Chapter Seventeen
June 23rd, 1922
Miles City, Montana
It was a warm and rather humid day. Valentina rode on her bike languidly beside her two best friends, Melody and Oliver. Eagerly, the trio rode side-by-side as they made their way to downtown Miles City. They were on their way to the music hall, where each young musician would find out the fate of their role in the Miles City Junior Orchestra. Melody and Oliver had high hopes for their sections. Melody played the violin while Oliver specialized in the clarinet. The friends chatted lively about the prospect of the pieces the orchestra would choose that year.
"Gosh, I hope we don't do Beethoven again," Melody wrinkled her freckled nose up at the prospect, "I'm so tired of that man."
"No way will we do Beethoven two years in a row," Oliver laughed as he steered his baby blue bicycle around a rock in the road, "Mr. Dewhurst has much more sense than that."
"Well, whatever he picks, I hope it gives the brass section a chance to shine," Valentina grinned, her braids gliding in the wind behind her, "You string and woodwind sections are always the center of attention," Valentina stuck her tongue out at her friends.
"Hey now," Melody laughed lightly as the trio biked past an elderly couple out for a leisurely stroll, "The string section keeps the rhythm goin' for you brass players!"
"You wouldn't even have a chance to shine without the woodwinds!" Oliver teased.
The music hall was in view on the left side of the street now. Nearly a dozen students were gathered in plaza. Some were talking excitedly with their friends, while others moped back to their bicycles and carried on with their days. Valentina's heart started beating loudly in her chest as she pulled the brakes on her bicycle, coming to a squealing halt with her friends. Carelessly, they all pushed their bikes over into a tangled mess on the outskirts of the plaza and weaved their way through the crowd towards the announcement panel encased in glass beside the entrance. Together, Valentina, Oliver, and Melody gazed up at the list, looking for their section. After a moment, Melody clapped her hands together and excitedly pointed at the case.
"Yes! Right there, violin section! Second chair, Melody Richardson!"
"Dang, second chair!" Oliver arched his dark eyebrows, "You even beat out some of the snobby prep kids!" Another moment passed, "Looks like I got fourth chair. Nice! One chair higher than last year."
As Valentina's eyes scanned down the list, she could feel her heart starting to sink. The trumpet section was right in front of her, "I... don't see my name..." Valentina said after a moment. She checked each chair carefully. The first chair was filled by Anita Strong. The other seven were occupied by the children who attended the prepatory school in the mountains. Valentina's blood throbbed loudly in her ears, "I... I didn't get a chair...?" She whispered, her voice slightly cracking, "I was beat out by all those snobby prep kids and a girl who doesn't even live here?!"
"There has to be a mistake," Oliver shook his head, "You've been part of the program since 1919!"
Again, Valentina scrutinized the list, checking every section on the off-chance she had accidentally been placed somewhere else. But still, her name did not jump out at her. Valentina felt her face flush and her body took on a chill. Her ears became warm as she was drowned in embarassment in front of her friends. She nearly felt shameful of herself. Valentina combed through her mind, recounting all her practice. She hadn't practiced enough, she told herself. Tears sprung to Valentina's eyes and she immediately turned away, making a direct bee-line for her bicycle before she burst into tears right there in the plaza.
"Tina!" Melody called, "Tina, wait!"
Valentina didn't stop, however. She ripped her bike up from the ground and got on, pedaling furiously away. Salty tears blurred her vision as she pumped her legs back and forth, doing her damndest to put distance between her and the final decision of the orchestra line-up. Her friends still called after her, but she didn't even look. She pedaled out of sight quickly.
...
Charlie was sitting at the kitchen table with his art supplies in front of him. But the page in front of him remained blank. Charlie's entire body ached. Bruises painted up and down his legs and were coming through in splotchy patches on his torso. Despite it being such a warm day, Charlie wore a long sleeve shirt buttoned all the way to his neck. He stared at the paper, begging for some inspiration. Anything to take his mind away from his current predicament.
His mother sat at the kitchen island with her back to Charlie. She was reading the early mock-up of the July edition of Dazzling People, Nature, and Art. She could see a piece of Jack's touch in every page. She took a dainty sip of her tea as she slowly turned the page to read about the hot boating season Jack had been ranting about a few weeks ago. She grinned when she recalled his unimpressed attitude with large sailboats. She knew Lance Hunter had one, which decidedly had made Jack completely uninterested in the rather snobbish hobby.
The front door flew open, shedding more light into the foyer. Rose lifted her eyes, catching a glimpse of Valentina. The door slammed harshly behind her and her feet bounded up the stairs quickly. After a moment, her door slammed shut, too. Rose arched her eyebrows and glanced towards Charlie, who could only muster a shrug with his sore body. Rose was out of her stool in a moments notice to do some investigating. She forgot entirely about the magazine and her cup of tea as she briskly left the kitchen and wandered upstairs. Rose paused outside of Valentina's door before she hesitantly lifted her hand and gently rapped on the door.
"Tina?" Rose said softly. After a moment, she let herself in. Valentina was on the ground, hot tears streaking down her face. She had her music folder open in front of her where she was ripping several sheets of music to shreds, "Tina! What are you doing?"
Valentina sniffled deeply as another wave of tears brimmed her eyes. With shaky hands, she ripped through another piece of music. She paused and looked at her concerned mother, "I didn't get a chair..." Valentina croaked miserably.
Rose felt her heart break instantly for her daughter. Rose shifted between her feet for a moment before she seated herself on the ground beside Valentina. Valentina sniffled again. Rose reached towards her waist band and removed a lacy handkerchief, holding it out towards her daughter. After a moment, Valentina accepted it and mopped up her tears to no avail.
"I thought I had practiced enough..." Valentina said, her wet eyes gazing over the shreds of music at her knees, "But I didn't, Momma... I didn't try hard enough."
"Honey, that's not true," Rose shook her head, resting her hand on Valentina's wiry shoulders, "You practiced very hard. You were disciplined. But... sometimes, you can do everything right and still not win. It's the way life goes."
"But, Mom," Valentina blinked rapidly against the tears stinging her eyes, "That orchestra has been apart of my summer since I was eight years old. I lived for that orchestra each and every summer. It's how I became friends with Melody and Oliver," Valentina's throat felt like it was swelling shut and she let some tears fall from her cheeks, "Now how will they ever find time to hang out with me, the pathetic loser who didn't get a chair..."
"You're being much too harsh on yourself," Rose wrapped her arm around Valentina and brought the girl in close. Gently, her daughter's head lolled against her collarbone, "Your friends are not going to think any less of you for not getting a chair. It's part of being a musician, isn't it?" Rose cradled Valentina back so she could gaze at her soppy wet brown eyes, "Didn't you tell me that Oliver didn't make the cut to be part of the school's Christmas Paegent last year?"
"Yeah..." Valentina whimpered as she sniffled and dabbed at her eyes again, "He was really upset. He didn't even come to watch the performance..."
"But that didn't stop you and Melody from still being his friend," Rose said gently.
"Momma, this is not the same," Valentina's eyes grew serious, "Who cares about some dumb band the local elementary school needs," Rose was caught rather off-guard to hear Valentina's blatant review, "I didn't get into the city's orchestra. The one that actually matters, Mom! If I can't get into the real public's view, no one will ever offer me a career or recruit me or..." Valentina's voice faltered for a moment and she lowered her eyes, "... no one will ever hear me play..."
"But Miles City has heard you play," Rose said, "And they will hear you again one day," Rose looked to Valentina's walls and pointed, "Look at all the front page headliners you have cut out- the one's that have your shining face in the picture just below. They see you, Valentina, and they will continue to see you."
"Momma," Valentina sighed, her voice strained, "I really... I'm just not in the mood for a motivational pep talk. I just want to be alone. Please...?"
Rose gently carressed Valentina's touch with the back of her slender hand. After a moment, she nodded, her red curls bobbing back and forth, "Okay," Rose replied airily, "That's fine... I understand. I'll let you know when dinner is ready, alright?"
Valentina nodded, pursing her lips. She watched as her mother got to her feet and took a moment to smooth her skirt. Rose gazed over her daughter once more, still sitting amongst the sea of lost music sheets. Rose was hesitant to leave her alone, but she knew Valentina needed to grieve, in a way, for the expeirences and connections she had seemingly lost in her summer plans. Rose walked to the door and looked to her daughter once more before shutting the door quietly.
She remained standing up outside the door, her head lowered to gaze at the wood panelled floors. The sounds of paper tearing could be heard again. Rose bit down on her lip and in the next moment, her legs were taking her downstairs in wide brisk movements. Rose marched into the kitchen and grabbed her purse from the counter. She paused and looked to Charlie, who was still hovering over an empty page at the kitchen table. Rose took a deep breath for a moment, tucking her curls behind her ears.
"Charlie, I need to go run an errand real fast. Can you go check on your sister in a little bit?" Rose asked, cocking her head to the side, "Maybe you two can play with trains or listen to that Chuck Cowboy radio show at 2 o'clock?"
"Yeah, sure," Charlie mumbled, not even looking up from his sheet.
Rose didn't have time to pry into Charlie's inattentiveness. With her purse beating against her hip, she walked with sheer purpose out of her front yard, closing the front gate behind her. She didn't look to a single face as she walked. It was not the time to get wrapped up in a conversation. Rose was a woman on a mission. The music hall came into sight. Rose's heels began to clack on the red hot plaza brick. She approached the announcement casing first and scanned it. She then turned on the balls of her cream pumps and walked through the door into the dimly-lit and cool front foyer of the music hall with vaulted and slanted modern ceilings. Rose glanced around before deciding to head towards the auditorium. The carpet muted the thuds of her heel as she walked through the vacant lobby. With ease, she pushed the auditorium door open. There, she was greeted by a phanograph with a large yellow horn belting out a classic piece of music. One lone man was sat at the table beside it, scribbling furiously. His back was to Rose and there were thirty-seven aisles of seating between them. Rose looked around the large auditorium. She didn't see anybody else. She gazed at the vacant stage. The lights had been left on.
Rose gripped her purse strap tightly and took a deep breath before she wound around the back of the chairs and began to walk down the sloped aisle. As she got closer, the sounds of her muted thuds to the floor caught the attention of the man at the table. He was roused from his work and looked over his shoulder directly at Rose.
"Hello, Mr. Dewhurst," Rose stopped a few feet short of him, as if his gaze alone had petrified her in spot, "Do you have a moment to speak?"
Mr. Dewhurst studied Rose for a moment before he turned to his phanograph, lifting the needle from the spinning record. He then turned back towards Rose, "I think I know why you're already here, Mrs. Dawson. Please, sit down," He gestured to the first row of retractable chairs that sat just behind the director's table. Rose hesitated before she set her purse down and did as Mr. Dewhurst suggested. He swivelled in his chair to face Rose and clasped his hands together, "You're wondering why Valentina didn't make the cut this year."
Rose gripped the arm rests of the chair. The conversation was already not going as she originally imagined, "Yes, actually," Rose nodded, some loose curls falling to frame her face, "When she's consistently been in your top five chairs for the past three summers... I suppose I'm just shocked to hear she didn't even get bottom chair this year."
"Mrs. Dawson," Mr. Dewhurst sighed and titled his chair back, "Every year, we see auditions from dozens of kids, some from all around Montana, some coming as far as the coasts. This program has grown rapidly beyond my original ambitions and Miles City Art Council is thrilled with the presence of this junior orchestra. There is a standard to be kept with this orchestra and, unfortunately, Valentina didn't meet that standard this year."
Rose licked her lips pensively, lifting her chin slightly, "Could you elaborate on your standards, please?"
"The Miles City Junior Orchestra, in alignment and with sponsorship from the Miles City Art Council are dedicated-"
"No," Rose shook her head, leaning in closer to the man now, "I want to know what your standard is, Mr. Dewhurst."
The conductor was quiet, holding a rather tense eye contact with Rose, "Like I said, we see all kinds of children coming for auditions every year. The competition is fierce. It's unfortunate Valentina didn't make the cut this year. We'd love to see her audition again next year."
"So, the Miles City Art Council is okay with the fact that the leader of the trumpet section for the Miles City Junior Orchestra is actually a child prodigy who lives in New York City?" Rose shot back, furrowing her eyebrows together, "Is this program about actually bringing the children of the community together to create the power of music or is this just your golden-ticket to getting your name recognized in your profession?"
"Mrs. Dawson, I can assure you the audition portion of this program is completely fair, concise, and just," Mr. Dewhurst held his palms up, exasperation evident on his face, "I understand that the rejection is tough. I'm sure Valentina is disappointed. But there's always next year."
Rose calculated her words for a moment, crossing her feet at her ankles. Gingerly, she lowered her hands to her lap, "You say your program works in affiliation and has sponsorship from the Miles City Art Council?"
"That's correct," Mr. Dewhurst adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose, "It's who funds us every year to make this possible."
"Have you ever taken the time to just... take a stroll through their beautiful building over there on Gardenia Lane?" Rose asked, arching her eyebrows politely. Mr. Dewhurst hesitated before shaking his head. Rose grinned, "Ah... well, if you take the time one day when you're not on a business call, I'd recommend brushing up on the council's mission statement."
"What do you mean?"
"The Miles City Art Council's mission statement is to bring an authentic and lively community together. To enrich the lives of local residents. Tell me how you're abiding by this mission statement at all, Mr. Dewhurst. I'm sure that little girl from New York City isn't the only one who made the cut this year, shutting several local children out," Rose paused before taking a curt breath, "In fact, I think this should be brought to the council's attention for a fair judgement."
"This program is higlhy esteemed, Mrs. Dawson," Mr. Dewhurst said, folding his hands together over his round belly, "I have a great rapport with the Art Council."
"Does the council get any say or even a look at the line-up before it's posted?" Rose asked.
Mr. Dewhurst paused again, resting his folded hands against his knee, "That is strictly my area of action in the program," The man adjusted himself in his seat and leaned towards Rose, digging his elbows into his knees, "Look, I know you're frustrated. Any empathetic white person would be, too. But I don't like the edge in your voice, Mrs. Dawson, and I don't like what you're implying," The adults were silent as they stared into each other's eyes, "There's always next year for Valentina, hm? Now if you'll excuse me."
And with that, Mr. Dewhurst hopped to his feet and collected his papers, sticking them into his briefcase. He glanced towards Rose who remained glued in her seat and then he brushed past her, silently making his way up the aisle. She heard the door creak open and thud softly behind her, sending an echo through the auditorium. Rose left out a huff, her nostrils flaring.
...
Jack had grown tired of seeing his name. The end of the month was always the worst as he signed all the final approval papers. Some states had stricter shipping and shelf rules and required more paperwork and even more signatures. Eleanor had done her best to subsidize him with coffee, bagels and cream cheese, and fruit, but Jack often forgot about it, leaving it lonesomely in the corner of his desk. He would drink his coffee fast, however.
When Eleanor brought him a refreshed piping mug of coffee, she sighed in discontent at the mound of untouched grapes on his desk. She watched her boss from the doorway for a moment, admiring his completely engrossed state of mind. She then brought the coffee to him, earning a fleeting glance. Jack wouldn't allow himself to be torn away from his work for the slightest moment, not for anything. Eleanor seated herself on the edge of Jack's desk, brushing her leg against his arm. Still, he didn't look up as he took a sip of coffee while gracefully writing his initials.
Eleanor grabbed the dish of grapes, holding it between them, "You haven't eaten a thing all day, Jack. Don't tell me I'm going to have to hand feed these to you?"
Jack laughed lightly, still not looking up from his work. He continued to furiously scribble, "I had breakfast this morning. I'll eat when the paperwork is done."
"Uh-huh," Eleanor nodded. She plucked a plump grape from the dish and outstretched it to him, "Open up. You need brain food to get through all this paperwork."
Jack looked up now and Eleanor was stunned by his ocean blue eyes, "I'm just signing my name. With the coffee, I think I'll be alright. I appreciate the care, though."
"Oh, good, you know I care for you," Eleanor grinned, "But do you know how much?"
"As much as anyone could like their boss," Jack smiled boyishly and took a sip of his coffee.
"Well, I personally believe my boss to be my guardian angel," Eleanor straightened her back from where she was poised on his desk, gently pressing her hands to her exposed collarbone above her swooped neckline.
"I'd like to think anyone in my position would have done the same for you, Eleanor," Jack told her modestly, scribbling his name at the bottom of a page and flipping it over.
"You have much too faith in some people," Eleanor shook her head, "You think of a million and one ways to help. Most people come up with a million and one excuses."
"Well," Jack set his coffee down and shuffled the completed papers before glancing towards the stack that still awaited him, "I'm a big believer that you don't need a reason to help someone."
Eleanor felt her cheeks grow warm, "A golden virtue, Jack. I wish all men could be like you."
Jack was about to respond when a flash of red caught his attention. He did a double-take from his desk to see his wife standing in the doorway of his office, looking rather upset. Quickly, Jack hopped to his feet and reached for his cane, rounding the desk.
"Rose, what's wrong?" He asked, almost hurriedly.
"Do you have a moment to go for a walk and talk?" Rose asked, reaching out for him. When he came into her arm length, she grabbed hold of his hand tenderly, "I really need to talk to you."
"Yeah, of course," Jack nodded, relishing in the feeling of her soft slender fingers carressing him, "Eleanor, I'll be back. Can you get those files I've signed notarized with Shirley, please?"
"Yes, I'll do that," Eleanor stood now and began gathering the papers into her arms, her heart absolutely drooping. She watched as Jack left with his wife. Her cheeks burned intensely now. Finally, she had had the courage to be more bold, and on all days, it was a day Rose decided to peak her head in the door. She watched as the Dawson couple weaved through the desks on the main floor. He already had his arm around her waist as he opened the door and they squeezed out.
"What's happened?" Jack asked as he held the door open for Rose.
She paused, tucking a curl behind her ear, "It's about Valentina..."
Jack already knew by Rose's face. He pursed his lips for a moment as the couple paused just outside the door of the magazine business, "Dammit, dammit, dammit..." He shook his head and the couple started to walk. Rose began to form her jumbled thoughts into cohesive words for her husband, to prepare him for what awaited him at home that evening.
