Sing for Me

by Karen Halvorsen Schreck

  Mother helps me remove the bandages from my face, arms, and hands. I can leave a few of the cuts uncovered now. Some I can hide with my hair. Others Mother bandages again as discreetly as she can.

  I can’t wear my blue dress. Unless Mother works some kind of magic with her needle, I may never be able to wear it again. So I put on my second-best option: the green, cape-backed dress with the long sleeves and ruffled collar that I wore to my high school graduation. It was fashionable in 1934; it’s not so fashionable now. But it will have to do. Mother lends me a pair of white gloves, and I wear those, too. They hide the bruises and cuts on my hands.

  I’m at the front door, ready to head out to the El, when Mary emerges from the bedroom and walks down the hall to me. She takes a deep breath and draws herself up to her full height. She holds out her hand, and I take it, and Mary leads me back to the bedroom, where Mrs. Chastain still sits by Theo on the bed.

  Mrs. Chastain looks up at me. Her face is dry. She must have cried all the tears she can cry for now.

  “I’ve never asked a white woman for a thing in my life. I want to ask you for something now, Rose. The most important thing.”

  I nod.

  “I am afraid to move Theo before he’s had the X-rays,” Mrs. Chastain says.

  “I understand.”

  She gives an impatient shake of her head. I don’t understand at all.

  “Will you take care of my boy until he can come home to us? Will you keep him from getting hurt again?”

  “Yes.” This yes feels as important as any vow I’ll ever take.

  Mrs. Chastain nods. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry.” I blurt out the words, and the horrible thing I’ve not been able to say. “This is all my fault.”

  “You’re not to blame, Rose. Not any more than Theo is.” Mrs. Chastain closes her eyes and murmurs something under her breath. When she opens her eyes again, it seems she is looking right through me to a different time and place. “This world is a hard world. We’ve known this all our lives, Theo and Mary and me, and all our family, and my mother and her mother, too, and her mother before her, and all our men. I suppose you’d best know it too, Rose, if you love my boy. He’ll need you to know it when he wakes up. He’ll need you to understand.”

  “I know it. I’ll never forget it,” I say.

  I look at Theo there on the bed, her wounded boy, the man I love.

  When he wakes up.

  Not if.

  “Look at you, so early tonight,” the coat-check girl says, leaning her elbows on her half-door and eyeing me as I enter Calliope’s. I nod my hello to her and walk swiftly to the back room, ignoring the crack she’s making about my new dress—something about the big, bold change I’ve made from blue to green.

  She has no idea how much I’ve changed.

  Dex, Ira, and Jim haven’t arrived yet. I don’t know what to do with myself. I circle the room, and my thoughts circle with me. I want Theo to be awake when I get home. I want him to be smiling his light. I want last night never to have happened. I want this world to be different from hard. I circle the room.

  Then I see it: an unfamiliar piece of sheet music lying on the table. It’s a crisp, new copy, probably fresh off the press. “Strange Fruit,” written by Abel Meeropol. I open to the first page.

  It’s something, all right. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen or sung:

  Southern trees bear a strange fruit,

  Blood on the leaves and blood at the root

  I finish reading the lyrics, close the music, sit down at the table, rest my head in my hands, and try to pray. No words come but the words of the song. So I send them up to God as a prayer. Only God can contain this.

  Maybe an hour later, Dex, Ira, and Jim find me that way. They realize I’ve looked at the sheet music and quickly apologize for the harsh message of the song. We don’t sing songs like that. They know we don’t. Still, there’s something about it, something truly powerful. Don’t I think so, too?

  “Lilah passed the music on to us,” Ira adds. “I went to see her for old times’ sake. I wanted to see how she was doing.”

  “Mainlining again,” Jim mutters.

  Ira nods sadly. “She’s hooked up with some record producer. A real player, she says. He’s taking her to LA to cut a single.”

  Jim says, “ ‘When I Get Low, I Get High.’ That’ll be her single.”

  “Enough. She’s a friend.” Ira nods at the music on the table. “Anyway, she gave us a copy of this song in case we were interested in performing it. No one’s even recorded it yet. No surprise, right? Lilah doesn’t want to touch it, and neither does Jim. Dex and I are tempted, but we know, we know. Theo ditched practice this afternoon—the schmuck—so we haven’t asked him yet. What do you think, Rose?”

  “It hits hard,” I say.

  “Exactly,” Dex says quietly. He runs his fingers over his clarinet, testing out a silent melody.

  “It hits close to home.” My voice falters.

  But then I do what I have to do. I tell them what happened to Theo.

  At first I think Jim and Ira are going to tear the room apart. They kick chairs, upend the table, scattering the sheet music across the floor. Dex takes the news differently. He goes to a corner and leans into it. I follow his example and stand in the opposite corner, the better to stay out of Jim’s and Ira’s way. Dex doesn’t even flinch, with all the noise and mess Ira and Jim are making. He’s too busy taking apart his clarinet. Only when the instrument is disassembled and back in its case does he look up at us. Then, quietly, Dex tells Jim and Ira to stop. Loudly, he tells them.

  Jim and Ira turn to Dex, as startled as I would be if anything could startle me now.

  Dex says, “Save your energy for the real fight, boys. If you were black you’d know to do that by now.” He closes his clarinet case with a snap. “I can play the piano. Not great, like Theo. Not even very well. But I can play it. A pianist is necessary. A clarinetist isn’t. I’ll play the piano tonight and every night until Theo returns. I’m going to keep our spot here until he comes back, and then I’ll play the clarinet again. Is anyone else going to join me?”

  “Yes,” I say. I will tip the coat-check girl, call Mother, and beg her to take my place by Theo’s side. I want to be home with him, but he’d want me to be here. Our music depends on it. I swear I can hear his voice saying that.

  Jim and Ira are nodding in sheepish agreement. The four of us do our best to clean up the room. And then we start trying to figure out how to hang tight, hold on, make it work without Theo. For a while. For just a little while.

  TWENTY

  It’s the darkest hour of early Sunday morning, not nearly dawn, when I return home to find Theo awake in Andreas’s bed. When he sees me in the doorway, he tries to sit up, then grimaces and falls back again. I go to him and carefully lower myself onto the edge of the bed. I am afraid to take his bandaged hands in mine, but I can’t keep from touching him, so I slip my hand between the mattress and his arm, and cup his elbow instead. This part of him I’ve never touched. So much of him I’ve never touched. And now, even if we were married, I couldn’t touch him. He’s in too much pain. His body is, and his heart, and his spirit, too. His beautiful dark eyes have gone dull, half hidden beneath hooded lids. Again he bears the weight of those chains.

  I won’t cry.

  “When did your mother and Mary leave?” I manage to ask.

  He licks his dry lips. “Just a little while ago. They waited until I woke up.”

  Theo is wearing one of Andreas’s shirts. His mother must have helped him change out of his torn, bloody clothes, and taken his clothes home with her. Andreas’s shirt hangs big on Theo’s lean frame; the cuffs droop nearly to his bandaged knuckles. I slip my hand from beneath his arm and fold up the cuffs so they fall at his wrists as they should. “Are you hungry?” I ask, cupping his elbow again.

  He gives a slight shake of his head. “Your mother made dinner for the three of us.” A ghost of his smi
le flickers. “Between the efforts of your mother and mine, I was well fed, believe you me.”

  I force my own ghost of a smile, and then our smiles vanish.

  “Are you thirsty?”

  He nods. It is all I can do to keep from leaping up to do something for him. I go to the kitchen, return with a glass of water, tip it to his lips. He drinks his fill, and then I dab at his wet chin with my sleeve. He blinks, taking in my green dress.

  “Pretty green. Pretty you.” His expression darkens again under the weight of memory. “Your blue dress—oh, Rose. How badly did they hurt you? They hurt you because of me—”

  “They hurt me because they hurt you. That’s all.” That’s enough. That’s too much. I grip his elbow so tightly that he winces. I loose my hold on him, but I don’t take my hand away. “They hurt me only because they hurt you.” My voice is calmer now. “Otherwise I’m the same as I ever was. I feel the same as I ever did—about you, about everything. I promise, Theo.”

  “Good.” But he doesn’t look relieved. He doesn’t look like he believes me, either. His legs stir restlessly, as if he’d like to kick off the covers. His foot pokes out and I see that he’s wearing clean socks and trousers, too. Also Andreas’s, I imagine. The trousers will be far too long. Tomorrow, after church, I will hem them.

  “I have to call Dex.” Theo sounds fretful.

  “I already talked to Dex.”

  His eyes widen. “And Ira and Jim?”

  I nod.

  “You told them?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did they say?”

  I won’t tell him about the scene in the back room—not in detail, at least. “They were upset.”

  Grimacing, Theo pushes himself up on his elbows. “What did they tell George?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean? They must have made some excuse.”

  “I saw Jim talking to George between sets, so maybe he said something then. But I didn’t have time to ask, and nobody thought to tell me. We were all too busy just trying to pull the night off.”

  “Wait.” Theo’s brow furrows as he tries to understand. “Wait a minute.”

  “We did it for you, Theo. We pulled it off.” My throat tightens, but I manage to say it. “The fellows played every note, I sang every word. For you. We told the audience you weren’t feeling well. You’d be back as soon as you were able. Thank goodness they like our music so much. They were mostly only compassionate, wishing you well. No one walked out—at least not that I saw. They all stayed and listened.”

  I tell him about Dex at the piano, and the rest of us, making adjustments, making do. It wasn’t the same, not nearly as good, but we didn’t lose our spot at Calliope’s. “We’ll be back on Tuesday, it seems. Jim did say George would be expecting us.”

  “But not me,” Theo says.

  And now, never mind any concern, I take his bandaged hands in my own. Gently, I hold his hands. “You’re hurt. You need to rest, Theo. The doctor said so. It’s how you’ll get better. When you’re ready to come back, we’ll be waiting.”

  “But—”

  “Everything’s going to be all right. You just need to take care of yourself, and everything will be all right. The music isn’t going anywhere.”

  “I need to take care of myself.” His voice is as dull as his eyes, repeating this.

  My throat tightens. I want him to be angry. Sad. Anything but this. Defeated.

  “You’re not alone, Theo. Your mother, your sister, Dex, Ira, and Jim. And me. Especially me. We’re all here. We’ll help, any way we can. Anything you need.”

  He turns his face to the wall. “Sounds like some kind of song.”

  “Maybe it is.” I kiss the bandages on his hands, my lips light as a whisper. “Maybe I’ll sing it for you. Tomorrow morning, Easter morning. I’ll sing it for you then.”

  Theo closes his eyes. And now his breathing has deepened and slowed, and now he has escaped into sleep.

  I write a note in case I don’t have time in the morning:

  Dear Theo,

  Sophy is being baptized this morning. I’ll be home right after church. We’ll have lunch together.

  Love,

  Rose

  I pin this to his covers so he’ll be sure to see it when he wakes.

  The baptisms have begun. This Easter morning, for the first time ever, we sit in the front row of the sanctuary. Mother and I support Sophy so she can easily see Dolores walking up to the baptistery. Even Dad is here, sitting beside Mother, watching. Dolores leans back in Pastor Riis’s arms. Andreas stands at the head of the font as Pastor Riis lowers her into the water. When she rises up again, her streaming face is joyful.

  We welcome Dolores as a child of God.

  Andreas wraps Dolores in a white towel, and she steps to one side, then turns toward the congregation, her gaze seeking our family.

  It’s Sophy’s turn.

  Mother and Dad make a princess’s chair for Sophy, and I follow behind them as they bear her up to the font. She has waited so long for this day. Finally she is ready in body and spirit. Pastor Riis steps aside, and Andreas takes Sophy from Mother and Dad. He lowers her into the water. A blessing she descends, a blessing she rises up. A blessing, I sing so all can hear:

  Shall we gather at the river,

  Where bright angels’ feet have trod?

  Shall we gather at the river,

  That flows by the throne of God?

  If only Theo were able to join our gathering. I close my eyes and sing for him, too.

  I look out onto the congregation again as they join in on the last verse of the song. Dad is scowling. Then he wipes his eyes, and I realize I’ve misread his expression; he’s not doing this at all. He’s weeping, like many others. He’s just trying to hide that human fact.

  We sing amen. There are a few announcements to be made, and a final, beloved hymn to be sung:

  Come, thou fount of every blessing,

  Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;

  Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

  Call for songs of loudest praise.

  The service is nearly finished now, but there are still a few announcements, and we can’t afford to let Sophy get chilled. So Mother and Dad carry her, wrapped in her white towel, to the back of the sanctuary and down the stairs to the basement, where trays of pastries and coffee urns are already set out on the long tables. At the bathroom door, I take Dad’s place, and Mother and I carry Sophy inside. We left a bag holding a change of clothes there before the service. Now we take off her wet things and help her into dry ones. Here is her new pink dress, replete with ruffles, purchased on her outing with Andreas and Dolores. Sophy beams as we help her put it on. “Happy?” I ask. She kisses the air, not just once but three times. And then she says it anyway. “Happy.”

  When we emerge from the bathroom, the rest of the congregation has assembled in the basement. Mother and I sit in folding chairs with Sophy, and our family gathers around us, holding all the cups of coffee and plates of pastries anybody could ever want. Rob sits beside me, preening in a blue suit I’ve never seen before, and a bright, Easter yellow tie. “Pawnshop?” I ask discreetly, and he shakes his head until his curls bob. “Field’s,” he says proudly. “Nothing like a job with a decent wage. Though I’m not abandoning the pawnshop entirely, believe you me.” I smile and nod. I smile and nod at Julia and Paul, too, who are talking excitedly about all that needs to happen before their wedding. I smile and nod at Andreas and Dolores, and when Mother leans behind Sophy and whispers that there’s surely a spark of romance between these two—no, more than a spark, a flame—I smile and nod at that. I smile and nod at Zane across the room, and at his parents, who are talking with Dad, and all the while I’m smiling and nodding, my thoughts are with Theo. Has he awakened yet? Is he hungry or thirsty? Does he feel well enough to get up and take care of his own needs? Does he want me, need me, and I’m not there? Only a few more minutes, I tell myself, and I will return to him.


  Smiling and nodding, I look away from the Nygaards and Dad, and my eyes meet Nils’s. I stop smiling and nodding. I return his sober gaze.

  “I think someone wants to talk to you,” Mother says.

  “Rose,” Julia says. “Come on now. Go to him.”

  Julia takes my place beside Sophy so that I can stand. I go to him. Balancing our cups of coffee on saucers, we say our hellos. My coffee sloshes on my hand, and Nils draws out his handkerchief and gives it to me. I busy myself, wiping up. Then I set my cup and saucer on a nearby table, fold his handkerchief so that the wet portion is tucked safely away, and hold the handkerchief out to him like a small white flag of truce.

  “I saw you at Calliope’s,” I say.

  “And I saw you.” He takes the handkerchief, tucks it into his pants pocket.

  “And?”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard. “Well, thank you for coming.”

  “I had to. I didn’t have a choice. If that’s who you really are, if that’s what you really want, I need to know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His face is pained. “You can still see the light. You can still change your mind.”

  “I’ve seen the light.” I think of Theo’s smile. “And that’s not what I’m sorry for.”

  He frowns. “For what, then?”

  “I’m sorry for saying I was with you when I was really somewhere else. I’m sorry for using you as a lie.”

  “You’ve already apologized for that.”

  “I thought I’d try again.”

  Nils ducks his head, and his hair falls into his eyes, and this is not the right time to even think about touching his hair, or tucking it back into place. I won’t think in this way, out of respect to us both.

  Nils looks up at me again, and pushes back his hair.

  “Nearly all my life I’ve known you, Rose. For the first time, you’re making me utterly confused.”

  A sharp laugh escapes me; it sounds almost like a cry. “I confuse myself, too, sometimes. I’m just beginning to understand myself, I think. So maybe I understand what you’re feeling a little bit.”