Free Edith and the Mysterious Stranger by Linda Weaver Clarke

slowly shook her head, noticing that he was
changing the melody once again.
    “Can you play the harmonica like David?”
    She shook her head again.
    “Hmmm, too bad. So, what can you do?”
    This sort of question amused Edith.
    “What can I do?” Suppressing a smile, she very
quietly replied, “I can play the piano a little.”
    She was not lying. She did play the piano. She just
left out the fact that she had played since childhood and that her
mother had given her many a lesson.
    “That’s nice. Can you sing?”
    Edith suppressed a grin. “A little.”
    “Do you know ‘I Dream of Jeanie’ by Stephen
Foster?”
    “Yes. Doesn’t everybody know Stephen
Foster?”
    Joseph smiled as he played one of the
sweetest melodies that Stephen Foster had ever composed.
    Then he raised his eyebrows and asked, “Do
you want to sing it while I play, or would you be too
self-conscious or embarrassed? If you’re too shy, you don’t have
to.”
    Edith’s eyes widened at such a question. She
had performed in many concerts, and here he was asking her if she
would be embarrassed.
    “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he
said nonchalantly.
    With confidence, she answered, “No, I
wouldn’t be embarrassed.”
    “All right. How’s this key?”
    Edith listened carefully. “Could you bring
it down a couple steps?”
    “Sure. How’s this?”
    She listened to the melody and nodded.
“That’s fine.”
    As Joseph strummed a few
notes , he said, “This is just an
introduction. Do you know what an introduction is?”
    Edith nodded, trying very hard to suppress a
smile.
    “I’ll nod when it’s time for you to come
in.”
    He strummed a few more chords and then looked up at her and smiled,
giving her a nod. That was her cue. Edith started
singing.
     
    I dream of Jeanie with the light brown
hair,
    Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
    I see her tripping where the bright streams
play,
    Happy as the daisies that dance on her
way.
     
    Edith’s voice was rich and beautiful. Her
tone was exquisite. And her technique was one of complete emotion
as each word was sung. She closed her eyes and sang with fervor,
with great warmth and earnest feeling.
     
    Many were the wild notes her merry voice
would pour,
    Many were the blithe birds that warbled them
o’er:
    Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown
hair,
    Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer
air.
     
    As she held the last sustained note, she
gradually opened her eyes and noticed that both Joseph and David
had their eyes transfixed upon her. David’s expression was one of
wonderment. But Joseph’s was completely different. His was one of
reverence. As their eyes met, he smiled and gave a nod.
    After a few seconds, Joseph realized that he
was staring, and instantly broke the spell that he was under. He
cleared his throat nonchalantly, as if the song had not affected
him one bit.
    Then he smiled and said in a disinterested
matter-of-fact tone, “That was nice, Miss Edith.”
    She stared at him and softly asked,
“Nice?”
    Joseph nodded. “Yup. That was nice. Well,
I’ve got to go. Got a lot to do tomorrow.”
    Edith could not believe her ears as she
repeated, “Just nice?”
    “Yup. Real nice.”
    She shook her head in amazement. She had sung
with deep feeling, straight from her heart, and for an instant she
thought she had touched their souls just as they had done to her
with their music. And all he said was, “It was nice.”
    She felt irritated toward his attitude.
Immediately she turned on her heels and strode toward her buggy,
feeling unappreciated and unwanted. What was she doing singing to
an unappreciative audience in the first place? What did this
uneducated farmer know about music, anyway? His attitude annoyed
her to no end.
    She could not hear David and Joseph’s last
comments as she walked away, but it did not matter to her one iota.
They could keep their comments to themselves for all she cared.
    Joseph and David walked toward the door