Martin threw his hands in the air. “Whatever you want. Come on! I don’t have all afternoon.”
Chapter 38
Maizie’s Diary
August 2, 1931
I had another nightmare. I didn’t share it with Mrs. Glidewell. There is something about telling her everything that I don’t like. Seems dreams are none of her business. She has a way of making my life her business.
When I woke up this morning, I was shaking and out of breath. The dream was so real. Now Mrs. Glidewell says some dreams are just a bunch of nonsense, so I am hoping that was true about this one. Mama and I were walking again. I was gathering wildflowers for Mama’s hair. All of a sudden, a man grabbed me. He lifted me over his shoulder and started running. I could see Mama running after me. I was scared. Then he dropped me. Mama found me all bruised and bloody, just lying there. She carried me to the edge of the river. The same river we are often at when I dream. She washed my cuts and scrapes and wrapped me in her arms and rocked me. We both cried. That was all I could remember. It felt so real to me that I cried into my pillow.
But a good thing happened today. Meadowlark arrived for the match races. He is like no one I’ve ever met. He is so cheerful with a smile and laugh that just makes you happy. He gave me a huge hug and called me Maizie Bean. Isn’t that funny? Sugar said, “Now whys you callin’ that child a bean?” He didn’t say nothing—just laughed and winked at me.
Meadowlark is an entertainer, piano player, and singer. Mrs. Glidewell hired him for events at the Colonial Hotel. He calls himself Meadowlark because he sings like a bird. He is going to live here at the ranch and play piano for guests. Mrs. Glidewell says he will write new songs. There isn’t much payin’ work for musicians. Times are rough for Meadowlark right now. He joined us this Monday-night dinner with the Wembleys. Mrs. Glidewell had me invite Sugar and Ol’ Jon too.
After we all had dinner, Sugar and Meadowlark got to sitting around the piano singing. Ol’ Jon played rhythms on the piano top, like a drum. Mr. and Mrs. Glidewell started dancing. Wil came and grabbed my hand and we tried to dance. Capp said he would dance, but he didn’t know how. James said that was no excuse. So Capp danced with me. We just kind of scooted around the floor giggling. Then Mrs. Glidewell comes up and tells me it’s time for bed. I sure have fun with Capp, but I don’t think Mrs. Glidewell likes it. I don’t like her acting like my mother all the time.
Now I was thinking maybe I like Capp so much ’cause of his smile. I like people who smile big. A smile makes you all warm inside, like someone wrapped you in a soft blanket. Sometimes I wish Capp would kiss me. I think I’d like it. Mrs. Glidewell wouldn’t. Maybe then my nightmares would go away. Now that would be something if Capp’s kisses were like magic.
Bonne nuit, mon ami,
Maizie Sunday Freedman
Chapter 39
The Performer
The Saturday before the big match-race opening, Maizie walked into the great hall and stood quietly watching as the jazz performer worked his magic on the grand piano. Meadowlark’s rhythmic rocking, the deft movement of his hands, and his closed eyes and varying facial expressions presented a portrait of a man transfixed by the music. The sound appeared to flow through his fingers into the instrument. When he finally looked up, he saw Maizie deep in thought, swaying to the beat. Meadowlark stopped his playing. “Maizie Bean, come here. Sit down. You can sing with me.”
Maizie shyly shook her head. “Don’t have time. I have a horseback-riding lesson in an hour.”
“Seems to me you have just enough time, Maizie Bean.” He ran his fingers up and down the keyboard and began some deep, bluesy chords, looking playfully into her eyes. “Come. Sit down. You don’t have all day.” He laughed.
“Maybe for a minute.” She took a seat on the piano bench as she had seen Sugar do.
“There now, Maizie Bean. What you know about music?”
Maizie shrugged. “Nothing about music, but my daddy was a singer.”
“He was? What he sing?”
“He sang good, my mama said, but I never heard him to know what songs. She said people loved to hear him sing, but he died before I was born.”
“Do you know singing is a gift? Sho’ ’nough, a gift from God. Not just for those who can sing, but also for those who can’t. ’Cause they can listen.”
“My mama said my daddy’s voice sounded like the glory of God.”
“Now, is that right?” Meadowlark’s fingers played a few riffs, licks, and chords. “Well that there is some mighty nice singing, soundin’ like the glory of God. You sing, Maizie?”
“Oh no, not really. Just a few children’s songs in school. My mama didn’t sing much either.”
“Well I’s gonna tell you something, Maizie Bean, there ain’t nothin’ like singing. All folks can do it. It fills the empty places in your heart. You got those?”
Maizie nodded. “I think my mama had them too, those empty places.”
“Well, let’s fill up your heart. Where’s your mama, Maizie Bean?”
“She got sick and died a few months ago.”
“I’s sho’ is sorry to hear that. Did you know if you sing your mama will hear you?”
“She will?”
“Oh yeh, I’s knows that true. My mama, she hear me every time.”
“You sing for my mama, Meadowlark.”
Meadowlark smiled and laughed, then straightened his back, hit a big chord with both hands, and began. The song started out really slow. It was a pretty song with a nice beat: up a lazy river by the old mill run. Maizie looked at Meadowlark and then back down at his hands moving on the keyboard. Meadowlark continued singing about throwing away
