that I’ll be playing a concert at Carnegie Hall on December 23rd. It’s what he always dreamed of-first for himself, and then for me.
The celebrity-studded charity affair would introduce her to the New York critics. Yo-Yo Ma, Placido Domingo, Kathleen Battle, Emanuel Ax and the brilliant young violinist Sondra Lewis were the main attractions. She still could hardly believe it.
“We’re here, miss,” the cabbie said, an edge in his voice. With a start, Sondra realized that his irritation was due to the fact that he’d already told her that once.
“Oh, sorry.” The fare was $3.40. She fished in her wallet for a five-dollar bill. “That’s fine,” she said, opening the door and starting to get out.
“I don’t think you really wanted to give me a forty-five dollar tip, miss.”
Sondra looked at the fifty-dollar bill the cabbie was holding out to her. “Oh, thank you,” she stammered.
“That’s a big mistake, lady. Lucky for you I don’t take advantage of pretty young women.”
As Sondra exchanged the fifty for a five-dollar bill, she thought-too bad you weren’t around when I traded my baby for my grandfather’s good opinion of me and my own chance at success.
5
When they reached the building on Amsterdam Avenue -formerly the Goldsmith and Son Furniture Emporium- that now housed Sister Cordelia’s clothing thrift shop, Alvirah and Willy went directly to the second floor.
It was four o’clock, and the children who regularly came to Home Base to take advantage of the after-school facilities were sitting cross-legged on the floor around Sister Maeve Marie. The large area had been transformed into a kind of bright and cheery auditorium. The faded linoleum was polished to the point that even the floorboards beneath the worn spaces glistened.
The walls were painted sunshine yellow and decorated with drawings and cutouts the children had made. Old-fashioned radiators whistled and thudded, but thanks to Willy and his near-magical ability to fix the unfixable, there was no mistaking the warmth they provided.
“Today is very special,” Sister Maeve Marie was saying. “We’re going to begin practice for our Christmas pageant.”
Willy and Alvirah slipped into seats near the staircase and watched affectionately. A regular volunteer at Home Base, Alvirah was in charge of the party that was to follow the pageant, and Willy would be playing Santa Claus.
The children’s expectant and lively eyes were riveted on Sister Maeve Marie as she explained, “Today we’re going to start learning the songs about Christmas and Chanukah that we’ll be performing at the pageant. Then we’ll study our lines.”
“Isn’t it wonderful that Cordelia and Maeve are making sure that everybody has a speaking part?” Alvirah whispered.
“Everybody? Well, let’s hope it’s a short speaking part,” Willy replied.
Alvirah smiled. “You don’t mean that.”
“Want to bet?”
“Sshh.” She patted his hand as Sister Maeve Marie read off the names of the children who would be assigned to tell the story of Chanukah. “Rachel, Barry, Sheila…”
Cordelia appeared from downstairs and, with her practiced eye, glanced over the children. Seeing mischief about, she walked over to Jerry, the lively seven-year-old who was poking the six-year-old seated next to him.
She tapped him lightly. “Keep that up, and I’ll find a new Saint Joseph,” she warned, then turned and joined Alvirah and Willy. “When I got back, there was another message from Pablo Torres,” she said. “He’d gone to bat for us, and I do believe he tried his best, but he says there was no way he could get an extension on keeping this place open. I think he was as happy as I was to hear about Bessie’s townhouse. He knows the block and said he’s sure there won’t be any problem transferring our operation there. We can even take in more kids.”
One of the volunteer salespeople at the thrift shop came rushing up the stairs. “Sister, Kate Durkin is on the phone, asking to talk to you. Hurry; she’s crying her eyes out.”
6
No traces remained of the festive luncheon they had enjoyed only a few hours earlier. But once again, Willy, Alvirah, Monsignor Ferris and Sister Cordelia sat at the same table they had dined at earlier in the day. Kate was with them, quietly weeping.
“I spoke to the Bakers an hour ago,” she said. “I told them that I was turning the house over to Home Base and that I couldn’t renew their lease.”
“And you say they produced a new will?” Willy asked incredulously.
“Yes. They said Bessie had changed her mind, that she hadn’t been a bit happy at the prospect of having the house wrecked by a bunch of kids. They also told me that she said the repairs Vic has made and the painting he’s done showed her that they’d keep the house in pristine condition, just the way she wanted it. You know how much she loved this house.”
She married the judge to get it, Alvirah thought wryly. “When did she sign it?”
“Just a few days ago, on November 30th.”
“She showed me the previous will when I stopped in to see her on November 27th,” Monsignor Ferris said. “She seemed quite happy with it then. That was when she asked me to make sure that Kate could stay in the apartment after she transferred the house to the Home Base program.”
“Bessie left me an income, and according to the new will, I’m allowed to live in the apartment in the Bakers’ home rent free. As though I’d stay here with those people!” The tears now ran freely down Kate’s face. “I can’t believe Bessie would do this to me. To leave this house to perfect strangers like that. She knew I didn’t like the Bakers. And to get an apartment somewhere else is impossible. You know what the prices are in Manhattan.”
Kate’s scared and she’s angry and she’s hurt, Alvirah thought. But even worse… She looked across the table and thought that for the first time since she’d known her, Cordelia looked her age.
Catching her sister-in-law’s eye, she said, “Cordelia, we’ll think of something to keep Home Base going, I promise.”
Cordelia shook her head. “Not in under four weeks,” she said. “Not unless the age of miracles isn’t over.”
Monsignor Ferris had been carefully studying the copy of the new will that Vic Baker had presented to Kate.
“From my experience, it looks absolutely legitimate,” he commented. “It’s on Bessie’s stationery, we know that she was a good typist, and that certainly is her signature. Take a look, Alvirah.”
Alvirah skimmed the page and a half and then reread it carefully. “It certainly sounds like Bessie,” she admitted. “Listen, Willy. ‘A home is like a child, and as one nears the end, it becomes important to surrender that home to the protection of those who would care for it in the most fitting manner. I cannot be comfortable knowing that the daily presence of many small children will totally change the appearance and character of the pristine house for which I have sacrificed so much.’
“Does she mean being married to Judge Maher?” Willy asked. “He wasn’t a bad little guy.”
Alvirah shrugged and continued to read. “‘Therefore I leave my home to Victor and Linda Baker, who will care for it in a manner suited to its genteel quality.’ “
“Genteel quality, indeed!” she snorted as she laid the will on the table. “What could he more genteel than giving a helping hand to children?” She turned to the monsignor. “Who witnessed this miserable piece of paper?”
“Two of the Bakers’ friends,” Monsignor Ferris said. “We’ll get a lawyer, of course, just to see if there’s anything to be done, but it certainly looks legitimate to me.”
