A Town Bewitched

by Suzanne de Montigny

  I pick up a cookie and am nibbling on it when I notice something odd. Dylan has on his black leather shoes and clothes he wears for performances, and Charlotte’s wearing her recital dress. And the Bachinskys look like they’re going to the opera.

  “So what’s happening? Why are you all so spiffed up?”

  No one seems to hear me, so I try again. “Is something special happening? Are we going somewhere?”

  I hear thudding steps on the carpeted stairs and turn, stretching my neck to see who it is. The steps move closer and closer. My heart quickens, goose bumps prickling my skin. A tall man rounds the corner.

  A small squeak escapes my throat, and my hand flies to my mouth while millions of invisible butterflies flutter inside me.

  “Dad, you’re back! I thought you were gone forever. What are you doing here?” I run and throw myself into his arms. “Oh, Dad! I’m so happy to see you. It was all a mistake that you died, wasn’t it?” I hold him tight and breathe in the spicy smell of his cologne I’ve missed so much.

  He gives me a warm hug that lasts a long time. I want to stay in his arms forever.

  “Dad, promise me you’ll never leave again, okay?”

  He caresses my hair and looks at me through warm, moist eyes, then slowly lowers his arms and leaves the room, hiding a hint of smile as though he’s up to something. I wait, clutching my hands until he comes back carrying a box. My heart leaps. It’s the violin case from Kristoff’s shop!

  “Dad? Dad?” My voice rises in pitch. “Oh, my gosh! You got my violin!”

  I grab the precious box from him and lay it down carefully on the carpet, every cell in my body alive with joy. The smell of the leather on the brand new case is like perfume to me. Undoing the latch and zippers, I lift the lid, and run my fingers along the soft velvet of the lining.

  “The Gold Violin,” I whisper in disbelief. “Oh, Dad! I can’t believe it. You got me the Gold Violin!”

  “Finally,” says Mr. Bachinsky, moving closer. “After all this time. Congratulations!” He bends down, his eyes focussed on the case. “Let’s have a look.”

  Pushing the lid back further, I undo the Velcro straps holding the neck of the most perfect violin ever created – then freeze.

  “Dad, this isn’t the Gold Violin!” I fling about and face him.

  His smile fades.

  I glare at the ugly instrument lying in the beautiful handmade box. It isn’t shiny and new. The body has scratches, and it looks like it’s at least a hundred years old. I let it drop back down in the box. “It’s Kate McDonough’s fiddle!”

  “Kira,” Mom says in her warning voice.

  I ignore her. “Don’t you remember, Dad? I wanted the one in Kristoff’s shop. This isn’t good enough to do my ARCT.”

  “Oh, Kira. There’s more than just one violin in the world, you know.” Mr. Bachinsky shakes his head.

  I shoot him an angry look, and then turn back to Dad, but I’m not prepared for what I see. His face has crumpled. He looks agonized, hurt, like I’ve destroyed his very soul.

  “Dad, I didn’t mean ...” My voice trembles. “I’m really glad you’re home.”

  “You shouldn’t have said that!” Dylan shouts.

  “Yes, Kira. Here he goes and buys you a really good violin, and you tell him you don’t want it,” scolds Mom. “You’re so difficult!”

  “But I told everyone I wanted the Gold Violin.” My voice rises to a frenzy. “The Gold Violin, remember?” Turning to Dad again, I cry, “Kate McDonough plays a fiddle. I’m no fiddler. I’m a classical player, and it’s the Gold Violin I need to do my exam!” I grab at his sleeve, but my hand comes back empty. He’s vanished.

  “Dad?” I call. “Dad?” I scream again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Come back!” My desperate cries echo throughout the house.

  “It’s all your fault,” Dylan shouts. “He’s gone for good now.”

  “You should have thanked him.” Mom says, her knuckles dug hard into her hips.

  “It was a perfectly decent violin, Kira,” says Mr. Bachinsky like he thinks I’m some kind of brat.

  “Dad!” I scream.

  I awaken to the quiet of night, the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs, and the sound of a lone truck purring far away on the highway. My pillow is soaked with tears, and I sob softly for a long time.

  “Daddy, I miss you so much,” I whisper. “I wish you were here. Please come back somehow. Go back in time. Discover your cancer earlier and cure it so you don’t have to die. I want you home! You have no idea how bad it is. All Mom does is teach and play the fiddle, and Dylan drives me crazy with his Dead-Eye Dart Guns. And Uncle Jack only wants to be around that stupid fiddler!” I nearly spit the last word. “I’m so alone. And the kids at school are horrible. I’m so afraid the IGs will come after us. I don’t know what to do.”

  It grows softly at first, and then stronger and stronger. A warmth, like his spirit is enveloping me in peace and love.

  “Daddy, is that you?” I whisper. There’s no answer, but I know it’s him. I can feel it. It’s like when I was a little girl, and he would rock me in his arms when I was crying – so comforting.

  “Dad, are you trying to tell me something?”

  I sit up in the darkness of early morning.

  “Do you want me to let up on Mom about the Gold Violin? Are you trying to tell me maybe my old one is good enough?”

  But then images of Mom’s stern face invade my mind. Angry, I crinkle the sheets in my fist and throw myself back down on the bed.

  “Mom just doesn’t get it. She’s so caught up in her work … and fiddling. Ugh! I hate that Kate McDonough!”

  Secretly, I know I’m being unfair. Mom’s been through a lot too. It’s obvious when I see her clothes hang on her like it’s two sizes too big. And sometimes when she gets up in the morning, her eyes have dark shadows underneath like she’s been crying. She must be suffering like me, but I can’t bear to add that guilt to my misery.

  The sky goes from dark to light, and the soft sounds of dawn creep in as I drift back to sleep. Later, I rise to a lovely, sunny November morning and somehow, I know something’s going to change today.

  It happens at break when all the IGs should be out smoking. Soaking up the sun on the front steps of the school with Charlotte, I suddenly find myself face to face with Taylor. My body stiffens, and I prepare for the worst.

  For a second, Taylor almost looks scared, and then she begins. “I just came to say sorry about all that’s been going on. Those girls get a bit out of hand sometimes. I didn’t know they were being that awful. And I just wanted you to know I had nothing to do with the Halloween costumes.”

  The tension melts between us.

  “Thanks, Taylor,” I say in a small, but grateful voice.

  “I know you’ve been going through a tough time. You must miss your dad a lot.”

  “Yeah.” I swallow.

  “I know my mom and dad drive me crazy sometimes, but I’d be pretty lost if they suddenly died, too,” she says.

  Tears form in my eyes, close to spilling over.

  Charlotte cuts in, a sharp edge to her voice. “It’s not my fault I’m Chinese.”

  “I know,” says Taylor. “I mean, I like Chinese food and everything. It’s just that you girls seem so stuck up, always speaking French, playing the violin, getting perfect grades. It’s like you think you’re too good for everyone.”

  “What?” I cry.

  “We’re not stuck up,” says Charlotte, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “We just want to speak French. Believe it or not, it’s actually fun.”

  For a moment Taylor looks hurt, and Charlotte looks at me like she wishes she could take back what she said.

  “I haven’t played the violin since Dad died,” I say, changing the subject.

  Taylor frowns. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug.

  “But you’re so good,” Taylor says.

  “I guess I just need a brea
k from it.” I give a weak smile.

  “Too bad. It’s actually kind of cool that we have someone in our school who plays so well. I mean, you’re almost as good as Kate McDonough.”

  My insides burn at the mention of the fiddler, but I know Taylor means well.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  As she turns to leave, she stops, looking back over her shoulder. “And by the way, take it easy on Travis, eh? You have no idea what he goes through.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a long story,” she says, climbing the stairs.

  I watch her walk away, and then turn to Charlotte. “Can you believe it? She thinks it’s cool that I play the violin.”

  “I can’t believe she actually apologized,” says Charlotte.

  “Maybe it really is all over,” I say, getting up from the stairs.

  “I hope so,” says Charlotte, following.

  The rest of the day does go smoothly. The other girls stay quiet, but at least Taylor has made peace with us.

  Travis, on the other hand, is extra sullen. He avoids us completely, acting as though the whole world has come down on him. I kind of feel bad, but on the other hand, he got what he deserved. I just hope he hasn’t got anything bad planned for us, but time alone will tell.

  Chapter 21

  The Rehearsal

  Two weeks later, excitement grips our school as the first school concert comes up. Mr. Waring, Mom, and Kate McDonough are teaming up to present Celtic Madness. Colourful posters line the streets, hanging on telephone poles and fences, and are even plastered on grocery store windows. People buzz about it at school and all over town. This is the biggest event to hit Hope in a long time. It’s even on Twitter and Facebook. There are rehearsals at lunch every day. Girls tap around the halls with their step dancing shoes, chattering away, and all the guys seem to be sporting cowboy boots. Even adults from the community are involved.

  Charlotte disappears every day at lunch to rehearse too, carrying her ‘fiddle’ as she now calls it, back and forth while I sit alone in the library doing homework. That one hour seems to stretch to three, and I long for the week to be over.

  It’s during Friday’s lunch in the library when I hear the chair beside me scrape against the floor.

  I turn to see a familiar face. My heart leaps.

  “Hi,” Peter says, “Mind if I sit here?”

  “Sure, why not?” I say, trying to make my voice sound as normal as possible.

  Peter slides in the chair beside me and reaches down to his bag.

  “What are you working on?” I ask.

  “Uh, some math.” Peter pulls out his text and opens his book to his assignment. “Trigonometry to be exact.”

  “Oh?” I pretend to be interested. “Let’s see.”

  Turning pink, Peter says, “Well, okay, if you insist.”

  He slides his book over, and his pencil begins to fly over the paper while he mumbles equations in a low voice.

  I nod, saying, “Unh-hunh,” over and over again like I really know what any of it means. Our arms touch, and a thrill runs through me. He turns and looks at me for a brief second, and then continues explaining this relation and that. Wondering if my breath is okay, I slip my hand in front of my mouth and talk through my fingers. Why, oh why did Mom make me tuna for lunch? But he doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps explaining until he’s done.

  “Cool,” I say, like I actually mean it.

  “Yeah,” he answers, and then opens his notebook to a blank page.

  We each do our own homework until just before the bell hums. Then Peter gets up and begins gathering his things.

  “So are you going to Mr. Bachinsky’s concert next weekend?” he asks.

  “Um, I guess I have to. My brother’s playing, and Charlotte too.” I close my textbook.

  “So where is Charlotte?” Peter looks around.

  “At a rehearsal in the gym.” I change the subject back. “So what are you going to play at the concert?”

  “Dvorak’s Violin Concerto.” The corner of his mouth draws up in a proud grin.

  “Awesome,” I say, way more interested in the guy than the piece of music. “I remember playing that one.”

  Peter’s smile fades.

  I stumble over my words, remembering Taylor saying I was stuck up. “Uh, I mean, I played it a long time ago. Well, maybe not that long ago.” I could feel my face getting hotter by the second since I just made it sound like I was better than him.

  “Oh.” Peter glances around again, and then slings his pack over his shoulder. “Well, see ya.”

  Humiliation at my one-upping of Peter overcomes me as he walks away. Feeling totally embarrassed, I finish gathering my things and leave the library, nearly colliding with Charlotte. She’s smiling from ear to ear.

  “This concert’s going to be so amazing!” She babbles on while she opens our locker and stuffs her lunch bag in. “Wait ’til you see the dancers.”

  “Great,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “And the kids from the elementary school are in it too. It’s so cute.”

  “Oh, good.” I take out my books for socials. I look around to see if anyone is listening, and then drop my voice to a squeaky whisper. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I sat with Peter in the library today!” I can barely contain my excitement. “He wanted to know if I was going to Mr. Bachinsky’s concert next weekend. He says he’s playing the Dvorak Violin Concerto.”

  Charlotte’s face falls for an instant, and then turns up in an uncertain smile. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah!” I’m nearly bubbling over with excitement.

  “But I thought you weren’t playing in this concert,” she says, taking out a notebook and shutting the door of our locker.

  “Yeah, I know, but Dylan’s in it, and Mom’ll want me to go. And by the way,” I say, lowering my voice, “Don’t forget our plan tomorrow night.”

  “What plan?” she asks as we walk to our class.

  “You remember,” I whisper urgently. “We’re changing the name of the town.”

  Charlotte’s mouth twists with worry. “I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. “Everyone will be too busy with Celtic Madness to notice. They’ll never figure out it was us. It’s totally harmless and a chance for sweet revenge.”

  Charlotte takes a nervous glance around, then says, “Let’s talk about it later.”

  ****

  That night, when Mom and Dylan are busy practicing the violin, I sneak out to the tool shed and gather everything I need to carry out our plan, wrapping it in an old towel. Glancing at the towel, I chuckle. I remember when Mom accidentally took it home from the hotel at Harrison Hot Springs, how Dad had teased her, calling her a thief. Mom never could use it in the bathroom after that, and so it became a rag. Giggling, I shove the wrapped parcel to the bottom of my backpack. Maybe Mom never used it, but it’s sure going to meet its destiny tomorrow night.

  Chapter 22

  The Concert

  The next day, the whole town is on fire about the concert. It’s almost like a gala party for the Oscars with people parading downtown and at school in costumes.

  Mom and Dylan are all gung ho as well and tune up their ‘fiddles’ before leaving, even though they’ll have to do it again when they get to school. Supper is hotdogs and salad since Mom’s too nervous to cook anything else. Even Uncle Jack has closed the pub down for the night to join in.

  As we’re preparing to leave, I readjust my backpack to slide in my flute beside the secret parcel that lies hidden at the bottom.

  “You don’t really have to bring your backpack, Kira,” Mom says, balancing two violins and music by the door. “Just bring your flute and music folder.”

  “Ah, it’s just easier.” I say, shifting to block her view.

  “Well, okay.” Mom puts on her coat while Dylan, as usual, dashes outside empty-handed.

  When I get to the v
an, Mom stretches out her arm. “Here, hand me your bag. I’ll put it in for you.”

  “No, it’s okay, Mom. I’ll just take it up front.” I scoot to the other end of the van and lay the heavy pack between the two front bucket seats before she can grab it.

  When we get to the school, teens and kids, and even adults clamber about the halls as though they’re about to be on TV. I don’t know what they’re so excited about – it’s just a concert.

  Adults carry old fiddles they’ve probably stored in the attic since their Grandpas died, and grade sevens dangle penny whistles from their fingers.

  I slip my backpack in my locker and gently pull out my flute, careful not to disturb the extra contents, then head to the band room. Charlotte’s already there helping the younger kids tune their fiddles. Figuring I might as well make myself useful, I join her in adjusting shoulder rests on little half-sized and quarter-sized violins. That way no one will suspect me after we pull off our stunt.

  “Thanks, Kira,” says Mr. Waring. “And by the way, nice to see you with a violin in your hands again.”

  I give an awkward smile, then head over to the auditorium where Mom’s saved seats for us. Charlotte’s parents sit next to her.

  When the crowd’s settled and the lights have dimmed, Mr. Watkins struts to the mic. The audience quiets down as he announces in a phony ringmaster’s voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it is my honour and privilege to welcome you to probably the most exciting concert in the history of the school …” He throws out his arms and shouts. “… Celtic Madness!”

  The crowd cheers like they’re at a rock concert. I’m almost expecting them to pull out lighters and glow sticks. I pretend to push my hair back and shove my fingers in my ears.

  “And to begin this extravaganza ...” He lowers his voice. “Kid Kelts!”

  Mom jumps up, adjusting her dress and hair, and leads her group onto the stage. Her students follow in a perfect line. Kate McDonough joins them to loud applause.

  “Wow!” I say. “That’s a huge group.”

  “I know,” says Charlotte like she’s an expert on the concert. “That’s because everyone likes Kate so much, plus she’s so good at Celt.”