The Fiddler (34 page)

“That’s wonderful! Congratulations, Mom.”

“Well, it’s too soon to celebrate.”

“But still, haven’t you told Dad?”

“I wanted you to know first, Amelia.” Mom smiled.

“Oh, and I’d really like to read it sometime, if you’re okay with that.”

“Sure . . . someday.”

Amelia reached to hug her. “I’m happy for you, Mom. I hope you land a publisher.”

“That’s up to the Lord now.” Mom reached for her hand. “This writing business isn’t for the faint of heart.”

Amelia considered that as she returned to the family room, where her father stirred from his nap and requested that Amelia play more music. Mom intervened and suggested they sit and look at family albums instead. Together, they journeyed down memory lane. Amelia remarked that this was the dearest Christmas ever, and Dad agreed, tears welling up in his eyes.

Before leaving, she wondered how the news of her upcoming Philadelphia audition would go over with her parents. However, her hopes and dreams could wait for another time. For today, Christmas joy with her family was her sole priority. Amelia watched her father as Mom turned the pages of the large family album, intent on his peaceful, happy expression as the three of them relived their lives. If this was to be her father’s last Christmas, Amelia wanted to embrace every precious moment.

After indulging in his mother’s delicious feast, Michael agreed to go walking with his niece, Elizabeth, who’d come with her family to spend the day. Both sets of grandparents were settled comfortably in the front room, talking or napping, and the youngest children were cozy playing checkers near the heater stove in the corner.

“Mammi Lily seemed awful glad to have you sittin’ at her table,” Elizabeth remarked to Michael as they walked along the roadside, their breath turning to wispy columns of white. “She truly did.”

“I think you’re mistaken, Lizzie. She was happy to see
you
there,” he replied, slapping his gloved hands together. “Prob’ly thought they’d lost you to the world.”

Lizzie nodded slowly and looked up at him. “Jah . . . but I’m back to stay.”

Michael smiled. “A
gut
thing, for sure.”

“But you’re not stayin’ put, are ya?”

Goodness, she knew him too well, which was jarring sometimes. “Mom still wishes I’d catch the eye of a nice Amish girl.”

“Well, that’s not surprising, is it? Sounds like all the parents round here, jah?”

“You sure got your accent back real quick.” He nudged her, and she laughed.

But all the while, Michael was thinking of Amelia, kicking himself now for not sending her so much as a Christmas card—not even a cheerful holiday ecard. It just didn’t feel right to let things fade like this. But her agent’s pointed words were still lodged in his head, and while Michael certainly wished he’d done things differently prior to going to Columbus, he refused to interfere in Amelia’s life any longer. Even so, it didn’t make him miss her any less.

“When will ya tell your parents you’re goin’ fancy?” asked Lizzie out of the blue.

“Well now, how do you even know such a thing?”

“ ’Cause I know you, Uncle Michael. It’s easy to see how restless you are . . . even at the dinner table back yonder.” She turned to look at the house. “And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re lovesick, too.”

“Oh, go on with ya!” He kept his face grim, not giving himself away. But he felt sure Lizzie somehow saw through to the truth.

“Just so ya know, I don’t blame you for any of my struggles in Harrisburg or back home here. Sure, I was tempted to get higher education because I saw how happy it made you. But in the end, it was all my doin’ . . . my own choice.” She looked away, toward the flattened cornfields blanketed with snow. “I had lots of reasons why I needed to find things out for myself.”

Hearing this made Michael feel some better. “You don’t have to say this, really.”

“Why, sure I do. ’Tis the truth, and I wanted to say it to your face. Especially if you’re leaving home.” Lizzie breathed out slowly, pursing her lips. “Or is it just
en Gebrummel—
a rumor?”

The grapevine had Michael doing all sorts of things, now that Daed was nicely healed and Elizabeth was safely home again. The People had him pretty much long gone, especially since he still wasn’t talking about church baptism come next year. Now he just needed to wait till Christmas was past to share his plans with Daed and Mamm, tell them he was moving out in a few days. He’d already lined up a room to rent from Uncle Jerry Landis, just up the road.

“It’s not a rumor anymore,” he told Elizabeth. “I’ve made my decision.”

“ ’Cept you’re not running away from God, like I was . . . jah?”

“No,” he said, absolutely meaning it. “I’d never do that.”

“So then we won’t lose you at all. You’ll be just round the corner.”

He reached over and patted her shoulder. “Tellin’ the truth, I was never cut out to be Amish,” he confessed. “But family ties are mighty strong.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “And the Good Lord, too.”

Michael was glad he could talk so frankly with his niece. But he really wished he might tell Amelia all of this, too. Wouldn’t she be surprised?

While putting the final touches on her upcoming audition pieces, Amelia took a short break and checked the mail out front, thrilled to see a letter from Joanna. Always happy to hear anything from Hickory Hollow, Amelia sat near the bay window in her living room, near her beautiful blue spruce Christmas tree, and sipped a cup of peppermint tea with honey.

Joanna described her excitement for all the Christmas fun still to come, sharing that a few of her older relatives on her father’s side also observed “Second Christmas” on December twenty-sixth, a day to visit and rest from the daily routine.
Which means we’ll enjoy even more feasts and fellowship and spreading cheer, to be sure. Oh, I can hardly wait to go riding again in our big sleigh with all the little nieces and nephews,
she wrote.

Amelia savored the long and newsy letter as she basked in the afternoon sun, wishing for some word of Michael.
I hope he’ll be happy as an Amishman. . . .

She pulled her knees up to her chin, hugging them and admiring her tree decorated with ornaments related to her musical journey—dozens of little gold violins, treble clefs, and miniature orchestral scores with tiny golden bows. Breathing in the pungent scent, Amelia suddenly felt miserable . . . and far removed from Michael.

A
melia’s January violin audition with the maestro of the Philadelphia Orchestra felt very much like playing for an old friend. Twice in the past few years, she had performed as a feature artist under the fine direction of the world-renowned conductor. In many ways, Amelia looked up to the man as a mentor. He was uncommonly hospitable and affirming today, just as she remembered him to be. As a result, there were no stage jitters either while waiting for the violinist right before her or during Amelia’s own private audition. She played with great ease and felt confident she performed with clarity and exceptional musicality.

When she was finished, the maestro spoke fondly of her work. “I am very familiar with your solo performances and overall musicianship, Miss Devries, as well as the rave reviews your playing has garnered,” he said in his heavy German accent. “Now,” he said, leaning closer, “why, may I ask, are you pursuing a position with an orchestra, my dear?”

“I thought you might wonder,” she said, eager for the opportunity to share her new goals, as well as her hope to embrace becoming a part of this wonderful orchestra, as well as the greater Philadelphia community. She didn’t go into a lot of detail but assured him of her commitment to the orchestra should she land the position. “I would be honored to be chosen as concertmaster,” she said, her heart pounding with hope.

The maestro gave a pleased smile and inquired about her latest tour. Amelia recapped her travels by saying how grateful she was to have stepped into Nicola Hannevold’s shoes, at least temporarily.

“Miss Hannevold is a very fine violinist, to be sure—but you, Miss Devries, have real fire. You play with attitude,” he said, punching the air with his fist, eyes twinkling. “I like it.”

“Thank you, Maestro,” she said, enjoying his voice’s deep resonance. “I appreciate your assessment very much.”

He remarked that Nicola was recovering nicely and was actually in the lineup of featured artists next September, at the start of the concert season. “Which will also be your very first concert with us, my dear,” he announced warmly. “Congratulations, Miss Devries, and welcome to our orchestra family.”

She was not only delighted at his decision but also very flattered. They shook hands and he walked her out into the hall.

“Perhaps next year we could even talk you into performing the famous O’Connor Fiddle Concerto,” the maestro said with a friendly wink. “It certainly takes a skilled classical musician who is
also
a fiddler to pull off such a performance.” He paused slightly. “And . . . I expect Miss Amy Lee would do our orchestra proud with such a feat.”

Amelia was so shocked, she hardly knew what to say.

“Don’t look so surprised, Miss Devries. Why, I know most
everything
that goes on at the Mann.”

He had her there, no question about that! She offered a smile, then nodded her head slowly. “Well, it seems I’ve been found out . . . once again.”

The maestro chuckled, offering another handshake. “You will receive the summer rehearsal schedule in a day or so.” He mentioned that the contract would be sent to her agent, as well.

Elated, Amelia wasn’t sure her feet were still touching the floor as she thanked the maestro again and headed for her car, where she called her parents with the news. She had waited until just yesterday to inform them of the audition, surprised when her father, especially, did not express a negative opinion. Mom had promised to pave the way for the possibility of Amelia’s career making a major turn, but Amelia worried his physical weakness had sapped his desire to debate all of that with her. Was it possible he wanted her to remain closer to home now instead of traveling so far away? The relief she’d felt at his quiet acceptance had been tempered by a measure of sadness.

Today, however, her mother sounded animated. “Congratulations, Amelia. We’re so happy for you.”

“I’m still dumbfounded that this position opened up when it did.” She almost said it was providential, but that was the way her Amish friends talked.

“We’ll see you when you’re home, dear.”

“I’m planning to take a short detour,” she said, thinking of the little log cabin on Welsh Mountain.
A bit of déjà vu.

“Be safe—heavy snow is forecast there.”

“I’ll be careful. Please tell Dad I’m thinking of him.”

“He’s resting at the moment, but I’ll be sure to tell him you called, Amelia.”

They said good-bye and hung up.

Amelia pulled out of the parking lot, glad the snow had turned to slush. Perhaps the landscape would still be pristine in the wooded area north of Lancaster County.