The Fiddler (29 page)

“There’s no sense pretending any longer that our ‘plan’ is even workable,” she ventured.

“What’s different, Amelia? I haven’t changed.”

“No, you haven’t,” she admitted. “It’s simply not something I want anymore, Byron.”

“Does this have anything to do with your fiddling performance last week?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “I don’t honestly think so. I probably would have reached this point even without the fiddling gigs. I’m just not sure I’m wired for the whole concert diva experience. A quieter, more settled life really appeals to me.”

He sighed. “Why haven’t you ever told me this? All the times we’ve talked—you never hinted you weren’t happy.”

Amelia felt her throat tighten—she was sorry to have misled him in this way, but in truth, she’d been misleading herself, as well.
Too fearful to say what was on my heart . . .
“I’m sorry, Byron,” she whispered. “But we haven’t connected for a very long time,” she added gently. “You know it, and I do, too.”

In the end, she was greatly relieved he didn’t press for a drawn-out discussion, making things more difficult. Although this surely had been a shock, Byron seemed to accept what she had to say, then politely wished her well. “You’re a very talented violinist, Amelia. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Thanks, Byron . . . you don’t have to say—”

“I truly hope we’ll remain at least friendly,” he said quickly.

She agreed. “I wish you well, too.”

The following evening, Amelia met with Stoney to sign the European tour contract over a delicious dinner. Later, when she returned home, she checked her online fan page, scanning through the countless comments since her publicist had last posted. There were numerous questions about her recordings with EMI Classics: Was she going to feature either the Brahms or the Mendelssohn next? Wasn’t it time for another U.S. tour? Where was she appearing next?

So many postings, so little time. Amelia clicked off and went to her writing desk, one she rarely used. Who wrote anything longhand anymore? Well, Joanna Kurtz did . . . and if it worked for her Amish friend, then so be it.

Sitting down, Amelia found some stationery in the narrow drawer and began to write a letter.

Dear Joanna,

I’ve been reminiscing about my visit to beautiful Hickory Hollow. I’m surprised by how much I already miss it!

I am so thankful for the opportunity I had to get to know you, and for your kind hospitality. Please greet your parents for me, and thank them, as well. It was a true joy to share a small part of your life, if only briefly.

Your English friend,
Amelia Devries

P.S. In October, I will begin touring Europe for a little over two months, playing in many different cities. I thought it might be fun if I sent you postcards from my travels. What do you think?

I’ll look forward to hearing from you!

Tired and ready to soak, Amelia ran the water for a bubble bath in her jetted tub. The pain in her shoulders and neck was unrelenting tonight, partly from yesterday’s long drive, and partly because she had a tendency to internalize stress. Acquiescing to her father’s wishes had taken its toll on her. Yet she was also thankful there was an unexpected thread of hope that she might not find herself in this predicament again—not if her mother was able to mentally prepare the way with her dad.
Won’t that be a feat!

While relaxing in the bubble-filled tub, votive candles lit, Amelia let her mind wander, welcoming the quaint image of the lantern in Joanna’s hand, just Sunday night. The short interval spent in Hickory Hollow already seemed nearly a world away now that Amelia was home. She didn’t want to forget any part of it—Michael in particular. His laughing blue eyes and handsome smile filled her memory. But it wasn’t meant to be—just as he’d described his relationship with his former fiancée. Yet Amelia couldn’t help feeling sad as she recognized that, wonderful as he was, Michael Hostetler would never be more than a casual friend.

Michael had seen Mamm wrapping up some clothes for mailing earlier this week. She’d acted downright sheepish about it . . . and later, when she headed off to mail it, she looked about her almost furtively, as if she was up to some mischief. For that reason, Michael guessed the package contained the fancy skirt and blouse Amelia had loaned to Elizabeth.

Now Thursday night was closing in around them, and all the while Elizabeth sat outside in her English boyfriend’s car. The very man who’d frightened them in Harrisburg was parked right outside in Daed’s lane!

Michael was miserably certain Lizzie was not going to stay put in Hickory Hollow. She had not given God anything more than bits and pieces of her life, not her whole self as was required to please Him. Apart from a true miracle, they would lose his dear niece.

Marching to the window, Michael peered out, wishing there were something more he could do. He despised this feeling of helplessness when he wanted to storm out there and demand that Lizzie’s boyfriend be gone! But Lizzie must make her own decisions.

He wondered what Amelia would do about Lizzie if she were standing here beside him. Would she be able to make his niece see reason? Michael felt sure she’d have a better chance than he would. He realized anew that he should have made an effort to do something Monday morning. Not just let Amelia leave!

Joanna had let it slip that she was planning to write to Amelia. He’d asked her for Amelia’s address, making her promise not to say a word. Oh, the look Joanna had given him!

Michael chuckled at the remembrance. If he could do it over, he would have simply exchanged email addresses prior to Amelia’s leaving. How much easier—and more private—that would have been!

After evening Bible reading and prayers with the family, he slipped off to his room to write the first letter he’d written in a good while. Amelia wouldn’t think anything of it, of course, once she realized he was writing to update her on what was happening with Elizabeth. The perfect approach to get his foot back in the door.

The days since Amelia’s return home had been filled with hours of rehearsing and updates from Stoney and the tour manager. There were meetings with her wardrobe assistant, Dee Walker, too, as they discussed which of her many gowns to take along, as well as shoes and numerous accessories. Amelia’s image must be as polished and perfect as her playing.

Apart from the arrival of a package containing the outfit Amelia had loaned to Elizabeth, her visit to Amish country began to seem nearly unbelievable. It was as if Michael and Joanna and the Wise Woman—the whole delightful community of Plain People—were merely a figment of an overactive imagination.

The kind of people who might only exist in Joanna’s stories,
thought Amelia.

And while real life encompassed her every attention, the tendrils reaching back to Lancaster County tugged on her less with each passing day. Until one afternoon, when an unexpected letter arrived in Amelia’s mailbox . . . from Michael.

A
melia was pleased to receive Michael’s letter and found a cozy spot on her favorite chair in the music studio to read it.

Dear Amelia,

You must be surprised to hear from me! Joanna shared your address with me and promised to keep my request quiet. It would surely cause a stir in the community if word got out I was writing “the fancy fiddler.”

I really didn’t want to share sad news, but Elizabeth has returned to Harrisburg with her friends there, although she says she wants to keep in touch with her family. Between you and me, she surely seems lost in many ways. I can understand the temptations of the world, but I don’t know why she’s chosen to walk away from God, too. She’s giving even her “wayward” uncle cause for concern. Will you keep her in your prayers?

“Definitely,” Amelia whispered, responding aloud to Michael’s plea.

She read further and realized much of the letter was regarding his niece’s decision to leave the People. Amelia wondered how Michael’s family must be coping . . . and Michael, too.
He feels so responsible.

Despite all of that, she was delighted he had taken time to update her and to make this surprising attempt to continue their friendship.

Amelia’s tour launched in early October with a spectacular first night at Carnegie Hall in New York City, followed by an overnight flight to London. She slept soundly, having given every ounce of her energy to the Tchaikovsky masterpiece. Stoney deemed the performance “a sparkling rendition—nothing less than genius.”

She awoke over England to bright sunlight, feeling surprisingly well rested and energized about the tour. She relived last night’s thrilling concert—the world of the stage, playing her very best for an admiring audience. She’d taken repeated bows before the tuxedoed music director gracefully kissed her hand. Truly, it was nothing like the quiet life she’d known in Hickory Hollow.