A Light in the Dark

Chapter 11

Chapter 11 Gustave's POV

There are so few words that describe my father, but determined is one of them. He recovered quickly, and before any of us knew it, he was back to playing, or rather, hammering at the grand pipe organ. When I first started school, I found this organ a nuisance because it interfered with the work that I brought home, but it did not take me long to grow very fond of the organ upstairs. It gave me an escape when the other children were being bothersome, and truthfully, I did not mind hearing my father play. It was always so beautiful when he did.

The first three years of my schooling in America were far from brutal. They were, in fact, rather dull. I did not really associate myself with the other children. I did, however, occasionally sing with the school choir when they needed someone to fill in. The teacher often asked me why I did not sing with them full time, but she and I both knew that I was too shy for my own good and that I preferred to keep to myself.

I did not widely explore the park in those days. I could have, but I found myself wanting to stay close to Papa. I was too afraid to bear the loss of another parent, and after the fire occurred, it hit me that losing him was inevitably, though not likely, a possibility. This scared me after my shoes. I could not let it happen. I would not let it happen even if I had to make sure of it personally.

I spent most of my time watching the showgirls rehearse, doing my school work, playing piano, helping Papa around the park by delivering messages, and learning music from my father. It was a simple life, but sometimes simple is all that is needed after such a time of chaos. I had settled into my new home. I had made acquaintances with several of the workers in the park. To me this was all I needed, and usually, my father was happy as long as I was happy.

By the time my fifteenth year had come around, I was completely used to my routine. I woke up, fixed breakfast, made coffee for my father, went to school, came back home, ran messages around the park for Papa, did my school work, ran upstairs to talk to what few friends I had, and came back downstairs and talked with Father until he either sent me to bed or I fell asleep. However, my schedule was interrupted one day while on my journey to school.

After the ferry from Coney Island had docked, I made my usual walk to school. About half way through, I noticed a couple of boys my age in the corner of my eye. They were following a girl about the same age. Every few steps, they would step on the back of her shoe or kick a small rock to her heel. Each time they did this, she would quicken her pace. She was almost to a run when the smaller of the two boys kicked a rock to her heel and tore her stocking. She fell to the ground and the boys took off running away from her and towards the school.

Truthfully, I did not care much for children my age. I found them repugnant and unsophisticated, but still, I mustered up what little tolerance I had and walked over to the crying girl. I offered her my hand to help her up. She looked up at me with a questionable expression and took my hand with a gentle politeness.

"It seems that I have cut my ankle," she said as she avoided putting pressure on her right side.

I looked down at the end of the skirt of her pale yellow dress and saw where her foot was poking out from under it. Indeed she had just a dab of blood where her stocking had torn. "It seems you have," said I. "Would you like some help?"

"I would like that very much," she said drying her eyes.

She put her left arm around my shoulder, and I helped her limp the rest of the way. We did not say much. She only occasionally said how grateful she was to have someone gracious enough to help her, and I would reply with a simple, "It is not a problem, Miss."

When we got to the school, I helped her to class where her teacher smiled and thanked me and let me go on my way. The rest of the day went on as usual. The choir director told me that she was going to need an extra tenor for rehearsal that night, so I told her that I would be delighted to fill in. The day ended, and I packed my satchel full of books. I walked back out to the docks where I always met Squelch, one of my father's performers. We had made this arrangement so I could stay on the main land when I needed to, and my father would know where I was. I told Squelch that I would have to stay for a choir rehearsal to which he said that he would notify my father of my practice. He turned and left, and I headed for the old cathedral in which the choir rehearsed.