Kate's Song (28 page)

“There.” Shannon stabbed one more bobby pin into Kate’s hairdo. “I am amazing. We get started twenty minutes late and I still manage to make your hair look gorgeous with a half hour to spare.”

Kate fingered a curl at the base of her neck. “Thanks, Shannon.”

From behind, Shannon put her hands on Kate’s shoulders and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Now, if only we could fix that sadness as easily as I fixed your hair, that would be a real trick.”

“I am fine,” Kate said.

She stood and removed her first costume from the clothes hanger. Shannon, familiar with the routine, helped her ease it over her head and tightened the laces in the back. Kate raised her arms to make sure she had freedom of movement then dropped them to her sides and nodded at Shannon.

Shannon gave her a quick yet significant hug and turned to retrieve her own costume from the rack.

One of the girls from the ensemble stuck her head around the divider. “Kate, Dr. Sumsion’s out here to see you.”

Kate emerged from the dressing room and looked to her left. Mamma and Dat sat with Ada on a bench at the far end of the hall. They stared at her but were too far away to do anything but observe. She looked the other way and spied Maria and Carlos marching toward her, with Alex riding on Carlos’s shoulders.

Kate knew she was glad to see them rather than feeling so. In her present state, she was incapable of mustering enthusiasm for anything.

She gave Maria a hasty hug. “Thanks for coming,” she said.

“Hey, what about me?” said Carlos, spreading his arms for Kate.

“Sorry,” Kate said. “You get a handshake.”

Carlos glanced expectantly at the dressing room door. “I need a hug. Where’s Shannon?”

Kate turned back to Maria. “Have you seen Dr. Sumsion? She was asking for me.”

Someone grabbed Kate by the shoulder. Dr. Sumsion, wearing an elegant black formal, flashed her no-nonsense smile. “Kate, a woman from the Met is here to meet you before the performance. Come with me.”

Kate followed Dr. Sumsion down the hall in the opposite direction of her parents. An elegant woman with snow-white hair, also in a black formal, stood waiting for them. “Kate, this is Mrs. Harriett LeFevre from New York.”

Mrs. LeFevre held out a gloved hand. “Delighted to meet you, Kate. My assistant came to your performance on Monday and insisted that I fly out immediately and see it.” Her earrings tinkled when she moved her head. “High praise, I assure you.”

Kate tried to pay attention. Tried to be flattered by the compliment. The deference even Dr. Sumsion paid Mrs. LeFevre revealed how influential she must be. Kate made an effort to inject her expressions with more animation, more admiration than she felt. This woman could help her go places.

A tug on the back of her dress diverted Kate’s attention. She turned to find a little girl no more than five looking up at her expectantly, holding a small notepad and a pen with a bright pink feather sticking out of the top. “Could I have your autograph?” she said timidly.

“Kate, we have things to discuss.” Mrs. LeFevre’s irritation at such a minor interference seemed excessive. “Perhaps we could find a private room, Dr. Sumsion?”

Kate took her lead from Mrs. LeFevre. Here was a woman she must impress. She looked down at the little girl. “Please, not now,” she said curtly.

The little girl chewed on her index finger and looked at the ground. “But you are so pretty.”

Kate glanced at an annoyed Mrs. LeFevre, and her own irritation grew. Couldn’t the girl understand how vital this conversation was to Kate’s future? “I’m right in the middle of something important. Go. Go find your mother.”

The girl tried to hand her pen to Kate. She dropped it, and it made a small mark at the bottom of Kate’s flowing costume. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Kate said, lifting the hem of her dress and examining the mark.

Distressed, the little girl turned and shuffled quickly down the hall to a woman standing at the other end, only a few feet from Kate’s parents.

Mrs. LeFevre shook her head and went right on talking.

The little girl flew into her mother’s arms. She talked to her mother with great energy, and the mother attended her with a look of calm concern. She produced a tissue from her purse and wiped the little girl’s face.

While Mrs. LeFevre prattled on about what education Kate would need before going to Europe, Kate could see Ada and her parents attentively listening to the little girl. After the child finished her story, Ada knelt beside her and put an arm around her. Kate’s sister-in-law reached into her basket, pulled out a shiny green apple, and handed it to the little girl. The girl smiled through her tears, took her mother’s hand, and walked away, cradling the apple in her arm.

A small act of kindness from, in Kate’s view, an unlikely source.

Why did Ada show kindness to a child and I did not?

I’ve got a few things on my mind at the moment. Like the fact that I’ve lost my parents and my boyfriend. Like whether I am going to sing at the Met in five years.

But those thoughts could not hold her. What was wrong with her that she could not muster charity for anyone but herself?

Kate’s surroundings blurred, Mrs. LeFevre’s voice disappeared, and she heard her dear mamma’s voice reciting Kate’s favorite story. Not a typical bedtime tale, but one that Kate never tired of hearing.

“An old teacher spent months tutoring his pupils on the life of the Lord Jesus. When it came time for the final exam, the students arrived at the schoolhouse only to be told that the place for the exam had changed. Each rushed to the new location, worried that they would not have time to finish the test.”

“Where are you thinking of completing your Masters?” Mrs. LeFevre was saying. “I have four recommendations, all excellent schools.”

“Along the way, each student passed a crying child who had fallen off her bicycle, a farmer whose load of hay had toppled onto the road, and an old woman who mumbled to herself in confusion. But the students did not stop to help, the final grade their only concern.”

Looking down the hall, Kate scanned the faces of those she loved: Mamma and Dat, Maria, Alex, Carlos, even Ada. But nothing erased the memory of the little girl pleading for a small bit of attention.

“When they reached the new location, the teacher greeted them in tears and informed them that they had all failed the class. Why? ‘Because,’ said the teacher, ‘although you know many interesting facts about the Master, you do not
know
the Master until you live His teachings.’”

The force of the blow hit her like a ten-foot wall of water. From the outside looking in, it was a seemingly trivial interaction with a child she didn’t know. But to Kate, it was a pivotal moment. How far she had fallen!

Not caring what Mrs. LeFevre thought, Kate took a few steps away from both ladies and stared in the direction the little girl had gone. She had sunk lower than she ever thought possible—not because of Jared’s death, not because Nathaniel had cast her aside, but because she had hurt another human being. She had forgotten the Master.

The tears flowed. She covered her face in her hands, but even that wasn’t enough to stifle the sobs that came from the deepest part of her being.

Mrs. LeFevre stopped droning and said something to Dr. Sumsion.

“Kate.” Dr. Sumsion placed a firm hand on her back. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Dr. Sumsion, I’m…sorry. I need…to…step out for a minute.”

Kate did not wait to gain anyone’s approval. She bolted for the nearest exit. The sobbing spasms refused to subside.

“But, Kate, curtain is in fifteen minutes.”

Kate found the stairs and ran to the bottom floor into a deserted commons area and plopped herself on a sofa.

In the oppressive silence, self-condemnation piled upon her. How pitiful was her knowledge of the Savior. How feeble her faith. In her anguish, she had forgotten everything she had ever been taught, everything she’d ever believed. Her mind flew back to her first buggy ride with Nathaniel. Thinking of him made her catch her breath as she tried to remember what he had told her.

“Because God loves us more than we can possibly comprehend, He pushes and crushes us to stretch our faith beyond what we can see. If the way were easy, how could we grow into who He wants us to be? How could our faith become unshakable?”

When she closed her eyes, she could almost hear him speaking to her.
“Your heart is ready for God when you are in your darkest hour.”

What did she truly believe about following the Master? About giving her heart to the Lord?

The warmth of recollection spread through her as her mind flew to the day of the buggy accident. Her circumstances had taken a decided turn for the worse, but nothing could ever invalidate what she felt that day when everything became so clear to her.

Still the tears flowed. Bowing her head, she prayed with more fervor than she ever had before. “Dear Father, I am grateful for this dark hour, for now I am ready for Thee to change my heart.”

“Did your grandma die?”

Kate blinked back her tears. The little girl, with apple still in hand, sat next to her, swinging her legs from side to side and looking with great concern at Kate’s tearstained face. Kate looked around. The girl’s mother stood in the doorway watching them, not inclined to interrupt.

“My grandma died, and Mommy cried and cried.” The girl reached up and patted Kate on the cheek. “Did your grandma die too?”

Kate did her best to dry her eyes.

“Here,” said the little girl, and she popped off the sofa and ran to the nearest tissue box. In a blur of blue ruffles, she returned with three tissues for Kate.

“Thank you,” Kate said. She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes while the little girl sat patiently next to her.

“When Grandma died, we all sang a song. When I sang it, Mommy felt better. Do you want me to sing it to you?”

Kate nodded.

The precocious little girl slipped off the sofa and stood facing her audience of one. “‘Be still, my soul; the Lord is on thy side.’” Her angelic voice rang through the empty commons area.

Kate felt her whole body go weak as the little girl sang several lines. Had she been standing, she would have crumpled to the ground.

“‘Be still, my soul; thy God doth undertake to guide the future as He has the past. Thy hope, thy confidence, let nothing shake; all now mysterious shall be bright at last. Be still, my soul; the waves and winds still know His voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.’”

Disregarding the water gushing from her eyes, Kate tenderly took the girl by the hand. “Can I sing the next verse with you?”

The girl nodded.

In spite of her irregular breathing, Kate found her voice. “‘Be still, my soul, though dearest friends depart, and all is darkened in the vale of tears; then shalt thou better know His love, His heart, who comes to soothe thy sorrows and thy fears. Be still, my soul; thy Jesus can repay from His own fullness all He takes away.’”

The little girl stopped singing altogether after the third stanza, her gaze frozen on Kate. “I saw you in the play last night,” she said. “You are the best singer ever.”

The girl’s mother ventured near them. “I usually wouldn’t bring a five-year-old to an opera,” she said. “But my little sister is in the chorus and Haley begged me to come. I can’t believe how still she sat through the entire performance.” She walked over and patted Haley’s head. “She was so sad when your character died. That’s all she could talk about all day today. I brought her tonight so she would know you were really okay.”

“Are you okay?” Haley asked.

“Yes,” Kate said, with more conviction than she had felt in months. She squeezed Haley’s hand. “I am okay.”

Haley smiled.

“Thank you for your song,” Kate said.

“You’re welcome.” Haley beamed. “I want to be a opera singer when I grow up.”

Kate looked up at Haley’s mother. “I am sorry about the autograph.” She patted Haley’s hand.

Haley ran her hand along the exquisite fabric of Kate’s dress. “That’s okay. Mommy said you were nervous for your show.”

Kate held out her hand. “Can I give you that autograph now?”

Haley’s mother pulled the notebook and pen from her purse and handed it to Haley who, in turn, placed it in Kate’s lap.

Kate smiled and wrote a small portion of what was in her heart.

To Haley. Today you were an answer to my prayers. I think that makes you one of God’s angels. You are a very special little girl. Love, Kate Weaver/Juliette

Kate handed Haley the pen and notebook.

“What do you say?” her mother prompted.

“Thank you,” Haley said.

Haley’s mother held out her hand to her daughter. “Come on, honey. We need to go find our seats. Good luck—I mean, break a leg tonight.”

Haley took her mother’s hand, looked at Kate, and held out the apple. “A lady gave this to me. You can have it.”

Kate took the apple. How could she refuse a gift that had traveled such a long way?

Kate cradled the apple in her lap and played Haley’s song in her head again.
What to do now?

As she watched the young mother tenderly lead her daughter away, the answer came to her as gently as a wispy melody played on a flute.

“Choose that good part, which shall not be taken away from you.”

“Be still, and know that I am God.”

In spite of the fact that the opera started almost fifteen minutes late because the leading lady mysteriously disappeared mere minutes before curtain time, the final performance of Milwaukee Music Academy’s
Romeo et Juliette
proved to be its finest. Kate played every scene with all the emotion of a farewell performance. Because it was.

She almost lost her composure during the death scene with Ryan, thinking of her affection for her friends at the academy, her love of opera, and what she was giving up with her heartrending choice. But her inner conflict lent that much more emotion to the scene, and she knew she would always remember it fondly as her finest performance.