#symphony 1

His development as a baby and toddler worried his parents a little because they were later than the two before him, and even his younger brothers when they came along. He started sitting on his own at seven months and rolling over at eight. He didn’t stand until almost twelve months, and then walking was late during his fourteenth month. He didn’t even say his first word until he was sixteen months along.

By the time he was two, he loved his blocks and crayons. The more colorful the toy the more interested he was in it. He still didn’t talk much—Scott did most of that for him, but when big brother wasn’t around to do his talking for him he would try to mimic the songs his mother sang to him. Often getting the words, intonation, or rhythm wrong, but he seemed to be enjoying himself so they just let him be.

“Alright you four.” Their mother had her hands on her hips as she looked down at her sons. “Scott, I’m counting on you to help me watch your brothers—especially Gordon.”

Virgil looked up at his eldest brother. He was holding onto John’s hand, while Virgil had been told to hold onto Gordon’s. This was a difficult task, partially because his other hand was full of paper and crayons, but also because Gordon always wanted to go in the opposite direction that he wanted to.

He was pulling on his hand already, trying to pull it free of Virgil’s tight grasp. He had to keep it tight because even though Gordon was only two he was strong.

“Gordon, you want to go walk around with me?” Scott was squatting down next to them, his hands held out. Gordon went to him immediately and Scott took his hand and led him down a row of tables.

Virgil watched the two as they disappeared into the crowd that was slowly growing. He wished he was like Scott and could handle Gordon like he did. Gordon listened to everything Scott said without question. Gordon never listened to him—even though they spent most of the day together. Gordon saw Virgil only as a plaything, just another of his toys.

Virgil didn’t hold it against him. He was just a kid after all. He didn’t know better, and he was fun to play with. He just hoped he would settle down as he got older, him and John weren’t that hyper. Virgil looked over at John but he had disappeared.

“Daydreaming like always.” His mother was smiling down at him and ruffled his hair a little. “Go sit in the grass with John and play with what you brought.” She was pointing to some trees a little ways away.

Virgil looked over and John was already sitting against a tree, his small backpack on his lap pulling out the first of the stack of books he had brought. Virgil made his way over and flopped down on the grass near him, letting his supplies topple from his hands onto the ground.

“Here.”

Virgil looked up and John was holding one of his picture books out to him.

“I’m gonna draw.” Virgil frowned

“You need something to draw on don’t you?”

Virgil looked down and realized that he had forgotten the piece of board he usually brought with him to draw on. “Thanks.” He took the book and tucked most of the loose pieces of paper in it, and laying one on top.

“I’ll want it back later, but I have another one you can use.” John smiled as he laid his bag next to him and settled himself down to start his first book.

Virgil liked John. He was quiet like himself, and never minded loaning him his books—regardless as to why Virgil needed them. John was nothing like Gordon and Virgil sometimes thought it would be nice to share a room with John instead of having one to himself.

Virgil set his crayons up before him, his legs stretched out on either side of his paper. He looked up at the scene in front him. He wasn’t entirely sure why they were there, his mom didn’t seem entirely happy to be there either, but they had come anyways. She was standing behind a table that had bags of stuff laying on it—it looked like bags of white french-fries. People would come by and take some of the bags and then leave after talking for a little.

“Lucille Tracy, it has been much too long!” It was an older woman, older than his gran even. “How is the family?”

“Oh, we’re doing fine.”

“Are those two of your boys there?” She was pointing to Virgil who just tilted his head.

“Yes, John and Virgil.”

“They are getting quite big. How old are they now?”

“John is four and Virgil is three.”

“Oh, I thought John was older than that, is he just looking at the pictures in his little books?”

“Oh, no. He’s a reader. Started learning a few months ago and hasn’t put a book down yet.” His mother smiled as she looked back at them.

“How about Virgil? You think he’ll be a reader like his big brother?”

“Maybe. He likes to draw though. I'm always having to buy him a new box of crayons. He goes through them like crazy.”

That reminded Virgil, he needed more. He looked at the box propped up in front of him and half of the colors were so short he couldn’t even see them.

He ignored the rest of what the woman was saying and dug into his box in search of one of his brown crayons.

He was almost done with his picture—it was of the tree they were sitting next to, when Gordon came running past knocking his crayons over.

“Gordon!” Virgil pushed himself up off his stomach a little.

“Play!” Gordon ran around the tree and then flopped on top of Virgil. “Play!”

“I don’t want to play right now, Gordon.” Virgil sighed as he reached to try and collect the few crayons that had been scattered. “Get off.”

“Play, Birgil!” He was now straddling him and hitting him on the back.

“Gordon, get off your brother.” His mother was there pulling the hyperactive boy off of him and holding him against her hip.

“I wanna play.”

“You’ve been playing with Scott for the past hour. Let him wander and see some of his friends.”

Virgil sat up and packed his crayons away—they weren’t safe with Gordon on the loose. He looked over to where John had been to give him his book—and see if he would protect him from the menace, but the red head wasn’t there anymore. He looked around to see where he had disappeared to, but didn’t see him anywhere.

He turned to ask his mom where John was, but she had turned back to the table—talking to another woman, Gordon still on her hip but his attention on the woman their mother was talking to.

“Yes, this is the youngest.” She was smiling, though struggling to keep Gordon in her grasps. “No, no more kids for us. Four is enough.”

Frowning he turned around again looking for his brother. That was when he heard it. Music. It was quiet, but it was very pretty. He looked around, but the park was crowded with other tables filled with stuff and people wandering around. There was nowhere obvious that the music was coming from.

There was one building nearby, though, next to the park. Virgil didn’t know what the building was, but it had a steep roof, and a set of double doors in the front that were wide open. The sound he had heard was coming from that building. He looked back at his mom, he knew he wasn’t supposed to wander too far away but he wanted to see what was making that pretty music.

He knew where she was, sure that he would be able to make his way back, so he made his way across the green grass to the small building and peeked into the door. There were a few people in the large room, and their voices echoed off of the ceiling. There was also an instrument playing. He had seen people play it on TV, but had never seen one in person. He stayed by the door and listened. He didn’t understand what they were singing, but he enjoyed it.

Virgil looked back toward where his mom was and she was still talking to the same woman, so he slipped past the door once the people had left. He walked up the center isle looking around the room. There were benches all up through the room and a big cross at the front. The windows were full of color and he couldn’t help but stare at them as he passed.

He reached the front of the room and made a beeline for the piano off to the side. It took him a few tries to get up on the bench, but soon he was sitting in front of a long row of black and white keys. He reached forward and hesitantly pushed down on one of the keys. The sound was weak and didn’t echo as much as it had when the other person had been playing it, so he hit the key a little harder and the note echoed loud and clear.

Virgil couldn’t help but bounce and clap his hands in excitement. He hit another key and the smile widened on his face. He then reached up with both hands and hit two keys, but the sound that came out made him cringe. He moved one finger down and tried again, better.

He continued to hit random keys, and even sang a little as he he did. The notes didn’t match, the words didn’t make much sense, but he was have so much fun, he didn’t realize that the people who had been singing before had come back into the room and were watching him.

He really wasn’t sure how long he played with the piano, but he was so intent with what he was doing he didn’t even notice his mom until she sat down next to him. He jumped then and tucked his hands under his arms; afraid she was going to scold him for touching the big toy.

She just smiled down at him and poked one of the keys herself playing out a small melody. “You looked like you were having fun.”

“Yeah!” Virgil smiled and slowly reached forward and tried to mimic his mother’s movements. “It makes sounds like you.”

His mother couldn’t help but laugh at his comparison of her singing to the piano. “If we got you one, would you play with it?”

Virgil’s eyes got wide as he looked up at his mother. “Yes! Can we? Can we really?”

“We’ll have to wait till your father get’s home, but I’ll see what we can do.”

It was almost fall, the air outside was getting cooler—the heat of the summer just a shadow of a memory. His father had been gone for a few months, training for his next mission into space—to the dark side of the moon, but was back for a week before he would actually leave on his mission.

His parents were in the living room, his father having just arrived earlier in the day. His mother was sitting on the arm of the chair, leaning over hugging him and he had his hand on her stomach.

“A piano? Why do we need a piano?” His father was in his favorite chair—a recliner made of worn out leather, the arms dull with use.

“For Virgil.” His mother sighed as she straightened up.

Virgil had faith in his mother, though he also knew how stubborn his father could be.

“Oh, here we go.” His father rolled his eyes as he continued to rub her stomach. “Two years ago you tried to convince me that Scott needed a trumpet. Last year it was John and a violin. Now you want a piano for Virgil? Next it will be a trombone for Gordon, and then a… a cello for this one.” He lightly patted his mom’s stomach before finally letting his hand fall away.

His mother stood up and started to pace a little. “I admit I just wanted to have something in common with Scott. He doesn’t quite have the musical ability—too technically minded. John has the ability, his singing voice is wonderful when he sings, but he’s just not interested.” She sighed deeply and frowned. “But, Virgil.” Her eyes brightened and she flashed a smile at his father. “I was helping with the charity bazaar this past summer, you know the one.”

“The one you hate, but are bullied into every year?”

“It’s not that I hate it, but I just have a hard time finding anyone to watch the boys, and I’d like to see you keep track of four boys when you’re tying to do other things.” She frowned at him, but shook her head, not letting him distract her. “I had let Scott go off because some of his friends were there. I had Gordon on my hip, and John and Virgil were behind me doing their own thing. I turned around and both John and Virgil were gone!”

“Oh, a plot twist.” His father chuckled as he leaned back in his chair and started rocking listening to the story.

“Jeff.”

“They’re here, and they’re safe, so nothing bad happened. Go on.”

His mother sighed. “I called out for them, and John popped out from behind a nearby tree. Gordon was annoying him so he had found a place nearby to hide. I called out for Virgil, but he did not show up. His crayons were laying where he had last been, but there was no sign of him.”

“So, of course you started to panic.”

“Of course!” She plopped down on the couch, her own hand on her slightly protruding stomach. “I had John take Gordon and made him promise not to let him go, and got Mrs. Henderson to watch them while I went looking. I walked all over that stupid place. Found Scott and got him to help.”

“How long was he missing for?”

“I don’t know. I had started crying so maybe over a half-hour? Scott, the dear, was hugging me and telling me it would be okay. It was about then that Mrs. Worthren came over and told me she had found him.”

“Well, don’t leave me hanging.”

“Well, you know that church next to the park. The choir was practicing and had taken a break, but when they went to start practicing again they found Virgil. One of the members came out to the park to see if anyone was missing a little boy and Mrs. Worthren claimed him for me.”

“What was Virgil doing in a church?”

“He had heard the music and was drawn by it. You know how much he loves to listen to music.”

“All the boys do. Doesn’t mean they need to learn to play it.”

“Jeff, I’m not done.” She gave him a narrowed glance before continuing on. “They had left him be and brought me to the church. Virgil was sitting at the piano playing.”

“Playing what?”

“Well, nothing in particular. He was singing some of those nursery rhymes and other songs I sing to him like he likes to do, and hitting the keys a bit.”

“Oh. Well, then. The answer is still no.”

“Come on, Jeff. I promise this time it’s real. He wants to learn to play.”

“Lucy, we are stretched thin as it is, and now that we are having another kid—I’m just not sure where the money would come from.”

“They have their collage funds. We could take a little out of Virgil’s.”

“We promised not to touch those for any reason.”

Virgil had been sitting in the hall just outside of the living room listening to his parents. His hopes were being diminished with every no that his father let out. He leaned against the wall and thought. There had to be some way of convincing his father to let him have that big toy. Then he remembered his rainbow toy. It made pretty sounds too, but not near as nice as the big toy he had played with.

Virgil frowned though, where had he left the toy? He popped up from his seat and headed up the stairs and made his way to John and Scott’s room.

The door was open and John was alone in the room—sitting on his bed and reading a book like always.

“Hey, what’s up?” John laid down his book—it was a bigger one with a lot more words than his other books—and looked over at Virgil.

“Have you seen my rainbow toy?” Virgil was looking around the room himself, but didn’t see it off hand.

“In the closet. You hid it there to keep it away from Gordon.” John smiled a little, and pulled himself up onto his knees. “You’re not gonna play it now are you?”

“I’m going downstairs.” Virgil’s voice was muffled in the closet as he dug under the fallen clothes.

“Oh, that’s okay then.” John flopped back onto the bed and picked his book up again.

There was a little tinkling as Virgil pulled out the small xylophone. “Found it!” He then stood and left the room running back down stairs to stand by the wall just out of sight of his parents.

“You are being quite stubborn.” His mother was still on the couch, leaning back into it. She almost looked like she was about to give up.

“I just don’t see the necessity. He can learn to play once he gets into school, plus being able to play the piano isn’t going to help his chances in getting into a good school.”

“That is where I disagree. There’s nothing saying that all of our children are going to be science geniuses. Virgil might be the one whose career is in the arts. He could grow up to play in orchestras, or compose music. He may be the next pop or rock star.”

“And I’ve told you how I feel about that.”

“So, the fact that I’ve been doing research about the impact of music on young children means absolutely nothing to you.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

“Lucy, we’ve been through this.” His father had stopped rocking his hand up on his face.

Virgil bit his lip. His father’s mind seemed to have been made up. He wasn’t sure there was any hope left, but he at least had to give it a try.

He placed his rainbow toy on his lap and picked up the plastic mallet. He had to sit and think for a moment, decide what song he wanted to play but once he had decided he let the mallet fall on the blue and started singing one of his favorite songs.

“What is that?” His father had been in the middle of another argument when the sounds of the xylophone had reached him.

“That’s what I was telling you about.” His mother’s voice had a smile to it, and Virgil couldn’t help but smile in return, though it didn’t last long as he concentrated on what he was doing.

He didn’t know know the notes, wasn’t even sure of all the words. But he hit the colors and sang as best as he could.

“Virgil. Come on out.” The house seemed void of all sounds as Virgil stood up and walked into the living room.

He was holding the xylophone by the mallet which was still connected to the rest of the toy and it dragged behind him. “Yes, sir.” Virgil was a little afraid of his father. It wasn’t that he was mean to him or anything. It was just that he was gone a lot and every time he came back, he seemed like a stranger to him.

“Virgil, do you want to learn music?” His father gestured to the instrument dangling next to him.

Virgil didn’t voice his answer, but just nodded his head, tightening his grip on the piece of plastic

“Do you want a piano?”

Virgil nodded his head; his grip was starting to feel wet.

“Why?”

Virgil stood for a moment, watching his father and trying to catch his mother’s eye to help him, but the room remained silent, waiting for him to answer. He finally took a deep breath and looked up at his father. “I want to make pretty music.”

“You already make pretty pictures.”

“But you can’t hear the music.”

“You’re pictures make sounds?” His father seemed to freeze for a moment before leaning forward a bit.

“No.” Virgil couldn’t help the bubble of laughter as it escaped. “I make music in my head to go with them.”

“Ah, and you want us to hear the music you make?”

Virgil nodded his eyes steady on his father.

“Why can’t you make your music on your rainbow toy?”

Virgil frowned and looked down at the xylophone. He guessed he could make the music on it, but he knew it wouldn’t be as good. He looked over at his mother who was watching him, her eyebrows raised as well. “No.” Virgil closed his eyes and shook his head. “I want a piano.”

“Well, it looks like you two have a few things to talk about.” She stood up and stretched her back a little looking out of the window—her smile widened. “Scott’s coming down the lane with Gordon on his back. Good, he needed a good wearing out.” She disappeared from the room, leaving Virgil alone with his dad.

“Come here, Virgil.” His father was leaning forward, his arms held wide.

Virgil hesitated for a moment, but then walked into the open arms, allowing his father to pick him up and set him on his knee.

“So, you want a piano so that you can make the music that goes with your pictures?”

Virgil nodded, still hesitant and afraid his father was going to say no.

“You remember that picture you gave me last time I was home? The one of the horse in the field?” They were rocking a little, his father’s chair squeaking each time he pushed it back. “What music goes with that picture?”

Virgil looked up into the air, thinking for a moment. He used the sound of the steady squeaks of the chair and then started to hum.

His song didn’t actually stay with the rhythm of the chair, nor did it make much sense. His father did hear faint hints of the songs he knew his wife sang to their sons, though, and maybe that was what finally did it.

This was music, even if it wasn’t anything that could stand on its own. It was his son’s own music and if that was what he liked—he sighed and shook his head a little causing Virgil to stop and stiffen up.

He pulled Virgil close and hugged him tightly. “You do know that whatever you end up doing in life, I’ll be proud of you, right?”

Virgil wasn’t sure he understood what his father meant, but he nodded anyways, hoping the agreement would help his cause.

His father sighed again and started to rock a little faster. “Well, I guess I’m going to go buy you a piano this week.”

Virgil popped up, almost cracking his father in the chin with his head.

His father leaned over and kissed his forehead and then pulled him even closer. “Sing me some more of your music.”

Virgil relaxed into his father’s arms, finally warming up to him again and started humming, thinking about all the pictures he had drawn while his father had been away.

The piano had arrived with a lot of fuss and griping. Things had to be moved around to make room for it, and the older brothers had their complaints about the prospects of such a large instrument in the house. However, Virgil couldn’t wait to try it and had crawled up on the bench before the tuner could get the instrument in tune after it’s long journey.

His mother had volunteered to teach him—it would save money from hiring a teacher. She would sit on the bench with Virgil in her lap and play for him. Letting him try to play as she did. This wasn’t the most pleasant of noises but any complaints were silenced quickly.

Virgil quickly got bored with this, and preferred to sit next to his mother and play his own music—acting like he was reading some of the music his mother had pulled and sat before her on the piano.

It wasn’t long until Virgil wanted to know how to read the music as well. His mother was hesitant, wanted him to explore the notes themselves a bit more, but Virgil was persistent and had even tried to match the notes to the dots on the page himself.

Giving in, his mother purchased some beginners music for him to learn off of. The music had the letters of the notes written in them, but she didn’t try to make him memorize anything, she just played a note and pointed to the corresponding one on the page.

It probably took a good month or two, but by John’s birthday Virgil was playing off one of these sheets of music. He had insisted on playing for John’s birthday so as the cake was brought out, Virgil started playing.

It was slow—he was still only playing with one finger at a time. And he was still playing even after the cake was out and siting on the table—he could hear Gordon complaining behind him, ready to dive into it, but his mother held him back and let Virgil finish.

In all it was more of a funeral dirge than a birthday song, but Virgil was proud and John even congratulated him on it, which made it even better.

Time passed as their father was camped out on the far side of the moon doing whatever it was he did there. Virgil had learned a lot in the few months since he had gotten his piano—his mother beamed at him every time he sat down to practice which made him want to try even harder.

He was sitting at his piano, his feet dangling from the bench. The room chilly; the cold January air penetrated the small living room. He was wearing a sweater and thick socks, but a chill still made its way up his spine. The keys beneath his fingers were like ice, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Virgil, are you warm enough?” His mother was behind him, a blanket in her hand, and was already trying to wrap it around him.

“Mom, I need to practice.” Virgil pushed the blanket away and went back to his music. He was using his whole hand now, all the finger that is, though it was hard to do and took a lot of concentration.

He had also picked a difficult piece—something someone his age probably wouldn’t have ever chosen. He had heard his mother play it though, and wanted to play it as well. He also wanted something he thought would impress his father—show him just how good he was becoming, so he had begged his mother to buy it.

Still it was a learners’ version at least. Slowly he looked from his fingers to the music and back. Both hands were hovering over the keyboard, but it was the right hand that started. E, he looked up again, D#, again a glance to the music, E, and again, D#, again, E, almost there, B, just a few more, D, and finally C. Then a double A with both hands, high and low—though it took him a moment to find the two keys he needed, messing up twice before he found it. His left took over for two more slow hesitant notes and then his right for three. Then again, both hands, B and E. He continued on with his right hand and then his left, occasionally both on a cord. Hesitantly, the melody of Fur Elise floated—slowly and disconjointedly—through the house.

“Mom, does he have to keep playing that?” John looked up from his book, cocooned in his own layer of blankets.

“He wants it to be perfect for your father.” Their mother sighed. It wasn’t the first time the complaint was voiced. She cradled her growing belly for a moment before walking over and gathering more pillows and blankets from the pile that had been brought down from the bedrooms.

“When will the heat be fixed?” Scott walked into the room with a soon to be three-year-old Gordon trailing behind him, dragging a stuffed squid, yawning.

“They said they would send someone first thing in the morning.” Their mother piled up some pillows on the other side of the couch, ready for Scott and Gordon to settle down.

“Don’t they know there are kids here?” Scott narrowed his eyes as he scooted back on the couch and pulled a blanket around his shoulders.

“Yes, I made sure they were fully aware that there were kids here.” Their mother had a bite in her tone that left Virgil sure she had done nothing less than yell at the repairman. “Now settle down and let Gordon curl up with you.”

Scott did as he was told, wrapping themselves up in the blankets. “What about Virgil?”

“He can practice for a bit while I get a fire going.” She was in front of the fireplace, trying to figure out the best way to get down to the floor. John was there in a moment, helping his mom the best he could. He handed her some wood—he had to drag a few to her because they were too heavy for him, but she thanked him with each piece.

Virgil was halfway through his music, taking it slow and steady. “Mommy?”

“Yes, Virgil.” She took in another deep breath and blew on the fledgling flame.

“When is Daddy coming home?”

John huffed in annoyance as he handed his mother another piece of paper for the fire. “You should know when he’s coming home. You ask it every day, just take one away and you have your answer.”

“I can’t think about that right now, I’m thinking about music.”

“Sure you can. If I can talk and read, you can play and do math.”

“John, why do you have to be so mean to him?” Scott frowned at his next youngest brother.

“I’m just telling him like it is. He can add and subtract just fine.” John rolled his eyes.

“Not as good as you, he’s just starting to learn. Give him a break.”

“Boys, not now.” Their mother sighed heavily as she fed the fire some more. Soon it had caught and the flame grew brighter, an orange glow shined off her face. “John, help me up.”

John jumped to his mother’s elbow and did what he could to help her to her feet again. Once she was standing, he retreated back to the couch, his blankets and book.

“Come, Virgil. Time to stop for the night.”

“I’m not done.” He only had a hand full of lines left and wanted to finish it, but a hand on top of his stopped him and forced him to look up at his mother, his brows knitted together in a frown on his face.

“You can practice again tomorrow.”

Virgil sighed and allowed another shiver to run through him. His mother took his hand and led him off of the bench. “Fifty-seven days.”

“Hm?” She helped him up onto the couch and next to John who opened his blankets so that Virgil could snuggle up next to him.

“Fifty-seven days until Daddy comes home.”

“See, told you you could figure it out.” John was smiling down at him though, and pulled him in tight next to him.

“Boys, time to go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.” John flipped the page in his book while Virgil leaned over to look at the pictures.

“John Glenn Tracy. Do I have to take that book from you?”

John sighed and sent a steely green gaze over to his mother. “Mom, it’s only seven o’clock.”

She returned with her own stern gray gaze to equal his own. “It’s not good for your eyes to read in the dark like this.” She reached over and plucked the book from his lap and slipped it under the cushion she sat on. “You’ll get it back in the morning.”

John humphed, Scott smiled, and Virgil giggled. Slowly, with nothing to keep them busy, and just the calm crackling of the fire, they all nodded off snuggled up against either side of their mother.

“Mom.”

Virgil was still asleep. He was sure of it, but he could feel his mother move next to him.

“Mom.”

“What is it, Scott?” Her voice was gravely; dry from the cold dry air around them.

“The phone is ringing.”

Virgil heard it too. She was moving more now, trying to slip herself out from the weight of her four boys on either side of her. Virgil had fallen to his side and pushed himself up. Scott was scooting closer to him with Gordon still sound asleep on his lap.

“Hello?” Her voice was faint, the main phone was down the hall next to the kitchen. “Yes, this is her. Who is this?”

Virgil looked up at Scott who was frowning and stretching his neck to try and see down the hall. The room was dark now, the fire having died down significantly, but Virgil thought his brother looked a little paler than normal.

“What do you mean you lost contact?” Their mother’s voice was shaking and cracked a little as she tried to keep herself from yelling.

Virgil could feel John’s arm tighten around him, and he wiggled a little. He looked up and John was watching Scott as if he were trying to interpret the small ticks in his features—like they would be able to tell him more than what he could hear from his mother.

“Is Mommy okay?” Virgil’s voice was barely a whisper as he tugged on Scott’s arm.

“I don’t know.” Scott brushed his hand away as he leaned forward.

“Three days?” Their mother’s voice was louder now and Gordon stirred a little.

“Shh, Gordon, shhh.” Scott petted Gordon’s hair a little until he settled down into deep sleep again.

“Scott, you don’t think—” John was leaning over Virgil now, almost on top of him.

“Shh.” Scott shook his head as he strained to hear the softened conversation.

“No, I’m not alright! It is twenty-eight degrees outside. I am six months pregnant and have four young boys in a house with a broken furnace, and now you tell me that my husband is lost on the far side of the Moon!” She was still trying to hold back her emotions, but was failing horribly. They could hear her crying easily and the three brothers jumped when they heard her punch the wall. “I don’t care how sorry you are, just find my damn husband!”

They looked at each other, none of them wanting to confirm what they had heard. After a minute their mother was still crying in the hall, and Virgil forced his way out from under the blankets. The room was much colder now, and he couldn’t help but shiver as he scooted off the couch and climbed back onto the piano bench.

“Virgil, get back over here.” Scott had pulled John close to him, his face buried in his older brother’s side.

Virgil ignored him and reached up to adjust the music on the stand, turning it back to page one. He started slow, the keys even colder than before.

“Virgil, what are you doing?” Their mother was back in the room, her hands rubbing her stomach.

“I’m practicing.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“But I need it to be perfect for when Dad comes back.”

“Dear…” She sat down on the bench next to him, but he ignored her.

“He’ll be back. He always comes back.” Virgil ignored anything else they had to say. He was sure, as long as he practiced for him, he would be back to hear him. He had promised.

Virgil woke up the next morning back on the couch, curled up next to John. It was warmer now, but he was still wrapped up in a blanket. He was really sleepy, but the sun was bright coming through the window.

“Afternoon.” John looked over at him, a frown on his face. “You missed breakfast.”

Virgil blinked at him, not quite understanding. He yawned and stretched, but wasn’t so inclined to move quite yet. He was half asleep again when he heard a sniff next to him. He looked over and could see the tears on John’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil twisted around so he was facing John and reached up to wipe one of the tears away.

“Don’t you remember? Dad’s missing.”

Virgil’s eyes widened as the memory flooded into his mind. He curled up into a ball and gasped as a small sob escaped. He was so sure that his dad would be found again. There was still time, he just needed to play, needed to practice for him. He promised to come home and he would do it. He shook his head and wiped his eyes. He didn’t have time to cry, instead he crawled once again off the couch and back onto the piano bench.

“Virgil, do you have to keep playing?”

“Yes.”

John slumped down in the couch and pulled his blankets tighter around him as Virgil started to play again.

“Scott! Bring Gordon into the living room.” Their mother appeared in the doorway, a smile on her face. “Virgil, stop playing and get on the couch with John. I have a surprise.”

Virgil frowned, he hadn’t even gotten though the second line of music yet, but did as his mother asked. She was carrying one of the new holovid consoles and laid it on the coffee table. Scott was behind her, Gordon dragging his feet behind him.

Scott lifted Gordon up onto the couch before climbing up himself and sitting next to his brothers. Their mother sat down on the other side of the bunch and then reached forward and hit the button on the console.

The image flickered a little, but then it cleared up and their father’s head floated before them.

“Hello, boys.”

The room erupted as his sons brightened up and clamored over each other to get his attention.

“You’re okay!” A few tears leaking from Scott’s eyes, but he reached up and wiped them away quickly.

“We thought you were dead!” John, who always prepared for the worst, hiccuped around his tears.

“Daddy!” Gordon, who really hadn’t known what was going on, only that his family was sad and now they were happy.

“Did you hear about the furnace?” John wiped at his eyes and then crawled forward to talk to his dad.

“It was so cold we had to sleep on the couch.” Scott interrupted his brother scooting to the edge of the couch.

“Mom wouldn’t let me read.” John added in as he crossed his arms. “And it was one of my space books too.”

“Virgil?” Their father had been smiling, but it disappeared as he looked past his two eldest. “You okay?”

Virgil hadn’t said anything, he had just sat back in the couch his eyes screwed shut, holding his breath. He was happy, he was, but he knew if he let himself breath, let him self see his father, he wouldn’t be able to hold it back.

He couldn’t hold his breath for long, though, and let it out as he nodded in response to his father’s question. However, the next breath in was ragged and as soon as it was in, he held it again. He wasn’t going to cry. He was happy, but that didn’t mean he had to cry. He needed to be strong for his family and help them stay happy, like Gordon.

“Oh, Virgil.” He felt his mother’s hand on his head, petting his hair.

Then he felt something heavy on his lap and he opened his eyes just enough to see Gordon there, his arms wrapped around him, his head on his chest. John and Scott were on either side, their arms wrapped around him as well, and he couldn’t hold it in any longer. He let the breath out, a sob replaced it and the tears started to fall.

“Virgil. I’m alright.” He could hear his father, but didn’t have the control over himself to answer him.

“Virgil was a soldier last night. He didn’t cry at all. He just got up and practiced his music. He wanted it to be perfect for you because you had promised you’d be home.”

“And I never break my promises.” There was a bit of silence as the boys hugged each other and allowed their tears to fall. “Did the furnace get fixed?”

“Yes, they were here first thing this morning. Didn’t charge me for it either.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Well, I kind of gave them an earful, last night.”

Their father chuckled a little at that. “Well, I’m sorry for the scare they gave you, all over a broken radio.”

“At least that’s all it was. Are you still on schedule to return in a few months?”

“Yep. I’ll be home just in time for Scott’s birthday. Have you talked to Mom?”

“Yes, she will be arriving just in time for Gordon’s birthday and stay until you get back, at least. She was also talking about moving back to Kansas.”

“Why am I not surprised.” He laughed a little again. “My time’s about up. You boys behave and obey your mother and your grandmother when she arrives. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” They were in unison, though the voices varied. Gordon’s was the strongest—with a little salute to go with it. Virgil’s was the weakest, still trying to stop the tears of relief that continued to fall.

“Love you all. Take care.” And he was gone.

They were quiet for a moment, but then Gordon was down on the ground running in circles.

“I imagine you are all quite hungry. I should get lunch going.” His mother stood as well, and both his other brother’s pulled away.

“You okay?”

His development as a baby and toddler worried his parents a little because they were later than the two before him, and even his younger brothers when they came along. He started sitting on his own at seven months and rolling over at eight. He didn’t stand until almost twelve months, and then walking was late during his fourteenth month. He didn’t even say his first word until he was sixteen months along. 

By the time he was two, he loved his blocks and crayons. The more colorful the toy the more interested he was in it. He still didn’t talk much—Scott did most of that for him, but he knew enough words to get by if Scott wasn’t around. He was a quiet child because of this, and spent his time either playing on his xylophone or drawing with his crayons. 

“Alright you four.” Their mother had her hands on her hips as she looked down at her sons. “Scott, I’m counting on you to help me watch your brothers—especially Gordon.” Virgil looked up at his eldest brother. He was holding onto John’s hand, while Virgil had been told to hold onto Gordon’s. This was a difficult task, partially because his other hand was full of paper and crayons, but also because Gordon always wanted to go in the opposite direction that he wanted to. He was pulling on his hand already, trying to pull it free of Virgil’s tight grasp. He had to keep it tight because even though Gordon was only two he was strong. “Gordon, you want to go walk around with me?” Scott was squatting down next to them, his hands held out. Gordon went to him immediately and Scott took his hand and led him down a row of tables. Virgil watched the two as they disappeared into the crowd that was slowly growing. He wished he was older like Scott and could handle Gordon like he did. Gordon listened to everything Scott said without question. Gordon never listened to him—even though they spent most of the day together. Gordon saw Virgil only as a plaything, just another of his toys. Virgil didn’t hold it against him. He was just a kid after all. He didn’t know better. He just hoped he would settle down as he got older, him and John weren’t that hyper. Virgil looked over at John but he had disappeared. “Daydreaming like always.” His mother was smiling down at him and ruffled his hair a little. “Go sit in the grass with John and play with what you brought.” She was pointing to some trees a little ways away. Virgil looked over and John was already sitting against a nearby tree, his small backpack on his lap pulling out the first of the stack of books he had brought. Virgil made his way over and flopped down on the grass near him, letting his supplies topple from his hands onto the ground. “Here.” Virgil looked up and John was holding one of his picture books out to him. “I’m gonna draw.” Virgil frowned “You need something to draw on don’t you?” Virgil looked down and realized that he had forgotten the piece of board he usually brought with him to draw on. “Thanks.” He took the book and tucked most of the loose pieces of paper in it, and laying one on top. “I’ll want it back later, but I have another one you can use.” John smiled as he laid his bag next to him and settled himself down to start his first book. Virgil liked John. He was quiet like himself, and never minded loaning him his books—regardless as to why Virgil needed them. John was nothing like Gordon and Virgil sometimes thought it would be nice to share a room with John instead of having one to himself. Virgil set his crayons up before him, his legs stretched out on either side of his paper. He looked up at the scene in front him. He wasn’t entirely sure why they were there, his mom didn’t seem entirely happy to be there either, but they had come anyways. She was standing behind a table that had bags of stuff laying on it—it looked like bags of white french-fries. People would come by and take some of the bags and then leave after talking for a little. “Lucille Tracy, it has been much too long!” It was an older woman, older than his gran even. “How is the family?” “Oh, we’re doing fine.” “Are those two of your boys there?” She was pointing to Virgil who just tilted his head. “Yes, John and Virgil.” “They are getting quite big. How old are they now?” “John is four and Virgil is three.” “Oh, I thought John was older than that, is he just looking at the pictures in his little books?” “Oh, no. He’s a reader. Learned a few months ago and hasn’t put a book down yet.” His mother smiled as she looked back at them. “How about Virgil? You think he’ll be a reader like his big brother?” “Maybe. He likes to draw though. Can’t seem to keep him in crayons.” That reminded Virgil, he needed more. He looked at the box propped up in front of him and half of the colors were so short he couldn’t even see them. He ignored the rest of what the woman was saying and dug into his box in search of one of his brown crayons. He was almost done with his picture—it was of the tree they were sitting next to, when Gordon came running past knocking his crayons over. “Gordon!” Virgil pushed himself up off his stomach a little. “Play!” Gordon ran around the tree and then flopped on top of Virgil. “Play!” “I don’t want to play, Gordon.” Virgil sighed as he reached to try and collect the few crayons that had been scattered. “Get off.” “Play, Birgil!” He was now straddling him and hitting him on the back. “Gordon, get off your brother.” His mother was there pulling the hyperactive boy off of him and holding him against her hip. “I wanna play.” “You’ve been playing with Scott for the past hour. Let him wander and see some of his friends.” Virgil sat up and packed his crayons away—they weren’t safe with Gordon on the loose. He looked over to where John had been to give him his book—and see if he would protect him from the menace, but the red head wasn’t there anymore. He looked around to see where he had disappeared to, but didn’t see him anywhere. He turned to ask his mom where John was, but she had turned back to the table—talking to another woman, Gordon still on her hip but his attention on the woman their mother was talking to. “Yes, this is the youngest.” She was smiling, though struggling to keep Gordon in her grasps. “No, no more kids for us. Four is enough.” Frowning he turned around again looking for his brother. That was when he heard it. Music. It was quiet, but it was very pretty. He looked around, but the park was crowded with other tables filled with stuff and people wandering around. There was nowhere obvious that the music was coming from. There was one building nearby, though, next to the park. Virgil didn’t know what the building was, but it had a steep roof, and a set of double doors in the front that were wide open. The sound he had heard was coming from that building. He looked back at his mom, he knew he wasn’t supposed to wander too far away but he wanted to see what was making that pretty music. He knew where she was, sure that he would be able to make his way back, so he made his way across the green grass to the small building and peeked into the door. There were a few people in the large room, and their voices echoed off of the ceiling. There was also an instrument playing. He had seen people play it on TV, but had never seen one in person. He stayed by the door and listened. He didn’t understand what they were singing, but he enjoyed it. Virgil looked back toward where his mom was and she was still talking to the same woman, so he slipped past the door once the people had left. He walked up the center isle looking around the room. There were benches all up through the room and a big cross at the front. The windows were full of color and he couldn’t help but stare at them as he passed. He reached the front of the room and made a beeline for the piano off to the side. It took him a few tries to get up on the bench, but soon he was sitting in front of a long row of black and white keys. He reached forward and hesitantly pushed down on one of the keys. The sound was weak and didn’t echo as much as it had when the other person had been playing it, so he hit the key a little harder and the note echoed loud and clear. Virgil couldn’t help but bounce and clap his hands in excitement. He hit another key and the smile widened on his face. He then reached up with both hands and hit two keys, but the sound that came out made him cringe. He moved one finger down and tried again, better. He gave up on the two notes but went in search of a note he knew, a note from his toy he played the ABCs on. It took a couple tries, but he quickly realized the similarities between his toy and the instrument before him. He played his song once and then started playing with some other notes, changing the song a little. This toy had more options than his own. He wasn’t sure how long he played with the piano, but he was so intent with what he was doing he didn’t even notice his mom until she sat down next to him. He jumped and tucked his hands under his arms; afraid she was going to scold him for touching the toy. She just smiled down at him and poked one of the keys herself. “You looked like you were having fun.” “Yeah!” Virgil smiled and slowly reached forward to play a few more notes. “I like this better than my other toy.” “If we got you one, would you play with it?” Virgil’s eyes got wide as he looked up at his mother. “Yes!” “We’ll have to wait till your father get’s home, but I’ll see what we can do.” 

It was almost fall, the air outside was getting cooler—the heat of the summer just a shadow of a memory. His father had been gone for a few months, training for the next mission into space—to the dark side of the moon, but was back for a week before he would actually leave on his mission. His parents were in the living room, his father having just arrived earlier in the day. His mother was sitting on the arm of the chair, leaning over hugging him and he had his hand on her stomach. “A piano? Why do we need a piano?” His father was in his favorite chair—a recliner made of worn out leather, the arms dull with use. “For Virgil.” His mother sighed as she straightened up. Virgil had faith in his mother, though he also knew how stubborn his father could be. “Oh, here we go.” His father rolled his eyes as he continued to rub her stomach. “Two years ago you convinced me that Scott needed a trumpet. He’s picked it up a half dozen times since then. Last year you convinced me that John needed a violin. I’m not even sure it’s been out of the case. Now you want a piano for Virgil? Next it will be a trombone for Gordon, and then a… a cello for this one.” He lightly patted his mom’s stomach before finally letting his hand fall away. His mother stood up and started to pace a little. “I admit I was overanxious with Scott. He doesn’t quite have the musical ability—too technically minded. John has the ability, he’s just not interested for some reason.” She sighed deeply and frowned. “But, Virgil.” Her eyes brightened and she flashed a smile at his father. “I was helping with the charity bazaar this past summer, you know the one.” 

“The one you hate, but are bullied into every year?” “It’s not that I hate it, but I just have a hard time finding anyone to watch the boys, and I’d like to see you keep track of four boys when you’re tying to do other things.” She frowned at him, but shook her head, not letting him distract her. “I had let Scott go off because some of his friends were there. I had Gordon on my hip, and John and Virgil were behind me doing their own thing. I turned around and both John and Virgil were gone!” “Oh, a plot twist.” His father chuckled as he leaned back in his chair and started rocking listening to the story. “Jeff.” “They’re here, and they’re safe, so nothing bad happened. Go on.” His mother sighed. “I called out for them, and John popped out from behind a nearby tree. Gordon was annoying him so he had found a place nearby to hide. I called out for Virgil, but he did not show up. His crayons were laying where he had last been, but there was no sign of him.” “So, of course you started to panic.” “Of course!” She plopped down on the couch, her own hand on her slightly protruding stomach. “I had John take Gordon and made him promise not to let him go, and got Mrs. Henderson to watch them while I went looking. I walked all over that stupid place. Found Scott and got him to help.” “How long was he missing for?” “I don’t know. I had started crying so maybe over a half-hour? Scott, the dear, was hugging me and telling me it would be okay. It was about then that Mrs. Worthren came over and told me she had found him.” “Well, don’t leave me hanging.” “Well, you know that church next to the park. They were practicing and had taken a break, but when they went to start practicing again they found Virgil. One of the members came out to the park to see if anyone was missing a little boy and Mrs. Worthren claimed him for me.” “What was Virgil doing in a church?” “He had heard them practicing and was drawn by the music. You know how much he loves to listen to music.” “All the boys do. Doesn’t mean they need to learn to play it.” “Jeff, I’m not done.” She gave him a narrowed glance before continuing on. “They had left him be and brought me to the church. Virgil was sitting at the piano playing.” “Playing what? That ABC song he always plays on his xylophone?” “Yes, but it was different. He was trying to expand on it. Trying new notes and even some chords.” “Oh. Well, then. The answer is still no.” “Come on, Jeff. I promise this time it’s real. He wants to learn to play.” “Lucy, we are stretched thin as it is, and now that we are having another kid—I’m just not sure where the money would come from.” “They have their collage funds. We could take a little out of Virgil’s.” “We promised not to touch those for any reason.” Virgil had been sitting in the hall just outside of the living room listening to his parents. His hopes were being diminished with every no that his father let out. His mother had promised, but it wasn’t sounding very hopeful. 

He leaned against the wall and thought. There had to be some way of convincing his father to let him have that big toy. Then he remembered John’s music toy. He popped up from his seat and headed up the stairs. He could barely remember when John had received the musical toy—it had been one of his birthday presents the year before. John had pulled it out and played a little the first day, but after that had shoved it in his closet in favor of his picture books he had gotten instead. Virgil had snuck in and messed with the toy a few times, but didn’t understand how it worked. When he had discovered the piano that day they had let him look inside, to see how the sounds were made. It looked like a very large version of John’s toy. He made his way to the room John and Scott shared as fast as his little four-year-old legs could take him. The door was unlocked and John was alone in the room—sitting on his bed and reading a book like always. “What d’you want?” John laid down his book—it was bigger and the pictures didn’t take up as much room on the pages—and looked over at Virgil. “The vilen.” Virgil stood stiff in the doorway, his jaw clenched, his chin held high. He thought he could use the toy to play the song he had messed with on the piano. If his father could only hear what he could do, then he’d have to get him the piano. “What?” “I need your vilin. The wood toy that makes music.” He frowned and pointed to John’s closet. He really didn’t have time to argue. “It’s called a violin.” John lifted his book and waved halfheartedly towards the closet. Virgil huffed, made his way over, and pulled the door open. He dug under the pile of clothes that had fallen off the hangers and pulled out the small children’s violin. Without another word to John, he left the room and made his way back down the stairs to stand by the wall just out of sight of his parents. “You are being quite stubborn.” His mother was still on the couch, leaning back into it. She almost looked like she was about to give up. “I just don’t see the necessity. He can learn to play once he gets into school, plus being able to play the piano isn’t going to help his chances in getting into a good school.” “That is where I disagree. There’s nothing saying that all of our children are going to be science nerds. Virgil might be the one whose career is in the arts. He could grow up to play in orchestras, or compose music. He may be the next pop or rock star.” “And I’ve told you how I feel about that.” “So, the fact that I’ve been doing research about the impact of music on young children means absolutely nothing to you.” “That’s not what I said.” “It’s what you meant.” “Lucy, we’ve been through this.” His father had stopped rocking his hand up on his face. Virgil bit his lip. His father’s mind seemed to have been made up. He wasn’t sure there was any hope left, but he at least had to give it a try. He took the wooden toy out of the box—ignoring the bow because he didn’t quite understand how it worked. He laid the violin on his lap and leaned down close to try and find the right notes. The toy didn’t have near as many strings as the piano, but he could make them longer or shorter if he pressed his fingers down on them—he had seen people do that but didn’t get why at the time. Once he was sure he had figured the sounds out he started to pluck out the one song he knew. But he didn’t just play it like he did on his other toy, he added to it, like he had been trying to do on the piano. “What is that?” His father had been in the middle of another argument when the sounds of the violin had reached him. “That’s what I was telling you about.” His mother’s voice had a smile to it, and Virgil couldn’t help but smile in return, though it didn’t last long as he concentrated on what he was doing. He didn’t know all of the notes, some were a step off, and some were not the best, but okay. He played as best as he could and then strummed all of the strings on zed. “Virgil. Come on out.” The house seemed void of all sounds as Virgil stood up and walked into the living room. He was holding the violin by its neck and let it drag a little behind him. “Yes, sir.” Virgil was a little afraid of his father. It wasn’t that he was mean to him or anything. It was just that he was gone a lot and every time he came back, he seemed like a stranger to him. “Virgil, do you want to learn the violin?” His father gestured to the instrument dangling next to him. Virgil didn’t voice his answer, but just shook his head, tightening his grip on the thin wooden neck. “Do you want a piano?” Virgil nodded his head; his grip was starting to feel wet against the smooth wood underneath. “Why?” Virgil stood for a moment, watching his father and trying to catch his mother’s eye to help him, but the room remained silent, waiting for him to answer. He finally took a deep breath and looked up at his father. “I want to make pretty music.” “You already make pretty pictures.” “But you can’t hear the music when I paint.” “You’re pictures make sounds?” His father seemed to freeze for a moment before leaning forward a bit. “No.” Virgil couldn’t help the bubble of laughter as it escaped. “I make music in my head to go with them.” “Ah, and you want us to hear the music you make?” Virgil nodded his eyes steady on his father. “Why can’t you make your music on your rainbow toy? Or on the violin?” Virgil frowned and looked down at the violin. He guessed he could make the music on the violin, but he knew it wouldn’t be as good. He looked over at his mother who was watching him, her eyebrows raised as well. “No.” Virgil closed his eyes and shook his head. “I want a piano.” “Well, it looks like you two have a few things to talk about.” She stood up and stretched her back a little looking out of the window—her smile widened. “Scott’s coming down the lane with Gordon on his back. Good, he needed a good wearing out.” She disappeared from the room, leaving Virgil alone with his dad. “Come here, Virgil.” His father was leaning forward, his arms held wide. Virgil hesitated for a moment, but then walked into the open arms, allowing his father to pick him up and set him on his knee. “So, you want a piano so that you can make the music that goes with your pictures?” Virgil nodded, still hesitant and afraid his father was going to say no. “You remember that picture you gave me last time I was home? The one of the horse in the field?” They were rocking a little, his father’s chair squeaking each time he pushed it back. “What music goes with that picture?” Virgil looked up into the air, thinking for a moment. He used the sound of the steady squeaks of the chair and then started to hum. His father wasn’t much into music, didn’t quite have an ear for it, but he had learned enough from his wife to recognize something that had at least a little bit of organization to it. It wasn’t a masterpiece by any means, but the fact that his four year old came up with it on his own, had impressed even him. This was music, even if it wasn’t anything Jeff would listen to on his own. It was his son’s own music and if that was what he liked—he sighed and shook his head a little causing Virgil to stop and stiffen up. He pulled Virgil close and hugged him tightly. “You do know that whatever you end up doing in life, I’ll be proud of you, right?” Virgil wasn’t sure he understood what his father meant, but he nodded anyways, hoping the agreement would help his cause. His father sighed again and started to rock a little faster. “Well, I guess I’m going to go buy you a piano this week.” Virgil popped up, almost cracking his father in the chin with his head. His father leaned over and kissed his forehead and then pulled him even closer. “Sing me some more of your music.” Virgil relaxed into his father’s arms, finally warming up to him again and started humming, thinking about all the pictures he had drawn while his father had been away. 

The piano had arrived with a lot of fuss and griping. Things had to be moved around to make room for it, and the older brothers had their complaints about the prospects of such a large instrument in the house. However, Virgil couldn’t wait to try it and had crawled up on the bench before the tuner could get the instrument in tune after it’s long journey. His mother had volunteered to teach him—it would save money from hiring a teacher, and began teaching him the parts of the instrument as well as how to read the music. 

Virgil picked up the reading as fast as John had his books. Within the first month he was playing the scales as if they were nothing, each day he’d try to go faster and faster. By John’s birthday he was able to play the Happy Birthday song on his own—though not very well. Time passed, their father camped out on the far side of the moon doing whatever it was he did there. Virgil had learned a lot in the few months since he had gotten his piano—his mother beamed at him every time he sat down to practice. He was sitting at his piano, his feet dangling from the bench. The room was chilly; the cold January air was penetrating the small living room. He was wearing a sweater and thick socks, but a chill still made its way up his spine. The keys beneath his fingers were like ice, but that wasn’t going to stop him. “Virgil, are you warm enough?” His mother was behind him, a blanket in her hand, and was already trying to wrap it around him. “Mom, I need to practice.” Virgil pushed the blanket away and went back to his music. He had picked a difficult piece—something someone his age would have never chosen. He wanted to impress his father, show him just how good he was becoming, so he begged his mother to buy the music. She was hesitant, it was really far above his current skill level, but she couldn’t resist his begging. Still it was a learners’ version, at least. Slowly he looked from his fingers to the music and back. Both hands were hovering over the keyboard, but it was the right hand that started. E, D#, E, D#, E, B, D, C. Then a double A with both hands, high and low. His left took over for two more notes and then his right for three. Then again, both hands, B and E. He continued on with his right hand and then his left, occasionally both on a cord. Slowly, hesitantly the melody of Fur Elise floated through the house. “Mom, does he have to keep playing that?” John looked up from his book, cocooned in his own layer of blankets. “He wants it to be perfect for your father.” Their mother sighed. It wasn’t the first time the complaint was voiced. She cradled her growing belly for a moment before walking over and gathering more pillows and blankets from the pile that had been brought down from the bedrooms. “When will the heat be fixed?” Scott walked into the room with a soon to be three-year-old Gordon trailing behind him, dragging a stuffed squid, yawning. “They said they would send someone first thing in the morning.” Their mother piled up some pillows on the other side of the couch, ready for Scott and Gordon to settle down. “Don’t they know there are kids here?” Scott narrowed his eyes as he scooted back on the couch and pulled a blanket around his shoulders. “Yes, I made sure they were fully aware that there were kids here.” Their mother had a bite in her tone that left Virgil sure she had done nothing less than yell at the repairman. “Now settle down and let Gordon curl up with you.” Scott did as he was told, wrapping themselves up in the blankets. “What about Virgil?” “He can practice for a bit while I get a fire going.” She was in front of the fireplace, trying to figure out the best way to get down to the floor. John was there in a moment, helping his mom the best he could. He handed her some wood—he had to drag a few to her because they were too heavy for him, but she thanked him with each piece. Virgil was halfway through his music with only a few mistakes, taking it slow and steady. “Mommy?” “Yes, Virgil.” She took in another deep breath and blew on the fledgling flame. “When is Daddy coming home?” John huffed in annoyance as he handed his mother another piece of paper for the fire. “You should know when he’s coming home. You ask it every day, just take one away and you have your answer.” “I can’t think about that right now, I’m thinking about music.” “Sure you can. If I can talk and read, you can play and do math.” “John, why do you have to be so mean to him?” Scott frowned at his next youngest brother. “I’m just telling him like it is. He can add and subtract just fine.” John rolled his eyes. “Not as good as you, he’s just starting to learn. Give him a break.” “Boys, not now.” Their mother sighed heavily as she fed the fire some more. Soon it had caught and the flame grew brighter, an orange glow shined off her face. “John, help me up.” John jumped to his mother’s elbow and did what he could to help her to her feet again. Once she was standing, he retreated back to the couch, his blankets and book. “Come, Virgil. Time to stop for the night.” “I’m not done.” He only had a hand full of lines left and wanted to finish it, but a hand on top of his stopped him and forced him to look up at his mother, his brows knitted together in a frown on his face. “You can practice again tomorrow.” Virgil sighed and allowed another shiver to run through him. His mother took his hand and led him off of the bench. “Fifty-seven days.” “Hm?” She helped him up onto the couch and next to John who opened his blankets so that Virgil could snuggle up next to him. “Fifty-seven days until Daddy comes home.” “See, told you you could figure it out.” John was smiling down at him though, and pulled him in tight next to him. “Boys, time to go to sleep.” “I’m not tired.” John flipped the page in his book while Virgil leaned over to look at the pictures. “John Glenn Tracy. Do I have to take that book from you?” John sighed and sent a steely green gaze over to his mother. “Mom, it’s only seven o’clock.” She returned with her own stern gray gaze to equal his own. “It’s not good for your eyes to read in the dark like this.” She reached over and plucked the book from his lap and slipped it under the cushion she sat on. “You’ll get it back in the morning.” John humphed, Scott smiled, and Virgil giggled. Slowly, with nothing to keep them busy, and just the calm crackling of the fire, they all nodded off snuggled up against either side of their mother.