Central Park Rendezvous

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Everyone, hurry now,” she ordered, clapping her hands to emphasize her words. “We’re going to Mr. O’Day’s church this morning, and it’s quite a walk.” The distance to his church was much greater than to their own little chapel, so she’d need to bundle Lois well and make sure she kept her scarf over her nose and mouth.

  For a moment she hesitated, uncertainty holding her captive. Was she doing the right thing, taking her siblings to meet Bernie O’Day and placing such an important issue in his hands? And why did she trust him with her dilemma? She hadn’t a clue. She only knew, for the first time in a long time, she believed she’d found someone who wouldn’t let her down.

  “Please let my trust in this man not be misguided,” she mumbled as she hurried back to the kitchen to pour juice. But she told herself the plea wasn’t a prayer.

  Chapter 8

  Bernie rose after the closing benediction and turned toward the aisle. His heart felt burdened by the minister’s impassioned plea for the parishioners to pray for the people in Europe caught up in war. Here in his cocoon of security, Bernie admitted to giving little thought to the horror raging overseas. While he moved toward the double doors leading to the street, a man brushed against him, nearly knocking his Bible from his grip.

  “Sorry about that,” the man said.

  Bernie grinned. “No problem.” He slipped the Bible into his jacket pocket and glanced around. “Crowded today—hard to walk without bumpin’ each other.”

  The man nodded. “Holiday Sundays always bring in a lot of visitors.”

  Bernie agreed. He wished those who flooded the pews at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter would make church attendance an every-Sunday event. He couldn’t imagine getting through the week without the nourishment his soul received each Lord’s day. As he stepped from the warmth of the sanctuary into a blustery Sunday noon, his gaze roved across the small groups of people chatting together. Although he glimpsed many cheerful faces, he also noted somber ones. He passed between groups, overhearing snatches of conversation, and realized many of the sober expressions accompanied comments about the war. Bernie blew out a little breath of relief. Apparently he wouldn’t be the only one praying for peace in Europe.

  He stepped from the crowds and turned his feet toward home, but then a female voice—a familiar female voice—called his name and stopped him in his tracks. He whirled around to see Helen, with the younger Wolfe siblings on her heels, scurrying toward him. She wore the same blue suit she’d worn on Thanksgiving Day, but a cream-colored hat with blue feathers and red beads sat at a jaunty angle over her curls. Bernie gulped. Had any woman ever been as appealing as Helen Wolfe?

  She reached his side, and the fervency in her blue eyes nearly stilled his heart. “Oh Bernie, thank goodness we caught you.”

  Bernie whisked a glance over each of their faces. Rosy cheeks and bright red noses let him know they’d waited in the cold for quite a while. “Is something wrong?”

  “I needed to speak with you.” She curled her hand through his elbow and turned to her brothers and sister. “Wait right here. I’ll be back in a minute.” Then she guided Bernie a few feet away to the curb, where she released his arm and clasped her gloved hands in front of her. “Bernie, you’re a praying man, and I need to ask you a favor.”

  Bernie’s heart swelled. She’d just paid him the biggest compliment ever. Whatever favor she needed, he was ready.

  “Remember Richard Mason? He came over Thanksgiving evening as you were leaving.”

  Bernie stifled a growl. He gave a brusque nod.

  “Well…” Suddenly Helen turned shy, angling her gaze away from him. “He’s asked to begin seeing me again—courting me. But I’m very confused about whether or not to allow it. You see, he… he…” She didn’t directly meet his gaze, but her eyes fluttered in his direction. “He broke off our engagement when I refused to send Henry, Carl, and Lois to an orphans’ home. He didn’t want the responsibility of seeing to their needs.”

  “Is that so?” Bernie tried to rein in his contempt for a man who’d ask Helen to cast aside her siblings, but when she blanched he knew he’d failed.

  “But he must have changed his mind,” she hurried on, once again looking off to the side, “because he’s back, and he’s been very kind to the children. So I was wondering if, maybe…” Very slowly she turned her face to look fully into his eyes. “Would you please pray for me to know what to do? I desperately need someone to help me support the family. If I were to marry Richard, our financial problems would be solved. He’s well established with the opera company, and he says if we’re married, he’ll secure a spot for me, too. The salary would far exceed what I make now as a hotel maid.” Her words tumbled out faster and faster, her breath forming little clouds of condensation that drifted beneath Bernie’s chin. “The children deserve security, Bernie, but I want to make the right decision. Will you pray for me?”

  Bernie lifted his hands to cup her shoulders. Her tight muscles beneath the fabric of the blue suit spoke of her inner turmoil. How he wished to draw her into his embrace, to offer her comfort. But she’d only asked for prayer. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed before speaking. “I already pray for you, Helen. Every day I pray for you, and for Henry, Carl, and Lois.”

  She blinked up at him, her pink-painted lips slightly open. “Y–you do?” Tears flooded her eyes, deepening the blue irises.

  “God put you on my heart, and I’ve been praying for Him to give you peace and strength.”

  One tear broke free of its perch on her thick lashes and rolled down her cheek. Gratitude glowed from her eyes.

  “So now I’ll pray for God to make clear to you what you’re to do. But, Helen?” He paused, uncertainty making his pulse pound. “Be careful. Don’t be looking for a man to meet your needs. Men’ll let you down. They can’t help it—they’re human, and they fail. But God? He can’t forsake you. It’s not in His nature. So lean on Him before anything or anyone else. Trust Him to meet your needs. Will you do that?”

  She swished away her tears with her fingertips. Her chin trembled. “I–I’ll try.”

  He knew what effort it took for her to make the concession. He squeezed her shoulders and then let his hands fall away. “It’s cold out here, and you need to get the youngsters on home. You ridin’ the trolley?”

  “We never ride the trolley.”

  Bernie understood. He reached into his pocket and withdrew two quarters. “Then take this—get a taxicab.”

  She stared at the coins. “Oh, but…”

  He grasped her wrist and pressed the coins into her palm. “For me, Helen, so I don’t hafta worry about Lois catching a cold. Please?”

  With a deep sigh, she closed her fingers over the silver disks. “Thank you, Bernie. You’re a very kind man.” She gestured to the children, and they dashed to her side. Curling her arm around Lois’s shoulders, she offered Bernie a quavering smile. “Thank you for your prayers, Bernie. I promise, I’ll be listening for God’s voice.”

  Over the next week, Helen honored her promise to Bernie. As she cleaned hotel rooms, she kept her heart tuned to guidance concerning continuing the job or taking up singing in the opera company with Richard. While she saw to the children’s needs, she searched her mind’s eye for images of someone stepping in beside her to help her parent her siblings. When she lay in bed at night, she petitioned God to give her the peace and strength Bernie had mentioned. And, although her circumstances didn’t change, she discovered she slept more soundly and felt less burdened than she had before. Could that mean God was answering her prayers? Her heart fluttered with hope that maybe, just maybe, God was near.

  Richard began the habit of visiting each evening. He always brought gifts—frivolous items like lace handkerchiefs for Lois or chocolate bars for the boys. Helen tried to be grateful, but she wondered why he’d ceased leaving items they could really use, the way he’d done before. With each visit, she tried to envision him as a permanent fixture in their lives. He wa
s willing to accept her and the children—he’d said so—but somehow she couldn’t get comfortable with the idea. So although he pressured her continually to set a wedding date—“And make it soon, darling,” he’d whispered into her ear—she hesitated. Only when she knew for certain Richard was the helpmate God wanted for her would she give her answer.

  Sunday morning, December seventh, bloomed like many other December days. Cold, crisp, with snowflakes dancing on a stout breeze. Helen held a steaming mug of coffee between her palms and looked out at the gray morning. Both Carl and Lois had the sniffles, so although she hated to skip church services, she chose to let them sleep. Henry was dressing, however, unwilling to miss attending church. He’d stated firmly he could go on his own.

  Her heart swelled, thinking of the fine young man her brother was becoming—responsible, caring, mature beyond his years. And much of the change she’d seen in the past months was the result of Bernie O’Day’s influence. Henry quoted Bernie, emulated Bernie, and respected him as a mentor. Henry didn’t have a father anymore, but he had Bernie, and Bernie filled the hole their father’s passing had left in Henry’s boyish heart. What a kind, good man is Bernie O’Day. A flutter in her chest accompanied the thought.

  “Sis?” Henry bustled into the room, interrupting Helen’s musing. “Want me to stop at that hamburger stand and pick up some burgers for our dinner? They’ll be yesterday’s leftovers, so only a nickel apiece.”

  Both Lois and Carl loved the greasy sandwiches with ground beef and grilled onions. They might be enticed to eat if offered such a treat. Although Helen had little money to spare, she retrieved her purse and gave Henry two dimes to purchase burgers. Then, as if something—or Someone—encouraged her fingers, she plucked out one more dime and dropped it into Henry’s waiting palm. “Put that in the offering plate.”

  Henry beamed in approval. He dashed out the door, his knitted cap tugged low over his ears.

  The house quiet, Helen curled on the sofa with her coffee and her Bible. If she couldn’t attend service, she could at least read from God’s Word. She flipped pages, scanning passages, and finally settled on one of the letters to the Corinthian churches. Nestled in the corner of the sofa, she read, content. When she reached the thirteenth chapter of First Corinthians, her reading slowed, her finger underlining the words describing God’s idea for love.

  Without conscious thought, she began to read aloud. “'Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth….'” She closed the Bible, the final line replaying in her thoughts. Charity—love—never fails.

  An image of the engraved coin she’d sold to Bernie O’Day flashed before her mind’s eye. Slipping to her knees, she clasped her hands and offered a heartfelt prayer: “God, Bernie told me Your love never fails or forsakes. I want so much to believe You’ll always be there and You’ll meet the needs of my brothers, sister, and me. Bernie is praying for my strength to find You. I’m seeking You. Will You please make Yourself known to me? Make Yourself known to me in a way I cannot misunderstand, because I need You, God. I need You….” Her last sentence choked out on a sob.

  She pushed to her feet just as the front door burst open and Henry charged into the room. He dropped a grease-stained brown paper bag as he raced to her and took her hands in his icy grasp. “Helen! The burger man said there’s a rumor that Japan attacked the United States!”

  Chapter 9

  In all of his twenty-eight years, Bernie had never kept a radio going day and night, but the events of December 7th, 1941, changed that. For the next three days he hovered near the Philco, determined to stay abreast of the latest developments concerning the United States’ involvement in the war that, up till now, had seemed distant.

  When Henry arrived after school, he, too, drifted to the radio frequently, and more than once Bernie overheard the boy mutter, “Soon as I’m old enough, I’m puttin’ on a uniform and going to battle. Won’t let nobody attack my country and get away with it!” Bernie admired Henry’s determination, but at the same time, his heart quaked. He prayed the war would be over long before Henry reached his eighteenth birthday. At the same time, a desire to do as Henry stated—don a uniform and march in defense of America—continually played at the fringes of his mind.

  Posters of Uncle Sam with his finger extended and the words I Want You! appeared in windows all over town. Banners claiming the Army’s need for fighters hung from lampposts. Everywhere Bernie went, the tug followed him, and by mid-December, he’d made a decision: After Christmas he’d close the shop, visit the Army Recruitment Office, and sign up to defend his country.

  He had only one concern. What would Helen do without the income Henry earned? He added another prayer to his list of daily petitions. Lord, help me find a way to ascertain the Wolfe family won’t go hungry. Even if I’m not here, meet their needs, my Father.

  “What are you saying, Richard?” Helen stared at the man, disbelief raising her voice several decibels.

  “It isn’t difficult to understand,” Richard retorted, his eyebrows fixed in a supercilious angle. “With the U.S. focus on that European skirmish, people will lose their interest in attending operatic performances. We have no choice but to move the opera company into Canada.”

  “But… but I can’t move to Canada!” Helen held her hands outward, indicating the simple yet homey parlor in which they sat together on her parents’ sofa. “This is my home.”

  Richard huffed out a breath, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket. “Then stay. Honestly, Helen, you can be so stubborn.”

  Helen reared back, her pulse thudding so hard she felt as though a bass drum beat in her head. A snippet from her reading in First Corinthians whispered through her heart—“Charity… seeketh not her own.” Richard claimed to love her, yet he was willing to walk away from her to pursue his own interests. Again.

  She jolted upright and marched several feet away. Aware of her brothers and sister studying in their bedrooms, she deliberately kept her voice low although every part of her wished to rail at him in righteous indignation. “Richard, why did you bother to come back? You haven’t changed. All you really care about is seeing to your own selfish desires.”

  He glowered at her. “What about you—insisting on holding on to this little house and wasting your life taking care of a bunch of kids that aren’t even yours? You aren’t concerned about me and what I want or need. We had plans, you and me, and you threw them all away!”

  “If you truly loved me, you’d understand how much Henry, Carl, and Lois mean to me. You’d never ask me to discard them.”

  Richard rose and advanced at her, his lips curled in contempt. “I thought a year of separation would be enough to bring you to your senses—to make you see what a fool you’d been. But apparently I was wrong.” He released a derisive snort. “Well, I’m going on to Canada where I will continue to build my career. And by the time the war ends, my name will be up in lights. But what of you, Helen? What will you have achieved?”

  Helen shook her head slowly, silently berating herself. How could she ever have desired this man’s presence in her life? He was right when he’d called her a fool, but he’d chosen the wrong reason to accuse her of foolishness. Now that she recognized the truth, she was more certain than ever that she did not want a future with Richard. Not even for the financial security he could provide.

  She spoke softly, her voice quavering with conviction. “I love singing—I always have and I always will—but I love my brothers and sister more.” Peace swept through her, assuring her she’d made the right choice. “Someday, Richard, God will give me the chance to sing again. But not for myself. When I sing again, it will be for Him.”

  Another snort blasted from Richard’s sneering lips
. “That won’t bring much fame and fortune, my naive little Helen, but who am I to stand in your way?” He buttoned his jacket and headed for the door.

  Helen called after him, “Before you go…”

  He turned back, his expression impatient.

  She drew in a breath, gathering the strength needed to set aside her pride and utter the thank-you so she’d owe him nothing. “I appreciate the boxes of food and the other items you left. They helped us a great deal.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Helen, I don’t have the foggiest notion about any boxes. I didn’t leave anything here.”

  “Y–you didn’t?”

  “No.” He wrenched the doorknob. “Good-bye—this time for good.” He stepped out, slamming the door into its frame behind him.

  Helen stood in the middle of the room, confusion coiling through her middle. If he hadn’t left the boxes, then who had?

  “Sis?” Henry’s voice sounded from the hallway. Helen turned and spotted her brother half hidden in shadows. He held the brown corduroy jacket he’d been given. “I’ve got a loose button on the pocket. Can you fix it?”

  Helen stared at the jacket. Comprehension tickled the far corners of her mind. Could it be…? Hopefulness tried to rise in her chest, but she refused to allow it free rein. She’d made a grave error in assuming Richard was the mysterious gift-giver. She wouldn’t jump to another conclusion. She needed solid proof.

  She held out her hands. “Give me the jacket, and I’ll stitch that button on securely for you.” As Henry placed the warm coat in her hands, she smiled. “Come sit beside me while I stitch. I need to talk with you about something important.”

  Bernie rose from his knees in prayer. His knees and shoulders ached—he’d remained on the wood-planked floor of his bedroom, hunched over the edge of the bed, for nearly an hour—but he smiled in satisfaction. God had answered his prayers in bigger ways than he could have imagined. The plan was perfect. If only Helen agrees. He winged up one more petition for God to move in Helen’s heart as effectively as He’d moved in his own so they could be in one accord.