Free Violins of Autumn by Amy McAuley Page A

fan magazine for me.
    “My aunt took me to a seven-day-long Deanna Durbin movie festival,” I say.
    “Gosh, my sister would think she’d died and gone to heaven. She fancies herself Deanna’s long-lost twin. Sarah has a good singing voice and everything, but when she tries to reach high notes”—Robbie cringes through a smile—“dogs cover their ears.”
    The thought of a regular girl copying Deanna’s operatic falsetto makes me laughingly cringe along with him. “Then why did you learn to play ‘Someone to Care for Me’?”
    “It was my birthday gift to her one year. Let me tell you, people wanted to clobber me for that, but it sure made her happy.”
    His thoughtfulness tugs at my heart.
    “Robbie, that was very sweet of you.”
    I lean against the wall to watch his long fingers trail through the keys. His talented playing seems so effortless, as if he were born to make music.
    “Water is boiling, Adele!” Louis calls out from the middle of the kitchen, and I jump, more out of embarrassment than fright.
    I ditch my lackadaisical grin and get to work.
    Denise’s hand flops onto my face, obscuring my view of the full moon outside the open loft doors. I reposition her arm on her chest as she draws in another rumble. If I can withstand hours of her snoring, I can surely withstand torture and interrogation.
    Next to me, Robbie stirs. “Adele. You awake?”
    Denise didn’t take kindly to being told she was raised in a barn. She refused to sleep next to Robbie, which forced me to sleep wedged between them. Not that I mind. The warmest spot beneath the parachute is all mine.
    “I’m awake,” I say.
    For a while, Robbie lies still. Together we watch a hazy cloud cloak the moon.
    “Did you want to talk?” I ask. The instant the offer is out of my mouth I make a face at the darkened loft beams.
    “I saw Denise with her radio. I know you must be here on a mission of some sort, so I won’t ask you about it.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Are you American or Canadian? Can I ask that much?”
    I like that he expects me to keep certain things about myself private. “I’m from Connecticut. What about you?”
    “All over. Birmingham, Alabama, mostly.”
    “You don’t sound southern,” I say, glancing at the soft curves of his moonlit profile.
    I spot the hint of a smile as he says, “Like I said, I’ve lived all over.”
    “Do you have any siblings, other than Sarah?”
    He turns to look at me and his face fades into my shadow. “I have five older sisters. I’m the baby.”
    The dead weight of Denise’s arm crashes down on my ribs. With a grunt she rolls onto her side, as if her subconscious is wrestling with her sleeping body to give Robbie a snappy comeback. I elbow her until she concedes and rolls the other way.
    “Five sisters. That must have been hell.”
    “Only when they forced me to dress up like a girl and play Amy whenever they reenacted
Little Women
.”
    Giggling as quietly as possible, I say, “You had to play Amy? Why didn’t they let you be Laurie?”
    “My sister Beth insisted on playing Laurie. Figure that one out. One of the March sisters had her very own name, but no sir, she had to be a boy. I had to pretend, dressed as a girl, to marry my own sister dressed as a boy.” His laugh is good-natured. “I believe the word that’s coming to your mind is
disturbing
.”
    “No, not at all,” I say, and it’s Robbie’s turn to elbow me. “All right, it is a smidgen disturbing, but it was nice of them to include you. Don’t forget, Amy was the prettiest sister. Not many girls would be willing to give that role away.”
    “I bet you would. You seem more like Jo.”
    If there’s one character I hope to be like, it’s rebellious, outspoken Josephine March.
    “I can’t decide.” I become aware of every poke and prick of the straw beneath me. “I might like to play Jo.”
    The cloud finishes with the moon and moves on; two ships passing in the night.
    “Denise was right.”