Crescendo

by Allen Cheney

  Fred’s stomach sank. He had kept her curiosity at bay for nearly two years, but now he had run out of excuses. It was time to put Winnie’s love to the test.

  While Fred lived in a dormitory just off campus, the Allens had remained in the country home where they’d moved when he’d started middle school. Fred still didn’t own a car, but earlier that year Winnie had been gifted her uncle’s old Model A Ford. It was a vintage car that set Winnie apart from her peers, especially if it dared to rain while they were out and about. The hole in the roof would then require the passenger to open an umbrella, a favorite sight for locals who admired the way lighthearted Winnie always handled storms in stride. But the antique ride certainly wasn’t reliable enough to make the evening drive out to the Hillcrest community. She didn’t even bother asking her father for permission, knowing Mr. Langley would never have allowed her to drive those rural roads after dark.

  Without Winnie’s car, Fred had to find another solution. His sister, Novis, had still been giving him the occasional lift when needed, but that day Fred insisted she let him borrow the old Ford. Novis agreed, delivering it to him on campus before hitching a ride home with a friend.

  Now Fred gripped the wheel tightly in both hands while driving Winnie toward the outskirts of LaGrange. As cotton fields and cow pastures replaced the college buildings, Fred’s nerves were beginning to get the best of him. Winnie had spent enough time with Fred to know his quirks. She could always tell when his anxiety was on the rise. He’d grind his teeth or tune out, even as she was telling him about new operatic songs she wanted to master.

  “Fred?” Winnie asked, noticing his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and pearls of sweat around his hairline. “There’s nothing that could stop me from loving you. You know that, don’t you?”

  He gritted his teeth. Winnie had no idea what she was about to walk in to, he thought. Her family was educated and cultured. They shared enriching conversations around the dinner table, played games by the fireplace. They laughed and sang and had fun together, never afraid to show their uncensored vulnerabilities. The arts were celebrated in her house, not cursed. Even religion meant something real to the Langleys, not just a Sunday sermon after too many Saturday drinks.

  Winnie had never seen Fred more worried, and as the miles tugged them toward his family’s home, she had to encourage him to keep driving, her trademark optimism propelling him on through his fears. But when they arrived at the dilapidated structure, Fred observed Winnie carefully, expecting the worst. How many childhood days had he spent trying to leave this place? How many ways had he learned to act, trying to prove he was no different from his friends?

  Holding his breath, Fred opened the door for Winnie and escorted her to the house. Even along such a short walk, he noticed many flaws. The battered wood panels that lacked paint. The slanted porch that had held many a passed-out partier over the years. The knee-high grass that begged to be maintained. But instead of showing judgment or criticism, Winnie kept calm and revealed nothing. Much like the way Mrs. Lucy Nixon had remained pleasantly unrattled the day she had shown up unannounced to fetch the sheet music, Winnie behaved as if she were being welcomed into any other household. As if she had visited many homes just as worn down as this one.

  Unlike the Langleys, who had rushed out to greet Fred and Winnie with affectionate hugs, no one issued forth from the Allen home to offer any kind of welcome. Fred tried to bite back his bitter shame. He knew there was nothing more he could do. If he stood any chance at all with Winnie, she would have to be able to accept his impoverished roots. If not, then he would have no choice but to let her walk away and find a better man.

  Fred led Winnie up the rickety steps to the family’s front door. The entrance held nothing decorative. Instead, there were cobwebs, muddy boots, and a litter of scraggly kittens mewling in hunger for their mother—a feral feline nowhere to be found. Fred knocked as if it wasn’t his own family home, and then, embarrassed, laughed about it. “Never know what you might find in there. Better to give them fair warning.”

  With impeccable manners, Winnie followed Fred inside once his mother had opened the door. She greeted Velma with genuine affection, and as the couple made their way to Grady in the kitchen, Winnie was already bragging about her talented partner, filling Fred’s parents in on all their son had managed to accomplish at the college and beyond.

  The Allens didn’t seem to know how to respond. Winnie was too polite to bring up controversial issues about politics or religion. She wasn’t one to gossip. And the talk of college life seemed of little interest to Fred’s parents, so she quickly ran out of things to discuss.

  There were no romantic neighborhood streets to stroll, no family friends to meet, and no shared interests to explore. The air was suffocating to Fred, and he was just about to pull Winnie back to the car when Novis walked into the kitchen and said, “Nice to finally meet you, Winnie. All this time I keep seeing you when I give Fred a ride somewhere. And we all listen to that show y’all do together. Don’t we, Mama?”

  This came as a surprise to Fred. Never had the Allens mentioned the radio program, and his stomach settled a bit, having learned they actually cared enough to listen to Songs for You.

  Novis and her husband, Charles, were living with the Allens while they saved for a home of their own. The family matriarch, Peg Freeman, had also moved back in with the Allens. She hadn’t handled Noah’s passing very well and had since declined into severe dementia. As they all gathered around the dinner table, the Allens slowly began to let their guard down. Then, without warning, Fred’s uncle Dirk arrived and helped himself to a heaping bowl of dumplings. By that time, the ex-baseball player who had once been chased away by Aunt Eleanor had ironically become a sheriff’s deputy. He’d built his own home next door and frequently showed up uninvited. Winnie’s instinct told her something wasn’t right about Dirk. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she certainly didn’t trust him and was relieved when he gobbled down his food and left for his nightly patrol.

  After a mostly quiet supper, Fred helped Velma transition Peg to bed. Winnie, not quite familiar enough to join such an intimate exchange, assisted by opening doors and withdrawing the bed linens, wondering how Velma would have managed to do this job on her own. Once Fred’s grandmother was settled in the bedroom, his mother locked the door to secure the elderly woman for the night. “We find her wanderin’ out in the woods sometimes,” she explained to Winnie. “It’s the only way I know to keep her safe once it gets dark.”

  Winnie’s empathy shone through as she gave Mrs. Allen a gentle nod. With so many contrasts to the Langley lifestyle, Winnie had no way of knowing the conditions she now beheld as Fred’s homelife had improved significantly since his younger years. His parents were older and wiser now, and having retired from the mill, they were no longer broken by the oppressive work conditions. The random boarders and military men were long gone, as were the “aunts” his uncle Ed had kept around through the earlier years. Velma had found work as a nursing assistant, and Grady had even kicked the bottle and taken work with a construction crew, helping to build churches around the region. Still, it was a world apart from Winnie’s family life.

  As the evening wound down, Fred was eager to get Winnie out of there before something went wrong. So far she had not bolted in disgust, and she seemed to be enjoying herself well enough. Fred was feeling more certain than ever that she was the girl for him. But as soon as the young couple bid the Allens farewell, Fred’s uncle Ed came stumbling down the hill from Dirk’s house. He was too drunk to walk straight, and the stench of stale booze found Winnie and Fred on the porch long before Ed reached them.

  “Let’s go,” Fred said sternly. He held Winnie’s hand and hurried her to the car.

  “Wait up, wait up, now, Fred!” Ed hollered with a slur.

  Fred gave him a side-eye warning and closed Winnie’s passenger door. He was not going to let this man ruin this for him. Not on his life.

&nbs
p; Ed swaggered closer and then lunged at the passenger window, crashing his hands hard against the glass and causing Winnie to jump with a startle. “Boo!” he said, laughing obnoxiously. “What you so scared of, little girl?”

  “Leave her alone.” Fred pulled his uncle from the window, holding him with an aggressive stare, refusing to fold.

  “What you gonna do about it? Go run and tell your music teacher? Cry to your uppity friends? We all know you’re ashamed.” Then he turned to Winnie, who watched the full display from inside the car. “Oh, you thought he was something more than this, didn’t you, little girl? You thought he was gonna buy you some shiny big diamond? Put you up in a house on a hill? Ha!”

  This was all Fred could take. He drew his arm back and laid a powerful punch right into his uncle’s drunken cheek. Winnie shrieked.

  Fred didn’t bother saying anything more. The sting of the hit would make his message clear. Instead, he hurried to the driver’s seat and slammed the heavy steel door while cranking the worn engine. The muffler sputtered as Fred pulled away from his family home, leaving Ed bleeding in the moonlit lane, swallowing dust.

  For the entire drive to campus, Fred said nothing. He brought Winnie back to her dorm and let her leave in silence, certain she would never want to see him again.

  The next morning when he arrived for class, Winnie was waiting for him. “I wrote out our songs for today’s show.” She handed Fred a note card. Just as his wealthy friends had done back in high school, Winnie surprised him. Instead of judging him, she hadn’t changed one bit after visiting the Allen home—not even after seeing him punch his uncle Ed.

  Now Fred knew she really loved him, and he wanted nothing more than to marry her. However, the sad fact remained that Uncle Ed was right about one thing. An official engagement meant Fred would need to buy a ring. And buying a ring meant money.

  Once again a community member came to the rescue. Mr. Rosser, a well-liked member of the Kiwanis Club, had watched Fred overcome many obstacles to make something of himself. One day, after Fred and Winnie had performed for a Kiwanis Club event, Mr. Rosser greeted Fred. “I see you’re still dating that beautiful gal from Columbus.”

  “Yes, sir.” Fred stood straight and proud.

  “When the time comes to pop the question, swing by my jewelry store. I’ll help you choose a stone.”

  One afternoon the couple stopped by, and the kind gentleman really did name a price Fred could afford. With Winnie’s tasteful approval, they selected the diamond and struck a deal. Someday Fred would make the engagement official. Until then he would work to pay regular installments, determined to give Winnie a proper ring.

  As they left the store, Fred wanted to drive straight to Uncle Ed and prove him wrong. He had been able to buy Winnie a diamond after all. And if he had anything to do with it, he would give her that house on a hill someday too.

  Thirteen

  In the two years that Fred and Winnie had been studying at LaGrange, Madame had become especially fond of her star students. They had what she had learned to call the It factor—that indescribable star quality that set them apart from the others.

  Madame had connected Fred with Atlanta’s highly acclaimed vocal instructor Ralph Erolle, a tutorship that was proving especially beneficial in more ways than one. Understanding that Fred and Winnie were both hungry for more than what Georgia could offer, Madame and Ralph set out to find an opportunity that would push the ambitious vocalists to the next level.

  They knew of a reputable program in upstate New York, a summer study that helped rising talents sharpen their skills in the performing arts. The vocal portion was geared around the Chautauqua Opera Company, an organization that was almost as renowned as the Metropolitan Opera and nearly as old. Each summer the company offered an eight-week intensive program for young singers, but the auditions were tough and acceptance was not guaranteed. Madame nevertheless encouraged them to apply, helping prepare their audition and gathering glowing recommendation letters.

  All were excited when Fred and Winnie were admitted to the prestigious program. Once again, the community came through when a generous benefactor, Mr. Banks, sponsored the entire summer experience for both students.

  With funding secured, Madame and her friend Ms. Beard drove the young performers north for the special opportunity. It was the summer of 1954, and Fred and Winnie rode in the back seat all the way to New York, stopping along the way to view famous landmarks, including Niagara Falls. There, the starry-eyed couple leaned out over the railing, hoping to feel the spray from the treacherous drop. The waters roared their thunderous song, and Fred’s entire being responded to the power of nature’s music. The experience was far removed from the small black-and-white image he had seen years ago in Noah’s battered encyclopedias.

  Perched at the top of the view, Fred took Winnie’s hand, and together they stared out into the churning currents. “There’s so much for us to learn,” Fred said. “The world is bigger than we know, and I want to see it all. With you.”

  Winnie’s heart raced as she thought, Yes, this is the man for me.

  That afternoon, the foursome reached the historic lakeside community of Chautauqua, where bright white sailboats dotted the lake and stately homes added to the charm. With help from Madame and Ms. Beard, the two excited students moved their belongings into the summer quarters—Fred in the building for boys and Winnie in the one for girls.

  Winnie introduced herself politely to a group of fellow residents, but they laughed at her southern accent and rolled their eyes when she asked where they were to meet for breakfast.

  “Don’t let them worry you,” Madame said. “You’ve seen New York now, but how many of them have ever seen Georgia?” As usual, their wise mentor had known just what to say to boost Winnie’s confidence.

  That afternoon, Madame led the way to the grand amphitheater where many of the nation’s most prestigious singers had performed. As they strolled together through the meticulously landscaped grounds, they noted the grandeur of the historic buildings, especially the unusual rooflines and cedar shingles. “I would have given anything for this experience when I was your age,” Madame said. “Make the most of it. Promise me.”

  “We promise,” Winnie said, enthusiastically. She certainly didn’t want Madame to sense her nervousness.

  For the next two months Fred and Winnie spent every waking hour together. They attended lectures by the nation’s leading vocalists, studied opera under the world-renowned Julius Huehn, and attended top-bill performances at the legendary outdoor amphitheater, journaling every detail of the unique experience. It was their first time to hear such premier singers perform live, including one of their favorites, Eileen Farrell.

  The other students all hailed from the north, and they didn’t seem to know what to make of Fred and Winnie’s genteel manners. They never welcomed the couple to their dining tables or invited them to gather with the group in the evenings. But Fred and Winnie had one another, and they made the most of the opportunity they’d been given.

  On the weekends, they would travel. One Friday afternoon they rode a bus past the horses and buggies of Amish country, heading straight for the Big Apple, where the intensity of the noise and the flurry of lights proved more energizing than they had ever imagined. As they strolled beneath the marquee signs on Broadway, they didn’t bother complaining that the tickets were too expensive for them to see an actual play. Instead they spied on the performers arriving for evening shows and sneaked through the back alleys to eavesdrop on post-rehearsal conversations.

  The young couple took in as much as they possibly could. They explored Central Park all the way to Chinatown and covered as much of the city as time would allow. Wide-eyed and curious, they pointed out the countless contrasts from their world back home in Georgia. It was easy to focus only on the glamour, especially in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, where they spotted long limousines and European sports cars, decadent jewels and designer handbags that cost more than their
entire semester’s budget. They took no offense to less posh areas of the city, where honking car horns fought for attention and garbage cans crowded the sidewalks. Even there, Winnie was not deterred, telling Fred, “It’s what I’ve always wanted. How could anyone not love a place like this? So much to do. So much to see!”

  Together they walked for miles, exploring various blocks, fantasizing about owning a penthouse in the upscale districts. When they strolled past the old Metropolitan Opera House on Broadway and Thirty-ninth Street, Winnie’s eyes ignited. Fred was equally inspired.

  “It’s nice, but I pictured something . . . fancier,” Winnie admitted, standing on the sidewalk beneath the industrial awning that now paled in comparison to the elaborate architectural designs they’d been admiring.

  “I don’t know,” Fred said. “Imagine coming here in the 1800s, when there were gaslights on the corners.” He fanned his hand across the air, as if directing a play. “Picture the carriages. The men in long black tails.”

  “Ahhh, yes. I can see it,” Winnie played along. “Or jump ahead, to streetcars. Ladies with long strands of pearls, wrists wrapped with diamonds. Full-length evening gowns and furs to drape them all.”

  They were both lost in the scene. Then Fred eyed the door. “Wanna look inside?”

  He extended his arm as if a nineteenth-century escort, and Winnie hooked her hand inside the crook of his elbow with her chin tilted high and proud. Together they sneaked into the expansive lobby, pretending they were being welcomed in for a night of opulence. Winnie gasped as they headed up the grand staircase. With no one in sight, she exaggerated her walk, imitating Elizabeth Taylor’s glamorous stride as if she owned the place.

  The building’s intimate interior made up for its bland first impression. Even Fred caught his breath when they entered the empty theater. Five levels of intricate balconies wrapped the room, rising straight up, with only twenty rows between the decadent lofts and the famous stage. The impact was significant, and when Fred folded into one of the upper center seats, he not only imagined himself as an audience member, he felt the heat of the stage lights on his face, heard the rounds of hearty applause, scanned the sea of captivated faces as he gave them what they needed most—a reminder that this was just the place to tap into deep emotions, to shake loose from all societal restraints, and to feel completely free again.