Dawn Read online

  6

  OPENING NIGHT

  Daddy started to yell at Jimmy first thing in the morning.

  "Why'd you run away for?" he shouted.

  "You always do," Jimmy shot back. They glared at each other, but when Momma came out, she was so happy Jimmy had come home that for once Daddy stopped.

  "I'll go around and get all your schoolwork from your teachers, Jimmy," I said quickly. "In the meanwhile you'll be able to help Momma with Fern."

  "Just what I wanted to be, a baby-sitter," he moaned.

  "It's your own fault," Daddy said. Jimmy went into a sulk. I was glad when it was time for Daddy and me to go to school.

  "Jimmy's going to try again, Daddy," I told him after we started off. "He promised me last night after he came home."

  "Good," Daddy grunted. Then he turned to me and looked at me so strangely. "It's nice of you to care so much about your brother."

  "Didn't your family care about each other, Daddy?" I asked.

  "Nothing like you and Jimmy," we said, but I could see from the way his eyes narrowed that he didn't want to talk about it.

  I couldn't imagine not caring about Jimmy. No matter how happy I would be, if Jimmy wasn't happy, I wasn't. So much had happened to us so quickly at Emerson Peabody, it left my head spinning. I thought the best thing I could do now was concentrate only on schoolwork and my music and put all the bad things behind me. Jimmy really did try harder, too. When he returned, he became more involved with his intramural sports and even did passingly well in his classes. It was beginning to look like we would be all right.

  However, once in a while, when I was passing through the corridors, I would see Mrs. Turnbell standing off to the side watching me. Jimmy said he felt as if she were haunting him, he saw her watching him so often. I smiled and greeted her politely whenever I could and she nodded back, but she looked like she was waiting for something to confirm her belief that we couldn't live up to the demands a school like Emerson Peabody made on its students, students who she believed were more special than us.

  Of course, Philip was still upset that I couldn't go out on dates with him, and that I wouldn't sneak out to do it. He kept after me to ask Daddy or to meet him secretly. In my heart I hoped everything would improve when spring came. Unfortunately, wilder held on stubbornly, keeping the floorboards cold, the skies gray, and the trees and bushes bare. But when the air finally turned warm and the trees and flowers budded, I was filled with a sense of renewed hope and happiness. I drew strength and pleasure from everything that blossomed around me. Bright sunshine and bright colors made even our poor neighborhood look special. Daddy wasn't talking about quitting his job any more, Jimmy was doing well in school, and I was really involved in music the way I had always dreamt I would be.

  Only Momma's persistent illness depressed us, but thought that with the coming of spring, with her walking outside on sunny days and keeping the windows open for more fresh air, she would surely improve. Spring had a way of renewing all faith. It always had for me, and now, more than ever, I prayed it would do wonders for us again.

  One bright afternoon after I was finished with my piano lesson, I found Philip waiting for me at the door of the music suite. I didn't see him and almost bumped into him because I was walking with my books cradled in my arms and my eyes down. My body was still filled with the music. The notes I had played continued to play repeatedly in my head. When I played the piano,, it was as if my fingers had dreams of their own. Ten minutes after I had gotten up from the piano stool, I could still sense how they held on to the feel of the piano keys. The tips tingled with the memory of the touch, and they wanted to repeat their movements over the keyboard, drawing out the notes and weaving them into melodies and tunes.

  "Penny for your thoughts," I heard and looked up at Philip's smiling, gentle eyes. He was leaning against the corridor wall nonchalantly, his arms crossed over his chest. His golden hair was brushed back and shiny, still a little wet from the shower he had just taken after baseball practice. Philip was one of the starting pitchers on the school's varsity team.

  "Oh, hi," I said stopping abruptly with surprise.

  "I hope you were thinking about me," he said.

  I laughed.

  "I was just thinking about my music, about my piano lessons."

  "Well, I'm disappointed, but how's it going?"

  "Mr. Moore's pleased," I said modestly. "He just gave me the solo to sing at the spring concert."

  "He did? Wow!" Philip said, straightening up.

  "Congratulations."

  "Thank you."

  "We had a shortened practice today, and I . . . I knew you would still be here."

  The halls were practically empty. Once in a while someone came out of a room and walked off, but other than that, we were alone for what was really the first time in a long time.

  He drew closer until he had my back to the wall and put his hands on the wall to cage me in.

  "I wish I could drive you home," he said.

  "So do I, but—"

  "What if I come by your house tonight, and we don't go for a ride? We just sit in my car."

  "I don't know, Philip."

  "You won't be lying then, will you?"

  "I'll have to tell them where I'm going and—"

  "You tell them everything? All the time?" He shook his head. "Parents expect you to do secret things sometimes. They do," he said. "How about it?"

  "I don't know. I’ll see," I said. There was such frustration in his eyes. "Maybe one night."

  "Good." He looked around and drew closer. "Philip, someone could see us," I said when he brought his lips closer.

  "Just a quick congratulations kiss," he said and brought his lips to mine. He even brought his hand to my breast.

  "Philip," I protested. He laughed.

  "All right. So," he said, standing straight again, "are you nervous about singing at the concert?"

  "Of course. It will be the first time I've ever sung by myself in front of so many people, and so any well-to-do people who have heard and seen really talented performers. Louise told me your sister's going to be jealous and angry about it. She expected to get the solo."

  "She had it last year. Besides, she sounds like a foghorn."

  "Oh, no, she doesn't," I said, looking up quickly. "But I wish she would stop saying nasty things about me. If I do well on a test, she tells people I cheated. She hasn't let up on me since I arrived. One of these days I'm going to have it out with her." Philip started to laugh. "It's not funny."

  "I was laughing at how bright and intense your eyes become when you're angry. You can't hide your true feelings."

  "I know. Daddy says I would be a terrible poker player."

  "I'd like to play strip poker with you someday," he said, smiling licentiously.

  "Philip!"

  "What?"

  "Don't say things like that," I said, but I couldn't help imagining it.

  He shrugged.

  "Can’t help it sometimes. Especially when I'm around you."

  Could he hear my heart pounding? I saw some students coming around the corner behind us.

  "I've got to get down to Daddy's office. He and Jimmy are probably waiting for me," I added and started down the stairway.

  "Dawn. Wait."

  I turned back to him. He joined me on the stairs.

  "Do you think . . . I mean, since it's such a special occasion and all . . . that you can get your father and mother to let me take you to the concert at least?" he asked hopefully.

  "I'll ask," I said.

  "Great. I'm glad I waited around to see you," he added and leaned forward to kiss me. I thought he was going to kiss me quickly on the cheek, but he kissed me on the neck instead. He did it and was on his way before I had a chance to respond. The students coming down the corridor saw him and the boys howled. My heart didn't seem to fit my chest. It beat too fast, too fierce, too loud, and my pulse raced too excitedly. I was afraid Daddy and Jimmy would see the redness in my
cheeks and know I had been kissed.

  Surely there was something very special between me and Philip, I thought, if his merely kissing me or looking at me or speaking softly to me could set my body on fire, make me tingle and make me dizzy. I took a deep breath and sighed. Daddy and Momma just had to let him take me to the concert; they just had to, I thought. I had done what they had wanted and not nagged them to go out on dates, even though girls my age all around me were allowed to do so. It wasn't fair; they had to understand.

  I could understand them being a little afraid for me when I had first started at Emerson Peabody. But I believed I had grown considerably during these last few months anyway. Success with my music and my schoolwork had given me a new sense of confidence. I felt older, stronger. Surely if I saw that in myself, Momma and Daddy could see it as well.

  Confident they would give me permission, I hurried down to the basement to meet Daddy and Jimmy and give them the news about my solo. I had never seen Daddy so excited and proud.

  "You hear that, Jimmy boy!" he exclaimed, slapping his hands together. "Your sister's a star."

  "I'm not a star yet, Daddy. I've got to do it well," I said.

  "You will. What good news," Daddy said. "Something good to bring home to your momma."

  "Daddy," I said as he gathered his things for us to leave. "Do you think since this is a special occasion that Philip Cutler could pick me up and take me to the concert?"

  Daddy stopped in his tracks. His smile evaporated slowly and his eyes darkened for a moment and grew small. As I stared at him, hoping, a little warmth crept back into his gaze.

  "Well, I don't know, honey. I . . . we'll see."

  When we got home, Momma was lying in bed awake, one eye on Fern, who sat on a blanket on the floor playing with her toys. The late afternoon sunlight played peekaboo with some lazy clouds, but Momma had the shades drawn so even when the sun peeped out, it didn't drop any warm, happy rays into the room. When I entered, Momma sat up slowly and with great effort.

  She had obviously not brought a brush to her hair all day. The strands hung down randomly on the sides and some curled up and spiraled about on top. She used to wash her hair almost every day, so that it had gleamed like black silk.

  "A woman's hair is her crowning jewel," she had told me many times. Whenever she had been too tired to brush her hair herself, she always asked me to do it.

  Momma never needed much makeup. She always had a smooth complexion with pink lips. Her eyes sparkled like polished black onyx. I wanted so much to look like her and thought it was unfair of nature to have skipped a generation while most other children looked exactly like their parents.

  Before she became sickly, Momma would stand perfectly straight and walk with her shoulders back, as proud as the mythical Indian princess Daddy always compared her to. She moved gracefully, swiftly, passing through the day like a streak of ebony paint stroked through a milk-white canvas. Now she sat hunched over, her head down, her arms resting limply on her legs, and she looked at me with sad, glassy eyes, the onyx dulled, the silk hair turned into a rough cotton, her complexion faded, pale, and her lips nearly colorless. Her cheekbones were far more prominent and her collarbone looked as if it would pop right through her thin layer of skin.

  Before I could say anything about Philip, Fern reached up for me and started to cry my name.

  "Where's your daddy and Jimmy?" Momma asked, looking behind me.

  "They went to pick up some groceries. Daddy thought I should come right in to help you with Fern."

  "I'm glad," she said, fighting for a deep breath. "The baby tired me out today."

  "It's not just the baby, Momma," I chastised gently.

  "It's coming along, Dawn," she replied. "Could you get me a glass of water, honey? My lips feel parched." I went out with Fern and got Momma her water. Then I handed her the glass and watched as she drank. Her Adam's apple bobbed like a float on a fishing line.

  "For months you've been promising you would go to a real doctor and not rely on backwoods medicines and such if you didn't get better quickly. Well, you're not getting better that fast, and you're not living up to your promise." I hated speaking to her so firmly, but thought I had to now.

  "It's just one of them stubborn coughs. I had a cousin back in Georgia who had a cold for nearly a year before it upped and left her."

  "Well, she suffered for a year for no reason," I insisted. "Just like you're suffering, Momma."

  "All right, all right. You're getting worse than Grandma Longchamp. Why, when I was pregnant with Jimmy, she wouldn't let up on me a minute. Everything I did was wrong. It was a relief giving birth, just so I could get her off my back."

  "Grandma Longchamp? But, Momma, I thought you gave birth to Jimmy at a farmhouse on the road."

  "What? Oh, yeah, I did. I meant until I left the farm."

  "But didn't you and Daddy leave right after you got married?"

  "Not exactly right after. Soon after. Quit questioning me so closely, Dawn. I'm not thinking straight just yet," she snapped. It wasn't like her to be so short with me, but I imagined it was because of her illness.

  I thought I should change the topic. I didn't want to make her unhappy while she was still suffering so.

  "Guess what, Momma?" I said, bouncing Fern in my arms, "I'm going to sing the solo at the concert," I said proudly.

  "Why, bless my soul. Bless my soul." She pressed her palms against her chest. Even when she wasn't coughing, she seemed to have trouble breathing every once h a while, especially when something caught her by surprise or she moved too quickly. "Ain't that wonderful. I knew you'd show those rich folks they ain't no better than you. Come here so I can give you a real hug," she said.

  I put little Fern down on the bed, and Momma and I embraced. Her thin arms held me to her as tightly as she could, and I could feel her ribs through her shift dress.

  "Momma," I said, the tears filling my eyes. "You've lost so much weight, much more than I realized."

  "Not so much and I shoulda lost a few pounds here and there. It'll come back on faster than you can shake a stick, you'll see. One thing about women my age, when they wanna gain weight, they just gotta smell food. Sometimes just looking at it will add a pound here and there," she joked. She kissed me on the cheek. "Congratulations, Dawn honey. Did you tell your daddy?"

  "Yes."

  "I bet his chest blew out some," she said, shaking her head.

  "Momma, I got something to ask about the concert?'

  "Oh?"

  "Since it is a special occasion and all, do you think it would be all right for Philip Cutler to pick me up and take me? He promises to drive carefully and—"

  "Did you ask your daddy?" she responded quickly.

  "Uh-huh. He said we'll see, but I think if it's all right with you, it's all right with him."

  Suddenly she looked so troubled and old staring back at me.

  "It's not a long ride, Momma, and I really want to go with Philip. Other girls my age go for rides and on dates, but I haven't complained . . ."

  She nodded. "I can't hold you back from growing up, Dawn. And I don't want to, but I don't want you to get serious with this boy . . . any boy yet. Don't be like me and give up your youth."

  "Oh, Momma, I'm not getting married. I'm just going to the spring concert. Will it be all right?" I pleaded.

  It was as if it took all her strength to do it, but she nodded.

  "Oh, thank you, Momma." I hugged her again.

  "Dawn, up," Fern called impatiently, jealous of all the affection Momma and I were passing between us. "Dawn, up."

  "Her Highness is calling," Momma said, and then lay back against her pillow. I watched her with my heart in a turmoil: happy about my being about to go out on a date, but sad and aching with the sight of how slowly and painfully Momma spoke and moved.

  Mr. Moore decided to double up my lessons for the rest of the week. Finally it was the day of the concert. At lunchtime Mr. Moore played the piano and I sang. Twice my voi
ce cracked. He stopped playing and looked up at me.

  "Now, Dawn," he said. "I want you to take a deep breath and calm yourself down before we go on."

  "Oh, Mr. Moore, I can't do this!" I cried. "I don't know why I thought I could. But to sing a solo in front of all those people, most of whom go to the opera and to Broadway in New York City and know real talent—"

  "You are real talent," Mr. Moore said. "Do you think I would put you out on that stage alone if I didn't think so? Don't forget, Dawn, when you go out there, I go, too. Now, you're not going to let me down, are you?"

  "No, sir," I said, nearly in tears.

  "Remember when you told me once you wished you could be like a bird, high on a tree, singing freely into the wind and not worrying about who hears it and who doesn't?"

  "Yes. I still do."

  "Well, then, close your eyes and see yourself perched on that branch and then sing into the wind. After a while, just like a baby bird, you'll get your wings and fly. You'll soar, Dawn. I just know it," he said. Gone was his cherub smile and his impish grin; gone was the playful happy twinkle in his eyes. Instead, his face was stone serious, and his words and eyes filled me with confidence.

  "Okay," I said softly, and we began again. This time I sang my heart out, and when we were finished, his face was flushed with satisfaction. He got up and kissed me on the cheek.

  "You're ready," he said.

  My heart was pounding with excitement and happiness as I hurried out of the music suite.

  As soon as the last bell rang, I ran to find Jimmy and Daddy. I was paralyzed with nervousness and wanted to go straight home to get ready for the concert, scheduled for 8:00 P.M.

  When we arrived home, Momma was lying in bed, her face more flushed than usual, and shivering something terrible. Fern had gotten into some of the kitchenware, but I could see Momma didn't know. We all gathered around her bed, and I felt her forehead.

  "She's shivering, Daddy," I said, "but she feels feverish."

  Momma's teeth chattered, and she turned her eyes to me and forced a smile.

  "It's . . . just . . . a cold," she claimed.