The Fiddler (37 page)

The first night of the early September Philadelphia Orchestra concert series was an evening of sizzling musical offerings. The grand hall was filled with enthusiastic concert attendees, many of whom had come specifically to see the new concertmaster. Backstage was abuzz with anticipation, too, and Amelia was delighted to greet Nicola Hannevold, who looked healthy and energetic. Many from the orchestra were anxious to talk with Nicola, and Amelia obligingly slipped away from the crowd, her black tiered chiffon gown rustling around her ankles.

As she observed the well-deserved adulation for the guest soloist, Amelia found herself reevaluating what she had given up to fulfill her new role.
I love what I’m doing,
she thought.
And satisfied with the new challenges I’ve set for myself.

And she was . . . at least professionally speaking.

True, her social life was rapidly improving, as well, although the most interesting young men were merely good friends, like caring brothers. But no one had emerged who fulfilled her must-have list. Amelia wanted it all—a lifelong love with a best friend husband, a kind and caring man who worshiped God and loved life and music . . . and who wanted lots of children.
Lord willing, as Joanna likes to say.

Life was good, but the yearning to be a part of a family of her own continued to linger in Amelia’s heart.

———

Nicola Hannevold played the Mendelssohn violin concerto superbly, and with more gusto than Amelia expected. Had the astute maestro stirred up the fire? He was known to have a flair for challenging young soloists to supersede their own benchmarks. Amelia supported Nicola with her own playing, just a few feet from where the guest artist stood facing the vast audience.

The concert hall brought back memories of Amelia’s earliest years of performing, playing with all the joy in her soul. Tonight as she led the first violin section it was no different; she was enjoying herself immensely.

Later, during Nicola’s encore, Amelia’s mind raced back to her first-ever visit to the Oberlin Conservatory. So tiny and timid, she’d reached for her father’s strong hand as they walked the hallway to meet the remarkable Ms. Malloy—sixteen years ago this week. In her short life, Amelia had never experienced a more encouraging instructor than Dorothea. Silently, she dedicated tonight’s first orchestral concert to Ms. Malloy . . . and to Dad.

Thank you, God, for the gift of music!

After Nicola had taken her final bow at the sweep of the maestro’s hand, the orchestra stood to acknowledge the crowd’s applause. Amelia fell into step behind Miss Hannevold and the maestro, heading for the wings. There, she shook hands with Nicola again. And the maestro, too.

“My dear Miss Devries, your face simply glows,” he said.

Amelia did feel flushed with the excitement; she had so enjoyed the cooperative effort.

Confidently making her way backstage, Amelia put away her violin and bow, closed the case, and slipped on her elegant cashmere wrap, then walked through the maze toward the back entrance.

She turned and noticed a strikingly handsome man standing near the exit. Aware of his intense gaze, she looked away decorously.

But, wait . . . there was something familiar about him. She moved closer, her curiosity piqued.

Can it be?

T
he young man’s smile and blue eyes were arresting—and unforgettable.

“Michael?” She hurried over to him. “Is it you?”

His face lit up as his eyes swept down her long gown. “You look just beautiful, Amelia.” His deep voice brought back a rush of memories.

“Thanks . . . you’re quite dashing yourself.” She searched his face, still shaken by how very English he appeared in his fine heather-gray suit and colorful tie. His blond hair was also cut in a sleek modern style—gone were the bangs and shaggy-dog look. She laughed softly, suddenly giddy. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” How clearly she remembered Michael’s Amish attire and demeanor . . . in all of her thoughts of him.

Michael stepped closer. “I’ve been searching for you . . . following your performance schedule. I wanted to see you again.”

She smiled up at him. “What took you so long?”

He winked at her and reached to carry her violin case. “May I?” he asked and she nodded. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “On a whim, I made reservations at a restaurant not far from here.”

On a whim!
It sounded like he’d planned this.

“If that’s all right,” he added.

“Sure, wonderful.” She followed as he led her to the door and opened it. The cool air hit their faces as they stepped into the light of the streetlamps.

“I have a lot to tell ya, Amelia.”

“Yes, so much has happened since . . .” She paused.
Should she ask?
“I thought you’d decided to stay Amish. I thought that’s why you stopped emailing.”

He shook his head. “After I went to visit you in Ohio last December—to surprise you—I made the decision to leave the People for
gut.
”

“So . . . it
was
you!” She stared up at him, incredulous. “Right before Christmastime—was that when you came?”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you ring the bell and come in?”

“I did, but your agent sent me away.”

She groaned. “Oh, I’m sorry! I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want to interfere with your career . . . as he seemed to think I had.” Michael explained that Stoney had indicated strongly that he—or Amelia’s time in Amish country—was responsible for her lack of focus.

So that’s what happened!
It was becoming painfully clear in her mind. To think Stoney had sent Michael away! “Which must be why I didn’t hear from you after that.”

“Jah,” he said, the Dutchy word seeming out of place with his new look. “I had to respect what I thought you wanted.” He stopped for a moment. “I honestly thought it was for the best.”

“But you’re here now.” Her heart beat too fast as she moved ahead to ask the burning question. “May I ask why?”

“Can we talk ’bout that over dinner?” His eyes searched hers. “All right with you?”

She nodded, amazed—and delighted—at this surprising turn of events.

As they walked toward his car, Michael shared more. “You know, the really important stuff came so naturally for us, Amelia . . . that night the storm blew you into the cabin.”

She hadn’t forgotten. “Yes.”

“But you were spoken for then.” He admitted humbly that Joanna had told him about her breakup with Byron. “Of course I had to pry it out of her. And I was glad to hear it. . . . I honestly kept thinking of you,” he admitted.

Since saying farewell to Byron, she had done the same, comparing every guy she’d met with Michael.

They walked together across the parking lot, their strides in perfect sync.

“By the way, whatever happened to the fiddler?” he asked, a note of humor in his tone.

Amelia patted her heart. “Oh, believe me, she’s right here.”

“Amy Lee . . . Amelia.” He paused and stopped beneath the streetlamp. “I have a confession to make.”

“What’s that?”

He smiled down at her. “I’ve missed you . . . something awful.”

He reached for her hand, and Amelia sighed as she laced her fingers with his. Hadn’t she dreamed this scenario countless times before?

“I’m glad you found me, Michael.”

His gaze lingered and she held her breath, thinking he might kiss her. But just when her heart felt like it might beat right out of her chest, he stepped back and walked her to his car. There, he opened the door and waited for her to get in, then placed her violin in the trunk.

The moon cast a white glow as they drove. The music in the CD player came on softly—a dreamy violin rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

It was the last song Amelia had played for him before their lovely sojourn at the cabin came to an end.

“I’ve nearly worn out this CD,” Michael confessed, his eyes filled with longing as he reached for her hand again.

Not only was Amelia impressed with the scrumptious cuisine, but the restaurant’s romantic ambiance was perfect. She listened with astonishment as Michael shared his earlier disappointment as his heart pulled him between what he wanted and what he had mistakenly believed was Amelia’s desire for her career. “It definitely made for a long winter,” he said, eyes solemn.

Listening to him, watching him . . . she found everything about Michael appealing. From the first, her heart had felt at home with this man. And even more so now that he was no longer Amish, although his quaint turns of phrase still recalled his Plain roots.

“Now that I’m sitting here with you, Amelia,” he said, eyes alight suddenly, “I’d like to tell ya what I plan to do . . . to win your heart.” He reached across the table for her hand and held it tenderly. “With your permission, I’m going to court you like you’ve never been courted before.”

She blinked back happy tears. “Oh, Michael, I’d love that.”
Dearly,
she thought, trying to keep her emotions in check.

“Wonderful-
gut,
then
.”
He winked at her again, and she blushed. And while they enjoyed dessert, he asked her to catch him up on her life and work. “So you’re much closer to Lancaster now,” he observed.

“Absolutely. And to beautiful Hickory Hollow, too!”

He let her know he was still in touch with his parents—and Elizabeth—and that would never change. Amelia was relieved to learn that he could never be shunned for his decision not to join the church, and that he was still regarded as family. “Just as you will be, too, one fine day,” he said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Lord willing.”

She smiled, enjoying this beginning of their courtship. “You know what? I suddenly feel like playing a lively fiddle tune,” she told him.

“Right here . . . right now?” he teased.

“Well.” She looked around the dining room, white linens on each candlelit table. “Um . . . not exactly.”

He squeezed her hand and offered an affectionate smile, as if to say, “
I look forward to you, and your music, for the rest of our lives.”

In that moment, she knew there were certain precious feelings that could never, ever be explained or shared with anyone . . . not even her good friend Joanna. This night, this amazing moment, was one of those times.
One of many,
Amelia hoped with all of her heart.

S
ince courting my darling Amelia, I find myself becoming more and more English in my thinking, while she admits to embracing many of the Plain ideals—
the
simple gifts
, as Ella Mae says.

Amelia and I plan to marry in early May next year, when the pink and white dogwoods and red azaleas are in full bloom. For now, we see each other as often as our individual work allows, and we fill in the gaps between visits with many emails and phone calls.

My bride-to-be seems to enjoy helping plan the blueprint for the house we’re building. I welcome her input—Daed wisely taught me that incorporating a woman’s perspective is always mighty smart. And do I ever believe it, especially when Amelia suggested how many bathrooms we’ll be needing, considering the number of children we hope God will bless us with someday.

“Lots of little fiddlers,”
she says with the prettiest smile . . . and a tender kiss.

We also talk about what kind of wedding might best mix the Plain with the fancy—a wedding pleasing to God. Amelia believes it’s even possible to merge the sophisticated with the down-home, the modern with old tradition. She sees a long white wedding gown and a black tuxedo, as well as little barefoot flower girls holding daisies. And there will be music!

And I . . .

Ach, but what do I know? I’ll be happy to leave the planning to the bride!
“ ’Tis wiser that way,”
says Ella Mae with her jovial laugh.

Of course, if everyone who loves Amelia shows up, there won’t be a big enough place to hold the crowd. My extended family alone will require more than two hundred chairs at the reception. Thank goodness there are plenty of months to decide all of that!