[Eleanor]: 668.Amelia.Chapter XII

XII.

There was still a week before Sarah’s nephew and his troupe were scheduled to arrive and Amelia had to find some way to keep herself occupied. The early fall weather was fine and she sat outside in the small garden practising during shop hours so as not to disturb Sarah or her customers. Every day she cleaned up the kitchen and did other jobs: laundry, dusting and mending, in order to earn her keep. She also went to the market and purchased food which she prepared for their dinner each evening. Sarah declared that Amelia was spoiling her and Amelia said that Sarah deserved it for being so welcoming.

In the evenings Amelia sometimes played for her hostess, but mostly they talked. Sarah told Amelia how she had inherited the shop from her father and had decided to continue the business instead of selling it. Many people, including her sister, had counselled her to sell and get married, but she had passed the age where marriage seemed so urgent and preferred to lead a solitary life as an independent merchant rather than bound to a man. Amelia found a certain parallel in her own life. As she had no brothers, if her father died, she would inherit his greengrocer business. Would she have the strength of character to run it as Sarah did the candle shop, or would she take the easier route that the older woman had eschewed?

These musings brought up the larger question which was still plaguing her: What had happened that her parents had put her harp for sale? She had done nothing to investigate, preferring not to know. She was ashamed at her cowardice now and admitted it to Sarah.

“There now, dear,” soothed Sarah over the herbal tea Amelia had prepared for them. “Have your parents not written or sent messages?”

“No,” said Amelia. “I never told them where I went. When I left, I didn’t know myself where I was going. I lived such a protected life in my village and the world seemed so large. If I followed a road, I figured it would bring me somewhere, and this is where it did. But I never sent word back that this is where I ended up.”

“Then you are as much to blame as they,” chided Sarah. “Why ever didn’t you keep in touch?”

Amelia was hard put to answer. At the time her reasons had seemed logical. Now she was not so sure. “I don’t know,” she answered Sarah. “I was running away, probably as much from myself as from them. But I’ve changed. I will write them tomorrow morning and tell them everything.”

But the next morning Amelia got busy with Sarah’s laundry and going to market to buy supplies, and totally forgot about writing her parents. It was also the day the musicians were due to arrive, and Amelia was afraid she would have to find another place to live until Sarah assured her that Jason would be staying at the inn over Martha and Gareth’s tavern while they were in town. Still, Sarah wanted to have her nephew over for dinner so they could catch up on family news. Amelia insisted on cooking. 

She prepared a chicken the way she had often watched Mistress Roach do it, first rubbing the outside and inside of the cavity with a cut onion and a bit of fat, and then put the whole onion inside and baked the bird in a covered pot in a slow oven. She cooked potatoes with parsley and dill and sautéed cabbage in butter with caraway seeds. There was fragrant cheese from the shop on the corner and fresh crusty bread from the bakery next door to it. For a sweet ending she baked apples with cinnamon and cloves, drizzled with honey. Tantalizing odours spilled out from the small kitchen mixing with the ubiquitous scent of beeswax and Sarah’s customers seemed more inclined than usual to spend money, as though they hungered for something and candles would fill the void.

Just as Sarah bid good day to the last shopper, Jason arrived, carrying a bottle of red wine, with Frederick. Sarah had only been expecting her nephew, but she greeted them both warmly and led them into the kitchen, locking the shop door behind her.

“Amelia,” she called, “it looks like we’ll be setting an extra place at table. It seems that Frederick smelled your delicious cooking all the way from the inn and followed Jason.”

Amelia quickly laid another setting, rearranging plates and chairs, and waited while the guests hung up their cloaks and washed their hands. Jason was tall and handsome, with curly blonde hair and lively brown eyes. He laughed easily and was warmly affectionate with his aunt. He was about to kiss Amelia on both cheeks when he realized that her mask was an obstacle and settled for a short hug instead. 

“What an incredibly fortuitous surprise this is,” he said, as he sat easily on one of the kitchen stools. “I had hoped to see you. I’m sure Aunt Sarah has told you that we would love to include you in our merry troupe, at least to join us when we play for the harvest market festival.”

“Yes, she told me,” answered Amelia. “I would be delighted to.”

Frederick was just as Amelia remembered him, tall, thin, with long features that matched his long, graceful fingers. His hair was a bit shaggier, and he looked tired, as though they had been traveling hard and sleeping little. He was looking past her left shoulder with those clear blue eyes, and smiled when she answered Jason, showing perfect white teeth.

“That is wonderful news,” he said in his deep, mellifluous tones. “We are sure to rake in the gold pieces now!” They all laughed.

“Come,” said Sarah, “sit. Amelia has been slaving over a hot stove all day and has produced a feast. We mustn’t let it get cold.”

They pulled their chairs up to the table and Amelia carved the chicken, placing meat on plates. She put the potatoes and carrots in bowls on the table, sliced the bread, and put the cheese on a plate. Jason opened the wine and poured it into glasses his aunt provided. Then Sarah said a brief grace and they ate. The two men were obviously famished, for they said nothing as they cleaned their plates. Amelia watched Frederick, fascinated by the techniques he used to find the food with his utensils, and his wine glass, how he never made a mess, and then used a piece of bread to wipe up the last juices from his plate. She brought the apples from the oven, redolent with their spices, and warned them they would be hot. They, too, were devoured.

As the last bit of food disappeared from the table, the diners relaxed. Now full, Jason was prepared to tell of their adventures while touring the provinces, of the different venues they had played and how they had been received. Frederick added commentary in his deep voice, reminding Jason of something he had left out, or telling a different story entirely, which would cause the two of them to burst out laughing. Amelia envied their easy camaraderie and thought of her friends in the kitchen she had recently left behind.

Then Sarah wanted to ask Jason about family, and if he had seen his mother and other relatives. Frederick turned to Amelia and said, “That was a delicious meal. Thank you. I have not eaten so well in a long time. When we are on the road, meals are spotty at best.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she answered. “I picked up a few things while I was in Mistress Roach’s kitchen. She’s a marvellous cook.”

“Are you still scouring pots?” Frederick asked.

“No,” said Amelia. “I left my position there.” She then told him all that had happened since she had met him, about Lorenzo and how she had realized that music eased an ache she didn’t even know she had. As she spoke, he listened quietly and Amelia found herself wanting to tell him everything. She loved gazing at his face, at his unseeing blue eyes and suddenly found herself desiring something other than her harp. Her voice trailed off and she lapsed into silence.

“I have been taking good care of your harp,” said Frederick. “But I find it is a wee bit small for me. It’s a fine instrument, but I really should find something larger.”

Amelia laughed with delight. “I have something you might try. Before I left the manor house, the master gave me his son’s instrument. It hadn’t been played in years, and the strings will probably break the next time I tune it, but it is really very fine, much better than my old harp, and bigger too. Let me get it for you.”

She retrieved the instrument from where it rested against the wall and brought it to the blind man. He cradled it in his arms and then ran his sensitive hands up and down the frame, feeling the line and grain of the wood. Then he drew his fingers across the strings, coaxing a melody from them. Sarah and Jason stopped their talking and listened. It was a beautiful sound. Amelia realized that she could never have played this harp as it was meant to be; she simply didn’t have the power in her hands to take advantage of its larger size. But Frederick made it sing with a different voice. It was beautiful.

“I like this harp,” said Frederick, smiling. “I like it a lot!”

“That is really a nice instrument,” chimed in Jason. “It looks good on you, my friend. Maybe you could convince Amelia to make a trade.”

Things could not go better than this, thought Amelia. Still, she didn’t want to seem too eager.

“It’s really a much better instrument than the one you’ve been playing,” she said, “probably a lot more valuable, too. What can you throw in to sweeten the pot?”

Frederick looked thoughtful. “What would sweeten the pot for you, Amelia?” he asked. “We have very little beside our instruments. Traveling musicians don’t get rich.”

“I want,” she faltered, “I want to join your troupe and travel with you and make music my living.”

“Really?” Jason asked, somewhat surprised. “It’s not an easy life. We play in some pretty rough places. Your singing would be an incredible addition to our sound, but I don’t know if a life on the road would suit a young woman.” He turned to his aunt. “What do you think, Aunt Sarah?”

“Amelia,” asked Sarah, “is this really what you want? The life of a vagabond? Jason and his boys never stay in one town for more than a few nights at a time, they are constantly on the move. Look how thin they are! It isn’t seemly for a young woman. You would need a chaperone.”

“I’m not a fainting lily,” retorted Amelia. “Do you think it was easy working in the kitchen, scouring those huge pots, wringing cloths out, sweating in the heat of the kitchen fire? Music is the only thing I love and I would rather do that and starve than scrub another pot and eat well.”

“Come to our rehearsal tomorrow morning at Martha and Gareth’s,” said Jason. “We’ll see how things go. I for one would not say no to you joining us. But it won’t be easy.”

“I won’t disappoint you, I promise,” said Amelia.

“I know you won’t,” replied Frederick. He put out his hands and Amelia put hers into them. He brought her fingers to his lips and said, “You make beautiful music, Amelia, and you are also an amazing cook, and that is all that matters.”

Then the evening was over. The fiddler and blind harpist took their leave of the two women and Amelia and Sarah were left with the washing up and putting away of dinner things. Amelia lay awake on her small cot and thought of the day to come and fell asleep with a smile on her lips. Her fingertips still tingled from where Frederick had kissed them.