The anthem of unity

Gracie Smith
MSMU Class of 2027

(10/2023) I never understood why people enjoy music over the satisfaction of a good book. The very thought of being surrounded by the haunting sounds of old metal being banged against rusty pans made my spine shiver. My eldest sister, Miss Marie Senseney, was responsible for my agony one particular evening.

I struggled to focus on my novel as people were chanting and cheering all around me. I felt my palms begin to perspire in correlation with my rapid heart rate. My eyes struggled to focus on the words in front of me. The people began to shout the lyrics to My Old Kentucky Home, "Weep no more, my lady, oh! Weep no more today! We will sing one song!"

Before I could react, I felt the cool sensation of whiskey brush upon my bare. The gentlemen to my left had had far too many drinks to begin with; I was not surprised that this was the result.

I reached for the nearest cloth, careful to protect my novel, when I felt a soft hand land overtop mine. "Why aren’t you dancing? Don’t you like it?" A woman, young and energetic, stood before me. Her smile seemed to radiate enough enthusiasm for the two of us combined. Her blonde braids loosely draped down her back and her blue eyes beamed with excitement saying, "More. More. More."

"I’m Margaret, Margaret Sneijder," she greeted as I snatched the cloth out of her grasp and dried the whiskey off me, purposefully avoiding eye contact—her emotions not impaired by my actions. Her name sounded familiar. I glazed around the room for any hints, and sure enough, it came to me—the coordinator of the event. Marie had mentioned a thing or two about her eagerness for our cooperation with the parent-teacher association here in Emmitsburg.

Parents in the area grew a peculiar interest in their children’s education and decided to start an association for the ultimate benefit of the children. Naturally, Marie couldn’t refuse.

To my relief, the band ended their song and stepped off the makeshift stage for a quick intermission. I couldn’t help but sigh when I saw Marie dart toward me. I tried to sneak away but my attempts were unsuccessful.

"Miss Sneijder, how good to see you," Marie smiled tiredly as she locked arms with me, "I do hope our playing is what you had hoped for?"

"Hoped for? It’s sensational! It’s hardly half past 8 o’clock and we've already raised almost thirty whole dollars!" Margaret could hardly contain her excitement between her breaths.

"I see you’ve become acquainted with my younger sister, Claire." Marie nudged at my side softly. I stood up quickly in response hoping my earlier actions would keep from being the next conversation starter.

Margaret beamed, "This is your sister? I would have never guessed!"

"Yes, Claire was the one who helped recruit some of my bandmates. She isn’t too bad herself when it comes to singing," Marie nudged me a bit harder, this time with a grin.

My stomach dropped, "I much prefer to watch" I said with a soft, bashful smile when I really wanted to scream at my sister for such a comment.

"I completely agree," Margaret added, "I was speaking with some members of the organization, and we were hoping to make this an annual event here in Emmitsburg,"

My eyes locked on Marie who responded, "I think that would be a wonderful idea! Anything to raise a few extra dollars for the children."

"I do have a couple of people asking for certain songs, do you think you and the others are able?" Margaret asked with a sort of hopefulness in her eyes.

"Of course, what songs?" Marie and Margaret had exchanged a few songs I wasn’t familiar with. I took the opportunity to sneak my way out.

I wandered around the small house for what felt like ages and took in the audience; Men and women reunited after the war, children running around with rag dolls, friends catching up on old times. The energy in the room seemed to radiate a theme of unity, togetherness, and family.

I couldn’t help but envy them. Their family came back from the war, but mine didn’t. Mine got blown up as a human sacrifice that only ended in a battle lost. I watched husbands lock hands with their wives, and children cling to their fathers. My jealousy only fueled my hatred for this evening.

I found a stool in the corner of the room and claimed it quickly. Marie had finally ended her conversation with Margaret and hurried back to the makeshift stage in front of the brick fireplace.

Watching her every move, I prepared for the impact of another song. Instead, her eyes locked with mine and she waved me up on the platform. The color drained from my already pale face. Before I could stop myself, I began to walk towards her.

"Sing with us," Marie said with a small smile.

The words couldn’t come to me, I simply shook my head no. I felt my eyes begin to swell.

No, not here.

Marie took my hand and gave me a wooden rolling pin—I mean—microphone. I grasped it so hard I could feel the wood molding to fit my hand.

Knowing I didn’t have a choice, I turned to face the audience; the same husbands and wives as before, the same children running around, the same friends telling old tales… and a widow… dressed in all black standing by the open window. Her face matched mine: empty, lonely, desperate. Suddenly all over I could see people without their loved ones: a lonely mother holding her baby in the corner of the room; a husband without his wife standing by the door.

I have been such a fool. For the first time since the war ended, I could see that I was not alone. Everyone had suffered loss, and everyone experienced grief—it insisted on being felt.