Fly Away

  Wilhelmina drew a deep breath. “I’m not going with you, Marjorie. I have another appointment.”

  Larry set down his fork. “Not going? Wilhelmina!”

  “Listen, spare me your sermon on duty and responsibility, Larry. I’m not going and that’s final. Faith College will just have to celebrate without me. In fact, my ride will be here any minute, so you’ll have to excuse me. Just leave the dishes, Marjorie. I’ll do them later.”

  She gathered up the serving platters and started toward the kitchen door, but Larry rose from his place at the head of the table and stood in her path.

  “What is all this nonsense?” He looked and sounded so much like Father that Wilhelmina wanted to laugh.

  “Larry, who won the Homecoming game last year? Or the year before? Do you remember? Do you really care? It’s a waste of time to go to those things, and I don’t have time for it this year. I have another engagement.”

  Larry’s stern demeanor transformed to one of pastoral compassion. He draped his arm around her shoulder. “I think I know what this little fuss is all about, Wilhelmina. Your pride has been wounded, hasn’t it? And so you’ve decided to avoid Faith College this year. Now, we all have to face up to difficult situations from time to time, but the best way to deal with them is to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. Just pick yourself up, dust off your wounded pride, and—”

  “This has nothing to do with wounded pride and bull’s horns, Larry. I promised to test a piano for one of my students, and I think that’s a little more important than a boring reception and a football game.”

  Larry sputtered wordlessly for a moment as he tried to cope with the outrage of having his sermon cut off. “Well! This must be an extraordinarily talented student to merit the sacrifice of your duties on Homecoming weekend!”

  Wilhelmina recalled Lori’s stubby fingers and chipped pink nail polish. “Oh, yes. She has great potential.”

  “But it shouldn’t take you all day to look at a piano. You’ll still be able to attend the alumni banquet with us later tonight, won’t you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a command.

  “Sure, Larry.” She had won her freedom for the afternoon and that meant a partial victory. As she turned to carry the dishes into the kitchen, she heard the noisy exhaust of Mike’s pickup truck. He tooted the horn.

  “That’s my ride. I’ll see you later.” She dodged around her brother and set the dishes in the sink, hoping to make a swift departure. But Larry had glanced out the dining room window at Mike’s truck, and he charged after Wilhelmina like an angry bull.

  “Good heavens! It’s . . . it’s a truck!”

  “Of course it’s a truck, Larry. How else would you move a piano?”

  “But you can’t possibly ride in that! It’s nothing but a rusted-out hulk! And it has dogs in it!”

  As Wilhelmina opened the door she heard Buster and Heinz barking their loud greeting. For a moment she was tempted to tell Larry what a pompous snob he was. But then her conscience reminded her that her original opinion of Mike and his truck was not very different from her brother’s.

  “Yes, Larry, the truck has dogs in it. And you know what? They’re not purebred either.”

  *****

  “I’m not tearing you away from your company, am I?” Mike gestured to the Lincoln Town Car, parked in Wilhelmina’s driveway.

  “On the contrary. You’re rescuing me.” Her cheeks were bright pink, and she seemed flustered. Mike hoisted her into the passenger seat beside his grandson, Mickey, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He kept the truck idling in neutral.

  “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I can see by the license plate that whoever it is drove down from Massachusetts.”

  “It’s only my brother and his wife, and they’re not here to visit me, anyway. They came down for Homecoming Weekend at the college.”

  “Oh.” That explained why Wilhelmina had been so eager to go with him today. As Mike shoved the gearshift into reverse and backed out of the driveway, he felt a wave of anger at the college officials and the heartless way in which they had rejected her. He didn’t blame her for wanting to avoid that place. He whistled tunelessly as he drove across town, trying to decide what he could do to cheer her up.

  “Are you really going to give my stupid sister piano lessons?” Mickey asked Wilhelmina.

  “Whoa! That’s no way to talk about your sister,” Mike said.

  “Aw, Grandpa. Lori’s such an airhead. A real space cadet. She’ll never learn to play the piano.”

  “You wouldn’t be just a little bit jealous, now, would you?” he asked.

  “No way.” But Mike could tell by the way Mickey scrunched lower in the seat that he had struck a raw nerve.

  “Just asking. Some kids might get their noses out of joint if their sister was getting something new—like a piano and piano lessons, for instance.” Mickey folded his arms across his chest. “Professor Brewster told me that she has two brothers. I wonder if they ever got jealous of her for playing the piano?” He looked over at Wilhelmina, hoping to draw her into the conversation, but when he saw the look of sadness that crossed her face he wished he could retract the question.

  “I suspect they felt a bit jealous, at times,” she said, studying her lap. “But they each have special skills that I don’t have, so it evens out in the end.” She looked up at Mickey. “I think you would be happier if you allowed Lori to be herself and you concentrated on those talents that only you possess.”

  A few minutes later, Mike pulled up in front of his tiny bungalow. He led the way through the front door, proud that he had cleaned up. His house looked a lot neater than the last time Wilhelmina had visited. But in spite of the fact that there were no dirty socks or half-eaten sandwiches, it irritated him to discover that the dust on the piano bench was thick enough to carve his name in.

  “I guess the maid forgot to dust.” He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped it away. “Go ahead, Willymina. It’s all yours.”

  “It’s a lovely old upright and a good brand name. It should play just fine.” She sat down and opened the lid to the keyboard, then plunged in with a dazzling display of skill, her hands covering the keyboard from one end to the other.

  “Wow! I don’t think it’s been played like that in its entire life,” Mike said when she finished. “It’s probably wondering what hit it just now.”

  “It’s a really fine instrument. It would be worth a fair amount if you ever decide to sell it.” She played part of another song that Mike vaguely recognized.

  “It sounds more in tune than the one at the Cancer Center,” he said with a grin.

  Wilhelmina looked up at him. She was almost smiling. “Yes. So it does. But I would still have it tuned, if I were you, after it has been moved to your son’s house. I can give you Mr. Amato’s phone number. He’s very good, and his prices are reasonable.”

  She doodled around on the keyboard for another minute or two, as if reluctant to finish her job so soon, then experimented with the pedals for a while. Finally she lowered the keyboard lid and stood up. She picked up Helen’s picture on top of the piano.

  “Is this your wife? Lori told me she used to play the piano.”

  “She did but nothing like you. She mostly played by ear. Popular songs, Christmas carols, stuff like that. Whenever we’d have a gang over we’d get her to play, and we’d all sing along. Nothing fancy.”

  Mickey sighed with the impatience of youth. “Is she done, Grandpa? Can we go fishing now?”

  “Yes, Mickey, I”m done. Your grandfather can take me home.” She returned Helen’s picture to its place.

  Mike glared at his grandson. Wilhelmina would never agree to stay longer now that she knew Mike had other plans. He needed to cheer her up, but he didn’t know what to do. “Uh . . . what about music, Willymina? Shouldn’t we buy Lori a book or something?”

  “Not right away. And anyhow, I have plenty of books I can lend her.” She picked up her purse and inched toward the door.
>
  Mike couldn’t take her home, knowing she would sit around all alone and depressed. But Wilhelmina would never agree to go fishing with them either. “I, uh . . . I think there’s some old sheet music inside the bench there. Would you mind having a look at it before you go? I’ll be right back.”

  He ducked into the kitchen, grabbed a plastic grocery bag, and began stuffing whatever he could find into it. A package of frozen hot dogs. Half a loaf of bread. Four nearly-stale donuts. Three cans of soda pop. A squeeze bottle of mustard. An unopened bag of potato chips. Mike glanced at the roll of masking tape laying on the counter and considered bringing it along to stick over Mickey’s mouth.

  “Grandpa promised to take me fishing later,” he heard Mickey telling her. He couldn’t hear Wilhelmina’s mumbled reply. “Yeah, that’s why I’m glad it didn’t take very long for you to check out the piano.”

  Mike tied the handles of the plastic bag together and strode into the living room with it.

  “Is any of that old music any good?” he asked.

  “Well, I wouldn’t throw it out. You never know.”

  “That means it’s junk, Mickey. OK, then. Let’s take off.”

  Mike tossed the bag of food behind the front seat of the truck, loaded the dogs and everyone else on board, and drove off. Ten minutes later he zoomed past Wilhelmina’s turnoff.

  “Wait a minute. You just drove past my street.”

  “Sorry, Ma’am, we’re taking you captive. Scream all you want, but it won’t do any good.”

  “But I really should be—”

  “The captain and crew of this pirate ship are deaf to all pleas for mercy, aren’t we, Mickey, my mate?”

  Mickey scowled. “Huh?”

  “See? What did I tell you?” Mike glanced at Wilhelmina and saw her smiling slightly.

  “Well, I guess as long as we’re not gone too long . . .”

  “Let me ask you something, Willymina, and I want a straight answer. Do you really want me to take you back home so you can go with your brother to all that hoopla over at the college?”

  She was silent for a moment. “No. Not really.”

  “That’s what I figured.” He gave her a broad smile and sang a rusty chorus of “Yo, Ho, Ho and a Bottle of Rum.”

  “Mike . . . ,” she said when he’d finished, “I . . . I just want to say thanks. For rescuing a damsel in distress.”

  *****

  They drove for almost an hour over narrow back roads, following the winding course of the river, until they came to a state park. A week or two ago it had probably looked spectacular, but now the fall leaves had passed their prime. The trees looked nearly bare, and the forest stood braced for the winter ahead. Mike pulled the truck into an empty parking lot.

  “Looks like we’re about the only ones here,” he said. “I hope you’ve got your walking shoes on.”

  Wilhelmina had nylons on and rather expensive leather pumps with low heels. But like a prisoner making a frantic dash toward freedom, she didn’t care whether she ruined her shoes or not. Mickey grabbed his fishing pole and jogged ahead with the dogs. Mike took her arm to steady her as she picked her way carefully down the narrow, rutted hiking trail.

  “I’m sorry I’m so poky.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. I don’t suppose you get to do much hiking in the woods.”

  “Goodness, no! I can’t even remember the last time.”

  They walked for a quarter of an hour, and all the time Wilhelmina kept her eyes glued to the path, careful to watch for tree roots, snakes, and other unnamed dangers. She was beginning to regret coming on this adventure when Mike suddenly gave a great sigh of satisfaction.

  “Ahhh . . . there’s something about the contentment of the forest that has power to restore a person. Know what I mean?”

  Wilhelmina scowled. “No. How can a forest be content?”

  “Well, maybe if you’d quit worrying about seeing a snake or tripping up and took the time to look around, you’d see what I mean.”

  “It’s rather hard to enjoy the walk, Mr. Dolan, when the trail is so rough, and I don’t have proper shoes.”

  “If you’ll pardon my forwardness, Ma’am, I don’t think it’s the trail or the shoes that’s bothering you. Now, I don’t blame you for not wanting to go to the college today. But at the same time, it must be hard on you, thinking about all that you’re missing out on. I think part of you wants to be there and part of you doesn’t.”

  Mike barely knew her, yet he understood her better than her own brother did. Better than she understood herself. She blinked back tears and looked up for the first time at the canopy of trees above her. The bare branches seemed woven together in an intricate pattern like black lace. The deep blue sky stood out in contrast above them.

  “How can you tell that the trees are content, Mike?” she asked quietly.

  “Listen for a minute.” He pulled her to a stop, and she stood in silent amazement, listening to the deep, penetrating stillness all around them. The swaying silence of the trees played a counterpoint to the distant song of birds, the quiet gurgling of water, the rustling of dry leaves in the wind. “Can’t you almost hear them sigh with contentment, Willymina? And you never see trees arguing among themselves or trying to push each other around. They’re satisfied just to live and grow and quietly change with the seasons.”

  They started walking again, and the stillness of the forest and the music of the whispering leaves beneath her feet seemed like the rising crescendo of a magnificent symphony. By the time they reached a little picnic spot along the banks of the river, Wilhelmina’s soul felt refreshed and at peace.

  She sat at the picnic table while Mike and Mickey climbed down the embankment to the river’s edge. She watched them bait the line and cast out into the middle of the river and listened to their murmuring voices as they talked about what kind of fish they would catch and the best bait to use. Once Mickey settled in with his gear, Mike climbed the bank again and sat beside her on the bench.

  “Is it legal to fish in a state park?” she asked.

  “He never catches anything,” Mike whispered.

  “Never? Then I’m surprised he still likes to go fishing.”

  “Well, he thinks he caught a couple of fish, you see.”

  “Why on earth would he think that?”

  “Because I tied one or two that I caught onto his line when he wasn’t looking. But never in a state park,” he quickly added.

  Wilhelmina thought of Dean Bradford’s empty promises. “Do you think it’s right to deceive Mickey like that and get his hopes up?”

  Mike’s smile faded. “Well, I never thought about it like that. I never meant to tell a lie or anything. I just wanted to encourage him to keep trying. I figured sooner or later he would catch something on his own if he kept at it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike. I had no right to say that. You’re a wonderful grandfather. Lord knows, I would have made an abysmal grandmother. I have no patience with children at all.”

  “Now, you wouldn’t say that if you could see how Lori’s been prancing around the living room on her tippy-toes all week. She thinks you’re the greatest.” They sat side by side, listening to the silence, watching Mickey patiently cast out his line, then reel it slowly in, over and over again. But the peaceful setting and calm stillness of the afternoon were lost on Wilhelmina as her mind churned with images of Faith College, and her heart mourned her loss.

  Mike drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Ahhh . . . isn’t that a lovely smell, Willymina? The forest . . . the moss and dry leaves . . . the earth? It’s the richest perfume ever made.”

  Wilhelmina took a tentative sniff. “Yes, I guess it is rather nice. I hadn’t noticed.”

  The wind picked up as the fall afternoon began to fade, and she shivered in her thin sweater. “Hey, you’re cold,” Mike said. “Here, take my jacket.”

  Before she could protest, he shrugged off his scruffy leather bomber jacket and draped it across her shou
lders.

  “Now you’ll be cold.”

  “I’ll build a fire.” He scurried around the clearing, gathering fallen branches, breaking them into smaller pieces over his knee, piling them on a bare patch of ground beside the picnic table.

  “Is it legal to build a fire in a state park?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, don’t you think you should ask permission before you build one?”

  Mike bit his lip, and she knew he was suppressing laughter. He strode over to the nearest tree and tapped respectfully on the trunk. “Excuse me, sir. Do you mind if we build a fire here? My friend’s feeling a bit chilly.” He turned back to Wilhelmina, grinning broadly. “He said it was all right with him as long as we’re careful.”

  Mike’s little routine was so comical, his smile so infectious, her own question so ridiculous, that Wilhelmina couldn’t help laughing out loud. “You must think I’m a pompous bore.”

  “No, but I’m sure you think I’m a terrible scoundrel. Let’s see, how many crimes have I committed today? Kidnapping, fishing illegally, leading a minor into a life of crime, building a fire in a prohibited area . . .”

  Wilhelmina smiled. “Oh, be quiet and light your fire. You didn’t kidnap me, I came willingly. And you can’t be accused of fishing unless you actually catch something. Besides, I heard that tall gentleman over there give you permission to light your fire, so go ahead.”

  Mike quickly dug through all his pockets. “I can’t! I don’t have any matches!” They both laughed so helplessly that Mickey left his fishing pole and scrambled up the bank.

  “What’s so funny, Grandpa?”

  “Mickey, stay up here with the professor for a minute while I jog back to the truck to look for some matches.”

  Buster and Heinz took off ahead of Mike as if they’d understood exactly what he said. Mickey sank down on the picnic bench beside her and stared at the ground.