowing. Clearly, he was not a man to grow complacent with his own abilities or accomplishments.
Susanna’s gaze
roamed over the orchestra and the choirs. It was an awesome array of talent, yet with every number rehearsed, she became more keenly aware of the absence of an organist. Up until now, the rehearsal had consisted mostly of varied renderings of seasonal carols—some from other countries—and a number of traditional selections, such as Schubert’s “Mille Cherubini in Coro” and “Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring.” Michael typically developed his own arrangements, even for the simplest Christmas carol, so perhaps he had purposely omitted the organ. But when he instructed just before the break that they would end the rehearsal with “For unto Us a Child Is Born” and the “Hallelujah Chorus” from the Messiah, she fully expected an organist to arrive on the scene, albeit late.
During the break, Caterina went running up to the stage, where Paul and Michael still lingered, engaged in some private discussion. Michael smiled when his daughter tugged on his coattails, then lifted her into his arms as the few orchestra members remaining on stage came over to them.
Susanna watched with wry amusement as Caterina proceeded to charm them all with her dimples and laughter. After another moment, Michael set her to her feet, and she led him down the stage steps to the front row, where Susanna was seated.
“So—how are we doing?” he said, sitting down beside her. “Do you have any suggestions?”
“Papa, may I go play the harp?” Caterina begged.
“Don’t interrupt, Cati,” said Michael. Then he nodded. “Only for a moment. We will be starting again soon.”
He smiled at Susanna. “One time it is the harp, next the cello,” he said as Caterina scampered off. “I think she means to play all the instruments in the orchestra.”
“Like her papa,” Susanna said. It was true: Michael seemed capable of playing whatever instrument he chose, although at home he clearly favored the simple mandolin.
He gave a turn of the wrist, saying, “But we will hope that Caterina plays them well. Her papa is a virtuoso with none.” He paused, his expression growing more serious. “Speaking of virtuosos, I need to ask if you would be willing to help us a little before we finish today.”
Instantly, Susanna’s guard shot up.
“Now, before you say no, let me explain. I would have asked you at the beginning of the rehearsal, but I knew you would think I arranged it on purpose—and I promise you, Susanna, I did no such thing.”
“Arranged what?”
He hesitated, as if reluctant to explain.
“Arranged what, Michael?” she repeated sternly.
As if he could feel her scrutiny, he turned his face away. “It seems that Christopher Redding, our organist…ah, what has happened is…that he fell on the ice yesterday afternoon and broke not only his ankle, but a wrist as well. I thought perhaps you might consider helping us. For this evening, at least.”
Susanna stared at him, speechless. An unexpected twinge of excitement was immediately swallowed up by a surge of annoyance and disappointment as she remembered his and Caterina’s behavior of the morning: the sly smiles and furtive whispers between the two. To think she had actually allowed herself to believe, even for a moment, that they might have been plotting something…special.
“Do you really expect me to believe you didn’t plan this?”
He turned back to her with an infuriating ghost of a smile.
“You see,” he said, “I knew what you would think.”
“Then you also knew what I would say.”
He shrugged, a gesture that merely heated Susanna’s irritation.
“You can’t possibly think I would humiliate myself in front of all these people.”
Paul and Caterina had left the stage and now stood watching them, Caterina with eyes wide and curious, Paul with his gaze averted, as if trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.
But Susanna was beyond the point of caring.
“Michael, I haven’t been near an organ for nearly a year! And I’ve never played an organ like that!” Forgetting Michael’s blindness for the moment, Susanna stabbed her index finger toward the immense grand organ at the far right of the stage—a massive instrument with five manuals in addition to the pedals. An organ like this would surely intimidate all but the most outstanding of musicians.
And she had been longing to get her hands on it all evening…
She shook her head as if to banish the treacherous thought.
“But you once played for the worship at your church,” Michael pointed out.
“That was ages ago! And a poor excuse of an instrument it was at that. Certainly nothing like that behemoth on stage.”
His jaw clenched in a stubborn look, and he murmured something about it being “just an organ.”
“It is most assuredly not ‘just an organ,’” Susanna shot back.
“But only for this evening,” he said, his tone deceptively mild. “You need not play—how do you call it?—full organ. If you would merely accompany us as best you can. Otherwise the rehearsal will not be what it should.”
Was there no end to his attempt to manipulate? “And I suppose your Mr. Redding will be fully recovered in time for the concert? He must have quite an impressive capacity for healing.”
Michael’s expression turned sheepish, but he made no reply.
Susanna shook her head. “I simply cannot believe you did this. And to bring Caterina into it as well! So this was what all the whispering and scheming at breakfast was about.”
“But, Aunt Susanna—that’s not what we were whispering about—”
“Caterina—” Michael’s tone was unusually sharp.
“Well, we weren’t,” the child repeated with uncharacteristic sullenness. “I didn’t know anything about Mr. Redding.”
Susanna looked from one to the other. Michael’s expression was impassive, closed, but Caterina’s lower lip could not have protruded any farther, and tears glistened in her eyes. Could Susanna possibly be mistaken about Michael’s having deliberately contrived this scenario?
“I’m sorry you think I would try to deceive you in such a way,” Michael said quietly. “The truth is that I only learned of Redding’s accident when I arrived this afternoon. As I told you, I was hesitant to approach you about the organ. I was fairly certain that you would react…just as you have.”
Paul, obviously bent on redeeming the situation, gave Susanna a look of appeal. “It is true, Susanna. Redding’s son brought the word of his accident only moments before rehearsal began.” He paused. “As a member of the orchestra, I wish, of course, that you would reconsider. We do feel the lack of the organ. It would be a great help if you would play for us. And it’s not as if you would be a soloist. Why, with the instruments and all the voices you would scarcely be noticed!”
Susanna lifted an eyebrow at this; they both knew the likelihood of the organ not being noticed.
“But if you really feel incapable, I understand,” Paul added with a cherubic expression.
“I don’t know that I’m incapable.” Susanna was growing nearly as exasperated with Paul as she was with Michael. “I expect with some warning I could have managed. But even the most accomplished of organists, which I would never pretend to be, needs to practice.”
“But of course,” Paul quickly agreed. “It would take a long time—perhaps weeks?—before you would feel competent, no?”
“Not weeks,” Susanna said. “But certainly a few days. It hardly matters in any event. You need someone sooner than I could be prepared.”
Michael broke in then. “Sì, as you said, there is no possibility that Redding would be back with us in only a few days. I admit that I probably was hoping that if I could convince you to assist us today—and if you managed well enough—then you might consider playing for the concert itself.”
“Michael, we’ve talked about this before—”
He nodded. “I know, I know. And I do understand your fear—”
“I’m not—it’s not fear. Not exactly.” Susanna bit her lower lip. Several times. “All right. It is fear. But you can’t
possibly understand what it’s like for me.”
“As I have told you before, I do understand.”
“I know what you told me, but—”
“But aren’t you brave, Aunt Susanna?”
Susanna turned to look at her niece.
“When we read the story about David and Goliath, you said that being brave doesn’t mean we’re not afraid. It means doing what we’re supposed to do even if we are afraid.”
Susanna stared at her niece. Caterina was gazing up at her with the uncompromising, guileless look of a child who has found a truth, made it her own, and now decided to test it.
She saw the look on Paul’s face—not smug, exactly, but definitely keen to hear her reply. Michael, too, was obviously curious as to how she would answer Caterina.
But Caterina had not finished. “You said David was probably very afraid of Goliath, because he was just a boy and Goliath was a giant. But David went to meet Goliath anyway, and God helped him. And if the organ is like a big, scary giant…”
If Michael had not been blind, his gaze would have easily burned a hole through Susanna. And in Paul’s eyes, she encountered a distinct glint of challenge.
To her surprise, Michael moved to ease the tension, lifting his hand as if to put a halt to any further discussion. “I understand, Susanna. You simply do not feel…ready…to do this. So, then, we will stop trying to coerce you and get back to rehearsal.”
“But, Papa—”
Michael shook his head. “It is enough, Caterina. Your Aunt Susanna has said no. We will speak no more about it.”
“Thank you, Michael.”
Throughout the remainder of rehearsal, Susanna could feel Caterina watching her. The little girl’s disappointment pierced her heart. And she knew that, because of her stubbornness, Handel’s crowning achievement would suffer for the lack of an organ’s depth and richness.
But Michael had it coming. He had attempted to trick her into doing something he knew she wouldn’t want to do. All her earlier warm thoughts toward him went flying from her mind, replaced by a cold, wrenching disappointment of her own.