Livvie's Song (24 page)

The stage was a welcome retreat. To his relief, folks crowded her out whenever he stepped off the stage between sets, all of them oohing and aahing over his talents and posing questions about his instrument. Some who recognized him from Livvie’s Kitchen told him how much they enjoyed the Family Feast nights, and that they’d been telling friends and neighbors all about the event. Will thanked them for supporting the restaurant, and, if the Lord moved him, he made sure to give God the credit for his talents, whether culinary or musical.

He’d seen no sign of Clem Dodd or his cohorts since Tuesday night and held out hope that they’d all jumped on the train the next day. Still, every time he left the restaurant, he kept an eagle eye on his surroundings, half expecting Clem to step into his path. Not that the fellow scared him one iota, but his presence in this pleasant, peaceful town concerned him. He knew the damage Clem was capable of doing.

On Sunday morning, the sun showed up in all its golden perfection, warming Will’s shoulders as he strolled up Market Street with Livvie and her boys; Alex and Nate were abuzz with excitement as they chattered giddily about going to church—and with him, no less. Their constant volley of questions—“Is the Sunday school teacher nice?” “Do we get to draw a picture?” “Are we gonna hear a story?” “Do we gots to be quiet?”—kept him busy thinking of answers. He was not at all familiar with the Sunday school classes for children, so he simply told them to be good listeners and learn as much as they could about Jesus.

As they walked along, he cast Livvie an occasional glance or a smile over the boys’ bobbing heads. She smiled in return, but he detected a wariness in her manner, which he credited to either her annoyance with him, her apprehension over returning to church, or both. So, he directed most of his attention to Alex and Nate so that Livvie could ponder her thoughts in peace. How did she feel about setting foot inside a church without Frank? Would resurrected memories stir up deep emotions, or would they bring her closer to healing? Was she worried that folks might jump to the wrong conclusions about her and him? Worse, would she wish she’d never come? He found himself praying for her as they clipped along the nearly deserted street. Traffic was almost nil, with every business closed up tight, and only a few dogs roaming about, sniffing at scraps. In front of them, a couple of squirrels scampered down a tree trunk, then ran right back up again, in what appeared to be a game of tag. Across the street, some birds settled on a telephone wire and set to warbling, their “talk” mingling with Alex and Nate’s conversation. Will smiled and gazed past the boys at Livvie, but, this time, she kept her eyes trained straight ahead.

***

The worshippers at the Wesleyan Methodist church that morning couldn’t have numbered more than sixty, but the warmth of the smiles, greetings, and handshakes at the door more than made up for sparse attendance. Something told Livvie that even if these folks were to learn about Will’s past, they wouldn’t think of shunning him.

First to greet her and the boys was Clara Gillen. “How nice to see you, Olivia!” she exclaimed, shaking Livvie’s hand as if working a pump handle with vigor and purpose. “Welcome to our service!”

“Thank you. It’s nice to be here. And, please, call me Livvie.”

The woman beamed, her smile as bright as a shiny, new button. “Well then, you must call me Clara. Oh, and might I add how tickled I was that you featured my grandmother’s recipe on the first night of Family Feast? I heard Thursday night was even busier. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it, but we’re planning to come again next week. What a wonderful idea you had for bringing new customers into your fine little diner!”

Livvie gave Will a hasty glance and found him engaged in conversation with several other male parishioners, among them Dan Gillen, Clara’s husband. “You have to give Mr. Taylor the credit for that.”

Clara leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He’s a fine man, that Will Taylor. Mighty good cook, too, just like your Frank, may he rest in peace. We had Will join us for lunch a few weeks ago. Say, you two wouldn’t want to be our guests today, would you? I made plenty of roast beef and potatoes. I always make extra, never knowing who might be joining us.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Can we, Mom?” Alex tugged on her sleeve. “We don’t ever get to go to nobody’s house for Sunday dinner! Well, ’cept Aunt Margie’s, I guess.”

“Do you got any kids?” Nate asked Clara.

She clasped her hands together and bent forward at the waist. “I certainly do. My boys are teenagers, but I bet they’d still enjoy your company. They could take you out to see all our chickens and livestock. Would you like that?”

“Sure! My uncle Howie has chickens on his farm. He gots one named Mildred that he says he can’t eat, ’cause he’s real attached to her. ’Sides, she gives good eggs. She only has one eye, though, ’cause a rooster poked out th’ other one. He’s a mean thing. The rooster, not Uncle Howie.”

Clara tossed back her head and laughed. “Yes, yes, I knew who you meant. Too bad about Mildred’s eye. Well then, it’s settled. You’ll come for dinner.”

“Oh, but—,” Livvie stammered.

“We’d love to, Mrs. Gillen,” Will’s voice interrupted her as he broke away from the group of men to join them. “You don’t have any objections, do you, Livvie?”

Even if she did, she’d be hard put to argue right there in front of kind Clara Gillen. Sundays were generally her days to relax and gear up for the week ahead, but she heard herself reply, “No, I think it’d be lovely.”

If ever she’d heard a sermon intended just for her, it was the three-point message Reverend Clarence White preached that day. It actually might have been four or even five points; she couldn’t be sure. Yes, he wandered off topic more than once, but he still packed a mighty punch and managed to speak truths that resonated in the core of her soul.

“Some folks view life as having no real meaning or purpose,” he said. “Perhaps, you’ve suffered a great loss or struggle with finances or a rebellious child. Maybe some of you believe that God has dealt you an unfair blow. Whatever your circumstances, the Lord brings hope and healing, and He clearly understands our difficulties, no matter how heartrending.

“You might be roaming around with a void in your heart that nothing and no one can fill. Did you know the Lord can fill that empty space and give new meaning to your life?

“If anyone had reason to be bitter and angry toward God, it was Job, and there were times when he questioned God’s divine dealings. Yet, Job also held out hope for better days. He knew that his Redeemer lived, and that, in the end, he would again stand upon the earth and see God.

“My friends, your suffering can serve to make you better; as it does, the Lord equips you to help others through their sufferings.”

At the close of the reverend’s message, Livvie found herself wiping her eyes and wishing for a handkerchief.

As if reading her thoughts, Will produced one from his side pocket, then gently touched her arm.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, appreciating the gesture, yet feeling mortified that he’d caught her in so vulnerable a state. Now, she supposed he’d want to talk about it afterward.

She shouldn’t have worried, though. All the way to the Gillens’ farm, as she rode with Will and her boys in a horse-drawn tram driven by David, the older Gillen boy, Alex and Nate prattled nonstop about their Sunday school classes, and no one had a ghost of a chance of getting a single word in edgewise. It was one of the few times she was genuinely thankful her boys loved to babble.

The Gillens were a friendly lot. While David and his younger brother, Jonathan, took Alex and Nate outside to show them around, Dan Gillen took Will into the room where he kept his antique gun collection, and Livvie and Clara talked in the kitchen. Since Clara had everything under control—carrots simmering on the stove, potatoes baking in the oven with the roast, a Jell-O mold setting in the refrigerator, and fresh-baked rolls cooling in the pan—there was little for Livvie to do but stand at the sink and dry the clean dishes that were handed to her.

As she chatted with Clara and heard bits and pieces of the men’s discussion in the other room, Livvie relaxed and began to enjoy herself. And that’s when it struck her.

Life had started to feel normal again, and she had a strong hunch that Will Taylor played a big part in that.

“The Lord is King for ever and ever: the heathen are perished out of his land.” —Psalm 10:16

On the last day of July, the month came rolling to an end, but the heat certainly did not. Livvie strolled up Market Street on her way to McNarney Brothers Meat Market under a blanket of thick, threatening clouds, and the air was so heavy, she worried she wouldn’t make it back to the restaurant before the skies opened up. Perspiration trailed down from her hairline and dotted her forehead and cheeks in a most unladylike fashion. Every winter, she longed for summer and vowed never to complain about the heat, yet, here she was, protesting again. At least she wasn’t alone in her discomfort. Everywhere she looked, folks were fanning themselves with newspapers and wiping their damp brows. Across the street, she noticed three men in conversation, one pointing up at the dreary clouds, the other two nodding dolefully. These days, as much as she hated using up the electricity, she sometimes opened her Frigidaire just to feel the blast of luxuriously cool air.

At the corner of Market and Wabash, Livvie paused, waiting for the streetlight to change. She watched a flock of birds enjoy a free bath in front of City Hall, where a small but steady stream of water from a leaky hydrant up on Hill Street had formed a convenient little pool for the feathered creatures. My, but she’d give just about anything to join them. If Alex and Nate were at her side, they’d surely beg to go jump in the puddle. As it turned out, they were spending the day at Margie and Howard’s farm because Sally had left on a day trip with her parents.

Since Will’s luscious kiss, not one mention of it had risen up between them, nor had he made a single move to repeat the act. She and her boys had been walking with him to the Wesleyan Methodist church every Sunday, looking almost like a family, but he always made sure to walk between her boys and converse mostly with them. He included her, of course, but avoided any in-depth dialogue. Even at the restaurant, he joked with everyone but her, which she found ironic, considering how he’d expressed hope that the kiss—the “silly kiss”—would not affect their working relationship. And now, he barely acknowledged her, making her wonder if regret weighed heavily on him.

She couldn’t count how many times she’d recalled that tender moment, reliving every second and reflecting on the electrifying impact it had made on her soul. Why, his lips had been as soft as velvet. Would she ever get to experience them again? Probably not, considering that she’d spoken her dead husband’s name! Why should Will even consider risking a repeat? She pursed her lips as she continued along the sidewalk, taking care to avoid the cracks in the cement. Would that childish superstition about breaking her mother’s back ever cease to haunt her? Gracious, she felt like a ninny.

Attending church again had affected her on many levels, awakening emotions, stirring needs in her heart, and poking at her conscience, a result she hadn’t anticipated. Although the Wesleyan Methodist church wasn’t the one in which she’d been raised, the presence of God and the sense of His love and forgiveness bowled her over at every service, and the people were so warm and welcoming, including her in conversation and inviting her to various church functions. During the services, each hymn they sang seemed to have been selected especially for her, as if the choir director knew she needed those words to minister to her. And the pastor’s messages, while they were never too profound, continued to feed a hunger in her soul.

As for Will’s former friends, she’d seen nothing of Mr. Dodd or his sidekicks, and she hoped with everything in her that they’d gone back to New York for good. She would never forget the look in Clem’s eyes or that awful-looking gash across his cheek. He must have gotten into a terrible fight with someone—or something.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Livvie!”

She whirled at the sound of the female voice and smiled. “Well, if it isn’t Sofia Rogers and her handsome little brother, Andy.” The siblings caught up to her, and together they crossed the side street, Livvie scooting to dodge a “present” that a passing horse had just left behind. On the corner, they stopped to talk.

“How are you two?” she asked, looking from Sofia to her brother. Sofia couldn’t be a day over seventeen, and yet she’d been fully responsible for taking care of her brother for two years, ever since their parents had been killed in a train wreck. With sorrow in her heart, Livvie recalled how devastated the children had been, especially little Andy, who had developed a noticeable stutter following the accident and was teased mercilessly by the other boys. She’d learned this from Margie, who had taken the pair under her wing and checked in on them as often as she could. Sofia was a strong, stubborn thing, though—full of determination and grit, and, as Margie had put it, not one to cotton to pampering. After the accident, she’d agreed to stay with Howard and Margie for a few weeks, but, before long, she’d insisted that her brother and she would manage fine on their own in their parents’ home. It was on the outskirts of town, a couple of miles from Margie and Howard’s farm. Sofia had refused to burden anyone and continually turned down Margie and Howard’s offers to have Andy and her move in permanently with them, at least until they could get their feet back on solid ground.

Margie had pleaded with her, but Sofia would have none of it. A wisp of a thing, she pulled back her narrow shoulders and held her head high whenever she came into town. She’d slipped into the role of parent with determination, dutifully getting little Andy ready for school every morning before she headed to class, herself. She’d taken a double load of classes and graduated early. Now, she worked nights for a cleaning service down on Factory Street, tidying business offices and making just enough to get by, according to Margie. From what her sister had said, Sofia worked from 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m. while her brother slept. After her shift, she went home, woke up her brother and got him ready for school, and then slept for five or six hours. The only time Livvie had ever seen the girl cry had been at the cemetery at her parents’ funeral, and, even then, she’d kept her tears to a minimum. Such a stalwart girl, and yet as pleasant as the morning sun.