Part 3 (1/2)
I glanced up at him. His eyes held genuine concern. For the first time, I thought he might be a good pastor after all.
Most evenings after dinner, Robert worked in his office unless he was called out on church business. People in the town, even those who weren't churchgoers, seemed to count on him for their various crises. Some serious, some silly. Nonetheless, they looked to him for support, wisdom, and guidance.
One night, William had gone to bed early, and Miss Gordon had a headache, so she, too, had gone upstairs. Robert came in to the kitchen to get his car keys, and I asked him if I could go with him. I wanted to see more of the area and I had taken William on as many walks through the town as I could possibly discover on foot. He hesitated, but agreed.
”Where are we going?” I asked as we climbed in the car.
”To Mrs. Drummond's. She's been ailing, and I promised her I would get by this week. Not sure she'll last much longer.”
Mrs. Drummond lived quite a ways out of town on a small goat ranch in a well-loved, weather-beaten house. As we drove up, noisy roosters greeted us, mistaking our headlights for a rising sun. A pleasant looking woman opened the door to us.
”h.e.l.lo, Rev'ren.” The woman eyed me with curiosity. ”h.e.l.lo, Miss.”
”Evening, Betty. This is Louisa Schmetterling. How is your grandmother feeling tonight?” Robert's voice was kind.
Betty's eyes were locked on me. I smiled to rea.s.sure her. ”h.e.l.lo, Betty,” I said.
Eyes still locked on me, she answered, ”oh, not so well, Rev'ren. Her feet are swollen up something fierce.”
”Who is it, Betty?” called a wrinkled voice from the front room.
”It's the Rev'ren, Gran.” Adding in a loud whisper, ”and he brought a lady with him.”
”Come in here, Reverend. Bring your ladyfriend so I can see her,” called the wrinkled voice. We walked into the front room. Someone had moved Mrs. Drummond's bed into this room; I think she didn't want to miss anything. The furnis.h.i.+ngs were scarce and modest, but the room was cared for and clean. On the four poster bed perched a small, frail woman with bright, curious eyes. Instantly, I liked her.
”Mrs. Drummond, this is our houseguest, Louisa.”
”h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Drummond.” I walked over to her bedside to shake her gnarled, misshapen fingers.
”Is she a German?” she asked Robert, peering at me over her spectacles.
”Yes, she is,” he answered.
”Is she a n.a.z.i?” She looked me up and down.
”No, Mrs. Drummond, she's not a n.a.z.i.”
”Well then, good. I approve. Come closer, Louisa. You're such a pretty girl. I didn't think Germans could be pretty.” She winked at me. ”Sit down here next to me.” She patted the bed. ”Tell me how Martha is treating you. I've known Martha Gordon since she was a girl. Even as a child, she looked as if she'd just been starched and ironed.”
I burst out laughing and quickly covered my mouth, glancing guiltily up at Robert, but his eyes were smiling.
”I can tell we're going to be good friends, Louisa,” warbled Mrs. Drummond.
How ironic! The first person in America who chose to befriend me, just for being me, not out of any obligation, was on her deathbed.
Robert wondered if he could do anything for them before we left, so Betty asked if he would help her move some firewood in from the barn. I stayed in the front room with Mrs. Drummond. It was a nice change to hear someone chatter away. Conversation didn't go beyond the day's necessities in the Gordon household.
On the other side of Mrs. Drummond's bed was a beautiful, old upright piano. It looked to be the only really valuable furnis.h.i.+ng in the house. When I complimented her about the piano, she invited me to play, but I hesitated. I hadn't touched a piano since the day my father had died.
I went to it and sat on the bench, gliding my hands gently over the keys. Without even consciously intending to, my fingers found their place and started to play my father's favorite piece: Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata in D. The piano was old and slightly out of tune but had a lovely mellowed tone. Many fingers before mine had polished these ivory and ebony keys.
Lost in the music, I closed my eyes and let memory take control. I thought of my father, yet without the pain that doing so usually evoked. When I finished, I sat quietly for a moment, then turned back to Mrs. Drummond. Robert stood in the doorway. I hadn't even heard him come in. I felt my cheeks flush with embarra.s.sment. ”I'm out of practice.”
”It's time we headed back home. I'll come again soon, Mrs. Drummond,” he said, without a word about my playing. He took Mrs. Drummond's tiny hands in his large ones and prayed a tender prayer for her.
The car ride back was quiet, but companionably so. Finally, Robert broke the silence. ”First chess and now piano. I had no idea you were so talented.”
”Well, I'm the daughter of a piano tuner. It would be a disgrace not to be able to play a tune or two.”
He glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow. ”A tune or two?”
I looked out the window, unseeing. ”I studied cla.s.sical piano at University. But that was a lifetime ago.”
”Is Beethoven your favorite composer?” Robert asked.
I shot a look at him, impressed that he had recognized Moonlight Sonata and knew the composer was Ludwig Beethoven. ”No. No, I think Felix Mendelssohn is my favorite composer. Are you familiar with him?”
”Didn't he compose The Wedding March? From Midsummer's Night Dream?”
”Yes! The very one.” I hadn't expected Robert to be knowledgeable about cla.s.sical music.
”Every preacher knows that melody. So why is Mendelssohn your favorite composer?”
”He's considered to be the 'Mozart of the 19th century.' His music is very graceful and lyrical. Even spiritual. He's mostly known for his organ and choral music, but he was also a painter and spoke five languages. Most people don't know that he was a Jew who converted to Christianity, but his music was banned in Germany because he had Jewish blood.”
I gazed out the window and looked up at the sky. I had never seen a night sky like the one in Arizona. It seemed as if I could reach out and touch the stars. Tiny jewels on black velvet. I pointed to a bright star. ”That one is so bright that it doesn't even twinkle.”
”You're right. It s.h.i.+mmers. Miners call it the copper star,” he explained. ”There's an old legend that the first miners followed that star until it led them to the copper mines.” He gave me a sheepish grin. ”Truth to be told, it's really the North Star. It's positioned along the axis of rotation of the earth, so it never seems to move. It always appears fixed above the North Pole. So, if you're ever lost, look for the copper star, and you'll know your course is due north.”
We rode along in silence for a while until I said, ”it's hard to believe we're standing under the same sky as my friends in Germany are. All over the world, people look at the same moon and stars and sun.” Somehow, I didn't feel so far away when I looked at the night sky.
”Louisa, when did you last see Dietrich?”
”A few months ago in Berlin.”
”When you last saw them, how was he?”
”Weary.” I looked out the window at the stark desert. The moon cast shadows on the mesquite and sagebrush. It looked eerily beautiful. Then I noticed rows of lights. ”What's that? Over there,” I pointed.
”Where? Oh.” He saw the lights, too. ”That's one of Mueller's copper mines. His biggest, in fact.”
”Why are there so many trucks heading out? Do miners work at night?”
”They're probably heading over to the smelter. It's up north, near Tucson, close to the railroad.”