“But can you play it?”
“Well now, I certainly aim to! It’s bigger than my old violin, but I’ll manage. I also have to continue teaching myself, though. The Maestro isn’t accepting any more students. He told me so himself.”
“You met the Maestro?”
“Yes, he actually came into the café when we were closing,” she said, an air of resignation in her voice. “I know of no other teachers, either. So, I’ve watched the street musicians play, I watched the Premier’s Competition when it was in Windsor, and I even went to two of the Maestro’s concerts. Now it seems I must resign myself to watching others. Robbie, everyone says it’s hard to play the violin, probably the hardest instrument to ever learn, but I won’t let that stop me. I’ve watched the violinists all very carefully and it’s not impossible to do. Someday I’ll be a concert violinist and play in all the great orchestras around the world!”
Alexandra closed the case, stood up and moved towards the door.
“Well, I hope you can do it!” he said as she stepped outside.
Alexandra smiled and turned back to face Robbie, who was waving goodbye in the doorway. “I think having a magic violin will help. Don’t you?”
Chapter 6
Alexandra rose early the next day without any prompting from her father. It was Sunday, and time as usual to attend morning mass at the grand St. Alphonsus Church. She enjoyed attending mass – but not because of any religious obligation, though she believed in God. She adored the pageantry of the mass, which she considered much like a performance. She enjoyed the booming organ music, the smell of incense, seeing the priests in their fine vestments, the parade of altar boys, and even the nuns who had completely covered themselves from head to toe, including their hair, with black and white habits. She often wondered if the reason the nuns kept their hair so carefully covered was because they were really bald underneath.
Sunday mass was, by default, the social event of the week. Local Catholics would gather in this ornate, hallowed building and listen to the mass, though few could understand the Latin. Alexandra would amuse herself by looking at all the ladies in their finely decorated Sunday hats. Sitting behind them offered her a splendid view of the wide assortment, and she would pretend the heads which were too plain or boring would be sliced off, leaving only the pretty ones remaining.
In attendance at mass that day was the entire Delmott clan. George and Clara, who had donated a substantial amount of money to the church, had their own pew near the front, a visible marker of their elevated social position.
After the final hymn was sung and mass ended, the congregation filed slowly out the main door and into the spring sunshine. All the Delmotts stood together talking outside the church, an uneasy tension brewing between Alexandra and Owen.
It wasn’t always like that. Alexandra remembered when they were small they used to play together like brother and sister instead of cousins. Aunt Clara would often bring Owen to the café, and while their mothers merrily chatted away or busied themselves doing this or that task, the two cousins would sit on the floor and play with wooden hand-painted toys brought by Uncle George or sometimes even with Alexandra’s dolls. Often the cousins would chase each other around the café, squealing happily through and around the tables and chairs where the customers sat – sometimes to their bemusement and often to their annoyance. The two cousins grew apart when Alexandra was only four – about the same time her mother left.
As they were standing and chatting about this and that, Clara’s latest news caught Alexandra’s attention.
“Sometimes good can come out of bad, Joseph. Owen has a new violin teacher!” she said as she ruffled and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “George went to Detroit and hired him. He’s a very smart and talented musician. We’re going to have him ferried across the river three times a week, and he’ll come right to our house. George also bought Owen a new violin while he was there. It’s much better than the old one.”
“Well now, I do hope he enjoys them both,” Joseph said looking at Owen.
George chimed in as well. “Yes, and this new teacher has a much different approach to musical education than Hergicksen, who is clearly past his prime. I think the fresh approach should serve Owen well.”
“It might if he can control his temper!” said Alexandra, her gaze focused on Owen.
“Really now, Joseph, you must learn to control your daughter’s rude tongue!” said George. “Is she still jealous about the lessons with Sister Madeline? My my. Owen has a fine musical career waiting for him, but with such poor manners like that, your daughter will surely find herself working in a saloon serving drunks.”
Alexandra looked round at the people still standing in front of the church. “Papa, excuse me please, Emma is about to leave!”
“Go on,” said Joseph.
Alexandra left the small circle of people, not having the spirit to tell them anything about her violin or musical ambitions. Moreover, she had no time for Owen now. She rather enjoyed thinking about how recklessly people used that phrase, “I have no time” and its sister phrase “I’m too busy” because they didn’t really mean that at all.
“Hello, Alexandra,” said Mrs. Brindle, who taught at St. Alphonsus School where most of the local children attended. Her black-haired, bespectacled and freckle-faced daughter Emma stood next to her.
“Good day Mrs. Brindle,” said Alexandra as she smiled at Emma. The two friends walked a short distance and began chatting.
“Alex! Have you heard what Owen did to Robbie? Oh everybody is talking about it!”
“Yes,” Alexandra sighed. “I know all about that. He’ll be all right though – I know that, too. Now let’s talk about something else. What are you doing today? Would you like to come to my place? I have something to show you. I’m sure my father won’t mind.”
* * *
Joseph Delmott certainly did not mind, especially on a Sunday when the café was closed. He rather enjoyed it when Alexandra entertained her friends there in an otherwise silent café.
As soon as he and the girls arrived, Alexandra darted up the stairs, leaving Joseph to wait next to Emma at the counter.
“She’s wasting no time, is she?” he said.
Emma only smiled as she waited on her stool.
Alexandra returned with the black case containing her instrument.
“Oh this is it!” said Emma. “Open it, please!”
Placing the case on the counter, Alexandra opened the lid with care. Emma leaned in closer, eyes wide, gazing at it through her spectacles.
“Wow, it’s so enchanting!” she exclaimed, face radiant.
“Yes it is! I have every intention of playing it!”
“Before you do that, you’ll need these,” said Joseph, reaching into his pocket and handing his daughter a small envelope. He knew she would be pleased.
“Strings! Where’d you get them?”
“I have my ways, dear. But why are we talking? Put them on!”
Alexandra set about the task straightaway. Joseph was impressed at how his daughter, with her nimble fingers, wound and strung the new strings onto the ancient instrument with an assurance well beyond her years. Then, while plucking each string, she adjusted each of the four pegs on the violin’s scroll this way or that until she seemed satisfied with the sound.
“Sister Madeline called this relative tuning,” Alexandra said. “If you don’t have a tuning fork or piano, it’s the best you can do!”
“I suppose getting you a set of tuning forks is easier than getting a piano, so that will be my next project. For now, are you ready for your world premiere?”
With a smile on her face and eyes brightening, Alexandra lifted the well-played instrument to her shoulder. Before placing it firmly there, she tossed her head back once and nestled the instrument between her chin and shoulder. She placed the bow over the thinnest of the strings and paused. Joseph waited with anticipation while Emma looked on.
Alexandra took a deep breath
and pulled the bow across the string. It rang out clear and crisp, filling that old place with a sound not heard from that instrument in ages. She smiled, shuffled herself on the stool, straightened her back, and did it again.
The beaming girl glanced at her father and Emma as she made each open string sing from the movements of the bow. Joseph was pleased at his decision to give her the instrument, and the look of pure delight on his daughter’s face was more than enough reward.
“Oh Alex, it sounds great!” said Emma. “Can I try it? Please?”
“Yes, in a minute.” Alexandra looked at the position of her bow over the strings before playing a short series of notes.
Joseph remembered his father playing this same instrument, the crispness and clarity of the notes and how the man had often warmed up before playing one of the hundreds of songs he knew by heart. The only regret he had that day was not being able to recall the name of one single song. He saw himself standing between two generations, an unworthy link connecting the past with the future. Now it became his hope that his daughter would find the love in this old instrument that he himself had missed. Oh, if only my father could see her, he thought. If only Helen could see her. He remembered how proud Helen was of Alexandra and how she had encouraged her musical ambitions. That had all come to end with her sudden departure when Alexandra was little. He wondered if she would ever return – or even if she was still alive.
The music stopped. “You try it now.” Alexandra offered the instrument to her bespectacled friend.
Emma tentatively placed the instrument on her shoulder under Alexandra’s direction. Then, grasping the bow with her whole fist, Emma awkwardly hacked at the strings and each one squawked under protest. Alexandra giggled. Joseph winced. Emma huffed and, after a few more failed attempts, handed the instrument back to its owner.
“Better to try and fail then never to try at all!” said Joseph, his words unsuccessful in soothing the pouting Emma.
Their moment of levity was spoiled when all eyes turned towards the sound of someone knocking on the café door. Professor Hergicksen had returned.
Joseph motioned towards the professor, who eased the door open so that the brass bell only gently dinged. He had his overcoat folded over his arm and his hat was removed. He bowed slightly after stepping in.
“Thank you for allowing me entry, kind sir. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I know you are closed today, but I was in the area and I wanted to stop by. I have something I’d like to say.”
Alexandra had placed her violin behind the counter, an action which struck Joseph as rather strange. She stood pressed to his side, her arms around him and her head nestled against his chest.
Fixing his gaze on Joseph, the professor began. “I have come to apologize to the young lady about the other day, and it is my sincere hope she might forgive me.”
Alexandra remained silent. Joseph looked at her face and noticed she was staring at the professor. Emma stood nearby, watching the professor, a quizzical look on her face. The professor cleared his throat. “There is a performance at the Detroit Opera House across the river Friday next. I am not playing, but merely going as a member of the audience. However, if it would please the young lady and you, sir, I would be honoured if you would both accompany me.”
Joseph had taken his daughter to several musical performances in Windsor, even to some of the professor’s concerts. To take her across the river to hear an orchestra at the world-famous Detroit Opera House would certainly fulfill one of her biggest dreams. Furthermore, they had never been to the U.S.A. even though it was within sight of Windsor. He thought it would be a great opportunity to expose her to professional music. He looked down to the daughter he was protecting and squeezed her shoulder. “Shall we go, Angel?”
From the shelter of her father, Alexandra gazed at the professor. “Thank you sir, but I’m afraid I’m too busy.”
Chapter 7
Though other people would have accepted the invitation to the concert, it was not what Alexandra wanted from the professor. She wasn’t the vengeful sort, but she believed the pompous old man didn’t take her musical ambitions seriously, that she would be content with just going to a concert. She felt he was treating her like a child, trying to buy her off with candy, then patting her on the head and sending her off. Since her mother left a very demanding and stressful life working in the café to “take time to rest,” as her father put it, Alexandra had to grow up faster than most children her age and her thinking reflected that – especially when she was challenged by situations like she’d just had with the professor.
Alexandra went up to her room as soon as Emma left for home. She took out every piece of sheet music she had, propping each one up in different spots until her room resembled a miniature practice studio. She wondered which of these fine selections would be the first song she’d play on her pépé’s violin.
She raised the violin up to her shoulder, but paused. She wanted her first song to be something that had meaning to her. She sighed, but then something caught her eye. She smiled and placed the violin on her bed and reached up to the shelf. “Perfect,” she said aloud. In her hands she held a small, polished, wooden music box which had belonged to her mother. She turned the handle several clicks and raised the lid. Musical excerpts of “Blue Danube” played, and Alexandra watched the delicate mechanism within, remembering when her mother would hum parts of the song to her. When the cylinder slowed to a stop, Alexandra placed the music box back on the shelf and took her violin in hand. She moved the bow across the strings, and the instrument responded with a sweet, melodic voice – coming alive, rewarding her with a sound even Strauss himself would surely have been pleased to hear.
Following that, she played several pieces, including “The Maple Leaf Forever,” “Soldier’s Joy,” and “The Blue and the Grey,” a song popular during the U.S. civil war. She made up her mind to play her violin every day. She often wondered if her pépé had played it in every free moment he had and whether he would be proud of her diverse musical tastes, including her desire to become a concert violinist – the whole idea of which was now taking on a life of its own.
As the days wore on, Alexandra spent much of her waking hours playing, refining, and perfecting her technique. She recalled all the training she had taken under Sister Madeline. She drilled herself on technical exercises and played all the songs she already knew, eventually playing them all by memory. She remembered her father saying that one of the characteristics she inherited from her grandmother was that of being a perfectionist in everything, and so it was only natural that this extended to her music.
She became more and more attached to her instrument and practiced at every opportunity. She often wondered if her music carried into the café, and whether that would be upsetting or pleasing to the customers as they sipped their beverages and chatted.
* * *
Marcie Gionelli was the waitress Joseph hired soon after his wife left. She moved about the café with an easy, effortless grace.
“More coffee, please Marcie!” said a familiar voice.
“Charlie McKay!” said the middle-aged waitress, laughing. “You know the rules! You’ve been here longer than ten minutes. You’re no longer considered a guest. You know where the coffee pot is!”
The big man grinned and winked. He poured another cup for himself and his friends.
As Marcie entered the kitchen, Alexandra joined her. “I think you’re hungry, Vogelein!” said Marcie, using the German word for little bird that her own grandmother used to call her. “I think even musicians need to eat from time to time! Can I get you something?”
“Oh no, no, Marcie!” said Alexandra as she washed her hands. “I’ll just make myself a sandwich. No need to trouble you!”
Alexandra deftly gathered together what she would need – several small strips of pork and vegetables. She started slicing them.
“Well, you’re getting pretty good at doing that!” said Marcie.
“You mean I
’m getting good at making sandwiches?”
“No, no,” she laughed. “I mean you’re getting good on the violin!”
“Thank you, Marcie! My biggest dream is to be a concert violinist someday, so I have a lot of practicing to do! I hope I wasn’t disturbing anyone.”
“Oh, no, no!” Marcie said as she cleaned glasses with lightning speed and set them up to dry. “Some of the customers have remarked that perhaps we’ve kidnapped a musician and are holding him ransom!”
“Hey, I’m not a he!” Alexandra said, putting her hands on her hips. “But if there’s ransom money, maybe you can give it to me and I can use it to buy some music books!”
Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief Page 4