Here Comes the Bride
The concert had begun. The other second-graders were playing. Since my classmates and I would not have to perform for awhile, we were sitting with the audience. We were sitting in the first row of seats so we could sneak backstage quickly.
My big-house family and my little-house family were sitting right behind me. Every now and then, I turned around to smile at Kristy.
My friends and I listened to the other class. They played very well. They did make some mistakes, but no one laughed at them. Then the big kids began to play. Before they finished, Ms. Colman signaled to us. Very quietly she led us out of the auditorium. Then she led us to the music room.
“Please get your instruments quietly,” she whispered.
We found our instruments. Then Ms. Colman showed us onto the stage. The curtain was down. On the other side of the curtain, a fifth-grader was playing a violin solo. I saw that the chairs from Mrs. Dade’s room had been set up in the two semicircles.
“Okay, find your places,” whispered Ms. Colman. We sat down just as the violin stopped playing. “Now,” Ms. Colman continued, “when the curtain goes up, you will be onstage. Good luck.”
I glanced at Nancy and tried to smile at her, but the smile came out all wavery.
The curtain rose.
My heart beat fast in my chest. I looked into the audience. I saw everyone from my little-house family and everyone from my big-house family. I waved to them. Some of them waved back. And they all smiled. I did not feel nervous anymore.
I watched Mrs. Dade.
My classmates and I began to play “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” Once, I heard Pamela’s flute make a shneep. But no one laughed. We finished the song. We began “Jingle Bells.” Hannie lost her place and missed a few notes. My tuba went honk, and somebody’s trumpet went blort. Still nobody laughed.
When we had played our last song, the audience clapped for us. I grinned.
Mrs. Dade turned around and faced the audience. It was time for her to thank everyone for coming. So I nudged Ricky.
Ricky jumped up. He dashed over to Mrs. Dade. “Excuse me,” he said to the audience in a big voice. “Our class has a surprise. It is for our teacher, Ms. Colman. She is getting married soon.”
Mrs. Dade looked fairly surprised herself, but she did not say anything. She watched Ricky as he returned to his seat. When he nodded to us, my friends and I began to play “Here Comes the Bride.” Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-dum. Dum, dum, da-dum, dum, da-dum, dum, da-dum.
The audience clapped again. Ms. Colman was sitting in the front with Mr. Simmons and Mrs. Hoffman. Her eyes had filled with tears. But she was clapping. So was Mrs. Dade, whose mouth was hanging open. “How did you learn that?” she said. But I knew she did not really expect an answer. Not just then.
It was my turn to stand up. I dashed to the edge of the stage. “Kristy!” I called. Kristy ran to me with the flowers. I took them from her and waited for the audience to stop clapping. When the room was quiet, I said, “Ms. Colman, these are for you.”
Ms. Colman walked onto the stage and took the flowers. “Thank you very, very much,” she said.
That reminded me of something. “I have one more announcement,” I said to the audience. “I want to thank my brother Sam Thomas. He helped us with the surprise. We could not have done it without him.”
Sam and I smiled at each other.
Ms. Colman’s Second Surprise
The audience clapped for a long time. They liked the music they had heard at the concert. They liked our surprise. We had made a few bloopers, but no bad ones. And we had played “Here Comes the Bride” perfectly. Best of all, no one had laughed at me and my tuba. And no one had called me Blarin’ Karen. I felt gigundoly happy.
The people in the audience began to stand up and put on their coats. Most of them were going home. But some of them were going to a party in Ms. Colman’s room. The parents and grandparents and brothers and sisters of my classmates and me had been invited.
Ms. Colman and Mrs. Dade were standing on the stage. They could not stop asking questions.
“Did you know about the song?” Ms. Colman asked Mrs. Dade.
“Who taught you to play it?” Mrs. Dade asked my friends and me.
“When did you rehearse it?” Ms. Colman wanted to know.
My friends and I tried to answer them. Everyone was talking at once.
We were still talking as we carried our instruments off the stage, down the hall, and into our classroom.
I took a look around the room. Our guests were there — the people in my two families, Mrs. Hoffman, someone who was probably Mr. Hoffman, Mr. Henry Simmons, and a lot of other people. Ms. Colman’s books had been cleared off of her desk. In their place were bottles of juice and seltzer and soda, two plates of cookies, a plate of brownies, and three bowls of potato chips. It was party time!
“Yippee!” I cried. (No one told me to use my indoor voice.) I ran to Mr. Henry Simmons. “Hi! Did you like the surprise?” I cried.
Mr. Simmons smiled. “Very much, Karen,” he answered. “I liked the rest of the concert, too. You should all be proud of yourselves.”
“Thank you,” I said politely.
After that I just ran around for awhile. I ran to Nannie and hugged her. I ran to Sam and thanked him again. I ran to Kristy and thanked her for the flowers again. I showed off Emily Michelle to anyone who had not met her. (I made sure to tell them I had named my rat after her.) I was about to let Hootie out of the guinea pig cage when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Daddy.
“Karen, you need to settle down,” he whispered. “And please put Hootie back.”
I closed the door to Hootie’s cage. I stood up. Maybe some cookies and brownies would settle me down. I reached for a handful. And Ms. Colman stepped to the front of the room.
“Class,” she said. “Guests, I have an announcement to make.” (Everyone stopped talking and eating and moving around. We stood still and listened.) “First,” Ms. Colman continued, “I want to say congratulations to my students. Your performance was wonderful. You have worked hard and it shows. Second, I want to thank you for the surprise. Mr. Simmons and I feel very honored. And touched. And everybody, including Mrs. Dade, is impressed that you taught the song to yourselves.”
“With some help from Sam,” I reminded her.
“With some help from Sam,” repeated Ms. Colman. “Thank you, Sam.” (Sam blushed.) “The last thing I want to say,” Ms. Colman went on, “involves Mr. Simmons, too.” Ms. Colman reached for his hand and they stood side by side. “Mr. Simmons and I will be getting married in one month — four weeks from tomorrow. We would like to invite all of my students and their parents to the wedding. We would like you to share the day with us.”
For once, I did not know what to say. I just stared at Ms. Colman and Mr. Simmons. Then I ran to Hannie and Nancy. We jumped up and down. We giggled and screeched. We were going to the wedding!
I decided this had been one of the best nights of my life.
The Flower Girl
The concert was over. The special night was over.
Guess what else. Music class was over, too. Our band unit with Mrs. Dade had ended. Anyone who wanted more music lessons could take them privately from Mrs. Dade after school. Those kids could rent their instruments from school. The other kids had to give theirs back.
Most of us gave them back. I gave back my tuba. I had decided I did not have enough time to become a great tuba player.
But Nancy kept her clarinet and Ricky kept his trombone and, of course, Pamela kept her flute. (If you ask me, she had a long way to go before she sounded like an angel singing.)
I wondered who would be the next kid at school to play the tuba. So far, no one was using it. It just sat in the music room. Maybe I would be the only second-grader in the history of Stoneybrook Academy to be a tuba player. (Even if it was just for a few weeks.) I liked that idea.
* * *
Not long after the ban
d concert, Mommy and Seth invited Ms. Colman and Mr. Simmons over for supper again. It was Tuesday night. Andrew and I set the table. (I worked carefully. I did not break any plates.)
“What’s for dinner?” I asked Mommy.
“Corn chowder, spinach pie, and vegetables,” she replied.
“Yum,” I said.
“Yuck,” said Andrew. “Do I have to taste everything?”
“Yes,” said Mommy. “But if you do not like something, you do not have to finish it. As long as you have tried it.”
Seth came home at five-thirty. At six o’clock the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” I called.
I let Ms. Colman and Mr. Simmons in. At first, the adults just sat around in the living room and talked. Andrew wanted us to eat first, so he could get the tasting over with. But I wanted to listen to the grownups. They were talking about the wedding again.
“We have met with the caterer,” said Ms. Colman. “This is the food we might serve at the reception. See what you think. Salmon rolls and tiny spinach quiches and cheese puffs. Those are the hors d’oeuvres.”
“Yuck,” said Andrew.
“For dinner — chicken kiev, vegetable mélange, and rice pilaf.”
“Gross,” said Andrew. “Do I have to taste everything at weddings, too?”
“And for dessert — cherries jubilee and, of course, the cake.”
“Yummy,” said Andrew, and Ms. Colman laughed.
“We have also talked to the florist,” spoke up Mr. Simmons. “The flowers in the church will be asters and baby’s breath.”
“That sounds lovely,” said Mommy.
“Speaking of flowers,” said Ms. Colman. “Karen, Henry and I have something important to ask you. Would you like to be our flower girl?”
“You mean, be in the wedding?”
“Yes,” said Ms. Colman. “I have a niece who is your age, and I had thought she might be our flower girl. But she will not be able to come to the wedding. My sister and her husband just live too far away. So Henry and I would be honored if you were our flower girl, Karen.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said softly. (I was even too excited to be noisy.) “I would love to be your flower girl.”
I was the flower girl in Daddy’s wedding, when he married Elizabeth. So I knew just what to expect. I would wear a beautiful dress, and carry beautiful flowers, and walk down the aisle of the church in front of Ms. Colman and Mr. Simmons.
I could not imagine anything lovelier. I decided I was the luckiest girl in the world.
About the Author
ANN M. MARTIN is the acclaimed and bestselling author of a number of novels and series, including Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), A Dog’s Life, Here Today, P.S. Longer Letter Later (written with Paula Danziger), the Family Tree series, the Doll People series (written with Laura Godwin), the Main Street series, and the generation-defining series The Baby-sitters Club. She lives in New York.
Copyright © 1993 by Ann M. Martin
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First edition, 1993
e-ISBN 978-1-338-05648-8
Karen's Tuba Page 4