Fiddler, The

by Beverly Lewis

  “But you enjoy the process, don’t you?”

  Mom squinted momentarily. “There are times when it all surprises me and scenes actually flow, yes. Other times, not so much.” She laughed nervously.

  “So it’s a love-hate sort of thing?”

  “Most days, yes, definitely.”

  “Then how do you get started? Do you outline or just write as the ideas come?” She thought suddenly of Joanna, who so dearly loved writing.

  “Honey . . .” Her mother grimaced slightly. “Are you really interested in all of this?”

  As private as her mother had been about her work, the book hadn’t really been a topic of conversation between them, and Amelia understood why her mother found it curious that Amelia should ask so many questions now. “I’m very interested, Mom. And always have been . . . just didn’t know if I should ask or not.” She was heading into deep waters, not sure how far she should go.

  “Well, this book is intensely personal, that much I’ll say.” Mom sighed and looked away. “A family story from more than a generation ago.”

  “The best kind.”

  Mom agreed. “Navigating the past is part of the challenge—remembering the way things truly were. And then getting what’s in my head onto the page.”

  Amelia glanced toward the family room, where Dad sat napping to one of the Isaac Stern CDs from his vast classical violin collection. “I’ve always wondered . . .”

  Mom wiped the counters without speaking, her face bright. “Keeping my writing under wraps was the only way I could manage things, I guess. I had very little confidence . . . this being my first attempt at a novel.”

  Amelia listened, cherishing her mother’s unexpected openness.

  Mom motioned toward the expansive breakfast nook, where greenery lined the perimeter and a small, colorful Christmas tree stood in the middle of the table. There, they sat down next to each other, and her mother continued to talk about her manuscript, more freely now.

  “The book I’ve been working on all these years is about my grandmother’s relationship with her sister and one of their cousins. It’s a mystery, of sorts, and it’s finally finished. And surprisingly, an agent is interested.”

  “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 a
lso 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.

  Chapter 39

  Amelia’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.

  Mingled with Amelia’s joy at being chosen as concertmaster was also a sense of loss. She longed to recapture the enchanting July evening she’d spent with Michael, in some ways the catalyst that had helped to give her the courage to step out and take a chance as she had. She made the trip to the Morgantown exit, trying to retrace her steps the night of the torrential rainstorm. But to no avail.

  It was pointless to stop at the convenience store just off the freeway, as she had done in the storm to get gas, because she didn’t remember any of the names on the road signs. She did recall a mobile home park, but she was presently going in circles, and thick snowflakes were beginning to stick to her windshield.

  The more Amelia tried to locate the tranquil cabin, the more confused she became on the back roads.

  Giving up as she spotted the main highway, she headed in the direction of the on-ramp. Surely she could at least return to Hickory Hollow for part of the afternoon. She wanted to stop in briefly to see Ella Mae Zook and to say happy New Year—and to thank her, as well. Yes, that’s what she would do. After all, she was this close, so why not?

  With renewed anticipation, Amelia merged onto the highway, this time headed south . . . to the heart of Amish country.

  ———

  Amelia had no trouble finding the Old Philadelphia Pike, nor the back roads leading to Hickory Lane. She was thankful for that, as the snow was coming fast now, and she knew she couldn’t stay long.

  Ella Mae came to the back door right away when Amelia knocked. She greeted her with a wide smile, eyes big as she realized who was there. “Well, lookee here! Miss Amelia . . . ach, won’t ya come right in.”

  Without more ado, Ella Mae tottered over to her teakettle, which she said was always simmering, “just waiting for tea.” Being back in the Wise Woman’s cheery kitchen brought back a rush of good memories. And over peppermint tea with honey and some warm cranberry bread and snickerdoodles, Amelia thanked the dear woman for helping her understand what was most important. Finding one’s purpose in life . . . and prayer.

  She also shared with Ella Mae about her exciting new position with the Philadelphia Orchestra. The Wise Woman smiled and bobbed her head. “Do you plan to move closer, just maybe?” she asked, and Amelia said she hadn’t gotten that far but would most likely commute and stay over for rehearsals and concerts for the first few months.

  “Have you seen much of Elizabeth now that she’s home?” Amelia asked.

  “Oh yes.” Ella Mae’s eyes softened. “Our Lizzie finally came to her senses.” She reached to give Amelia’s hand a pat. “And you, my dear one, are a big reason for that.”
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  “Well . . . I’m sure her family prayed for her, too.”

  “Oh jah, no doubt. And there’s talk that she’s hoping to join church next year.” Ella Mae drew a quick breath. “I can tell ya there’ll be plenty of sniffling when that Sunday rolls round.”

  “I can just imagine.” Amelia guessed Michael would also be among those bowing their knee next September.

  “Word has it that Elizabeth is even seein’ her former beau—a right nice Amish fella—one of Mary Stoltzfus Beiler’s handsome nephews. Don’t that beat all?”

  “Will she marry him, do you think?” Amelia asked.

  Ella Mae chuckled, but she shook her head. “Now, we ain’t s’posed to know any of that till the couple’s published two weeks before the wedding. ’Tis anyone’s guess, for now.”

  “Well, Elizabeth’s still young. She’s got plenty of time.”

  “Round here, seventeen or eighteen isn’t too early to marry . . . not when you know you’ve found the one you’re meant for,” Ella Mae said.

  Looking out at the blowing snow, Amelia thanked her for the tea and wished her a happy New Year. Then she rose and said good-bye, knowing she would miss the dear woman.

  “You’re always welcome.” Ella Mae insisted on getting up and walking with her to the door. Then, peering out at what had become near-blizzard conditions, she said, “For pity’s sake! I can’t let ya drive in this weather.”

  “Oh, I’ll be okay.”

  “Well, I didn’t say you wouldn’t be. But if you ain’t in a rush to get home, why not just spend the night here? You can start out fresh in the morning, once the snow’s done.”

  Amelia thanked her but didn’t want to infringe on her generosity.

  “Oh, I know what you’re thinkin’ . . . you don’t want to be a bother, ain’t?”

  “You’ve figured me out,” Amelia admitted, feeling so at home here.