Fifteen

Jimmy cautioned Imogene to keep their meeting to herself and had her leave the music building first so as not to arouse suspicion.

As she stumbled down the front steps, lost in her own sad thoughts, Angier pounced.

“You don’t look at all well, Imogene, not at all well.” His pale, red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Did something happen in there to disturb you?”

Imogene didn’t answer but accelerated her pace in an effort to discourage him.

Angier hurried to keep up. “I didn’t hear the piano.” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “I admit, I stood in the foyer hoping for a little concert. I know you didn’t want me to. I just supposed if you didn’t know it wouldn’t matter.”

Suddenly he grabbed her arm. His grip was amazingly strong.

“You weren’t completely honest with me, Imogene. You were meeting someone in there. I heard voices.” He pursed his lips. “Was it Jimmy Yamashida?”

Imogene yanked her hand away. She wanted to slap his face. She wanted to scream at him, Leave me alone! Can’t you see that something terrible and sad has happened? But she didn’t. “He brought bad news” was all she said and ran toward the dorm.

Angier didn’t matter. What difference did it make if he knew about Jimmy? Only one thing mattered now: How was she going to break the tragic news to Becky? And where? Where in this tangled mass of humanity could she find a private place for the family to be alone?

Quietly she approached Denice Diller. Maybe not the best solution, but a private shanty was better than their dorm, with Cluny propped on her cot in the corner reading old movie magazines and the twins arguing with their mother.

“Certainly, Dahlin’, you’re welcome to use my place for that sad task. Most folks will be at the barbershop quartet competition in the plaza, so it should be relatively private for y’all.”

Denice had left a bowl of fresh fruit in the middle of the little table around which they now gathered. She had made some cookies on her little ceramic stove and a pitcher of lemonade, without ice of course.

Almost immediately Becky sensed something was wrong. “Funny that Denice would invite us here, go to all this trouble, and then leave.” She looked around the table. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Imogene cleared her throat. “Becky—”

Becky’s troubled eyes widened with the dawning realization of what she was about to hear. “You found out something about David.”

Her father reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

“Is he hurt?” She searched their faces. “Oh, no, he’s not dead. Don’t tell me he’s dead. No!” She turned her head from side to side. “No, I won’t believe it. No, oh, please, no!” she wailed. Pulling her hand from her father’s, she covered her mouth with her clenched fists. Her brown eyes were huge with anguish. “Oh, dear God, no!”

It was heartbreaking. Imogene sat next to her, desperately wanting to say something of comfort, but she couldn’t find the words. She felt so helpless.

The lines of her father’s face etched deeper with sorrow as Miss Goldie drew the grief-stricken girl into her arms. Swept up in the torrent of Becky’s tears, all they could do was wait. Slowly her sobs began to subside until finally, drained of strength and will, her head sank against Miss Goldie’s shoulder.

Miss Goldie held her close, stroking her long, dark hair and murmuring quiet words of comfort. Despite her gentle nature and soft voice, Miss Goldie had a core of strength that supported them all. Now more than ever.

“David is in safe hands, Rebecca,” she said. “Be comforted by God’s promise. Remember—Jesus is the ‘resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die.’ ”

That was all very well and good for David, Imogene thought, but what about Becky? Where was the comfort in it for her?

Miss Goldie took a clean hankie from her pocket and wiped Becky’s tear-sodden cheek.

All of her life Imogene had accepted without question God, maker of heaven and earth, source of all that was beautiful and good. Where was that God now? She looked up and found her father’s troubled gaze on her. Did he suspect her doubts?

“I love him so much. What am I going to do without him? I don’t want to live without him,” Becky moaned.

Miss Goldie held Becky’s face in her hands and looked into her eyes. “Oh, my darling girl, you mustn’t say that. You mustn’t even think it. You have that dear baby inside you. David’s and your baby—who needs your love and cherishing even more now. You have so much to live for.” She drew Becky’s head back against her shoulder. “Jesus promised, ‘Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.’ It may not seem so now, but in time you will find comfort. Believe me—you will.”

Promises, promises, Imogene thought bitterly. She looked over at her sister.

As Miss Goldie soothed and stroked Becky, Becky’s eyes closed; and although from time to time her body trembled with little sobbing sighs, to Imogene’s surprise, her face grew calm.

“Perhaps we should return to the dorm. Sleep would be good for us all.” Miss Goldie looked over at Becky’s father.

“I think—” He cleared his throat. Tears glistened in his eyes. A quiet man, not one to flaunt his emotions, but his faith in God and his love for his family had always been deeply felt.

“Before we separate, could we bow our heads for a moment of prayer?” As he began, his voice, usually so strong and confident, trembled slightly. “Most merciful Father, who has taken unto Yourself the soul of Your servant David, grant to us, who are still on our pilgrimage, the purpose and strength to carry on, so we may fulfill the work You have intended us to do. Help us to forgive those who have persecuted us, as Jesus forgave those who persecuted Him. May we be instruments of Your peace in a world that is so desperately in need of it. In Jesus’ precious name, we pray. Amen.”

Imogene clasped her sister’s slender hand and that of her dear father, and for that moment at least her troubled heart was calmed.