The applause grew after every piece, silenced only by a new burst of music at the start of the next piece. In the finale, Herman enthralled with his solo, “Ol’ Man River” from
Show
Boat
. Their resident madman was a king tonight. Barker leaned comfortably against his double bass, listening to Herman and stealing glances at his wife in the choir. Under his suit coat a bandage still covered the fork wound in his shoulder.
At the very end the ensemble and chorus joined together as one force, and had the harmony not been so perfect, Wolfgang’s eardrums might have burst from the sheer volume. He raised his arms high and slowly brought them together just above his head and then stopped abruptly. The concert was over.
The singers were silent. The music stopped on Wolfgang’s cue.
The applause then came with a roar and finished minutes later, long after the musicians and choir had taken their bows.
Wolfgang looked at Rufus and Josef, who wore smiles nearly as wide as their faces. And then he saw McVain. McVain looked at Wolfgang and then stared over toward Amelie and his son. “He plays the piano,” McVain said quietly.
“He looks just like you.” Wolfgang knelt beside the piano bench and lifted McVain’s chin. “Does he know?”
McVain braced his right hand on Wolfgang’s shoulder. “She didn’t tell him who I was.”
Wolfgang understood. He thought of Abel. How would that little boy feel, meeting his father for the first time, only to have him die?
“His name is Ryan.” McVain’s shoulders slumped. “From the Irish name meaning Red.”
Wolfgang nodded. “His Irish eyes are smiling now.”
McVain coughed up blood. “Get ’em out of here.”
Wolfgang stood slightly under McVain’s bulk and waved Amelie down the steps. She didn’t hesitate in taking her son’s hand and turning him away from the piano.
McVain coughed again. Something snapped inside his chest. Phlegm and blood rocketed up and onto his chin. He collapsed on the piano bench and then rolled to the rooftop floor with a thud.
***
Wolfgang and Lincoln carried McVain down to the fourth-floor solarium and put him on the bed, but McVain resisted.
“Wheelchair.” McVain conjured the strength to lean on an elbow. “Ain’t gonna die lying down.”
Lincoln hurried down the solarium and came back moments later with a wheelchair. They helped McVain into it and wheeled him next to the screen window. Down below, several orderlies stacked chairs from the concert.
Lincoln patted McVain on the shoulder and moved on, lower lip quivering.
Wolfgang grabbed a chair and placed it next to McVain. He sat down and looked out over the woods, both men staring as the wind whistled through the screen.
“Thank you, McVain.”
“I’ve got a request, Doctor.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got a lot of thoughts going through my head.” McVain slumped in the wheelchair. “I’m not gonna make it through ’em all if you talk all night.”
Wolfgang chuckled. “Going out the way you came in, huh?”
McVain closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.
Wolfgang touched McVain’s leg. “Very well, but I’m not leaving.”
McVain sighed. “Suit yourself.”
They sat that way for an hour, staring into the woods as the torch flames died out on the lawn, each to his own thoughts. But every time he glanced over to the wheelchair it seemed McVain’s breathing had become more labored. Two times Wolfgang thought McVain had stopped breathing, but when he’d made a move to check for a pulse, McVain’s eyelids fluttered.
The third time McVain didn’t move. His open eyes remained fixed on the woods, and there was no reaction when Wolfgang reached over to close them.
***
Wolfgang sought out Dr. Barker after they’d taken McVain’s body to the morgue. He was in his office, still dressed in his suit and tie.
“Thank you,” Wolfgang said. “For playing.” He turned to go.
“I spoke with the diocese,” Barker said.
“You must be good friends with them by now.”
Dr. Barker let out a push of air, his final combative breath. “I made a mistake sending them the letter, Wolfgang. I never thought they’d act on it.” He scratched his gray hair and straightened his glasses. “I convinced them that I need you here. In both capacities. And that everything you have done was with honest intentions.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Barker touched the lapels of his coat. “Do you like it? A clothing store downtown donated all of the clothes.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“I’ll live.”
Wolfgang laughed. “How long have you played the bass?”
“Twenty-five years. My father never found out. I kept it at my grandmother’s house and practiced there.”
Dr. Barker stared down at Wolfgang, waiting, as if he knew Wolfgang had something else he wanted to get off his chest.
“McVain,” said Wolfgang. “I’d like to have him buried on the hillside.”
“Of course,” said Dr. Barker. “I’d have it no other way.”
They looked at each other for a moment before Dr. Barker tidied his desk. “Time to go home. Perhaps tonight I’ll have a glass of wine myself. Medicinal, of course.” They shook hands. “Good night, Wolfgang.”
“Good night, Evan.”
They buried McVain next to Big Fifteen. Lincoln, wearing the fedora McVain had given him, pounded the dirt with his shovel and stepped back. They stood around the freshly covered grave for a few moments. Susannah wiped tears from her cheeks. Wolfgang draped his arm around her shoulders, hugging her from the side. He kissed the side of her head, which she rested on his shoulder.
Josef’s chalkboard sat propped against the trunk of a nearby tree. Wolfgang suddenly laughed.
They all looked at him. Although McVain himself would probably have considered rude laughter a fitting farewell, most of them appeared shocked. Not Josef, though. He attempted to shield his laughter with a closed fist, and then Rufus joined in.
“Before we started playing last night,” Rufus said, “McVain asked Josef to give us a pep talk. Except he said to
write
us a pep talk.”
The chalkboard faced them all: FUCK OFF, MCVAIN.
***
Wolfgang walked up the hillside feeling something akin to optimism. For a moment he felt like a celebrity, like Babe Ruth walking through a crowd of fans. Not a response he had hoped for, but thrilling nevertheless.
Dr. Barker stopped him outside the chapel after Mass. “Wolfgang, can I have a minute?”
“Sure.”
“I found a leather bag on my porch this morning,” Dr. Barker said. “It had a few thousand dollars in it.”
“Really?”
“Anonymous donor, it said. You know anything about it?”
Wolfgang shook his head. “Can’t say that I do.”
“The note said to use it to renovate the colored hospital.”
Wolfgang nodded, pursed his lips. “I think that would be a grand idea for it.” And then he turned away. Halfway down the hall Barker’s voice called out to him.
“You know, Doctor. Is concealing the truth a sin?”
“No, I believe not. Not when one chooses to remain anonymous.”
Dr. Barker smiled. “I’ll see that the money is used as suggested. And Waverly Hills thanks you.”
***
Wolfgang hurried home that evening and bathed, trimmed his beard, and changed his clothes, which he covered up with his lab coat. In his rose garden he clipped a dozen red roses and bundled them with a length of twine. He hurried back up the hillside, watching the sunset with flowers in hand, a pleasant breeze in his face, and sweaty palms. Inside the lobby of the sanatorium he ran into Miss Schultz, who was wearing a pretty blue dress and carrying a suitcase.
“Miss Schultz.” Wolfgang spread his arms out wide. “You will be missed.” He gave her a hug and then hid the flowers behind his back. Miss Schultz was on her way out of Waverly as a cured woman. She’d Made the Walk early in the morning.
“You really shouldn’t have, Dr. Pike.”
“What?”
“I saw the roses,” she said.
Wolfgang hesitated before showing the bundle of roses. “What, these?”
She held her hand out and he handed them to her. Before stepping outside she looked over her shoulder toward Wolfgang. “Now you can tell me where the bodies go.”
Wolfgang grinned. “Never.”
Wolfgang headed for the stairs with his right hand in his pants pocket and felt the surprise he had planned between his fingers. Miss Schultz could have the flowers. No matter. Lincoln had come through for him. Wolfgang found Susannah asleep on the second-floor solarium. She opened her eyes after Wolfgang pushed her bed a few feet toward the very end of the porch, as close to the screened window as possible.
“Wolf, what are you doing?”
“Privacy.” Wolfgang parked her bed a good twenty feet from the other patients. He cleared her bangs from her forehead and felt for a temperature. She was cool, certainly not feverish. “How are you feeling?”
“What are you up to, Wolfgang Pike? You ignore me for days, and then—”
Wolfgang put a finger to her lips. “Just needed time to think, Susannah. I miss walking up the hillside with you every morning.”
“I—”
“Shh, let me finish.” Wolfgang knelt beside the bed. “The best part of my day, every day, was that moment when your knuckles touched my front door. Because I knew you were safe. The anticipation of opening my door and seeing your face made the sun rise for me. I’m a very ordinary man, Susannah Figgins, but I do love you.”
Susannah stared. Wolfgang took her hand. “The church doesn’t believe a priest can love a woman and be fully committed to serving God. I disagree.” His mouth felt dry. “Your childhood dream was to get married. You doubted you’d ever find anyone on the hillside.”
“I didn’t.”
Wolfgang gazed into her eyes. “Marry me.”
“You’re to be a priest.”
“I’m just a confused seminary student who has fallen in love with an incredible woman.” Wolfgang reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. The diamond in it sparkled under the florescent porch light. “God will have to share me with you. Walk down the aisle with me, Susannah.”
She wiped her eyes again. “I want to more than anything, but you can’t have both, can you?”
“I’m not asking for both.” He scooted closer and squeezed her hand in both of his. “I will love you for the rest of my life.”
“In sickness and in health?”
“Especially in sickness.”
“And Rose?”
Wolfgang slid the ring onto her left ring finger. It was a little big, but it stayed on. “Rose would want me to be happy.”
Susannah stared at her ring finger, moving her fingers and rotating her wrist as if it were the first time she’d ever seen a diamond. “Where did you get this?”
“I have my sources.”
“Lincoln’s uncle?”
Wolfgang just smiled.
Susannah took her eyes off the ring, but only for a second. “I heard a rumor you were leaving Waverly. I wondered when you would tell me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned down and kissed her closed lips. “We’ve got a wedding to plan.”
***
Lincoln insisted on taking care of the wedding dress. His uncle Frank knew a guy who could get them cheap, “for next to nothing,” he’d said, and they were the finest in town. He’d bring in a few and let her pick her favorite one. Wolfgang knew enough of Uncle Frank to not doubt the authenticity of the dresses, but he made sure Lincoln knew he didn’t care to know the details of how the dresses came to be. “Just the bill,” he’d told Lincoln the night after he proposed to Susannah, “and hush-hush about it.” Lincoln started to hurry off when Wolfgang stopped him. “Go ahead and see if your uncle Frank knows a guy who can get me a tuxedo while you’re at it.”
A week later Lincoln had them both outfitted and ready to go. Without a proper minister on the hillside, Wolfgang sought out the most official person he could find to perform the ceremony, and it ended up being Dr. Barker. The doctor was hesitant but agreed to do it after his wife had nudged him in the ribs and said, “Come on, Evan. It’ll be romantic.”
“Desperate times,” said Dr. Barker. “But promise me as soon as Susannah is able, you’ll take her to the cathedral and do it right.”
“Of course,” said Wolfgang. “I would have it no other way.”
Butterflies swirled in Wolfgang’s stomach. It was a windy evening, one spotlighted by stars and no cloud cover. He paced along the edge of the rooftop. Then he stopped and placed his hands on the concrete-capped wall and stared out toward the trees. He leaned against the wall and sat on the edge with his back to the woods. Across the rooftop, Nurse Cleary and Nurse Marlene fiddled with Susannah’s dress and veil. Susannah was beautiful. Her hair was long and curled around her slender neck that rose from her shoulders like a swan. Wolfgang wiped his sweaty hands on his pants and began pacing again.
“Relax, Wolf.” Lincoln clapped him on the shoulder and straightened his jacket.
“How do I look?”
“Like a Catholic priest about ready to marry a tuberculosis patient.”
“I’m not a priest, Lincoln.”
“Yes, I understand that, but after seeing the way you’ve dressed the past several years, I’m having trouble picturing you as anything other than a priest.”
Rufus and Josef walked toward them, smiling. Josef held up his chalkboard: YOU READY?
“Guess so.” Wolfgang turned toward the piano. “I only wish McVain were here with us.”
“Oh, he is,” Rufus said. “I saw the piano keys moving earlier, and there wasn’t anybody sitting by it.”
Josef wrote. JUST THE WIND.
Rufus looked at him. “Don’t you believe in ghosts?”
Lincoln smacked Wolfgang’s chest. “Here she comes, Father.”
“Lincoln…”
Abel walked before her, dropping rose petals down their imaginary center aisle. Wolfgang sat at the piano and played a quick bridal processional. Josef and Rufus accompanied with their instruments. It was a small crowd: Susannah, Abel, Nurse Cleary and Nurse Marlene, Dr. Barker and his wife, and the four men.
Wolfgang stopped playing when Susannah took her position beside the piano. His knees shook as he stood from the bench. He stared into her eyes and took both of her hands. Reading from the notes Wolfgang had given him, Dr. Barker married the two of them right there on the rooftop with Herman singing in the background from Room 502 and Maverly from Waverly chanting. The small group of friends formed a protective circle around them.
The bell chimed from the tower. They all looked upward but remained silent as the reverberation hummed out toward the woods. Wolfgang felt as if he’d been transported back in time to the foggy morning calls to prayer at the seminary. He squeezed Susannah’s hands, stepped closer, and kissed her.
***
Wolfgang returned to Waverly in the middle of the night, when most of the patients were asleep. He tiptoed past her neighbors on the third-floor solarium and knelt beside Susannah’s bed. He tapped her arm.
Susannah opened her eyes. “Wolf? What—”
Wolfgang silenced her by placing his hand over her mouth. Beneath her sheets she still wore the wedding dress. He slid his arms under her slight weight and lifted her from the bed. He carried her to the closest stairwell with a smooth rhythm to his limp, and they laughed like teenagers until Susannah insisted that she walk on her own.
“Susannah, I have something to tell you.”
She took his hand. “What?”
“I was tested for tuberculosis at the same time Rose was here,” Wolfgang said. “I was infected as well.”
Susannah paused. “Wolf—”
“I don’t know if I gave it to her or she gave it to me,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. She was cured. Mine never became active.”
“So then you are probably in the clear.”
“It has remained dormant for as long as I’ve had it. Yes.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I was never contagious.”
He led her out of the sanatorium, and no one saw them leave. They hurried hand in hand down the hillside to his cottage.
She squeezed his hand as they neared the front porch. “I’ve something to tell you as well, Wolfgang Pike.”
He noticed her broad smile. “And what would that be, Susannah Pike?”
“In our shower room at the dormitory…there’s a hole someone has burrowed into our wall.”
“Yes?”
She giggled. “I must confess I used to imagine you watching me…”
Wolfgang scooped her up in his arms and carried her over the threshold, both of them laughing. He kicked the door closed and set her on her feet again. His cottage was lit with candles. A fire crackled in the fireplace. He gripped Susannah’s hand and walked her to the bed.
“Wolfgang,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
He pulled back the covers that had enshrined Rose’s memory for so long.
“Wolf?”
He gently lifted her onto the bed. She leaned back and rested her head on the pillow. He knelt above her, his knees locked against her slender waist. “You’re beautiful, Susannah.”
She reached up and traced her fingers across his beard, his chin, and then down the side of his face. She loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She was breathing heavily. “We can’t,” she whispered. “It’s too risky.”
“We can.” Wolfgang kissed her neck. Her breasts heaved against the lining of her dress. She pulled his face to hers. Their mouths opened instinctively. Wolfgang pressed his lips against hers, but she pulled away and kissed his cheek, carefully avoiding his parted lips. Her lips touched his nose, his neck, and danced around his mouth. She kissed every part of his face
but
his lips, as if afraid to infect him. They paused, panting, petting, stroking each other’s hair and face, and then Susannah ripped Wolfgang’s shirt free of the buttons that held it together. Buttons flew across the bed. She giggled and bit her lip. She ran her fingers across his chest and then gripped him around the neck again. In the awkward, passionate kissing that ensued, she never touched her mouth directly to his, but he felt her warm breath against his cheeks, his neck, his ears, and his eyes. He pulled her dress down, revealing the strings, laces, and frills of her corset.
“We can’t,” she whispered, but the words had no life to them.
Wolfgang kissed her bare stomach and then looked up into her eyes.
“We shouldn’t,” she said. “I’m sick. I might be dying.”
Wolfgang kissed her open lips. “Then so will I.”