Fiddler, The

by Beverly Lewis

  He recalled her current email where she had shared with him about her father’s health, a real concern . . . and about her renewed faith. Even busy as Amelia was with her tour, she seemed enthusiastic about seeking God’s plan for her life.

  Squinting into the sunlight, Michael made his way across the yard and into the house to wash up, wondering how it was possible to feel so close to someone halfway around the world.

  On the seventeenth day of the tour, Amelia flew to Amsterdam, where she was warmly greeted by a handsome escort holding a large bundle of beautifully wrapped tulips. Smiling broadly, he placed the fresh-cut flowers in her arms with a gracious kiss on the cheek. The well-dressed young man talked proudly of the city’s cultural arts season, which ran from September to June. “Do you enjoy theatre, dance, or opera?” he asked, smiling as he opened a door for her. “You’ll find we have it all here.”

  She almost expected him to invite her to one of the events, he was that attentive. Like Michael . . .

  Her luggage arrived in baggage claim, and she was ushered outside to a waiting limousine. The image of a gray, enclosed Amish carriage, a contrast in every way to this limo, flickered across her memory. She smiled as she settled inside, and Stoney gave her a questioning look.

  That night when she checked her email, she found a message from Mom, saying that Dad was struggling with a bad case of bronchitis. But don’t worry—he’s under good care from our doctor. Remember, this is your moment to shine, Amelia. Your father and I couldn’t be more proud of you and your music.

  Are you sure Dad’s doing okay? Amelia responded. I know how tough respiratory infections have been for him in the past. I’m praying!

  But her mom quickly replied that he was expected to make a full recovery.

  It helps him to hear how well you are being received there—we’ve been reading the reviews for each concert. He so enjoys your phone calls, dear. Oh, how we both wish we could be there with you!

  Well, I hope you have a good rest tonight, Amelia. Every night, before your father falls asleep, he says to me, “I hope our daughter knows we love her, and that we’re bursting our buttons.”

  One more thing: Your father and I would like to hear you play the evening performance with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra tomorrow. We’ll call Stoney’s cell phone and have him hold it up, in the wings. All right with you?

  Amelia smiled at the image. Stoney could video the performance, Mom! she wrote back. Making a video clip was easy enough. I’ll ask him the best way to do that and let you know what he says. I’d love for you to see the Concertgebouw—it’s supposedly one of the greatest concert halls in the world. Some say it’s acoustically perfect—lucky for me!

  As she thought ahead to that performance, Amelia realized how few people were able to experience such things. She brushed a tear from her cheek at the thought of all the years her parents had invested to get her to this place . . . to this moment.

  Thank you, Mom, she wrote now. I miss you both. Tell Dad this tour is for him, okay? The culmination of everything we’ve worked for . . . together. I wish he could be here. And you, too, Mom. It would be really special for me . . . for all of us.

  “For the last time,” Amelia said softly.

  Later, while dressing for bed, Amelia hoped her father would recover quickly; her mother seemed optimistic he would. Was Mom putting on a brave face so she wouldn’t worry?

  The next morning, Amelia and her wardrobe assistant, Dee, took a fifteen-minute stroll from the Bilderberg Garden Hotel to the Van Gogh Museum. There, they toured the great post-Impressionist painter’s works. Amelia was enthralled by the dramatic colors of each canvas, taken by their emotional impact. The sunflowers, in particular, drew her back once again to the meadow near Joanna’s house, where Amelia had practiced for hours amidst the wildflowers—yellow daisies and buttercups. And the famous painting Starry Night reminded her of the blazing starlit sky on her last night in Hickory Hollow, when she’d taken her first ride in an Amish buggy. With Michael.

  That evening Stoney videotaped Amelia’s first encore piece, Caprice no. 1 in E by Paganini, for her parents, capturing the initial roar of applause.

  Following the concert, Amelia thrilled to read her mother’s long email, sharing her gladness at seeing Amelia’s father so jubilant.

  Amelia was thankful to be able to include her dear parents in this way. The tour was proving to be not only a triumph musically, but a surprising boost for her soul.

  Chapter 34

  Amelia’s days in Berlin were a pleasant interval, with a bit more time off prior to and after her hectic concert schedule. The charming accents of the Germans reminded her of the Deitsch dialect readily spoken by Joanna Kurtz and Ella Mae. Michael too.

  While Amelia enjoyed a delectable brunch on the opulent terrace at the Ritz-Carlton one day with the director of the Berlin Philharmonic, she found herself daydreaming of Ella Mae’s quaint little porch, where she’d surprised the dear lady with a creative rendition of “This Little Light of Mine.”

  How is Ella Mae doing? Amelia thought fondly of the woman who exhibited such determination to remain independent during her twilight years. Who is the recipient of her wisdom today?

  Later that week, while Amelia and Dee walked the ten-minute stretch to the Brandenburg Gate, part of the infamous Berlin Wall during the time of the Iron Curtain, Amelia felt a renewed interest in history. She reflected on the well-known words spoken by President Reagan as he stood at this very gateway: “Tear down this wall!” Amelia found herself dreaming of taking additional graduate classes, especially in history, hoping to branch out from a lifetime of music study.

  On their return to the hotel, Dee suggested a shopping trip once they returned to the States. “You’ll need some new evening gowns for your next tour.”

  Amelia didn’t have the heart to say this tour might very well be her swan song, at least for touring overseas. She did hope to continue performing stateside and planned to record another CD soon. Most of all, though, she longed to share her love of music with children, and give of her time and energy to less fortunate people—those who needed the healing balm of music but could not afford to pay for concerts and CDs.

  Amelia had also been reading through the Old Testament, focusing on Abraham, not a man of seemingly inherent faith like his ancestors Abel, Enoch, and Noah. Yet God chose to use Abraham to bless immeasurable multitudes, and later in the New Testament, his name was the one most often spoken by Christ.

  In some small way, Amelia felt a strange kinship with Abram of old—mostly because of Ella Mae, who was responsible for Amelia’s growing desire to use her talents to bless others.

  Such a wonderful Wise Woman. Amelia wished she might somehow thank her. Someday, I’ll find a way.

  Lillianne welcomed Elizabeth into her kitchen that afternoon. “You’re just in time, dear,” she said, placing a plate of warm double-chocolate-chip cookies on the table. She hurried to sit at her customary spot, across from her very Amish-looking granddaughter, though still minus the Kapp. That would come once she was baptized, or so Lillianne prayed. “And what brings you by today?” she asked, ever so pleased.

  Elizabeth reached for a cookie to go with her cold milk. “Guess I’m tryin’ on Amish life again,” she said, grinning playfully. “Ya know, I’ve missed warm cookies and milk, Mammi Lily!”

  Lillianne knew she was joking but hoped there were other, more essential reasons for Elizabeth to yearn for Plain ways.

  “Seriously, Mammi, I want to catch up on the lost time with you. I’ve missed out on too much round here.” She looked toward the window and sighed. “Tellin’ the truth, I’ve missed my family something terrible.”

  “Aw, honey-girl, we’ve missed ya, too.” Lillianne choked back the lump in her throat. “More than you know.”

  Elizabeth took another long drink of milk. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you ’bout something, Mammi . . . to set the record straight.”

  “Oh? And what about, d
ear?”

  “Uncle Michael and his Englischer friend.”

  “You must mean Amelia.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Jah . . . my look-alike, as Michael calls her.” She blushed slightly. Her eyes sparkled this morning, and she seemed so very settled—pretty as could be in her blue cape dress and matching apron. “You have to know I wouldn’t be sitting here today if it wasn’t for Michael.” Elizabeth paused.

  “Really, now?” Lillianne found this interesting. Here all along she’d thought it was Michael who’d influenced Elizabeth against the People. “Well, I’ll be.”

  Elizabeth nodded and reached again for her tall glass of milk. “ ’Tis ever so true.”

  “Does Michael know ya think this?”

  “Oh jah.”

  Well now, Lillianne was downright surprised.

  “Something else, too—the talk ’bout Amelia’s fiddlin’ at the barn Singing is all but died down. Seems the fellas who asked her inside the barn owned up to the preacher.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “That’s right. They said they invited her to play along with their Singin’—and that’s all there is to it. ’Twas never her idea.”

  Lillianne took this all in, beginning to rethink her opinion of Amelia. What else could she do with such news? Maybe the Englischer wasn’t such a troublemaker after all.

  The final days of Amelia’s tour included rehearsals and performances with the Staatskapelle Dresden in Germany; then it was on to Munich with the well-known Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra.

  Dee Walker, who’d become her sidekick on this tour, recommended they spend one afternoon exploring the Hellabrunn Wildlife Park. The zoological park included a complex of animal and conservation exhibits, and Amelia was eager to go, having as a young girl spent time at some of the best zoos in the U.S. with her parents as a way to unwind after big performances. Her memories of such happy times mingled with her worries about her father’s health—and how he would react to the news that she was done touring.

  While she and Dee walked the parklike setting, enjoying the mild late-fall day, they were entertained by the antics of monkeys running free about the grounds, bringing joy to young families.

  Later, while they wandered about the exquisite birdhouse, Amelia realized anew God’s great care for even the smallest of creatures. A verse her grandmother often recited came to her mind: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. . . .”

  “Why do you think we humans worry so much?” she asked Dee.

  “Well, not everyone does,” Dee said. “There are a few laid-back people, you know.” She smiled teasingly. “And then there are all the rest of us.”

  They shared a laugh, and Amelia urged her on to the historic elephant house, thinking Joanna Kurtz would certainly enjoy this amazing place, as fond of animals as she was.

  In beautiful Prague, Amelia played magnificently with the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra, captivated as always by the interplay between orchestra and director. In her off hours, she and Dee enjoyed scenic river views, as well as some much-needed relaxation at a café on the Old Town Square, where she took in the historic buildings and towers surrounding them.

  Later that week, she traveled to Austria to play two concerts with the Vienna Philharmonic. In her leisure hours between rehearsals and performances, she took a side trip to Salzburg to tour Mozart’s birthplace. Fascinating as she found the artifacts of the musical genius’s childhood, Amelia was more in tune with the people around her, particularly a young mother. The woman had to be close to her own age, with a baby and a set of adorable blond twin boys who laughed and jabbered together. Amelia was so drawn to them, she could not keep from watching. But what touched Amelia most was the way they kept looking back affectionately at their mother, whose expression was full of love. And the babe in arms—oh, such a full head of dark, wavy hair! The prettiest baby Amelia thought she’d ever seen.

  Amelia found herself transfixed by the sweet Austrian mother and her gentle way with her children. The woman clearly doted on her little ones. And, just before the mother placed her baby in the stroller, she kissed her rosy cheek and cooed down at her.

  Will I ever be so blessed?

  The night before her flight home, Amelia noticed a post with a faceless profile among the numerous other posts on her fan page. Curious as that was, the name Mike Hostetler was enough to capture her attention. “Can it be?” she said, glad she was alone in her suite as she leaned closer to the screen.

  I’m praying you are blessing many with your beautiful music! he’d written.

  Brief as Michael’s comment was, Amelia felt an unexpected thrill that he’d taken the time to post on her very public fan page. The surprising message and his frequent emails made her look forward all the more to tomorrow’s return home . . . even though she wondered if she’d ever see Michael Hostetler again.

  Chapter 35

  Back in the States, six days before Christmas, Amelia welcomed time at home to rest as she accepted her mother’s dinner invitation for the next evening. “Also, we have quite a stack of mail here for you,” her mother said, sounding bright and cheerful on the phone. “You certainly have a good friend in Miss Joanna Kurtz.”

  Amelia thanked her and said she would be happy to come for dinner. “How’s Dad feeling?”

  Mom paused and Amelia tensed up immediately. “I hope he’s not worse.”

  “Amelia . . . I’m afraid the bronchitis has left him very weak. He is pumped up with medication, however, so he’s not contagious.” Mom went on to say the doctor was hoping to ward off pneumonia with a rigorous second round of antibiotics.

  “I know you’re taking good care of him, Mom. I’ll look forward to seeing you both.”

  Amelia sat down to reply to an email, then checked several of her favorite professional sites. She was very surprised to see a notice that the director of the Philadelphia Orchestra was holding auditions beginning in early January—for the coveted position of concertmaster, the first-chair violinist. With a quick prayer for favor, she promptly sent in her initial application and résumé.

  “Courage is fear on its knees,” the Wise Woman had once said. Ella Mae had lived her long life believing this statement. She had also talked of prayer in such a cherished manner that, since meeting her, Amelia had started opening her heart to God again in daily prayer, just as her grandparents had taught her to do as a child.

  Might this be a divine nudge in a new direction? Amelia wondered, waiting for Stoney’s arrival. It was time to discuss business. He had been quite resistant about her ideas during the last days of the tour. She could only imagine how he’d respond to her hope of a career change!

  On sheer impulse, Michael had hopped in the car and headed for Columbus, Ohio, early that morning. He had been considering surprising Amelia around Christmas, knowing he would be busy with his own family closer to the actual day. Besides, based on her recent emails, he knew Amelia had returned, and he wanted to see if the strong connection they’d experienced last summer, as well as through their months of correspondence, was still evident in person.

  It was close to two o’clock when he pulled up to her curb. He studied the address on the townhouse to match it with the address he’d jotted down. Getting out of the car and walking up the driveway, he realized he was not in the least bit tired from the seven-hour drive. In fact, he felt invigorated at the prospect of seeing his friend again. But now that he reflected on it, he wished he’d taken the time and the courtesy to let Amelia know he was coming. Was it a good idea to just show up like this?

  Making his way up the sidewalk, Michael took in the neighborhood—the townhomes looked similar in design, but the exteriors featured differing earth tones. He made note of the rather formal colonial accents to windows and the overall architecture, filing it away in his mind for future reference.

  As he reached to ring the doorbell, he heard Amelia’s violin music coming from somewhere deep in the house. He ass
umed she was practicing for yet another concert. Or maybe her upcoming recording.

  He waited, wishing he might have had the opportunity to hear her in one of the great European concert halls. But that was impossible for an Amishman, especially one helping his father with the harvest. And even if Michael had decided to defy Bishop John and take money out of his savings account to make an airplane trip—absolutely forbidden—he would have had very little time to spend with Amelia, what with her hectic schedule.

  No, coming here today was a far better idea. He had so much to tell her . . . face-to-face.

  The music continued, and when the door did open, a middle-aged man with light brown hair greeted him with a curious frown. “Hullo,” Michael said quickly. “I’m Amelia’s friend . . . from Lancaster County.”

  The man bobbed his head abruptly—he appeared to be studying Michael’s attire. “Amish country?”

  Smiling yet feeling sheepish, Michael removed his black felt hat. “That’s right.” He waited for the man to introduce himself, but when none came, he forged ahead. “I’m Michael Hostetler.”

  “I see. But Miss Amelia’s unable to take visitors” came the cold reply. “Was she expecting you?”

  Michael hesitated. “No, not exactly . . .”

  The man shook his head. “Well, then, I’m very sorry.”

  Although startled by this turn of events, Michael wasn’t ready to simply walk away. “Would you mind tellin’ her Michael is here . . . and drove all this way to see her?”