Sing for Me (36 page)

TWENTY

I
t’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 smile 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.