The Wilful Daughter (11 page)

The Piano Man finished and the Blacksmith was the first to applaud: “Beautiful! Wonderful!” Mama joined in as did the Preacher and the sisters.

The Piano Man turned and for the first time saw June standing behind her brother. Willie detected the faintest glimmer of recognition was in the man’s eyes and then it was gone. He looked up at June, saw her disappointment and then looked back at the musician who was still living down the praises of the Brown family.

“
I see,” the Piano Man said, “We have been joined by some more family members.”

The Blacksmith stood as did the Piano Man. The older man was by far taller and bigger. “Indeed, indeed, Mr. Jenkins. My son William Brown the Second and my daughter June Brown.”

The Piano Man came over and shook Willie’s hand. He had a firm grip for such thin fingers. Then with a swift gentlemanly motion he took June extended hand, kissed it and said: “Enchante, mam’selle.” June blushed.

“
Nice to meet you, Mr. Jenkins.” She spoke softly, not trying to be obvious. But Willie could see that this man was had an affect on her.

“
Peter, please. You must all call me Peter,” the Piano Man said.

“
Well, Peter,” the Blacksmith said walking over to the piano, “You have graced our home with the most wonderful music. Could we offer you some refreshment? Some of my wife’s delicious lemonade perhaps?”

“
Yes,” cried Fawn beaming. “Please stay and have some.”

“
I’ll get it,” sighed Rosa. “There’s some cake left from dinner that you might enjoy.”

“
I’ll get it,” Jewel grinned. “Rosa’s cake is a little dry, but we have some left over cobbler.”

“
Ladies, many thanks but lemonade will be just fine.” They all smiled and blushed and hurried off to get it. All except Minnelsa who was sitting next to her mother, and June who had no intention of leaving the Piano Man’s sight.

The Blacksmith went back and sat in his favorite chair. He hinted for the Piano Man to sit down next to the minister. The reverend politely stood when Willie was sure his father winked. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Brown, I must be going. I have few things left to do this evening. Must call on Sister King. Rheumatism got her down.”

“
Sorry to hear that,” Bira said in her usual soft spoken voice. “Give her my regards and tell her I’ll come to check on her tomorrow.”

The preacher nodded. “Certainly. Mr. Jenkins I trust you can find your way back to Mrs. Maples?”

“
I’m sure he can.” The Blacksmith chided. “If he can’t, Minnelsa will show him the way.”

The Piano Man turned and smiled to Minnelsa and Willie felt something tight grab his shoulder. He looked up and saw one thin tear trickle down June’s cheek. He had known it all along. Papa and the preacher had conspired to bring this man into the house. A man to be Minnelsa’s husband. It was sad enough that June was about to die, her heart broken in two, but worse was the crushed look Willie saw on Minnelsa’s face as she realized what was happening to her.

The moment the screen door slammed Minnelsa stood up: “I think I’d better hurry my sisters along with that lemonade.”

‘
Nonsense,” said her father. “Stay here with us for a while. June,” he said without even turning to look at his daughter, “Go hurry your sisters along.”

At first she was too shocked to move. Willie knew she wasn’t prepared for being taken away from her Piano Man. Papa was about to ask the musician something when he turned. “June, did you hear me?”

She looked longingly at the Piano Man but he didn’t notice her for he was talking to her mother and older sister. Silently she turned and left the room.

My God, was all Willie could think.

The sisters returned with the lemonade in a crystal pitcher and sparkling crystal glasses. These were the ones reserved for special family occasions and special visitors like the minister and those people who were considered pillars of the community.

Willie watched. It didn’t happen quickly. It happened cleverly and Willie witnessed it all.

The Piano Man stood as Fawn poured the long fingered man a glass of lemonade and commented: “Someone has gone to great lengths to have the best of hand-blown French glass imported. Mr. Brown, Mrs. Brown, these glasses are some of the most exquisite I have ever seen.”

Mama smiled politely. “They were a present on our twenty-fifth anniversary from my husband. One of his clients,” she began as Rosa served her and she watched with pride as Peter Jenkins looked over every inch of the beautiful glass, “was going to Europe and my dear husband asked him to bring these back. Along with some of the finest and loveliest China I have every laid eyes on.”

The Blacksmith interceded examining his own glass. “I’m sure you have seen better in Paris. Even in New York.”

“
Not since the war.” The Piano Man took a seat on the sofa next to Minnelsa.

“
You were in the war?” she asked as John Wood’s ghost filled the room. Willie turned to Papa and read nothing on his face.

“
No, Miss Minnelsa, not in the war. In France at the time you were part of the war whether you liked it or not. I don’t want to dwell on such things.”

“
But,” Jewel asked sitting on the other side of the sofa near him, “what did you do in the war? If you weren’t a soldier.”

The Piano Man’s face turned cold. So he really didn’t want to talk about it, Willie thought. He was beginning to think the man was a deserter or that he had sympathized with the wrong side. Perhaps he had been a servant of some rich white man who left him there to fend for himself.

Softly he uttered: “I took care of some orphans.”

The room was filled with a silence that Willie could not abide. He had been all set to hate Peter Jenkins.

“
Before the war, Mrs. Brown, there were so many homes with glasses and china like this as I am sure you have. Before the war I would play in the great saloons and houses of Paris after a dinner of the most exquisite food on the loveliest plates this side of heaven. Tables set with silver bowls and trays and goblets. Each table was like a painting. The wealthy French certainly knew how to entertain.” He raised the crystal goblet high to Willie’s parents. “As do you.”

Papa shyly raised his. Mama did not move.

The Piano Man sipped the lemonade. Minnelsa sat quietly holding her glass fingering each crevice. “The war took the china from the tables. It was blown up in the air. I used to walk by the homes of some of my acquaintances and find them gone. Many of them took just what they could carry and the looters got the rest. Sometimes you’d see a piece of a broken plate smashed on the sidewalk and you’d wonder what happened to the rest of the set of dishes.”

“
What of the orphans?” asked Jewel. “Were they the children of your white benefactors?”

The Piano Man’s face became a blur of anger. It was obvious that she had said something wrong. He allowed it to soften before he spoke. “Miss Jewel, I had no benefactors in France. I was a musician equal to the whites there.” She blushed. He turned to the rest of the room to explain. “It is different there. An artist is appreciated for his talent, not the color of his skin. My colleagues were some of the finest in all Europe. I toured, I played, I even wrote music from time to time although that was not my forte. I went where I pleased without question. No, Miss Jewel, the orphans and I found each other.”

The Piano Man brushed his hand over his curly black hair and Willie noticed dampness at his forehead. It wasn’t hot in the room, it was a cool evening. Even he was not sweating from his rush to get into the house. Was this was the kind of sweat you get from lying?

“
I was on my way to a party at Monsieur Reuon, a very dear friend, with a few friends. As I exited my coach a little man that I had seen at many of these gatherings came running up to the Reuon household and forced himself inside. The Germans were coming he exclaimed and told us we needed to leave. We all laughed it off since we had heard this so many times before. Unfortunately our laughter was interrupted by not so distant gunfire.

“
Needless to say I attempted to leave immediately, but alas it was too late. Outside their house there was fighting. Then fires and more shooting. My coach was gone, there were no horses about. It was every man for himself.”

He sipped his lemonade and Willie watched his family. They were glued to every word. “He’s lying,” he whispered. This was a story from a book, or a tale the Piano Man had heard while playing in some bar in New York. Willie believed this man did not have the makings of a hero, of someone so unselfish. But he kept silent and listened, because, unlike June, he did not want to change things.

“
While many of the guests had departed a few remained. Deciding perhaps they should hold up in the wine cellar until morning and then proceed to the countryside. I thought this a wise move, but it was not to be. Those who headed down to the wine cellar were killed instantly by Germans who were by that time in the house.

“
Madame and Monsieur Reuon had gone upstairs to get their children, two small boys and a little girl of about ten. With them was the children’s nanny, a black woman from the isle of Martinique and her own daughter. Because we were in this darkened part of the house we were not attacked. By the time the enemy reached the second floor, Monsieur had us all hidden in a secret room that his father had used to spy on people years before. We stayed in that tiny room in complete silence for two days.”

“
How did you escape?” Willie turned and saw June standing in the doorway.

“
It’s a tragic story. And I do not wish to change the mood of the evening with. . .”

“
Please,” Willie spoke boldly. “I would like to know how you escaped and became in charge of the orphans.” The tone of his voice was threatening and Peter Jenkins took it that way. He continued his tale keeping a watchful eye on Willie as he talked.

“
It was war, and there was so much death and sadness. Mr. Reuon went out to see what was happening and was shot upon leaving the house. The Germans did not come back to search the rooms. They believed he was one of those they had attempted to execute in the cellar. Madame Reuon was mad with grief and the nanny was doing her best with the children. I went out and found food and water for them, but when I returned Madame had a heart attack and died.

“
The nanny and I thought it best to find shelter some place else. So we left in the black of night with the four children. We were staying in a church and gathered with us more orphans, children who were not sure what had happened to their parents, if they were dead or alive.”

Rosa released a tiny sob. “How sad.”

“
Yes, that is war. Sad and tragic. But the priest told the nanny and me of a place where the children would be safe and that’s where we took them. At least ten boys and girls we took to a place the Germans were not headed. The nanny died of pneumonia in the first few weeks, the journey was that hard. But I stayed with them until I got every one of them to the nuns at St Ives Convent. There I worked and remained for the rest of the war. One of the few places untouched by all the devastation.”

The Piano Man finished his lemonade and was about to put down his glass when June appeared at his hand to take it and caressing his long fingers all at one time. “Thank you, Miss June.” He gave her a bright smile and June, who usually bubbled with conversation, quietly nodded.

“
Mr. Jenkins, you have led a fascinating life.” Bira said. “Why would you decide to come to Atlanta after all the time you spent in Paris?”

Good question, Willie thought. Something must have happened there to send him back to the states.

“
Yes, Paris is very exciting for a colored man the way you paint it, Mr. Jenkins. Atlanta is just a big dull country town,” the Blacksmith added.

The questions, Willie realized, had begun before the courtship.

“
There are many reasons why I came to Atlanta, Mr. and Mrs. Brown. To settle down from all the excitement of the continent is the first thing. I could work in New York. I played at a very trendy downtown white club before I left. But there is still racism there. Plus I wanted to be in my own country.” He dramatically hesitated. “I was born here. I wanted to come home.”

Willie knew he couldn’t touch that. This brilliant man? From Atlanta? Coming home? No wonder papa was impressed. He was one of a kind.

He wasn’t sure who moved first but when Peter Jenkins stood the Blacksmith was there, towering over him. “I should be going. I feel I have overstayed my welcome.” The Piano Man looked up at his host.

“
With stories like yours and playing like yours you will always be welcome in our house. Minnelsa.”

“
Papa?” Nervously she stood.

“
Show Mr. Jenkins the way to Mrs. Maples. We don’t want him to get lost.”

“
I’m sure I’ll be fine, sir,” the Piano Man said. Willie turned to look at June but she was gone.

“
Nonsense. Charlene Maples would have my head if I didn’t get her prize boarder back to her. Minnelsa, show him the way.”

Graciously, Peter Jenkins nodded his goodbyes to the ladies. But to Brother he extended his hand.

“
A pleasure meeting you, sir,” the long fingered stranger said.

“
A pleasure hearing your story,” Brother told him and shook his hand again. “I am sure my family would love to hear more of how and what you did in France.”