“About what?”
“About everything! You said Ottawa was about a fortnight behind us. I see there are still flowers on the trees here and even the daffodils are still blooming! Oh, it feels like heaven!”
The professor and Joseph chuckled just as a well-dressed stranger approached the table. The professor recognized him right away. “Wills!” he said to the man. “I trust you had a good voyage.”
“I did indeed, Hergie. I’ve even brought along some of my young prodigies.”
“I’m anxious to meet them! Please, let me introduce you. May I present Marcie and Denis Gionelli, and this is Joseph Delmott and his daughter Alexandra. She also goes by the name Aydy. She’s the one I was telling you about.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, studying Alexandra. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I look forward to seeing you perform tomorrow, Miss Delmott. Professor Hergicksen has put in a very good word for you.”
“Thank you, Professor Wilkes. I hope I won’t disappoint you – or him tomorrow.”
“Nonsense, my dear,” said the professor. Turning to Wilkes, he continued. “Please Wills, have a seat. I’m sure the waiter will be along soon for our orders.”
Everyone enjoyed a pleasant meal and conversation in the atmosphere of the historic restaurant. However, following their well-anticipated dinner, Professor Wilkes had to excuse himself from their company in order to attend his group of students. The remaining diners went outside on the veranda, which was furnished with comfortable wicker furniture. It afforded a splendid view of the Rideau Canal.
“Oh! Look over there!” said Denis, casually pointing across the canal towards someplace in the distance. Everyone strained their eyes, and then they saw it – a single, multi-coloured hot air balloon rising majestically into the late afternoon sky.
“Those people are so lucky!” Alexandra said. “What a glorious sight! Who’d have ever thought we’d see a hot air balloon!”
The professor laughed. “Don’t forget, my dear, we’re in the nation’s capital. Now you know where all the hot air goes!”
Everyone laughed except Alexandra, who just wrinkled her nose and scratched her head.
* * *
The following day was just as glorious as the previous one, and Ottawa was awash in springtime glory – and musicians. They came from all over Canada, with some participants arriving from the U.S. and other countries to attend the music festival located in one of the parks near the Rideau Canal. The Parliament Buildings were visible some distance away.
The whole place had a carnival atmosphere. Vendors sold their wares, concession stands sold refreshments, and people strolled about dressed in their fine apparel – women in dainty hats, dresses and carrying parasols, escorted by fine, proper gentlemen. Alexandra herself felt quite regal. She wore one of her Sunday dresses, a blue dress with small, white polka dots. Since the springtime air had a bit of a chill to it, she also wore her favourite mustard-coloured cardigan sweater.
Following a jovial and light-hearted breakfast, Alexandra decided to practice on the restaurant’s veranda to ensure everything would be perfect. The practice session reminded Alexandra of performing in front of customers back home at the café.
“I think you’re as ready as you can be,” said the professor. “Now let’s be off. We don’t want to be late.”
The five began their stroll through the park. Every so often they would pause and listen to a little musical group practicing, though the professor kept urging them to move along. It was difficult to do because the music from these musicians, who came in all sizes, shapes, ages and talent levels, was exceptionally good.
“Papa, if this isn’t paradise, I don’t know what is,” said Alexandra.
“Yes, well it’s good that the weather is cooperating with us today.”
“Come on now! We mustn’t dawdle!” the professor grumbled. “We’ll be late for our performance!”
“Look!” said Alexandra. “It’s the Detroit group! Oh Maestro, I want to introduce you to them, please, let’s go! We have time!”
The professor checked his pocket watch and sighed. “All right, fine. But let’s be quick about it.”
Alexandra walked straight up to David and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned round. “Aydy! So glad you could come! We’ve all been practicing, especially Nicky here. He needs practice, you know. He’s also accident prone. Do you know why he has four strings on his bass?”
“Because it’s like a big violin?”
“No! Do you know what three of those strings are for?” he said, smirking. “They’re spares!”
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Nick. “I use them all!”
The professor shook his head and chuckled. “You all remind me of myself in my younger days. All right, now let’s go find the stage.”
* * *
The outdoor stage at the music festival was a neat little arrangement where musicians could use the area behind it to prepare and, when they were ready, they could come up and perform their musical repertoires on a raised platform. The only immoveable piece on the stage was a grand piano. Neat rows of seating were arranged in front of the stage to accommodate perhaps a hundred or more people. Those not lucky enough to get a seat could stand. Surrounding the whole complex were rows of brightly coloured marquees to provide shade and shelter for both musicians and spectators.
Performing on the stage at that moment was a children’s quartet composed of two girls on the violin, one boy on a viola and another on a cello. They played bright, happy songs and Alexandra recognized all the melodies.
“They are from the London Academy,” the professor said. “There’s one more group after them, and then it’s our turn. It seems we’ve arrived just in time.”
“Aydy!” said another familiar voice.
Alexandra looked away from the stage to find none other than Alfred standing there. The professor appeared agitated at the intrusion.
“We meet again!” said Alfred, smiling. “Dare I ask what brings you into town?”
“Well, I don’t know!” said Alexandra, putting her hand on her hip and finger alongside her face as if she were thinking. “I heard Ottawa is quite lovely at this time of year!”
“Welcome!” he said. “I hope you’ll not refuse my invitation to play together this time! We’re just over there. Please, come!”
She remembered refusing the boy two times previously, though both times she felt justified in doing so. Now the situation was almost the same, but her words came back to haunt her: this time she really did have no time – in the absolute, most literal way possible. She reasoned that perhaps she could appease the boy – and the professor – by playing with his little troupe later.
“Make the memories, call them your own.”
“Alexandra? Did you hear me?” Joseph said to the distracted girl. “I said you can play your violin with Alfred later. You really must go on stage soon.”
“Oh? You’re going onstage, Alex? We can wait. We’ll be here all week. We can play later.”
“Do not be afraid, Alexandra. Make the memories, make them…”
“Alfred, I’m not sure what to say,” she said. “Mr. – excuse me, please. I don’t even know your last name! Perhaps we could –”
“Before the roses bloom again…”
“Rickleton,” he said. “We can do it later, after your performance.”
“Play.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Alexandra. “Of course I’d be honoured to play with you and your group, Alfred.” Turning to the professor, she continued. “I cannot perform on stage with you now, Maestro. I’m so sorry. I really must go with Alfred. Please, please forgive me.”
Alexandra, violin in hand, walked away from her stunned companions in the company of Alfred.
* * *
The area in which Alfred’s little group practiced was set some distance away from the main stage under a marquee, reminiscent of how things looked in London the previous summer.
�
��What has possessed that girl?” said the professor, shaking his head at the hodgepodge of different musicians – a girl on the viola, Alfred on the cello, and an older man sawing away on the bass. “I’ve never seen her behave like this. She knows how important this is to her future!”
“I’m sure she’s well aware of that fact, Hergie.”
“I have no idea how I can explain all this to Prof. Wilkes!”
“Alexandra can do that,” said Joseph. “Of that you can be sure.”
* * *
Alexandra was, at first, apprehensive about her decision to abandon the Maestro and ruin their plans, but felt she had made the right decision. She practiced with the group while her travelling companions looked on.
“Let’s try a pretty song,” said Alfred. “Blue Danube?”
Alexandra always liked that song; her mother used to hum parts of it to her when she was little. She also liked the song because it had so much grace and charm, and when it was played on such an emotional instrument as the violin, it became even more so. “Yes, let’s try it,” she said. “I’m ready.”
The famous waltz was played well by the group of musicians and Alexandra’s alterations between harmony and melody resonated well. People, as usual, stopped to listen, the quartet playing the song in practice just as well as they would have played it at a performance. As she played, she gazed out over the growing number of people who gravitated there to listen. More were coming, drawn to the music, to the sweet sounds which echoed and fanned out into the park like a gentle spring breeze.
Alexandra closed her eyes as she played. She was pleased at the effect music could bring to people, at the way it could alter and change their moods – but especially how it could evoke their memories. As she continued her performance, a single red rose petal drifted down and slowed to a stop in midair, about an arm’s length from her. It was luminescent, yet transparent. It lingered in mid air before being joined by another and another, each delicate petal drifting down and stopping at different levels, shining, sparkling and shimmering like the most brilliant of jewels, each radiant petal sparkling with a living memory. They surrounded the girl in a magnificent, ethereal aura.
Alexandra, a spectator through time, stood and watched as a young, dark-haired woman with trembling hands was writing a note. “My Dearest Joseph, it breaks my heart to tell you…”
The hands of time moved forward. The young woman now sought work in a new land – in law offices, banks, insurance companies – success was slow, but was earned.
Years pass. “Sunshine, you are doing very well on the violin, making fine progress,” the woman said to a girl, aged about nine. “If you work hard, you will become a concert violinist. Your pépé would be proud of you.”
Alexandra’s vision continued, but now the hundreds of shimmering, floating rose petals in midair began crackling, sparks bursting out from them as one memory began connecting to another memory, and to another and another until they all connected into a whole, vast, magnificent curtain of pulsating energy.
“You can find your answers at home. I know the truth. I know what happened. Please trust me,” said the large man with the accent. “This will be more than enough money for you.”
Weeks pass. “Mama, I’m frightened,” said the girl in a British accent. “I don’t like this travelling.”
Days pass. “There are so many musicians here!”
Minutes pass. “Do your best, Sunshine. If you do, your violin playing will be as good as that girl.”
“Which girl, Mama?”
“Don’t you see? The brown haired girl in the blue dress and yellow sweater.”
Mid-way through the song, Alexandra stopped playing and slowly opened her eyes, trying to refocus them in order to see clearly. The dazzling display of sparkling rose petals began fading, dissolving into the air one by one, each sparkling a final time before disappearing. She gazed out over the vast crowd who had gathered to hear her play, her eyes searching over the people. Despite her abbreviated performance, they applauded her wildly.
“MAMA!” Alexandra’s cry reached out, yet she could not see the woman. She quickly handed her violin to Alfred and started pushing her way through the crowd.
“Wonderful performance!” shouted the professor from a distance.
“Bravo! Bravo!” said Marcie and Denis, clapping next to him.
“More Aydy! More, please!” people demanded.
They kept crowding near her, but Alexandra ignored them all, determined to push her way through the massing crowd who thronged to get near her. “Please! Aydy! Play us more!”
“No! I have to find my mother!” she said before crying out again, “Mama! Mama!”
Meanwhile, Joseph was pressing his way through the crowd too, trying to reach his daughter. It was almost impossible, the vast numbers of people made it too difficult to move anywhere and no one was giving either of them any room to move.
“Excuse me, please, I have to get through!” cried Alexandra, squeezing and forcing her way between the crush of people. Finally breaking free from the crowd, she ran into open space – a large, paved promenade.
“Mama! Where are you? My God, where are you?” she wailed in exasperation, looking round in all directions. Not knowing which way to run, she threw herself down on a park bench, leaned over sideways and sobbed, her whole body shaking, almost in convulsion.
At that moment, someone came and sat next to her. “Excuse me,” said a young girl in a British accent. “Please don’t be sad. Your performance was most excellent. Mama says if I practice I can be just like you.”
Alexandra sat up and looked at the girl. She had large, almond shaped blue eyes, auburn hair and an oval face. Alexandra thought she was looking at her younger self in a mirror. “How can it be?”
Emerging from the crowd of people, Alexandra could see her father walking towards her with a dark haired woman. They were arm in arm.
Alexandra and the girl smiled at each other and walked over to meet them. Watching from a distance were Marcie, Denis and the professor.
The sun did indeed shine brightly on the Delmott family that last Sunday in May, 1888.
Alexandra stopped just short of her mother. “Mama? Is it really you?”
“It is, Angel, it’s me,” she said, taking the girl in her arms and embracing her warmly.
Alexandra sobbed anew into her mother’s dress. “Mama, I’ve missed you so much!” she said, looking up at her mother before hugging her tightly once again.
“I’ve missed you too, Angel. I’m home now,” she said, kissing the girl’s head and running her fingers through her hair. “I have so much to tell you! But first I want you to meet your sister,” said Helen before turning to Joseph. “Darling, I want you to meet your daughter. She plays the violin, too. Her name is Katie.”
“Katie! That’s such a lovely name!” said Joseph.
Katie smiled.
“Helen, how did you know to come here?” said Joseph.
“I met Sir Charles Stanley at the music academy in London where Katie had been taking violin lessons,” said Helen.
“Sir Charles?” said Alexandra, sniffling. She loosened her hug and wiped her eyes. “You met Sir Charles?”
“Yes, I did. He was curious about my North American accent, asked me exactly where I was from, and I told him. He put all the pieces together.” She turned her attention to Joseph. “He told me that you had written and told him that George was incapacitated ‘by our mutual plan.’ What does that mean?” she said, squinting. “He said it was safe to come home, that I should come to the music festival here in Ottawa. Joseph, he said I’d find you and Alexandra here. I’m so sorry I left you, but I had to protect –”
“To protect us, I know. You needn’t worry any longer, my love. We’re all together again, and now I am truly blessed,” he said, looking at Helen, Alexandra, and Katie.
“What happened to George?” asked Helen.
“Well, he recovered from his affliction, but through an inte
resting little trick, which I’ll tell you more about later,” he said, winking at Alexandra, “he confessed to causing the Great Fire of Windsor. He was promptly arrested.”
“Aydy!” said Alfred, appearing from the crowd with the Maestro, Marcie, and Denis. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you! Here’s your violin!” He looked at Alexandra’s mother and sister.
“Oh Alfred! Maestro! Marcie! I’m so happy! This is the best day of my life!” exclaimed Alexandra. “This is my mother – and my sister! Her name is Katie – and they’ve just arrived from England! Katie plays the violin, too!”
Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief Page 28