The Fiddler (30 page)

Amelia was thankful to both Joanna and Michael for staying in touch with her. Michael’s recent promise to fill her in on Elizabeth had meant frequent emails as his niece came and went, apparently still undecided about her future, as was Michael—or so it seemed. He no longer mentioned his hope of going English, and Amelia wondered if Elizabeth’s sporadic behavior had made him rethink his own issues.

After landing at London’s Heathrow Airport, Amelia phoned her father. This being the first time he hadn’t felt well enough to accompany her, she missed him. Then she and her traveling companions checked into the Milestone Hotel Kensington, a five-star boutique hotel overlooking Kensington Palace and Gardens. Though accustomed to doing for herself, Amelia didn’t mind the prospect of pampering by the twenty-four-hour butler service. The dreamy sophistication of her well-appointed suite was wonderful, as well.

But her favorite activity of that first day in London was the late-morning tour of Buckingham Palace, where she was honored with a brief private audience with Queen Elizabeth.

Later, the conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra met Amelia and Stoney for an exquisite lunch in an intimate conservatory filled with magnificent foliage and fragrant exotic flowers of every hue.

That evening Amelia performed the Brahms concerto in the Royal Albert Hall to a capacity crowd. And later that week, the Tchaikovsky concerto at the Barbican Centre, the largest performing arts center in all of Europe.

There were also matinee recitals and several evening concerts with the Philharmonia Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall, located on London’s South Bank, where art galleries, upscale restaurants and shops, and even a poetry library caught Amelia’s attention during her free daytime hours. She purchased a book of classic poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and stocked up on postcards of Buckingham Palace and Tower Bridge to send to Joanna.

Yet delightful as her time in Europe was proving to be, each night when she returned to her quiet suite, Amelia removed the hairpins from her French twist and played country fiddle tunes to relax, holding on to the memory of one incredible evening in a Welsh Mountain cabin, so far away.

Michael worked in the field with his brothers from dawn till the noon meal, digging up the rest of the potatoes for market. He was itching to send another email to Amelia, telling her of Elizabeth’s recent decision to return to Hickory Hollow—this time for good. She’d even told him privately that she hoped to join church next year, once she’d taken the required baptismal classes. He, however, had not bowed his knee in baptism this September . . . but he was mighty sure Amelia wouldn’t inquire about that.

He recalled her current email where she had shared with him about her father’s health, a real concern . . . and about her renewed faith. Even busy as Amelia was with her tour, she seemed enthusiastic about seeking God’s plan for her life.

Squinting into the sunlight, Michael made his way across the yard and into the house to wash up, wondering how it was possible to feel so close to someone halfway around the world.

On the seventeenth day of the tour, Amelia flew to Amsterdam, where she was warmly greeted by a handsome escort holding a large bundle of beautifully wrapped tulips. Smiling broadly, he placed the fresh-cut flowers in her arms with a gracious kiss on the cheek. The well-dressed young man talked proudly of the city’s cultural arts season, which ran from September to June. “Do you enjoy theatre, dance, or opera?” he asked, smiling as he opened a door for her. “You’ll find we have it all here.”

She almost expected him to invite her to one of the events, he was that attentive.
Like Michael . . .

Her luggage arrived in baggage claim, and she was ushered outside to a waiting limousine. The image of a gray, enclosed Amish carriage, a contrast in every way to this limo, flickered across her memory. She smiled as she settled inside, and Stoney gave her a questioning look.

That night when she checked her email, she found a message from Mom, saying that Dad was struggling with a bad case of bronchitis.
But don’t worry—he’s under good care from our doctor. Remember, this is your moment to shine, Amelia. Your father and I couldn’t be more proud of you and your music
.

Are you sure Dad’s doing okay?
Amelia responded.
I know how tough respiratory infections have been for him in the past. I’m praying!

But her mom quickly replied that he was expected to make a full recovery.

It helps him to hear how well you are being received there—we’ve been reading the reviews for each concert. He so enjoys your phone calls, dear. Oh, how we both wish we could be there with you!

Well, I hope you have a good rest tonight, Amelia. Every night, before your father falls asleep, he says to me, “I hope our daughter knows we love her, and that we’re bursting our buttons.”

One more thing: Your father and I would like to hear you play the evening performance with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra tomorrow. We’ll call Stoney’s cell phone and have him hold it up, in the wings. All right with you?

Amelia smiled at the image.
Stoney could video the performance, Mom!
she wrote back. Making a video clip was easy enough.
I’ll ask him the best way to do that and let you know what he says. I’d love for you to see the Concertgebouw—it’s supposedly one of the greatest concert halls in the world. Some say it’s acoustically perfect—lucky for me!

As she thought ahead to that performance, Amelia realized how few people were able to experience such things. She brushed a tear from her cheek at the thought of all the years her parents had invested to get her to this place . . . to this moment.

Thank you, Mom,
she wrote now.
I miss you both. Tell Dad this tour is for him, okay? The culmination of everything we’ve worked for . . . together. I wish he could be here. And you, too, Mom. It would be really special for me . . . for all of us.

“For the last time,” Amelia said softly.

Later, while dressing for bed, Amelia hoped her father would recover quickly; her mother seemed optimistic he would. Was Mom putting on a brave face so she wouldn’t worry?

The next morning, Amelia and her wardrobe assistant, Dee, took a fifteen-minute stroll from the Bilderberg Garden Hotel to the Van Gogh Museum. There, they toured the great post-Impressionist painter’s works. Amelia was enthralled by the dramatic colors of each canvas, taken by their emotional impact. The sunflowers, in particular, drew her back once again to the meadow near Joanna’s house, where Amelia had practiced for hours amidst the wildflowers—yellow daisies and buttercups. And the famous painting
Starry Night
reminded her of the blazing starlit sky on her last night in Hickory Hollow, when she’d taken her first ride in an Amish buggy.
With Michael.

That evening Stoney videotaped Amelia’s first encore piece, Caprice no. 1 in E by Paganini, for her parents, capturing the initial roar of applause.

Following the concert, Amelia thrilled to read her mother’s long email, sharing her gladness at seeing Amelia’s father so jubilant.

Amelia was thankful to be able to include her dear parents in this way. The tour was proving to be not only a triumph musically, but a surprising boost for her soul.

A
melia’s days in Berlin were a pleasant interval, with a bit more time off prior to and after her hectic concert schedule. The charming accents of the Germans reminded her of the Deitsch dialect readily spoken by Joanna Kurtz and Ella Mae. Michael too.

While Amelia enjoyed a delectable brunch on the opulent terrace at the Ritz-Carlton one day with the director of the Berlin Philharmonic, she found herself daydreaming of Ella Mae’s quaint little porch, where she’d surprised the dear lady with a creative rendition of “This Little Light of Mine.”

How is Ella Mae doing?
Amelia thought fondly of the woman who exhibited such determination to remain independent during her twilight years.
Who is the recipient of her wisdom today?