There was a choking sound. The children couldn't tell whether it was Grandpa or a noise on the line.
"You hear me, Clarence? I'll go out now. Call me back."
Blindly Grandpa put the receiver in place. He went to the window and stood there, his head bowed.
No one knew what to say. Their world seemed to hang like a rock teetering on a cliff.
The quiet felt heavy in the room, with only the wind screaming. Suddenly Grandpa turned around. His eyes seemed to throw sparks. "Idy! Play something loud. Bust that organ-box wide open. March music, mebbe. Anything to drown out that wind. And Paul and Maureen, quit gawpin'. Get up off'n the floor and sing! Loud and strong. Worryin' won't do us a lick o' good."
Grandma was relieved to have something to do. She plumped herself on the organ bench, spreading out her skirt as if she were on the concert stage. "Now then," she turned to Grandpa, "I'll play 'Fling Out the Banner.'"
"I don't know the words," Paul said.
"Me either," Maureen chimed in.
"Ye can read, can't ye?" Grandpa barked. "Here's the song book. Go ahead now. I'll be yer audience."