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"Hallo,
love, can I help ye?"
The
melodious voice called out through the velvet curtain.
Startled, Kara stepped back, feeling guilty.
As
the curtain moved aside, she felt herself go numb.
If she didn't know better, she would have sworn this was the
woman from the picture ... looking no older than she had then, at least
thirty years ago. Two sets
of identically merry green eyes waited patiently for her response, as
the woman stood with the photograph visible just beyond her shoulder.
Shaking off her shock, Kara admitted how silly she was being;
plenty of people looked like a younger version of their relatives.
It was uncanny though. The
only obvious difference was the hairstyle.
The woman standing before her had her reddish blonde curls pulled
back in a loose ponytail. The
pawnbroker interrupted her reverie.
"Can
I help ye?" she repeated with a smile and just a bit of concern.
"Uh,
yes. Please..." Kara
hesitated even more; surely there was some other way. But no, she had
exhausted all the possibilities.
"How much will you give me for this?"
"Well
then, give it here an' let's have a look at it."
The woman held out her hands but did not reach for the case.
Rather, she waited for Kara to relinquish it, as if knowing how
hard this was on her. With
extreme reluctance, the instrument case exchanged hands.
"They
call me Maggie, Maggie McCormick."
That soothing voice, combined with the care the woman took in
handling the instrument did much to put Kara at ease.
"But please, just call me Maggie."
In
her preoccupation, Kara didn't offer her name in return.
She watched intently as Maggie fingered the strings of her
precious violin. She also
noticed that the woman seemed particularly interested in the brass
nameplates on the case. She
dared not hope that would stop her from buying it, although the thought
was tempting.
"Well,
'tis no Stradivarius," Maggie continued, as if she hadn't even
noticed the lack of exchange,
"but ye've taken good care o' it."
"Thank you." The compliment was
a kick in the groin to Kara. She
could already feel a piece of her heart grow sick, even before they
agreed upon a price.
"Are
ye sure ye want to give it up, dear?"
Kara
could feel the weight of Maggie's stare as she waited for an answer.
Her own eyes could not leave Quicksilver's mahogany finish.
It was her father's fiddle, meaning more to him than the entire
world. He had gifted it to
her on the day her instructors declared there was nothing more they
could teach her that she wouldn't learn better through experience.
She
could still picture Papa that day.
That was the last time she had seen him in reasonably good
health, on the evening of her final student recital.
The image was engraved on her memory.
Sometimes it was the only hope she had.
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