In her mind, she could see Robbie in a small gymnasium with an older man who was calling out instructions. “Remember your stance, boy! Keep your left foot forward! Your left hand should be there to defend your face, your right hand ready to deliver a crushing blow to your opponent!”
Next, she could see Emma’s mother. She was busy cooking and Emma was helping. “Why don’t you take up something like Alex? You’re such a lazy girl! All you do is eat eat eat!”
“But Mama, I tried, I can’t do it!” said Emma.
Alexandra opened her eyes and looked at her little audience. Though the visions were interesting, and even a bit entertaining, they did not disrupt her playing. After a few minutes, Alexandra finished her song. Robbie and Emma clapped their approval.
“My goodness!” said Alexandra, holding her violin in one hand. “I could see you! Both of you!”
“What? Why not? We’re right here!” said Emma.
“Robbie, I should have asked you about the boxing lessons, and Emma, I had no idea –”
At that moment, Nelson’s ears pricked up and he looked towards the woods. In an instant, he bolted from the ground and charged. Alexandra placed her violin on the blanket.
“Where’s he going?” said Emma.
“I don’t know, but I don’t want him rambling around in there,” said Robbie. “He’s going to get all covered with burrs and brambles and I’m the one who’s going to have to clean him! C’mon, let’s go get him.”
Alexandra and her would-be musical colleagues waded into the dense underbrush.
“Nelson! Nelson! Come here boy! Get back here!” Robbie led the girls through the thickening woods, branch by branch. Alexandra guarded each step, pushing aside the thorny branches of the wild rose bushes and hawthorn saplings. Despite her best efforts to stay clean, she noticed her dress had picked up some burrs. She reasoned it was a small problem she could deal with before setting out to the Maestro’s.
“Nelson!” she cried once more. A small distance ahead she heard some rustling in the leaves as the dog was pawing at something. “Nelson! There you are! Come here, boy!”
Robbie and Emma saw the dog and approached him. Alexandra noticed it was trying to get at a small, black animal with two white stripes down its back.
Then, it happened. The skunk reared itself and sprayed the three friends, but hit Nelson directly in the face. The dog yelped.
Emma looked at the front of her dress. “Alex! My mama’s gonna kill me!”
Robbie appeared more collected. “C’mon, we have to wash Nelson’s face!”
Meanwhile the dog, using its paws, was trying to rub its eyes. Robbie led him out of the thicket and down to the water’s edge.
He scooped some water in his hands and tried washing Nelson’s face. The girls tried helping, but the dog would have none of it. He tried to run, but with the size of the beast it took all three friends to restrain him – and all three ended up falling into the shallow, muddy water.
When they finally managed to wash the dog’s face and had him under control, they collected their things and hurried along the pathway towards Robbie’s house.
“What are you going to do about your visit with the Maestro today, Aydy?” said Emma.
“Oh Emma! It’s absolutely the worst day of my life! No lesson today. I’m going straight home!”
“But you can’t just not go to your lesson! The Maestro is expecting you!”
“She’s right, Alex,” said Robbie. “If you don’t go, or if you’re late, you’d be no better than Owen. The Maestro will think so, too.”
No words from anyone could have helped Alexandra make up her mind more than those. She bid goodbye to her friends and trotted off to the Maestro’s well-kept manor.
When she arrived, she stood in his yard, crying out at the top of her lungs. “Maestro! Maestro!” She saw several open windows and wondered if her voice would carry far enough inside. “Maestro! Are you there!? Could you please come outside?”
Before her voice became hoarse, the side door opened and the Maestro emerged, a puzzled expression crossing his face. “What on earth happened to you?”
Alexandra could feel her face becoming hot. She wondered what she must look like as she stood half wet, covered in partly dried mud and dirt; the smell of skunk radiating from her clothes.
The Maestro stood on the stoop, hands on his hips as if he were studying her. “Haven’t we met each other like this before?” he said, laughing.
“Maestro, that’s not funny! I’ve just had a rather unpleasant encounter with a skunk, a dog and a creek. I’ve had quite enough for today, thank you, and I think we should cancel our session. I’m really sorry.”
The professor chuckled. “I think it’s not your best fragrance, either! I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but I think you’re right. Off you go home now!”
Chapter 9
It didn’t take long for Alexandra to get herself cleaned up after her encounter with the skunk, and in a couple days she couldn’t detect any trace of the odour. She played her violin in the café every day, soon endearing herself to the new cook, Bill, and new waitress, Sophie. She enjoyed the compliments from the locals, and also those who had travelled from nearby towns specifically to hear her. Sometimes even famous and wealthy people would come by. One such celebrity was the whiskey magnate and area’s largest landowner, Hiram Walker. On a cheerful day in late July, Mr. Walker and a small group of men arrived and sat at one of the tables near the wall. Alexandra watched them as she sat behind the counter sipping on a bowl of soup.
Alexandra found it curious that the men would glance in her direction as they spoke. Finally, one of Walker’s men rose from his chair and approached her.
“Excuse me young lady, my apologies for disturbing you, but I understand that you play the violin here. Would you mind playing a song for Mr. Walker?”
“Mr. Walker? Mr. Hiram Walker?” she said, placing her spoon down. “Yes, of course. I’d be pleased to.”
The man nodded, giving her a half-smile before returning to his table.
Alexandra pushed her soup aside, wiped her hands and picked up her violin, which she kept safely tucked behind the counter during the day when she wasn’t playing.
To her, Mr. Walker looked every bit as much the rich man she’d heard about. He had a high forehead, grey hair, close-set dark eyes, a full moustache, and a narrow beard which covered his chin but didn’t quite cover his cheeks. He was wearing a business suit, and Alexandra thought he was just a bit overdressed for this modest café.
“What songs can you play?” he asked in a clear Boston accent.
“What songs would you like to hear, Mr. Walker?”
“Well, I’m known as a whiskeyman, but most folks don’t know I’m also a church goer. I’d be pleased if you could play both kinds of songs.”
Alexandra fought to restrain a laugh, yet nevertheless smiled at the gentleman. She glanced towards Marcie, who was standing behind the counter, watching. Turning back to Walker, she raised her violin to her shoulder, took a deep breath, and began playing “Amazing Grace.” She started the song with a series of introductory notes, and began playing the main melody with reverent feeling and emotion. The whole café was hushed as the music from her violin rang out and filled the room. She closed her eyes and continued playing.
A man, who appeared to be in his mid-20s, sat at a desk entering numbers into a ledger as the light from an oil lamp cut through the darkness. He looked to be studying these numbers without rest, and many papers were spread out across his desk.
“You know, we could buy that land across the river,” he said to a young woman as she entered the room. “Our finances are quite good, Mary. I think we should take the chance. This seems to be the perfect time.”
Alexandra opened her eyes just as she finished the song. Despite the number of people in the café, all was hushed. She squinted a bit a Mr. Walker, wondering for a brief moment about him and the man in the vision. Raising the corner o
f her mouth into a half smile, she dove headlong into the next song, a Celtic jig, playing it with lightning speed and rhythm.
After she finished, the whole café erupted in applause. Alexandra curtsied and Walker smiled and clapped with delight. He leaned forward in his chair and motioned with his finger for Alexandra to come over. She handed her violin to Marcie and bent down towards Mr. Walker. Placing his aging hands in hers, he put some kind of rolled-up paper in her palm. Alexandra took a quick glance at it and gasped.
He whispered in her ear. “This is your tip – and our little secret.”
* * *
George Delmott continued to be troubled all summer by the professor’s cutting, yet truthful words about Owen. Moreover, he was disturbed that Owen’s progress on the violin wasn’t going as fast as he’d hoped, while Alexandra was accelerating so quickly that her fame was spreading across the town, countryside, and probably beyond. He had often seen such determination to succeed in some of his clients and even in some of his adversaries. Those people would stop at nothing to get to the top, and he sensed the same thing in Alexandra. As the girl’s popularity spread, he felt that sort of thing was outshining his own family’s status and that, of course, would never do.
Late one night, when he was sure Alexandra would be sleeping, he dropped in to the café to talk to Joseph. They sat at the corner of the counter.
“Joseph, I’ve heard all about Alexandra’s great progress with the violin. I want to offer you my congratulations. I hope she’ll be successful with it in the future.”
“Thank you,” said Joseph. “She works at it everyday and really enjoys it. I wish you’d drop by sometime so you can hear for yourself. Bring Clara and Owen, too. She’d really like that.”
George almost choked. “Well, you know things are very hectic at the office these days and every minute counts,” he said in a quiet voice.
“But George, there’s got to be a free minute or two when you can drop in! Things can’t be that busy! Besides, you’re the only person in Windsor who hasn’t heard her play.”
Nothing could move George Delmott from his position. He fixed his gaze on Joseph. “By the way, don’t forget that the violin your daughter is playing belonged to our father.”
“I’m well aware of that,” said Joseph. “She’s taking very good care of it.”
“When Father died we decided his business should continue, and you should stay on as the manager. Thus far everything has been going well. Since you and I had no interest in playing his violin, you agreed I should sell it. So, I paid you your half of it and packed the violin in a crate with the intention of selling it later. I never did get round to doing that and in the end, put it in the spare room. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes, I remember. If I hadn’t been so pressed for every last dime, I would have kept it!”
“Not my problem. You actually thought you’d get away with giving it to Alexandra? Do you think I’m stupid? I wonder how many other things from our parents’ estate you’ve pilfered because you ‘needed the money!’ Anyway, the fact remains that you gave the violin to Alexandra without my knowledge or permission.”
“She’s taking very good care of it, George. She knows how valuable it is. I’m sure she’d never let any harm come to it. Besides, she’s inseparable from that instrument!”
“That’s not the point, Joseph. It was not yours to give. You shouldn’t have done it.”
Joseph sighed. “Look, perhaps we can come to an agreement. What if I just buy it from you? How much would you like for it?” he said as he reached into his pocket.
George laughed under his breath. “No, you look, Joseph. You don’t seem to understand something here. Whether I sell that violin or not is really none of your business. Of course I’m no longer interested in selling it. My son is making fine progress and I’ve decided I want him to play our father’s violin.”
Joseph glared at him, pursing his lips. “You’ll actually take my daughter’s prize possession away from her?”
“No, you’ll do that,” said George, his voice immovable.
“There’s no way on God’s good earth I could ever pry her fingers from that instrument! Besides, Owen already has another violin! Why does he need two? You can go to hell.”
“No need for such harsh language, Joseph, but as you wish,” said George. “I’m closing the café.”
“What? You can’t be serious!” said Joseph, lowering his voice after glancing towards the stairs. Leaning forward, he growled deep and low. “You haven’t cared about that violin in years! You’ve never talked about it, and now you want it back and threaten me with the closure of the café, of our livelihood!”
“The choice is yours, Joseph Delmott,” said the lawyer. “I’ve closed other businesses, sold the assets and re-developed the property. I would not hesitate to do the same here.”
Joseph sat on his stool, eyes focused, lips still pursed. “I can’t understand how you can be so pigheaded over a violin. Very well. You’ve pushed me into a corner and left me no choice. At least grant me this: give me some time to get Alexandra another violin.”
George thought about it a moment and nodded. “Agreed,” he said, smirking. “You have until the end of the month.”
On his walk home, George felt relieved at having avoided another major catastrophe, believing he had done the right thing by forcing Joseph to hand over the violin. He knew the instrument had little monetary value, yet there was something strange about it. He remembered how his father acted every time he played it, the little, annoying comments he made each time he finished a song. On more than one occasion, George didn’t even have to see his father play. It was enough just to hear part of the song from another room or even out in the yard.
It all culminated that day when he visited his father at the farmhouse to help with the spring planting. His father had greeted him at the door and finally told him, in detail, about the visions he got whenever he played that particular violin. He told George that he’d had a vision of him setting fire to a little shop, which later spread to half the town. George couldn’t take a chance that Alexandra, who by all accounts was excellent on the violin, might be able to see into other peoples’ memories as well with that instrument. He couldn’t take a chance that at some point she might learn the truth about him and try to expose him for this crime – and, perhaps, other crimes he’d committed.
* * *
The next day, Alexandra rose early. Though it was only 7 a.m., the temperature was already soaring and she could tell, by the buzzing sound of insects in the trees that it was going to be a hot, sticky summer day. For her venture outdoors, she chose her light blue dress with small white polka dots. She would be more or less comfortable in that.
She gathered her violin and set off in the thick morning air to meet the professor at his study, singing along the whole way.
This time she walked right up the steps and to the side door of the professor’s home. With a bit of trepidation, she knocked twice with the brass knocker. The door was answered by a middle-aged maid in uniform – a handsome, rather plump woman with greying hair.
“You must be Alexandra Delmott. Please, won’t you come in? The professor is expecting you.”
“Thank you ma’am,” replied Alexandra, stepping inside. If it hadn’t been for the maid, Alexandra felt sure she would have got lost in the house.
“Come with me. I’ll show you to the professor’s study.”
Cradling her violin case protectively, she started down the black and white tiled corridor. As she walked, she drank in the sights of the professor’s home. She marvelled at the polished oak panelling which extended half way up the walls, the old portraits, and the fine corridor tables adorned with fresh roses. The place felt like a combination of a home and museum. However, she could see no trace of a wife anywhere, nor could she see any portrait of the grand master posing with a woman. Alexandra wondered if he had even been married at all. If not, it wouldn’t have surprised her. After all, sh
e reasoned, a man with such a demanding career wouldn’t have been able to devote the necessary time to raising a family. The thought made her a bit sad.
The maid rapped on a big oak door. “Miss Alexandra Delmott is here to see you.”
The professor answered straightaway. “Thank you, Cora. Oh wait, Cora, could you bring us some lemonade, please?”
Aydy's Fiddle - The Memory Thief Page 7
