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.
“I will go with you when we look for Mr. Pharris, to ask him to teach you,” Mother said, as they returned home from the cemetery.
I don’t mind going by myself.
“I will want to see if I think he is able to help you and to make arrangements to pay him.”
Pay him? I guess I hadn’t though of that.
“We are not even sure where to find him, and I don’t know if he keeps a schedule. I don’t know Emilene, the more I think about this, the less it seems feasible.”
“At least we can try,” Emilene said, adding, “Can we go now?”
Autumn smiled.
“I’ve got a lot of things to do; maybe tomorrow.”
“Like what? Maybe I can help.”
Autumn sighed.
“All right. You clean up after Maggie, and Winny of course, and feed them, and then come in. I’ll try to be ready to walk downtown with you.”
Emilene rushed through her chores, then paused enough to make sure she did well enough and that she had taken enough time to seem to have, well, taken enough time.
Then she ran to the house, catching herself just beforehand to make it look as though she had walked to the house.
“I am ready, if you are, Mother.”
I like calling her Mother. I hope my Mother doesn’t feel bad. How could she? She is in Heaven and you don’t feel bad in Heaven. You just feel bad down here when someone is in Heaven and not here. That is a strange arrangement.
“I will be ready in a moment, Dear. Go get your violin.”
Oh yes, that.
Emilene ran upstairs to fetch her fiddle and was down in an instant, just as Mother was putting a bonnet over her hair.
“Do you think he will be at the same place?” Emilene asked.
“We can start there, but it seems Mr. Pharris likes to wander, and I don’t know him to keep regular hours, any hours really. That may be our biggest challenge, finding him,” she said.
“Where will we have the lessons?”
“Good question. Probably just as well to be out in the public, say in the square. I would be more comfortable with people around,” she said.
“You mean I would learn to play with other people around?”
“Best way to learn.”
Or best way to look like a fool.
Mr. Pharris was not in the same alley, but Emilene noticed the pile of horse manure was still there. Mother smiled as she made her point it out.
How embarrassing.
“Let’s head to the square. I am surprised you had never seen Mr. Pharris before,” Mother said.
“I think some of the children have talked about him, but I never knew it was him, and they never mentioned a violin, I don’t think,” Emilene said.
As they passed the Sturges store, Autumn stepped inside to ask if Mr. Pharris had passed by recently.
“I just gave him some bread about an hour ago,” Mr. Sturges said. “He usually ends up on the opposite side of the square, near the Presbyterian Church.”
Autumn thanked him and they worked their way diagonally across the square, past the courthouse with its four big white pillars in front, and across the square, which seemed more like a pasture where people left their horses when they were doing business in town.
Some farmers even let their cows graze as they walked them from one field to another. It meant for careful stepping across the terrain. As they reached a little rise in the middle of the square, she heard the sound.
It’s him!
Mother heard it, too, and pointed to a tree in the southeast corner.
“That’s him, there.” Emilene realized that she was eager to get to see him, actually look at him, because her first encounter had been so abrupt and startling.
I won’t stare, but I will look at him. I want him to feel like I see him, and not just his face.
“Remember not to stare, honey, but do look at him, to show him respect,” Mother said.
“Yes’m,” Emilene replied.
“Mr. Pharris?” Mother was talking. “Mr. Pharris, may we have a moment of your time please?”
Mr. Pharris stopped playing and turned. He seemed to recognize Autumn, then stared at Emilene before a look of recognition came over him.
“She fell by herself,” he said to Autumn.
“What? Oh, yes, I know that Mr. Pharris. This is Emilene and she is sorry she startled you earlier today, aren’t you dear?”
Emilene nodded her head, looking at Mr. Pharris’ face, the burn scars everywhere, and the patches of hair missing but covered by tufts of long white hair on other parts of his head.
“I didn’t do anything to hurt her.”
“I know that, Mr. Pharris. You helped me up. Thank you.”
“I am a kind man. I just play, and sing,” he said.
This is not going to work.
“Mr. Pharris, we were wondering if you would help Emilene here learn something about playing the violin.”
He paused, started intently at Emilene, like he was sizing her up.
“That your fiddle there, Missy?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Open it up, let’s see it.”
Emilene opened up the case, took out the violin, and handed it to Mr. Pharris.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, after sliding his hand up and down the neck of the instrument.
“From my father.”
“Henry Meyer?”
Emilene felt a chill go up her spine.
“Yes, yessir.”
He paused, staring at the violin.
“Good man, good fiddler, sorry he didn’t make it through the war.”
“You knew him?”
“Good fiddler.”
He knew my father. They knew each other’s playing.
“I’ll teach you. Always honor a good man.”
