parlor. He picked up a case, opened it, lifted out a violin and started to play. The melody surged and spoke like waterfalls. Oh, to play like him, I thought.
Finishing the number, he turned to Daddy, “Carl, I found it in a pawnshop for seven dollars. It’s a good violin. Mary Lou should be able to make beautiful music with it.” Then he handed the violin to me.
I noticed the tears in Daddy’s eyes as I finally comprehended. It was mine！ I stroked the violin gently. The wood was a golden brown that seemed to warm in the light. “It’s beautiful,” I said, barely breathing.
When we arrived back at Aunt Alice’s, all eyes turned as we entered. I saw Daddy wink at mother, and then I realized everyone had known but me. I know Daddy’s prayer, and mine, had been answered.
The day I carried my violin to school for my first lesson no one could imagine the bursting feeling in my heart. Over the months I practiced daily, feeling the warm wood fit under my chin like an extension of myself.
When I was ready to join the school orchestra, I trembled with excitement. I sat in the third row of violins and wore my white orchestra jacket like a royal robe.
My heart beat wildly at my first public performance, a school operetta. The auditorium5 filled to capacity and the audience buzzed while we softly tuned our instruments. Then the spotlight centered on us, and a hush fell as we started to play. I felt sure everyone in the audience was watching me. Daddy and mother smiled proudly at their little girl who held her cherished violin for the whole world to admire.
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