Dawn (Cutler 1)

"Yes."

"I bet his chest blew out some," she said, shaking her head.

"Momma, I got something to ask about the concert?'

"Oh?"

"Since it is a special occasion and all, do you think it would be all right for Philip Cutler to pick me up and take me? He promises to drive carefully and—"

"Did you ask your daddy?" she responded quickly.

"Uh-huh. He said we'll see, but I think if it's all right with you, it's all right with him."

Suddenly she looked so troubled and old staring back at me.

"It's not a long ride, Momma, and I really want to go with Philip. Other girls my age go for rides and on dates, but I haven't complained . . ."

She nodded. "I can't hold you back from growing up, Dawn. And I don't want to, but I don't want you to get serious with this boy . . . any boy yet. Don't be like me and give up your youth."

"Oh, Momma, I'm not getting married. I'm just going to the spring concert. Will it be all right?" I pleaded.

It was as if it took all her strength to do it, but she nodded.

"Oh, thank you, Momma." I hugged her again.

"Dawn, up," Fern called impatiently, jealous of all the affection Momma and I were passing between us. "Dawn, up."

"Her Highness is calling," Momma said, and then lay back against her pillow. I watched her with my heart in a turmoil: happy about my being about to go out on a date, but sad and aching with the sight of how slowly and painfully Momma spoke and moved.

Mr. Moore decided to double up my lessons for the rest of the week. Finally it was the day of the concert. At lunchtime Mr. Moore played the piano and I sang. Twice my voice cracked. He stopped playing and looked up at me.

"Now, Dawn," he said. "I want you to take a deep breath and calm yourself down before we go on."

"Oh, Mr. Moore, I can't do this!" I cried. "I don't know why I thought I could. But to sing a solo in front of all those people, most of whom go to the opera and to Broadway in New York City and know real talent—"

"You are real talent," Mr. Moore said. "Do you think I would put you out on that stage alone if I didn't think so? Don't forget, Dawn, when you go out there, I go, too. Now, you

're not going to let me down, are you?"

"No, sir," I said, nearly in tears.

"Remember when you told me once you wished you could be like a bird, high on a tree, singing freely into the wind and not worrying about who hears it and who doesn't?"

"Yes. I still do."

"Well, then, close your eyes and see yourself perched on that branch and then sing into the wind. After a while, just like a baby bird, you'll get your wings and fly. You'll soar, Dawn. I just know it," he said. Gone was his cherub smile and his impish grin; gone was the playful happy twinkle in his eyes. Instead, his face was stone serious, and his words and eyes filled me with confidence.

"Okay," I said softly, and we began again. This time I sang my heart out, and when we were finished, his face was flushed with satisfaction. He got up and kissed me on the cheek.

"You're ready," he said.

My heart was pounding with excitement and happiness as I hurried out of the music suite.

As soon as the last bell rang, I ran to find Jimmy and Daddy. I was paralyzed with nervousness and wanted to go straight home to get ready for the concert, scheduled for 8:00 P.M.

When we arrived home, Momma was lying in bed, her face more flushed than usual, and shivering something terrible. Fern had gotten into some of the kitchenware, but I could see Momma didn't know. We all gathered around her bed, and I felt her forehead.

"She's shivering, Daddy," I said, "but she feels feverish."