Editor’s Note: This is an ongoing series which runs each Thursday morning titled the Richland Chronicles, by author Paul Lintern. It is set in the 1860s and tells the story of Richland County through the eyes of young people. The books are available from Lintern for $25 a set, tax and shipping included. Each book is about 120 pages written for intermediate readers (4th grade) with local illustrations. Volume I is Amelia Changes Her Tune. Volume II is Isaac and Wolf Paw Find Their Home. Volume III is Autumn Keeps Her Secret. Volume IV is Mr. Gamble Starts a School. Volume V is Jacob Blows his Horn. Volume VI is Cassie Fights the War.
“It really is a beautiful violin,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.
Emilene looked at her prized possession from her father. It had been under her bed since she had moved in, more than a year ago, and now she wanted to bring it out into the open.
“Did your father play it a lot?”
“I only remember him playing it a few times, but I know he enjoyed it, and I thought he was very good. I want to learn how when I am older,” Emilene said.
“I think you are older. My friend Amelia had been playing for years by the time she was your age. Her grandmother taught her, as well as my father, God rest his soul.”
“Your father played, too?”
“Very well, but he could never get me to learn. I certainly regret that. That is why I made Cassie and Jacob play the piano. She is very good at it now, and Jacob loves to play the banjo.”
“Banjos and violins go together well,” Emilene said.
“As long as you call it a fiddle,” Mrs. Zimmerman smiled.
“We will have to find a teacher for you. I know there are plenty in town.”
Emilene smiled. The June breezes were filtering in her room and she was thinking about what she hoped to do with her summer, if anything.
Nothing sounds as good as anything for the summer, she thought.
“Why don’t we make violin lessons a priority for the summer?” Mrs. Zimmerman said.
Emilene nodded in agreement.
I guess something sounds better than nothing all of a sudden.
She packed up her violin in the case, but left it sitting on her dressing table, then followed her new mother down the stairs. She had been practicing the thought of her as mother and Mr. Zimmerman as father, although she had not actually said that yet. She still referred to them as Ma’am and Sir.
She had not officially been adopted yet, but only because they had left it up to her when she was ready. Emilene was grateful for that.
It was early afternoon and Emilene had offered to take a grocery list to Costins’ store, because Cassie had forgotten to take the list when she went to work there. Cassie had been helping there for more than two years, when needed.
The sky was the kind that made Emilene dream, and she was excited knowing that it would be light a long time today. June always was a month of long days, wonderfully long days of just the right temperature, most of the time.
She walked straight down Third Street toward Main, where the store was, just three blocks from home.
As she passed Walnut Street, however, she stopped suddenly. A sound was calling her. A violin. Eerie, smooth, quiet yet breaking through all other sounds. It was slow but constant, lilting through the air.
Where is it coming from?
She looked all around.
It was coming from south of the street, but nowhere to be seen. Should she follow it?
She slowly stepped across the street, watching for messes in the wagon ruts and puddles as she crossed. She walked toward Market Street, knowing that she was sidetracking herself.
I have to find out who is playing. Maybe he or she can teach me this summer.
Suddenly she saw him, in the alley, halfway to Market. His back was to her and he seemed intent on completing his soliloquey. She stood at the end of the alley, watching him play, his fingers and hands one with the instrument, a sound that made her long for her father.
Ask him to teach me. Find out if he will.
She walked up to him, remembering to give a wide enough berth not to startle him, and then she said, “Sir? Excuse me, Sir.”
He stopped abruptly, midstroke, and turned suddenly toward her. That is when she saw his face.
Oh my!
It was as hideous a face as she had ever seen. She tried not to flinch but it was too late.
Say something. Be nice.
“Sir, I, I, I like your playing. It is nice.”
She started to back away.
“Thank you for playing.”
As she stepped back she turned into a hole and began to fall. She couldn’t right herself and sat flat onto a pile recently left there by a passing horse.
No! How could you?
She was horrified and tried to figure out how to get up gracefully, but when she turned, there was a hand reaching to her.
Humbly, Emilene reached to his hand and let him pull her up out of the pile.
“Thank you, I, well, I, oh….”
And she turned and ran.
Where do I go? Home? Mother will know I was distracted. To the store? They probably wouldn’t let me in. To the creek? How will I wash myself off without getting everything all wet.
So, Emilene walked back home, quietly, hoping she could sneak into the carriage house and clean herself off.
At least the smell won’t be noticeable there.
She went the back way home, slipping around the north side of the house and into the carriage house from behind. No one saw her, thank goodness. She ran up the paving stone and hopped inside.
“Oh, Emilene, back so soon. Good, you can help me with Maggie. We are going to the take him out to the old Inn.
“What is that smell?”
So Emilene had to tell her story. She just told the truth because she couldn’t make anything up very convincingly, and deep down, she knew Mrs. Zimmerman — Mother — would find it funny.
She did.
