Molly's Promise (7 page)

Danny threw his bag over his shoulder and said, “Come on, Murph. Let's get out of here. That girl makes me mad.”

“
She's
not our problem,” Murphy said. “The game didn't matter to our standings, but still, we played terribly. That's our problem.”

“Hey, we won. We'd already clinched first place,” Danny said. “What difference does it make?”

“Winning isn't everything. And it's not the only thing,” Murphy said. “Not when you play a bad game.”

“Geez, Murphy,” Molly said. “You're never satisfied.”

Chapter Ten

The next day when Murphy jumped off the bus, he was holding his notepad.

“Our first performance is after school at Grandma's place,” Murphy said with an air of authority. “She said we could set up a stage in the living room.”

“Murphy, ughhhhh!” Molly said.

Murphy ignored her. “Grandma says she's going to invite everyone.”

If Molly could choose a grandma, Murphy's would be the one. She was always thinking up one crazy idea or another. Murphy lived downstairs at her house, and whenever Molly visited him, Grandma made sure to call them upstairs to eat fried bread or help her make chutney or hang lanterns from the ceiling.

The thought of singing for Grandma and everyone on the reserve terrified Molly. Singing in front of a huge crowd at the Community Arts Center wasn't as scary as that. But Molly decided not to argue if Grandma was involved.

After school, when Molly and the boys piled out of the bus at Grandma's house, Mousetrap, Murphy's scruffy white cat, was waiting for them on the street. His uncle Rudy leaned against his car in the driveway.

Grandma stood on the front steps, wiping her hands on her jeans. “It's about time,” she hollered. “We're almost ready inside.”

Molly and the boys said, “Hi, Grandma!”

“You're lucky I didn't have time to tell everyone.” She laughed. “There's going to be standing room only as it is.”

Molly picked up Mousetrap. He was the kind of audience she liked.

Inside, Grandma had pushed the dining room table into the corner and covered it with food—chips, tomatoes, apple pie, fried bread and jam. By the window, she had put a piece of plywood on top of some blue recycle bins to make a stage.

“It's safe,” she said, climbing onto it. “See?” She jumped up and down. “I tied them together.”

She had pushed the sofa to the edge of the living room and brought in kitchen and patio chairs and some stools from the basement.

“How many people are coming?” Molly asked. A large lump was forming in her stomach.

“More than will fit in this place,” Grandma said. She was pushing the chairs together, cramming in as many as possible. “It's a fine-looking venue for your first performance, don't you think?”

It was too late for Molly. As her dad often said, the cat was out of the bag. Once Murphy became her manager, she didn't have much say in what happened. Her dad had heard her sing, Murphy had heard her sing, and now the boys would hear her sing, along with, from the looks of it, everyone else from the reserve that Grandma could stuff into her “venue.”

“It looks fine, Grandma,” Molly said.

She thought about her promise. She had to remind herself that it was okay to sing for everyone because one day her mom would come home and she would still have a gift for her.

Grandma greeted people at the door. “Help yourself to something to eat,” she said. “Then grab a chair. This is a sold-out show.”

People jostled around the crowded room.

Molly plunked herself on the corner of the stage. Murphy sat beside her. “I didn't know she was going to do all this, Moll. Really, I didn't,” he said, his mouth full of bread. “But it's ideal.”

“It's not ideal, it's terrifying,” Molly said. “And don't chew with your mouth full. It's gross.”

“Well, this is the biggest audience we're going to get,” Murphy said. He swallowed hard and said, “For now.”

“Don't get any other crazy ideas,” Molly said. “I'm doing this for Grandma and that's it.”

Murphy stuffed more bread into his mouth. “We could use the Chief Morris Community Hall. Grandma could ask them,” he said.

“Just stop now, Murph,” Molly said. “This is getting to be too much for me. And I'm telling you, I don't want to see the food in your mouth.”

“We're ready to start,” Grandma said. “Put some food on your plates and sit down.”

The cramps in Molly's belly and the thudding sound in her head reminded her that she had no choice. The people were there to hear her.

Grandma put her fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. Within a few seconds, the noise had subsided and it was perfectly quiet.

“Now I have your attention,” Grandma said. “If you can't find a seat, lean against the wall. You are in for the performance of your life.” Grandma edged her way through the maze of chairs to the stage and climbed onto it. “We've done a lot of things in this living room, but this is the first concert.”

Molly looked nervously around the room. There were people she recognized and some she had never seen before. She spotted a small woman with red hair and pale skin at the back of the room, half hidden behind other latecomers. Molly's stomach clenched. The woman didn't look First Nations. Molly thought of her own light hair and pale skin. She thought about how short she was compared to the other girls in grade seven. The lump in her stomach got caught in her throat when she tried to breathe. Maybe today
was
the day she would sing for her mom. But it wasn't the right time for that. There were too many people here.

“Hey, Gloria.” Grandma pointed at the woman. “Don't hide there in the back. Come right up here. There's one more chair.”

Molly's stomach churned.

“Wow,” Murphy said. “Danny's mom. I never thought she'd come.”

Molly's body felt weak. It almost hurt. Then she realized her dad wasn't there. Why hadn't he shown up?

“We are ready, Molly, my girl,” Grandma said.

Molly was limp. Her head felt like it was floating above her shoulders. Her voice was trapped in her throat. All she could hear inside her head was a dull thudding behind her ears. There was no music.

She pulled herself up onto the stage next to Grandma and looked at the audience—at one face and then another. The people were smiling. They wanted to hear her sing.

“We are in for a treat this afternoon,” Grandma said. “Our next Long Inlet star is about to be born on the stage.” She hugged Molly and said, “Take it away, Molly Jacobs.”

Molly took a breath and looked around. No one moved. She still didn't hear any music. She waited. She watched the crowd as it watched her. Suddenly she felt a faint rhythm in her pulse. And then, gradually, she began to hear music, as if an orchestra were playing in her head. Molly tapped her foot. She breathed deeply again. She found her note and began, “
Summertime, and the livin' is easy, fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high
…”

When she finished the song, the room exploded with applause. Uncle Maynard, her dad's cousin, stood up and clapped so loud with his big hands that it sounded like he was beating a drum. Before he stopped, Molly said, “That was a George Gershwin song that Billie Holiday sang. I love her music. Next, I'm going to sing a Patsy Cline song. She's dead, like Billie Holiday. But she's one of my favorite singers too.”

Molly closed her eyes and began. “
I go out walking after midnight, out in the moonlight just like we used to do
…” As the words came out, Molly forgot about the audience and about Murphy. She didn't think about Paige or Nell or whether the other girls liked her. Molly sang and nothing else mattered.

At the end of the song, Molly opened her eyes and looked at the people cheering. Grandma wiped her eyes, and Murphy's mom blew her nose. Molly jumped off the stage and sat next to Murphy.

He stood up and shouted to the crowd, “Do you want one more?”

The people cheered, “More! More!”

Murphy said, “Come on, Moll, they want more.”

“I don't know what to sing,” she said.

“You must know tons of songs.”

“I do, but I can't think, Murphy. Not here, with all these people,” she said. “I'm not like an iPod.”

When the clapping didn't stop, Molly slowly climbed back onto the stage.

The deafening sound gave her goose bumps. But she wasn't afraid. She was excited, and she liked being on the stage.

She stood quietly until the noise subsided. “I don't know what else to sing,” she said.

Then, without thinking, she began, “
I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
…” Everyone laughed to hear a Christmas song sung in March. When she finished, she said, “That's all I have for you today.”

Before she had even jumped off the stage, people crowded around to congratulate her.

“Oh my, what a big voice for a little girl!”

“You are going to win for sure.”

“Where did you get a voice like that?”

“We're so proud of you.”

“You're going to make Long Inlet famous, Molly Jacobs.”

They kissed and hugged her. Molly had never been the focus of attention like this before.

Finally, Murphy held up his notepad and said to her, “Okay, when you are done hugging your fan club, we have things to talk about.”

“Not now, Murphy,” Molly said. “Can it wait?”

“Okay,” he said. “But we gotta talk.”

When the last person had gone, Molly was alone on the front porch with Grandma and Celia.

“The people who were here today are your family,” Grandma said. She squeezed Molly's shoulders. “I want you to remember that when you are up there on the stage being famous.”

Molly knew she would never forget. She loved how it felt to have family—a great big reserve family.

“And this is from Uncle Maynard.” Grandma pressed a napkin into Molly's hand. Inside it was a roll of bills. “He said to buy what you need. It's on him.”

“That's awesome,” Celia said. “I volunteer to be your fashion consultant.” She laughed, then teetered as if she were wearing high heels.

“Do I really need to dress up?” Molly asked, thinking how she hated wearing anything but old jeans and T-shirts.

“You have to look exactly the way you want, honey,” Celia said. “But think about it. That money means you can try out some cool clothes. Why not?”

Molly hadn't thought about it that way.

“Or,” Celia said, “it means you can get your hair cut, or get a manicure.”

Molly spread her fingers out and looked at her grubby, ragged fingernails. She laughed. “Do you think a manicure would help me sing?”

“How about Saturday morning?” Celia asked. “We can go to town.” She pointed to the napkin. “My guess is that you have enough for a great shopping trip. I'm going to chip in as well. And maybe you can scrounge a little from your dad.”