The Fiddler (31 page)

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, dear?”

“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.

B
ack 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.