I drove Rusty to the choir rehearsal on Thursday. He was greeted with reserve by the choir when the director introduced him at the beginning of the practice. It was clear that the choir was holding back its collective judgment. I imagine they thought he was pretty young for the job, and one of them snickered at the bear sitting on the piano. But at the end of the rehearsal, they gave him a rousing ovation, many of them shaking his hand or clapping him on the back.
On the way home, Rusty said, “I suppose that after Sunday, my secret won’t be a secret anymore.”
“How do you feel about that?” I asked.
He thought for a moment and then said, “It’s okay I guess. It had to happen sometime and the kids at school all know me now so I don’t think this will change much.”
On Saturday, David drove Rusty to Springfield so he could practice for the service the next day. David spent the time on his homework while he waited. Later Rusty told me that he’d spent most of the practice searching for just the sounds that he wanted.
David, Rusty, and I all drove to the Methodist church on Sunday morning. Rusty had to be there in time for a warm-up with the choir. David and I sat outside for a while before going into the church.
There was a good-sized congregation in the church, but we found seats near the front that gave us a good view of the organ. He entered the sanctuary wearing a robe and began the prelude. It was the same one he’d played for the audition the previous Sunday, but he had changed some of the stops and it was truly beautiful.
The congregation, which was apparently well-trained, stopped talking as soon as he began playing, and I could see some people near us nodding their heads as the prelude finished.
Rusty played the service rather conservatively until we got to the last hymn, which was “Holy, Holy, Holy,” an old and familiar one. He played his introduction and the first verse with a moderate amount of sound, but for each verse he added more stops. Before the final verse, he modulated up a step and added the reeds from the Great manual. The sound was amazing, and the congregation sang lustily.
By the time Rusty finished his postlude, there was a crowd of people by the organ, watching as well as listening. As the sound stopped, they clapped. I was a little surprised to hear clapping at the end of a service as I wasn’t used to it, but everyone seemed to think it was appropriate.
The three of us went to the coffee hour after the service, where Rusty received many handshakes while David and I stood nearby, listening. At one point, an older man who seemed to have some difficulty walking, introduced himself to Rusty as the church’s former organist.
“Russell,” he asked, “were those your compositions you played for the prelude and postlude?”
Rusty nodded, blushing just a bit.
“Well, I’m very impressed. How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Rusty answered.
“Oh, my,” the man said. “If you ever need a recommendation for college or anything else, do give me a call.”
“Thank you, sir, I will,” Rusty replied, and the man departed.
Another man came up to Rusty, shook his hand and said, “Russell, I go to the church here and I’m on the council. I made it a point to be here this morning as I’d heard a great deal about you. I have to admit that I’m not fond of organ music, but you certainly played well. Thank you for coming.”
“You’re very welcome,” said Rusty, as he smiled. “Thank you for speaking with me. Maybe I can convince you to like organ music better.”
They both laughed and the man went to speak to someone else.
A few teenagers from the high school congratulated him, saying that he was a skunk for not telling them long ago about his ability. Rusty and David introduced the boys and girls to me, and they chided me too.
“It was all his idea,” I said defensively, but I was smiling as I said it.
One of the girls asked, “Rusty, or Russell, are you a genius?”
“Sure he is,” interrupted David, and we all laughed.
The next afternoon, when I picked up the boys from school, I learned that Rusty’s fame had spread throughout the building. Boys and girls had also begun to ask if he was better in their subjects and was just faking it, to which he had been forced to answer, “Yes.”
David said that when they met Mr. Morgan in the hallway, he asked if Rusty was now ready to give a concert.
“Maybe in the fall,” Rusty replied.
Mr. Morgan smiled and said, “I’ll hold you to that.”
Rusty reported sadly that some of the kids were now treating him differently, not wanting to be in classes with someone who found the work so easy.
“I’m sorry, Rusty,” I said. “But you have your friends, especially David, and if others don’t want to be around you, I think that’s their problem, not yours.”
“Yeah, but it’s pretty uncomfortable.”
“I suspect that things will stabilize soon,” I said.
“I hope so,” he sighed.
Summer came, and as usual, Rusty, David, and I all worked in the garden. With their help I was able to enlarge the garden again, and at the end of the season, I could supply vegetables to the Millers as well as to the farmer down the road who supplied me with milk for the growing boys.
On the first day of school in the fall, Rusty told me that Mr. Morgan asked when he was going to give the promised concert.
Rusty had forgotten all about it, but when Mr. Morgan suggested the Sunday afternoon before Thanksgiving, Rusty decided that would give him enough time to plan and practice the concert.
David asked if Rusty could sometimes spend a night or two at his house. He said they had plenty of room and plenty of beds, so I agreed.
On the second Friday of the school year, I picked up the boys from school as usual. At home Rusty packed a small overnight bag and walked to the Millers’ house. David said he would take Rusty to the church on Saturday so he could practice and on Sunday for the service.
I realized on Friday night that I was lonely. I thought back to when Rusty had first arrived at my home nine years ago and how much he and our relationship had grown since then.
When Rusty first appeared, I hadn’t realized that I’d been lonely for many years. I’d just gotten used to living alone, and there were a few advantages to that. I could come and go whenever I wanted to. I could eat whenever and whatever I liked, without having to cater to anybody else’s likes and timetable. .
When he’d first appeared at my door, I’d thought he would only be with me for a few days or weeks before some family member would take him. When there didn’t appear to be any family member, his stay had continued and nobody objected. Eventually I’d realized that I really enjoyed having him around. I had never become his legal guardian, but he treated me like a father.
Now I was once again alone, although only for a couple of days. The house seemed empty and silent. I ate but didn’t really enjoy it. I was aware of the sounds the house made which I hadn’t really noticed since his coming. On Saturday I went to Springfield to do some shopping and considered dropping into the church, but I decided that would be an intrusion on the boys’ time together.
Sunday morning, I drove to the church alone, met up with David and sat with him in our usual seats. We talked quietly together, and I asked him how the weekend had gone. He seemed to glow as he said, “Great!”
During the announcement time, the pastor told the congregation that Russell-he was always called that at the church-would be giving a concert on the Sunday afternoon before Thanksgiving. I heard murmurs of approval around me while the announcements continued.
At the end of the service, during the coffee hour, I was standing near Rusty as people told him they were looking forward to his concert. Someone asked him if it would be all his own compositions and he replied, “Right now, I’m thinking of playing some Bach and maybe some Franck in the first half and my own compositions after the intermission.” I was interested that such a program would invite comparisons between him on one hand and some very successful composers on the other. Daring, I thought.
When Rusty and I were having supper that night, he asked, “Well, Abe. Did you miss me?”
I laughed and admitted that I had. “And did you miss me?” I asked.
“Nope,” he replied. “David kept me too busy.”
“Doing what?” I asked.
It was his turn to laugh, saying that he wasn’t going to tell me.
I wondered if what I suspected was true, but of course I couldn’t ask. If it was, he would find a way to tell me in time.