Bridge to Haven (7 page)

No matter how many times they said it, Abra didn’t believe Peter and Priscilla loved her. She knew they’d only adopted her because Penny wanted a sister. If Penny changed her mind, Peter and Priscilla would give her away. Where would she go then? To whom?

The next time Daddy came, Peter talked to him on the front porch for a long time, then came back inside alone. Abra tried to get around him, but Peter hunkered down and held her by the shoulders. “You won’t see Pastor Zeke for a while, Abra.” She thought that meant she wouldn’t see him until church on Sunday, but then Peter drove a different way Sunday morning. When Penny asked where they were going, Peter said they would be attending a different church. While Penny whined and fussed about not seeing her friends, Peter said change would be good for them. Abra knew it was her fault they weren’t going to Reverend Freeman’s church anymore, and her last hope died. She wouldn’t even get to see Joshua now. Penny crossed her arms and sulked. Priscilla gave her a sad smile and said they’d just have to wait and see how things went.

1950

Mitzi opened her door and peered around it. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and her hair hadn’t been brushed. “Is it Wednesday?” She
waved Abra inside and closed the door. She was wearing a red lounging robe and worn blue satin slippers with a feathery trim.

Abra stared. “You said I could practice here.”

“Well, a promise is a promise.” The slippers slapped her heels as she went into the living room. “I’m glad you’re here, sweetie pie. Just don’t tell anyone I wasn’t dressed at three in the afternoon. And don’t tell anyone I’ve been smoking.” She crushed a cigarette in a small cut-crystal ashtray. “Hodge thinks it’s bad for my health.” She grabbed the ashtray and took it into the kitchen, where she dumped the evidence of her misdeeds into the garbage. “How about a cup of Ovaltine before you attack that piece of Beethoven I gave you?”

Abra sank into a kitchen chair overlooking the side yard. Mitzi’s son, Hodge, lived next door. Abra could see his wife, Carla, busy in the kitchen.

“Pull down that shade.” Mitzi waved her fingers as she stayed out of view. “No, wait. Better not. Carla will think something’s amiss and Hodge will be over here wanting to know why I’m still in my robe in the middle of the afternoon.”

Abra giggled at Mitzi’s air of defiance and then wondered, “Why
are
you still in your robe in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Because I am old and tired and sometimes I just don’t feel like fussing with makeup and hair and figuring out what to wear. Lookin’ good is a major project that requires a trowel and a bucket of foundation. Ah! Finally! A smile!” She spooned Ovaltine into the milk warming on the stove. “How’s life treating you, sweetie pie?”

“Penny hates it when I play piano.”

“Because she has no ear nor talent for music.” Mitzi’s expression changed. “And you will forget I ever said that as of right this minute.” She held out her hand, little finger extended. “Pinkie promise.” Abra complied.

Carla Martin had noticed Abra and waved from her kitchen window. Abra forced a wide smile and wiggled her fingers back.

“You could practice on that sweet baby grand at the church anytime, you know. Pastor Zeke wouldn’t mind.”

“Why would I want to go there?” Abra looked out the window again.

“I was just thinking . . .” Mitzi turned off the gas and poured steaming Ovaltine into two mugs. “Let’s go into the living room.” She handed a mug to Abra and pretended to slink out the door. “No point in flying the red flag in front of Carla’s face.”

Holding the hot mug between both hands, Abra slouched into an overstuffed chair and slung her legs over the arm. “Thanks, Mitzi.” If she sat like this at Peter and Priscilla’s house, Priscilla would tell her to sit up like a lady. “I like being here better than anywhere else.”

Mitzi’s smile turned tender. “I like having you here.” She settled onto the sofa, kicked off her slippers, and put her bare feet up on the coffee table. Her toenails were painted bright red. “So they’re all ganging up on you, is that it? They’re trying to nip the bud of your blooming talent?”

Sometimes Mitzi could be annoying. Abra sipped her cocoa and decided to be honest. “They get tired of hearing me play the same piece over and over, and I can’t get it right if I don’t. Priscilla gets a headache, Peter wants to listen to the news on the radio, and Penny shrieks like a banshee.”

“You know,” Mitzi drawled, “the real trouble is two thirteen-year-old girls living under the same roof. One day you’re bosom buddies; the next you’re at each other’s throats.”

“So you’re saying Peter and Priscilla would be better off if they only had one daughter.”

Mitzi looked shocked. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m saying you both will grow up and grow out of being obnoxious.”

“One would hope so.”

“Well, you’re welcome to use my piano as often as you like. I might howl when you hit a wrong note, but I won’t make you quit.”

“The three
P
s-in-the-pod will cheer and do flips around the living room.” Abra swung her legs around and put her feet on the coffee table. She liked being with Mitzi. She didn’t have to bite her tongue every time she wanted to say what she really thought. Not that Mitzi let her get away with gossip or whining. She had no patience for either. But here, Abra felt more at home than she did at “home.”

“Not so fast, missy.” Mitzi looked at Abra over the rim of her cup. “I have one condition. You play for Sunday services.”

“What?” Abra felt all the pleasure and warmth seep out of her. “No!” She put her mug on the coffee table. Just thinking about it made her stomach flip over.

“Yes. And I want you to start—”

“I said no.”

“Give me one good reason why not.”

She looked for any excuse. “Because I don’t want to do anything for Reverend Freeman. That’s why. He gave me away. Remember?”

Dark eyes flashing, Mitzi planted her feet on the floor. “That’s a lot of hogwash. And besides that, do you hear Pastor Zeke asking you? You’re not doing it for him. You’re doing it for me. It would be even better if you were doing it for God.”

Fat chance. What had God ever done for her? But knowing how Mitzi felt about Him, she knew better than to say it. “You play a lot better than I ever will.”

“You’re almost as good as I am, and you know it. I’m running out of things to teach you. And yes, yes, I’ll get around to ragtime. But not yet.”

“Why are you asking me to play for church?”

“Because I’m getting old and tired and want a Sunday off. That’s why. And Marianne always dreamed you’d play for church someday. Do it for her, if not for me.”

Tears sprang to Abra’s eyes. The old pain rose up, gripping her by the throat.

Mitzi softened. “I’m sorry, sweetie pie. Oh, honey, you’re so filled up with fear and there’s no need.” She smiled bleakly. “Pastor Zeke loves you, and you won’t even speak to the man. I’m so glad your family brought you back to our church. Those two years he hardly got to see you were hard on him.”

Abra rolled her eyes.

“The man saved your life and gave you a home for five years.”

“He should’ve left me where he found me.”

“Wah-wah-wah. You can cry a river, but can you build a bridge? You don’t even show him the respect he deserves as your pastor.”

Shaking and fighting tears, Abra stood. “I thought you liked me.”

“I love you, you idiot! Why do you think I keep you around? For your sunny disposition?” Mitzi let out an impatient breath. “I’m going to say this once and never again.
Get over it!
Abra, sweetie, Zeke gave you away because he loves you, not because he wanted to get rid of you. He did it for your own good. And don’t give me that glassy-eyed stare. I’ve never lied to you, and I never will.” She huffed. “I know it’s your choice to believe me or not, but you’d better understand this: what you believe sets the course of your life. And don’t tell me you haven’t been happy with the Matthews family.”

“I’ve been pretending.”

“Really?” Mitzi gave an indelicate snort. “Well, if that’s true, you’re a better actress than I ever was.” She still sat on the edge of the sofa. “Will you sit down now? You’re making my neck ache.”

Abra sat.

Mitzi settled back and put her feet up again. She eyed Abra. “So? What do you say, Miss Matthews? Are you going to climb down off that high horse you’re riding and saddle up the piano bench? Or are you going to practice at home and drive your family nuts?”

“How soon do I have to play at church?”

“This week.”

“This week?”

“I’ll pick some easy hymns. ‘Fairest Lord Jesus’ is a good one.” Mitzi picked up Abra’s cup of cocoa and waved her hand. “Enough lollygagging. Warm up with some scales.”

Abra spotted sheet music to Dinah Shore’s “Buttons and Bows.” Mitzi came back from the kitchen and put “Baby Face” in front of her. Abra happily picked through the music without too many mistakes.

“Okay. Enough playtime.” Mitzi opened the hymnal to “Fairest Lord Jesus.” Mitzi wasn’t satisfied until Abra had played it through three times without a mistake. Then she flipped through the hymnal again. “Next one is ‘Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise.’” She paced while Abra played. “Pick up the tempo. It’s not a dirge.” Mitzi swung her arms in the air and sang loudly, in perfect pitch. When she was finally satisfied, she found “Beneath the Cross of Jesus.”

Abra glared. She wanted to slam the piano lid. Instead, she gave “Beneath the Cross of Jesus” a whole new rhythm.

“It’s not a waltz. What do you think? People should be dancing in the aisles?”

“Better than sleeping in the pews!”

Mitzi laughed until she had to sit down. She put her feet out, her arms dangling over the sides of the chair. “Two more and you can practice whatever you want. Find ‘All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name’ and make it sound like a march. This will be the postlude. Play it with passion!”

Fuming, Abra did.

“All we need now is a processional to get them into the pews, and an offertory to soften their hearts enough to open their wallets.” Mitzi patted Abra’s shoulders. “An hour a day on these and anything you want to learn after. Deal?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Oh, such enthusiasm.” She made prayer hands. “Forgive her, Lord. She doesn’t know any better. Yet.” Reaching around Abra, she flipped the pages to “Trust and Obey.”

“Play that one.”

A memory flashed of riding on Reverend Freeman’s back through a misty morning as he sang that hymn. She’d loved the sound of his voice. She knew every word by heart. But trust? She didn’t trust anyone anymore, least of all Jesus. She pulled the lid over the keys. “I have to go home.”

Mitzi’s hands gripped her shoulders. “I won’t push so hard tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure I’m coming back.”

Mitzi kissed the top of her head. “Well, that’s up to you.”

There was no point in pretending with Mitzi. They both knew she’d come. When Abra got up, Mitzi stepped in her way and cupped her face. “I have faith in you. You’ll do us all proud.” She let her go and leaned over to get the hymnal. “Take it with you. Just read through the words so you’ll know how to play. I’ll bet if you tell Priscilla and Peter you’re going to be playing for church, they’ll let you practice.” Her eyes glowed with mischief. “That way, when you come over here, we can work on ragtime.”

Abra’s spirits lifted. She kissed Mitzi’s soft cheek. “I love you, Mitzi.”

“I love you, too, sweetie pie.” Mitzi walked her to the door. “I give you a year and you’ll be able to play every hymn in that book. Don’t just memorize the music. Memorize the words. Go on now, before Priscilla calls in a missing person’s report and Jim Helgerson shows up in his squad car.” She hugged her red robe around her as she stood in the doorway. “Toodle-ooo.”

Zeke removed his St. Louis Cardinals cap as he entered Bessie’s. The bell above the door jangled, and the new waitress glanced over before returning her attention to half a dozen male customers sitting on stools at the counter. She had brown hair in a neat French twist,
revealing a lovely, if somewhat remote, face. The blue apron tied at the waist over a plain white blouse and black skirt hinted at a nicely curved figure. The men cajoled, but she served each with a cool, business-only smile and a reserved demeanor.