When the Rain Comes Down

June 4, 1966
Sleepyside

If the rain comes
they run and hide their heads
They might as well be dead
If the rain comes
If the rain comes

I found I couldn't leave Sleepyside behind forever. It's not the people who made me dread coming back, nor was it my adventures. I had met some of the most wonderful, caring people while I was visiting all those years ago. The one person who made me dread the return to Sleepyside was none other than myself. I was only eight years old at the time, but I hated myself and everyone else, but my worst hate went toward my profession. I'm a violinist. I'm one of the finest in the world. The sad truth is that, while I've been invited to be a featured soloist with the London Symphonic Orchestra, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and have been invited to play the Lincoln Center, I haven't seen my own bedroom for more than fourteen days out of the five years I've been touring.

My parents died when I was two. My father played violin in a prestigious orchestra, and my mother played cello. They died in a plane crash, and since then, I've lived with my aunt, who has been acting as my manager. She took me to a music store and purchased a violin for me, and we started lessons right away.

That was the moment when my hatred for this damn violin started. The days and nights, the rushed schooling, the tour busses, the flights, the press conferences, the late nights and early mornings, the photo shoots, and everything else that comes with it, just made the whole experience terrible. Not only did I really hate what I was doing, but I hated myself for not standing up to my aunt.

My first trip out to Sleepyside was just another day that chipped away at my sanity and another dollar that landed in my aunt's pocket. I was positively rotten to everyone there, but, at the time, I didn't see why I should be nice to any one of them. After all, they were just people in my miserable little life who were there to make things worse.

But this year, things might be different. Strike that. Things will be different. I'm not that eight-year-old girl vying for attention and hating everyone and everything. I still play the violin and will be making a return appearance for Mrs. Wheeler's garden club, but I am now thirteen and have learned to control my temper and my hatred for the wretched instrument that I play.

But, I mentioned that I couldn't leave Sleepyside behind forever. This didn't mean anything as far as luck of the draw or anything like that. What it meant was that I wanted to go back, but dreaded doing so. The reason behind this is someone that I was particularly horrible to, and that was Bobby Belden.

We were the same age, I think. However, it was after I made an effort to study Mozart when I realized what kind of child Bobby was. Someday, that boy is going to grow up to be a genius, but he just doesn't know it yet. Not that Bobby and Mozart have anything in common, for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a child genius, and Bobby Belden was a pain in the neck. But I realized that both boys were the same in attitude and sense of humor.

Of course, that could all be complete nonsense, too. After all, at the age of six, Bobby had a pet chameleon and sucked his thumb. Mozart was writing symphonies. Maybe I wanted to be a little like him and share his kind of innocence. I've witnessed my aunt corner lawyers and businessmen. I've seen her battle self-conscious social workers who wanted to take me away from her and give me a normal life in a foster home. I've seen her single-handedly take care of all my needs while trying to give me success. For all of this, I am extremely grateful. However, to be able to look at life the way Bobby Belden does, I would give it all up.

Tonight is my recital at the Glen Road Inn, and the Beldens, the Wheelers and the Lynches are all invited. It should be a rather large crowd, since the garden club will be there, and maybe some acquaintances, along with students who go to Sleepyside Junior-Senior High and Central High. The orchestra teachers from both schools got together to organize some kind of show, as if they were opening for me.

The banquet hall at the Inn was decorated with elaborate, yet simple furnishings. The heavy, lace curtains draped from the windows, the loose folds hanging in just the perfect spot and the perfect length. The beige wallpaper sported patterns of tiny bundles of forget-me-nots, oak trim and beige wainscoting. Each table had been set up with lace tablecloths, a candle, and a small Mason jar fixed up with wildflowers and delicate blue and green ribbons. On one end of the hall hung a large chandelier and, on the other, a slightly smaller one. All decorations had been provided with great care to give the banquet hall a country atmosphere.

I decided that this would be a new challenge for me. The last time I played for the residents of Sleepyside, I played in Mrs. Wheeler's music room. However, that was just a rehearsal. The bigger show would be for the people who paid dearly to get into Carnegie Hall. This time, it was a full concert, booked by my own aunt, in a more intimate crowd.

A small ensemble performed a few classical pieces. They played fairly well in my opinion. They looked to be a select group from the school's advanced orchestra. It was sad to watch them and listen. Each of those students put their heart into something they enjoy, something I just can't do anymore. I do it because I'm told to, and I tell the press that I like it, just to make Aunt Della happy.

As I stood in front of the group, I saw something brand new for once in my life. Every concert had been the same. Each and every audience member has been a fan of classical music, or at least pretended to like it to entertain a guest, or to put on airs, until now. In my whole career, I have never played for anyone who didn't care to be there until tonight. Instead of reacting, I took my bow as the audience clapped for me. In my heart, I promised myself for the hundredth time that, while tonight would probably go by without a mistake, I would have to break the news to Aunt Della and tell her that I just can't tour anymore. I just don't want to.

I waited until camera bulbs quit flashing and the audience settled down before I lifted my violin to my chin. After a few seconds worth of concentration, and waiting for complete silence, I began to play. There were no knots in my stomach, no butterflies. Things were going so smoothly, I almost forgot there was anyone watching me. But, suddenly it happened. I was about halfway through Beethoven's Opus 40 Romance 1 in G Major when something hit me. I had done this piece about thirty times a year for the past five years, and it has never improved. I made no errors as I continued, but my concentration was definitely off, and that was why. Tonight, Aunt Della and I would have to have a talk.

There was a reception following the concert where I was able to meet several ladies of Mrs. Wheeler's garden club, and I even got to see the Beldens again.

"Hello, Bobby," I said, once again shaking his hand. "Violin music not for you?"

He hesitated. His blue eyes lowered and shifted to the left as he jammed his hands into his dress slacks. "Not really. Moms and Dad made me come tonight. I really wanted to spend time with Larry and Terry Lynch. They didn't have to come."

"Ah," I said, understanding just what he was trying to say without being rude. I wanted to say more, but Aunt Della already took a hold of my hand and dragged me off to pose with my violin for the photographers. I recognized Paul Trent, the man who took my pictures the last time I had been here, who stirred up a lot of trouble for everyone. I scowled especially especially for him.

Aunt Della dropped me off in my room at the Inn and headed down to the restaurant for a meeting with my publicist. She promised that we could have a little talk in the morning, but each time she promised that, I was always whisked away to some place, and we'd run out of time. It was midnight, and I was feeling restless. I knew Aunt Della hadn't come back yet, because her room was next to mine and I hadn't heard the shower run like I'd heard the night before. I peeked out down the hall: no sign of anyone anywhere. Quickly, I dressed, put on a light coat and grabbed an umbrella. It had rained last night, so it might rain tonight. Aunt Della would kill me if she knew I had sneaked out, so I had to be very quiet. I wasn't going far, just for a small walk.

While I was out, I saw so many things that I just don't get to see. A small park down the road had swings and a merry-go-round. I had never played on those before. On the cement were several squares drawn with chalk with numbers and letters in them. I felt really stupid about things because I really didn't know what to do. I climbed up on the merry-go-round and leaned against a bar. The giant disc shifted a little, but nothing happened. I tried to figure out how to get it moving, but with each attempt, nothing happened. When I stepped down, my foot pushed it just enough that it turned just a little. I still couldn't make sense of it.

Next were the swings. I had seen movies where children were using swing sets, but I still remained clueless as to how those children were able to keep going without adults pushing them. After hanging from the monkey bars for a while, I decided I had grown bored with the playground and walked back to the Inn. I sneaked in unnoticed and went up to my room. Apparently, Aunt Della never checked on me, because her light was off, and I couldn't hear anyone panicking. I cleaned the mud off my shoes before climbing into bed for the night.

June 5, 1966

I awoke to the sound of my aunt's voice as she let herself in the next morning. My eyes were tired and gritty. She didn't let on that she knew of my late night walk, so I figured she didn't know at all. She rattled off instructions to me as I sat on the edge of my bed, my long blonde hair hanging down in front of my eyes. We were due at the Wheeler mansion for brunch where I would pose for publicity shots amid Mrs. Wheeler's prized rose bushes.

Garden parties are boring. I don't know what people of high class see in them. I met people I had never heard of, but were important enough to get their picture taken with me.

When no one was looking, I grabbed my violin and walked down a trail towards the large forest on the Wheeler property. I didn't really care to play the dumb thing, but I needed some kind of solitude from the gawking, the fussing, and everyone telling me how wonderful I play, or how cute I am. I don't want to be cute anymore. I'm sick of being cute. I really am. There was a small bench just on the outside of the forest, so I sat down. It wasn't long before I had company.

"What's that song you're playing?" Bobby Belden asked.

"I didn't think violin music was your forté."

"Huh?"

"I mean, I didn't think you liked it or were even interested in it."

Bobby shrugged. "I'm really not, but it sounded sad and pretty. Kind of a pretty-kind-of-sad."

"It's called Ashoken Farewell. It's an Irish ballad."

"Oh." He took a seat next to me. "Are you Irish, too?"

I laid the violin down on my lap and rested the bow along with it. "My aunt says that I'm part Hungarian and part Welsh."

"Oh. Why are you sitting out here? Shouldn't you be at your party?"

"Why are you out here?"

Bobby shrugged. "I'm supposed to be weeding the garden, but I got bored. Then I heard you playing and came looking for you."

"I got bored, too."

He frowned. "How can you get bored at a party that is thrown for you?"

I laughed. "Is it really thrown for me? Bobby, parties are boring. Tell me, what do you think sitting around in silly old frilly dresses while old bitties fuss over you is?"

Bobby wrinkled his nose. "That's not a party. That's torture."

"See?"

"You know," he said, sticking his finger in the hole forming in his jeans. "You need to go to a different kind of party. Wanna come over tonight and have dinner? Brian, Mart and Trixie are all going to be home. They're off with Honey, Jim, Dan and Diana right now having fun while I'm supposed to be weeding and chopping wood."

"Dinner?" I asked. "I hate dinner parties, and I'm never allowed to drink soda or eat a lot of sweets."

Bobby giggled. "This isn't a dinner party. It's just eating Moms out of house and home. Afterwards, we plan on walking up to Larry and Terry Lynch's because their parents just got a brand new color TV. Everyone wants to watch Ed Sullivan tonight."

I rolled my eyes. "I've played Ed Sullivan."

"But have you really ever watched?"

"No," I answered quickly. "If someone were to film you weeding the garden, would you watch it?"

"You're weird," Bobby replied. "It's not the same thing as that. It's music."

"And music is hard work, Bobby," I answered, trying hard not to grow frustrated. He just didn't understand what kind of work goes into playing an instrument. "Do you think I just picked this up and just started to play? No. It took years of accurate, persistent study."

He bit his lip. He appeared to be biting back a retort. Obviously, I had struck a nerve of some kind.

"Look, Bobby," I said, standing up. "Music is work for me. This is my job."

"But just a bit ago, you looked like you were enjoying it. You really looked relaxed."

I didn't know how to respond to that. He was right. "I must be getting back before Aunt Della misses me."

"Please try to come to dinner?" he asked.

I shrugged. I don't know why they would want me there for dinner. None of us really have anything in common.

When the sun shines
they slip into the shade
and sip their lemonade
When the sun shines
When the sun shines

"Why, I think dinner with the Beldens would be wonderful," Aunt Della said, smiling as she looked over my violin, polishing a few spots here and there. "Mrs. Belden simply loves your violin playing, you know."

"Aunt Della," I said. "What if I left my violin here tonight?"

She glanced up at me and frowned. "Nonsense. They invited you for dinner, so I think the least you can do in return is play a little piece for them."

I felt my eyes burn. "Aunt Della, Mrs. Belden didn't invite me. Bobby did."

"Bobby? You mean the young boy?"

I nodded. "He invited me over for dinner, and then everyone's going to Mrs. Lynch's place to watch the Ed Sullivan Show."

"Wonderful! You can entertain the crowd with that whimsical number you did when you were on that show." She checked the violin once more and set it back in the case. "Won't they be excited to know that you played for Ed Sullivan? Now, what time is Mrs. Belden expecting you there?"

"I don't know. Bobby just asked me to come over. I never actually said that I would, but after thinking about it, I really want to."

"I'll call Mrs. Belden right away. Now, you pick out something nice to wear, and I'll make arrangements."

When she left the room, I found there was no longer any barrier for my tears. I let them fall as I choked back sobs. Finally, it wasn't worth choking them back anymore, and I let everything out. I hated that violin, and I hated Aunt Della for making me play it. Why is it that everywhere we go, I have to entertain? Why is it that she just assumes that everyone else would love to hear me play?

After avoiding a few tourists taking pictures, we arrived at Crabapple Farm just in time for dinner. Like a good girl, I showed up, violin case in hand and everything. Aunt Della fussed over my hair and dress non-stop. We sat down to mashed potatoes and gravy along with roasted chicken and vegetables fresh from the garden. I've grown accustomed to eating luxury foods, but it was on a rare occasion that I ever got anything like this. There were no waiters or butlers fussing over me, no security guards, and best of all, no one trying to get my attention for a picture. On any given day, I could eat fresh sea lobster, filet mignon, some of the finest French delicacies, or if I so desired, I could eat caviar. If I wanted to, I could order anything made special for me by Chef Henri Dubois at Le Bernardin.

I sat next to Trixie. She was much older now. When we last saw each other, it had been her birthday. She talked about Jim Frayne, the redheaded boy who lived in the house up the hill from here. I could see it years ago when I was little that they would end up together. They always looked very happy together, and I even spied her bracelet once and saw what it said: Jim. She still wore it. Brian sat on the other side of me, while Mart and Bobby sat on the other with Aunt Della. Brian is handsome. He's much better looking than Mart. Bobby couldn't keep from smiling the whole evening. I think he likes me, but I'm not sure if I like him or not. I know if I told Aunt Della about this, she would get mad and then make sure I never came back here. It would be too much of a distraction to my career.

"Aunt Della tells me you've played Ed Sullivan before," Mrs. Belden said, during a lull in the conversation. "Were you nervous?"

I nodded. "It was my first time playing in front of a televised audience."

"Exciting!" she cried, over-emphasizing her enthusiasm.

It was my opinion that Mrs. Belden didn't really want to hear about my performance, but was being polite for Aunt Della's sake.

"Far out!" Mart said, raising his eyebrows. "Wouldn't that be the limit? I wonder if Bob and Barbara Hubbell would ever be good enough to play that show?"

"They're good," Brian said, "but only the best end up on that show."

Brian's thoughts about the show lit Aunt Della's face up like a Christmas tree.

"And that's why we're such fans," Trixie said. "I never miss a Sunday night."

I shrugged. So what about Sunday nights? I never get to spend any night of the week the way I want to. While everyone else is playing and having a fun time, I'm usually practicing violin symphonies, or just in general, fiddling around. I chuckled at my own joke to myself.

"I know what's missing," Bobby piped up. "Gaye, where's your dog? Is he at the Inn?"

I bit my lip and let my eyes wander over to where Reddy was sitting, curled up in front of the door as if he were guarding the house. "I don't have him anymore," I said, picking up my fork. "I just couldn't keep him."

"Why not?" he asked. "Didn't you like him?"

"What my niece means is that because she is in high demand all over the world, it was just too hard to keep a dog. Besides, with a dog to care for, it was too hard to study and practice for concerts." Aunt Della threw me an understanding smile, one that she's given me several times in front of company. "Maybe when Gaye is older she can have another pet."

The conversation never picked up after that. It was the saddest truth there ever was. Mr. Poo had to be given away because of my career. I loved him so much, and I know he loved me, and it just tore my heart up the day Aunt Della made the decision after being invited to play in London. Thus, one more reason why I hated my career so much.

"Bobby, do you ever get that feeling at times that you're not happy where you are, and you would like to be somewhere else?" I asked on our walk over to the Lynch house.

"You mean, I stop being myself and become someone else? Yeah. I've thought of that plenty of times."

"But if it were possible for you and someone else could switch places, would you do it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe for a little bit. I wouldn't want to leave behind Crabapple Farm."

"I don't blame you," I said wistfully. "Everyone at the farm has always been so nice to me. I just wish I could receive the same kind of treatment in my professional life like I do here."

"I always thought that being famous would be fun."

I couldn't help but laugh a little at his statement. He was very naïve about fame and the life I led. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I don't mean to laugh. You see, it isn't fun at all."

It was quiet between the two of us for a while. I thought I had hurt his feelings until he spoke up again a few minutes later. "You know, that's what Honey said to me the first time I met her. I remember she said that she wasn't allowed to play and do the things we Beldens can do. That's too bad, you know."

"It is," I said, suddenly feeling sorry for myself.

We had slowed our pace down and were soon behind the group of adults who were walking. It seemed very strange to me that we weren't going over in a limousine, but I didn't mind the exercise after that huge dinner we had. Aunt Della glanced behind to keep an eye on me and, when she saw how far behind we were, she pointed to her side. She meant for me to hurry up and quit lagging behind.

"What does she think you are, Gaye?" Bobby whispered. "A dog?"

I shrugged. "It's communication. She's telling me to keep up without having to be vocal about it. We use hand signals and other kinds of cues for each other. Like, during photo shoots, when she feels I've had enough, she pulls her light blue handkerchief out of her purse and holds on to it. This gives the signal to the our photographer that I'm tired, and it also gives me some relief that I know the shoot is going to end."

Bobby quickened his pace to keep up with her. "Why doesn't she just tell the photographer that this is the last photo?"

"Because Maximillian would become angry, as this is his profession. His reputation would be hurt if she talked to him in front of the press about his job. He's very stuck on himself in that way, but he's one of Europe's best. When he's not in front of anyone, he's a real nice person. But when he's in front of the press, he's nearly intolerable."

"Sounds like fun," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"It's the pits," I replied.

It was nice seeing everyone again. Jim and Honey were always very nice to me before, and they were no different this time. I gave them every reason in the world to hate me when I was little. I hated myself at that age as much as I hated life. Life still hasn't gotten any better, but I've matured a little. I always hated being the center of attention, being the little star in the spotlight with the cute face, long curly blonde hair, and that horrid little Hungarian dress.

Everyone pretty much treated me just as they did a few years back when I showed up in Sleepyside for the first time, except for Trixie. I remember not liking her at all, and I don't really remember why, either. All I know is that we just rubbed each other the wrong way, and after that, we just never got along. She tried, and really, so did I.

The Beatles were on Ed Sullivan tonight. That's why everyone was gathered around. Trixie, Honey and Diana were glued to the television set. I hadn't really ever listened to them before, as Aunt Della wouldn't allow their music in the house for fear it would become harmful influence. Yeah, right. Like rock and roll will ever mix with classical music. That'll be the day I see a rock and roll group play with a ninety-piece orchestra.

I'm not crazy about them, so I sat next to Bobby and Diana's twin brothers and sisters while we ate cupcakes and watched.

"I'm not really sure what my sister sees in them," Bobby whispered to me. "Mindy and Cindy like them, I guess, so us guys just have to go along with it."

Jim grinned at Bobby's comment and winked at me. "We men have to stick together or else we'd go insane with all the chatter about Beatles, Elvis Presley, Rolling Stones..." He stopped to think. "Help me out men."

Brian grinned. "Cary Grant, Burt Lancaster, Rock Hudson..."

"Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Peter Lawford," Dan supplied.

"Don't forget James Dean," Jim added.

"And Sean Connery," Brian said.

"Or Lucy Radcliffe," Mart added, grinning at his sister.

The girls had since peeled their eyes from the TV set to glare at the boys.

"Yeah? What of it?" Trixie demanded.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"We were just talking about crazy people with crazy obsessions," Jim answered, his green eyes twinkling as he teased his girlfriend.

All three girls wrinkled their noses at them. "Scoff if you like," Diana replied. "Just keep in mind that we know all about someone's secret crush on Sophia Loren."

Mart blushed.

The twin girls looked at each other and giggled. "I think Robin is cute," one of them said to me.

I smiled politely. I had no clue who Robin was. Perhaps one of the boys in this band?

One of the twin boys rolled his eyes. "Mindy, don't start with Robin again!"

Mart grinned. "Okay, you girls laugh at how I think Miss Loren is one-hundred percent woman, and yet a man who wears a cape, tights, and little green booties is perfectly acceptable. How does this make sense?"

The girls giggled with laughter. "It just does!" Diana said, leaning over and brushing his cheek with a kiss.

I still had no idea who this Robin was, and I wasn't too sure I really wanted to know after that description.

"Shhhh!" Honey said, holding her hands up. "They're on!"

Ed Sullivan was standing in the middle of the stage explaining to the audience that the band wasn't able to show, but instead had arranged to show pre-recorded musical tape. Needless to say, I didn't get very excited. Several minutes later, however, I was very thankful that Aunt Della decided to join the others in Mr. Lynch's sitting room playing a card game or whatever adults do for entertainment. No doubt, she was trying to talk everyone else into letting me play for them.

Rain, I don't mind
Shine, the weather's fine

What I saw on the show amazed me. Being shielded from any type of modern music so I could focus my studies on the violin, I was completely blown over. I couldn't help the thought that kept surfacing, the single thought that kept me asking myself whether or not violin music could be used in this type of music.

"Miss Diana, would you and your friends like some lemonade?" Polly, the blonde maid, asked from the doorway. She had been standing there the whole time, watching the show with us, but we didn't notice she was even there.

Minutes later, she came back with several tall glasses of fresh lemonade with straws. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I had this much fun. None of these people were famous stars, musicians, or actors. Just normal people who led normal lives, who weren't in demand all the time and weren't expected to entertain at a moment's notice.

June 6, 1966

I can show you
that when it starts to rain
everything's the same
I can show you
I can show you

"Be sure to practice your scales and the piece you're doing tonight at the high school auditorium," Aunt Della said, flipping through pages in her itinerary book. "I have several appointments today and a lunch date, so it's imperative that you keep practicing. This is our last show here in Sleepyside before we move on, so we need to make a really nice impression for the next time we come back."

I stood there, patiently listening as she rambled these instructions to me. I was to play Pachelbel's Canon in D Minor tonight at the school, surrounded by some more of those students who played at the ballroom a few nights back. I could play that dumb song in my sleep! I nodded as she looked up from her book and shut the door behind her.

While playing my scales, I paid close attention to what Aunt Della was doing. I heard her go into her room next door and then leave again. I played by the window overlooking Glen Road until I saw her leave with our driver. I put my violin down. I knew just where Aunt Della kept her reel-to-reel player, so I hurried over to her room through our adjoining door and grabbed it along with one of my practice tapes. Just in case she had to come back early for something, she would hear me playing. If there was no sound coming from the room, I'd be in big trouble. However, if she checked up on me, even though she could hear me, she'd find out I wasn't here. But, that was just a risk I had to take.

Twenty minutes later, I was walking up the long and winding driveway to Crabapple Farm, where Bobby Belden lived. I was about ready to knock when I heard loud screaming from the back.

"Just for that, Bobby Belden, you're gonna weed my part, too!" came a loud cry, followed by another scream and some giggling. "That's it! You're a dead man!"

Loud shrieking and laughing echoed around to the front, luring me to follow just to see what was going on.

"Brian! Help me out! Tell Trixie to get off me!" came muffled cries from someone whom I could only assume was Bobby.

As I came around the corner, I saw Brian leaning on a rake, Mart on the ground, laughing and holding his sides, and Trixie and Bobby in the middle of a wrestling match. Trixie's clothes were soaking wet and quickly getting dirty from rolling around in the dirt.

"I don't know, squirt," Brian said, shaking his head. "You got yourself into this mess. It's time you get yourself out."

Trixie had pinned her little brother to the ground, keeping his arms to his sides by using her knees and sitting on him. "How about a game of typewriter?" she threatened.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Bobby screamed, wiggling around. "I didn't mean it, Trixie! The hose just slipped! Honest!"

This explained why Trixie was wet.

"It did not just slip!" Trixie cried, poking him. This carried on for several minutes.

"What did he do? Spray her with the hose?" I asked Brian.

"I'd say he drenched her with it," he answered, smiling at me.

"What did she do to get soaked?"

"Nothing. Bobby just thought it would have been funny to do it. He's right. It's been pretty entertaining."

"Now listen up, you rat!" Trixie cried, pointing her index finger in his flushed face. "You ever pull that again, and your butt is mine. Got it?"

"Yeah," he drawled. "Now get off me, you cow! Ouch! Trixie stop!"

She finally stood up. "That'll teach you a lesson, small fry."

Brushing the dirt and grass off his shirt, he sat up and stuck his tongue out at her. He stood and brushed off his jeans.

I watched the scene, giggling and laughing, because I knew that Bobby more than likely had it coming.

"What're you laughing at?" he asked, finally noticing that she was there.

Suddenly, I didn't quite know how to answer. I would have loved to have played like this when I was little, but instead I had violin recitals to go to. I sobered as I thought of what I was doing when I was Bobby's age. I never would have been weeding the garden like Trixie and Bobby were, chopping wood like Mart was, or raking like Brian was. Never would I have been allowed to play like they were just doing now. I didn't answer his question. I couldn't. I was giggling and laughing because it looked so comical and like it was so much fun, but now I know that Bobby must've felt embarrassed to be taken down by his sister.

"Nothing," I said finally.

He pulled a twig out of his blond curly hair. "Forget it," he said after everyone had gone back to work. "I guess I deserved it. I just got so tired of weeding all the time."

"Can I help you weed?"

"I suppose," he said, shrugging. "Just don't pull out any of Moms' onions, carrots, or radishes."

I was fully aware that I was not wearing the best of clothing for yard work, but it was what I had. I was not allowed to wear shorts or jeans like Trixie was wearing right now. I was wearing a frilly pink and white frock, white tights, and white patent leather shoes. It was what I had.

"I hope you just don't get that dress dirty," Trixie said, putting her gloves back on and kneeling down. "It must be a bear to clean."

I shrugged because I really didn't know. Aunt Della took care of all the cleaning for me. She had people whom she paid dearly to make sure my outfits were clean and in pristine condition.

Bobby showed me what a weed looked like so I wouldn't pull the wrong ones. An hour later, the garden was done and I had only pulled one carrot, which I ate. Fresh garden carrots, I decided, were the best.

Mrs. Belden came out and told everyone that lunch was ready and that everyone should clean up. She did a double take when she saw me kneeling in the garden, too, but smiled instead of frowned. Aunt Della would have had a screaming tizzy if she saw me in the garden, pulling weeds with my hands, getting them dirty.

"We're done with the garden, Moms," Trixie said, kicking off her dirty Keds and leaving them by the back door. "Gaye helped us."

I stood in the kitchen with my hands folded. My tights were a little dirty, and my shoes had mud on them.

"What did you kids do? Roll around in the mud out there?" Mrs. Belden said, eyeing Bobby and Trixie's clothes. "Go get yourselves changed and cleaned up. All of you. I'm not letting you kids into town looking like this." After they left, she looked at me.

"Gaye, I wish you had come inside first to get some old rags to wear before deciding to help them out in the garden. Your Aunt Della isn't going to be very happy with this," she said, rubbing her fingers on a dirty spot on my dress.

Inwardly, I didn't care what Aunt Della thought. But, it was obvious that Mrs. Belden did. "Don't worry about her, Mrs. Belden. She has plenty of people who keep my stuff clean. Besides, this is just a dress. I've got thousands of them."

"But it's such a pretty dress," she said. Her tone was one that I use when I look at a twenty thousand-dollar necklace at Tiffany's or something.

"Please don't worry about it."

"Tell you what. Leave your shoes down here, and I'll get those all cleaned up. Go upstairs and see if Trixie has anything you can wear. You're just a little shorter than she is, so it might be too big for you, but you'll have to wear something while I try to clean this."

I headed up the stairs to Trixie's room. I hadn't been there in years, but I still remembered where it was. Her radio played while she changed clothes and fixed her hair slightly.

"Your mother sent me up here to see if you had something for me to wear."

Trixie laughed. "I'm afraid what I have is too big for you, but we'll find something," she said, smiling and pulling out dresser drawers. "Take that dress off and put these on," she said, handing me a pair of jeans and a shirt. "These jeans are too small for me now, and this shirt is one I haven't worn in years. I don't think it'll fit me anymore."

I took the clothes and eyed them speculatively. I had never worn used clothes before, let alone jeans.

"Anything wrong?" Trixie asked, setting her comb down on the highboy dresser.

I shook my head, my blonde curly locks falling down around my shoulders. If only my hair could be short like Trixie's, then Aunt Della wouldn't need to hire hairdressers for me. I made sure I looked at Trixie's jeans so I would know whether or not the zipper went in the back or front.

She unbuttoned my dress for me and helped me out of it. "I'll go ahead and take this down to Moms. I think she might want your tights and slip, too."

I shrugged and pulled the slip up over my head and yanked my tights off. When she left, I slipped her jeans on. They were way too long and bunched up around my ankles and very lose around my waist. Her shirt was about the right size, but hung fairly low below my waist. By the time I was done, she was back.

"How are you doing?" she asked, grinning. "Betcha never wore jeans before, huh!"

I frowned. Why didn't she just tell Paul Trent and make it a headline in the Sleepyside Sun?

"Don't worry, Gaye. They're just a little too big on you. Have a seat," she said, taking me over to her bed. "Let me just roll these up, and they'll look just fine."

After she rolled up the pant legs, I stood. "The waist is too big. Don't you have anything smaller?"

Trixie giggled. "You're wearing it," she said, giving me a wink. "We'll cure that with a belt or something. I'll bet Bobby has one he can let you use."

"You don't have one?"

She shook her head. "Never had a need for one. I have to wear skirts when I go to school, and the rest of the time, I wear jeans that fit me."

I scowled. I felt like she was making fun of me. I'm probably the only girl in the entire world who has never worn jeans, so, of course, people have to make fun. It turned out that Bobby didn't have an extra belt, so Mrs. Belden grabbed some twine she had and cut a piece long enough to wrap around my waist. Trixie's shoes were too small for me and hurt my feet, so I just went barefoot.

"Is it all right if I use your comb?" I asked her, looking at my reflection in the mirror. Aunt Della had curled my hair early this morning, and it was slowly losing its shape. She nodded, handed her comb to me and left. When I got a look at myself in the mirror, I smiled in pure satisfaction in knowing that if Aunt Della saw me like this, she would no doubt flip her lid. I hoped Trixie didn't mind that I used two of her barrettes to keep my hair out of my face. Helen Belden had a rubber band for me to use and gently put it in a pony tail.

"You look like Trixie now," Bobby said, as I entered the kitchen for lunch. "'Cept your prettier."

Trixie wrinkled her nose a little and winked at me.

"I'll bet that Jim doesn't think so," I said, a giggle surfacing.

Trixie ate her lunch, not saying a word, and trying not to smile. "Gaye, would you like to come with us to town?" she asked, changing the subject.

"As long as I can be back to the hotel by one-thirty, when Aunt Della gets back. I have to take a nap to be ready for the recital tonight."

Brian nodded. "I think we can do that. We're only going to be in town for an hour anyway. We're looking for Father's Day presents. The other Bob-Whites will be showing up soon to pick us up."

"You can't go into town without shoes on, Gaye," Mrs. Belden said, taking her seat. "Trixie will call Honey to see if she has anything you might be able to wear."

Honey, Jim, Diana and Dan showed up in their club station wagon all ready to take everyone to town. I got to sit on Dan's lap as we all stuffed ourselves into the car. Bobby insisted that he come along as well. Mrs. Belden readily agreed to it, and away we went into town to shop for presents for their fathers.

Honey's shoes fit me perfectly, and she even showed me that I could tie my shirttales together in the front so they wouldn't be hanging down all the time. We went shopping in all the local jewelry shops, sporting shops, and clothing places. The Beldens put their money together and purchased their father a tie, Diana found a set of cuff links and matching tie tack for her father, and Honey and Jim found a really nice set of golf clubs. Dan waited for his friends in the shoe department and was the only one who was empty handed. While the others were getting their gifts wrapped, I wandered over to where he was sitting and took a seat.

"What about you?"

He shrugged. "If Dad were still alive, he wouldn't want a single thing from this shop."

I blushed. I had no idea that his father was dead. "I'm sorry, Dan. I didn't know."

He grinned. "No, it's okay. He's been dead for a long time. He was a guitar player and wrote music. He played in a small jazz band in the slums."

"Maybe he'd like a guitar then," I said. "I know my dad probably would have liked a new violin or maybe a new case."

"Maybe," he said. "But, I haven't given it much thought these days. Father's Day is for fathers, and I've kind of grown out of the idea of having one. I miss him," he said, nodding his head, "but I had to force myself to learn to live with the fact that I'll never see him again. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

I nodded. "Of course, I never knew my father. He died when I was two."

"I never really knew mine, either. He was drafted to Korea when I was five, and was killed when his truck hit a land mine."

"That's so sad," I said, folding my hands and slumping in my seat. "But what about Mr. Maypenny? Isn't he like a father to you?"

"You know, not really," he answered, crossing his right leg over his left. "He's more like a grandpa or great-uncle."

I smiled. "Well, he's someone of importance in your life, isn't he? Do you think he might need a watch or something?"

He grinned and shook his head. "No, and I doubt that there's much else I can give the old man either. He's not the type to take gifts, Gaye. However," he said, running his finger across his chin, "the old man has never been one to turn down a box of bullets for his hunting rifle."

After everyone was finished, we headed out the door back out into the bright and sunny day. Everyone was chatting happily, each of the boys had an arm around one of the girls, all except for Dan and Bobby, that is. Is this really what teenage life was like for everyone else but me? According to Bobby, Trixie and Jim had been this close for a long time, as well as Brian and Honey and Mart and Diana. He didn't say anything about Dan, so I guess he didn't have a girlfriend.

There were two women standing by the window where a mannequin modeled a lovely swimsuit, sarong, hat, towel and umbrella. They weren't looking at the outfit, but rather a poster in the window. One of my posters. I tried not to overhear what they were saying, but the Bob Whites were stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green.

"It says she's a 'World Class Violinist' just below her picture. What an adorable little thing, she is!" one lady said to the other.

"She's very pretty," the other lady replied. "But I still stand by what I said earlier that a little girl her age should not be in the spotlight this much. It's not healthy."

"Well, she'll probably become one of those forgotten child stars, or at least not quite as popular. Cuteness sells, you know."

"One of these days some other little cute child prodigy will take her place. You mark my words. She's a big thing now because she's so young. Later on, it won't be so much of a novelty. Who really cares about an adult who can play violin? As soon as she grows up, she's nothing."

I spun around and glared at the two women. What right did they have to say such things about me! They didn't even know me, and they were making all these harsh judgments about my life and who I am! I put my hands on my hips and took a step toward them but someone pulled me away.

"Come on, we're crossing now," Dan said, gripping my arm tightly.

The two women continued to talk about me, not having any idea I was there.

"Those vicious cows!" I seethed, very close to tears. "How dare they talk about me like this!"

Honey reached into her pocket and fished out one of her embroidered signature handkerchiefs and handed it to me. "Don't let it get to you, Gaye," she said. "They're only saying those things because they're jealous of you."

"They didn't sound like they were," I said, sniffling and wiping my cheeks dry. "They sounded like they were glad they weren't me or even had anything to do with me." I started to cry all over again. "They sounded so...it was like they hated me, yet they didn't even know me. It's like they didn't even really care to know who I am or anything!"

"But they were very quick to judge you, sweetie," she said, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

I felt so hurt, so hated, yet I hadn't done anything wrong. Why do people have to be so hateful about others?

"Don't let them get to you, Gaye," Dan said, taking his fist and gently chucking it against my jaw. Apparently, it was a gesture to make me feel happy. "People make fun of what they don't understand."

"Yeah," Bobby said, his voice rising up above the rest. "Besides, they're probably dumb people who don't appreciate good music when they hear it."

"That doesn't make them dumb, Bobby," Brian said. "Those women had no idea who you were, Gaye. You aren't all dressed up, you're not carrying your violin, and your hair is pulled back."

"That doesn't matter!" I stormed. "Those two women would be upset if one of thier friends were talking about them behind their backs!"

"I know," he said quietly. "What I said didn't make what they did right, but it put it in a different perspective for you, Gaye. If they had known that the young girl in the picture was the person standing right there, they probably wouldn't have said anything. Not everyone understands, and so because of thier ignorance, they make up what they don't know and claim that it's all fact instead of what it really is."

I hung my head. "It's still unfair. I'm not going to disappear, am I? I'm not going to fade away because no one cares to see an adult play the violin, right?"

"Of course not!" Trixie cried, looking from me to her friends and back again. "Gaye, you might have to change your scene a little because you'll grow up, but that doesn't mean that you'll have to stop what you're doing."

"Trixie's right," Mart said. "No one expects you to stay the little child prodigy, Gaye Hunya, but your fans will still love your musical talents. Everyone must grow up, and your true fans will love you regardless."

Diana's pretty violet eyes twinkled in the sunlight. "Plus, as you grow, you'll probably be give more opportunities to become a master. Make a name for yourself instead of always being the child prodigy, as Mart said."

I grinned. "I know you guys are just saying this to cheer me up, and it's working, but there's just this nagging feeling that's telling me that they're right. That I'm going to fade away into nothing because no one is going to care about me anymore. I'll become a flop. For as much as I hate the violin, I also want to go down in history with the greats like Isaac Stern, Konrad Hunya, Jascha Heifetz, Erica Morini, Mischa Elman and so on!" I gently fingered the ends of my ponytail. "I really want my name up in the bright lights like their names are."

"I know you do," Honey said quietly, pulling me into a hug. "And your name will if that's what you really want. But you have so much of your life ahead of you and so much time to make this decision. Don't let two ignorant women make this decision for you. Remember, they really don't know anything about your profession, who you are, or anything about you. All they know is what they think, and that shouldn't matter to you."

Honey was so right that it made me feel even worse for some reason. Was it because of what those women said? Was I beginning to have doubts about myself? What would my father have said if he had been here? I sniffed and smiled through my tears and looked up at the large circle of friends.

"I guess I've just never had to deal with criticism before," I said, my eyes resting on Trixie. "It's a wicked thing, but maybe it was for the better in some ways. I just realized that Aunt Della would have dealt with it and shielded me from it, or I never would have seen it in the first place."

Trixie smiled and grabbed my hand. "A little criticism adds seasoning to the person you are, you know."

Everyone gave Trixie a strange look. I wasn't too sure if I should have taken that as a compliment or not.

"What's that old saying about criticism, seasoning..." Trixie asked, scratching her head. "Or maybe it's too many cooks...no, salt your words with criticism...no, criticism is in the eye of the...no..." She looked up at me and smiled. "In any case, Gaye, take it as a compliment. I was basically saying that you should use what those women said to show them how much better you are than what they think. Okay?"

I laughed. I still didn't know what phrase Trixie was thinking of, and from the looks of it, neither did anyone else. "Okay, Trixie!" I said, laughing. "I will."

I didn't have time to change at Trixie's place so they just dropped me off at the Glen Road Inn so I could hurry up and do what I was supposed to before Aunt Della got back. The hotel manager did a double take and gave me a wide-eyed look as soon as I came in through the front door. It was pretty obvious he wasn't expecting to see me dressed like I was, wearing jeans and a shirt several sizes too big, and loafers.

"Is Aunt Della back yet?" I asked, in my most lady-like fashion.

"Yes, Miss, and I'm afraid she has since gone out again and asked about you. It seems you weren't anywhere to be found."

"I'm going up to my room now to take a bath. Please, when Aunt Della comes in, please don't tell her that I came in dressed in jeans and stuff."

"Most definitely, Miss. Shall I tell her you've arrived?"

I nodded. "Just tell her I went out for a walk and arrived only minutes after she left."

He nodded. "I must tell you, Miss, that she's already been and gone three times asking if you had come back."

"Well, tell her that I had just gone out for a walk. I need to get back to my room."

That was it. I knew I was going to be in some pretty deep trouble. Once Aunt Della gots back, she'll demand to know why I wasn't there, where I was, and why I would dare venture out on my own for fear of being kidnapped. Then, she would remind me that I have a recital tonight. I had heard it all before. I needed a nap so I would be ready for the night, so before I climbed into bed, I made sure my outfit for the show was hanging on my closet door, my shoes were sitting out, and all my accessories were ready to go and the tape player was put back in Aunt Della's room.

"What is the matter with you, child!" Aunt Della cried, barging into my room. "I swear, I think you live to give me gray hairs!"

"I just went out for a walk, Aunt Della! It's really nothing to get worried about!"

She put her hands on her hips and in two strides, was standing in front of me. "Listen, little girl, you had no business being out on your own like that! You had me worried sick! I thought you had learned your lesson ages ago about this! And did you even practice? I don't think you did!"

I rolled my eyes. "I can play that stupid song in my sleep!" I yelled. "I'm so burned out on that song, it's getting to the point where I'm just sick of thinking about it!"

She took a deep breath and set her jaw. "That is no excuse for what you did and you know it. You need to take your nap, and I think I might need one, too, to relax! Gaye Hunya, you ever pull a stunt like that again, and I'll personally see to it that you're given a bodyguard to watch you at all times."

I scowled and hung my head and sat down on the bed, crossing my arms. I just hated her sometimes. I love her because she's my aunt, but she can be so frustrating that it gets unbearable at times. I felt I could just run away right now, but I knew that running away would just kill her. I didn't want to spite her, but I just can't stand being locked up all the time to practice, practice and practice some more. I wish that she would have had threatened to take my violin away from me, but there was no chance of that happening.

I was dressed in black to match the other students in the ensemble. The show felt rather boring to me as I've played these songs with countless groups of musicians and students all across the country and in Europe for the last six months of my life. I really wish I could have been one of these students, feeling privileged to have been chosen to perform with one of the world's greats. That thought brought all my energy down. I've never had that feeling before. It wasn't until we were in the middle of Pachelbel's Canon when I realized that I had never really ever had anyone that I looked up to. These students had several musicians, composers, teachers, and even parents who supported them, loved them, and helped them in their goal to become the best that they could be. I had Aunt Della, a woman that was the closest thing I had to a parent, yet I have never felt the urge or desire to look at her as one.

It was nearly time for my big showcase as the other players backed me up, and I brought the song to its climax. At that very moment, I took a glance out into the dimly lit audience and spotted the Bob Whites, sitting together with their parents. Even Bobby was there, sitting with both sets of Lynch twins. I let my eyes soften as I threw them my warmest smile and let the music carry me away in a way it had never done before. It was just now when I realized how truly beautiful this song was and how I suddenly didn't seem very bored by it at all.

As the eight of us brought in the crescendo and filled the auditorium with music, something new happened. I suddenly realized something about myself that had been there all along, but had never noticed. I had to confront Aunt Della. Ever since that concert at Glen Road Inn, I knew that it was something I had to do, but tonight I realized that if I were to ever have any control over my life, I had to. No excuses. If she loved me, she would hear me out and would do as I asked. My heartbeat grew at a rapid pace as we brought one of the most beautiful, heart wrenching pieces of classical music to a close, our instruments playing, music flowing out and resting upon the audience, and several of the spectators looked on with tears in their eyes. And for the final touch, coming down from that musical high, our instruments fell away, little at a time until we came to a full stop. I kept my breath pent up as my bow finally came to a stop simultaneously with everyone else. As I lifted my bow, I let out my breath and closed my eyes.

Rain, I don't mind
Shine, the weather's fine

That was the best I had ever played that song ever since I could remember! The audience began clapping and cheering, and when I finally opened my eyes to take my bow, everyone was giving us a standing ovation. The high school music teacher stepped forward to hand me a bouquet of roses, which I made a show of inhaling their sent and then thanked her for them.

The night moved by very quickly, and I found myself sitting at my vanity, staring at the roses in a glass vase, wondering if people will ever be this excited to see me ever again. I began to wonder if there'll ever be nights like this one again, where suddenly I was moved by my own music, and new revelations dawned on me. Probably not until I find that my talents are no longer in demand.

"One of these days, some other little cute child prodigy will take her place. You mark my words. She's a big thing now because she's so young. Later on, it won't be so much of a novelty. Who really cares about an adult who can play violin? As soon as she grows up, she's nothing."

That woman's words will echo in my ears forever. I just know they will. I pulled one of the roses out of the vase and gently rubbed my fingers on the silky, soft petals. Those women were very much like this rose, I thought, running my fingers down the stem, over the prickly thorns.

"Soft on the surface, but very rough underneath," I whispered to myself, laying the rose down on the vanity, next to my hairbrush.

The Bob Whites tried to reach me tonight, but I was surrounded by the press. Bobby, the boy who looked so disinterested last time, thoroughly enjoyed the show. I could tell. When I spotted him, his eyes were glued to the stage as if he were imagining himself right there with us. None of them could reach me, though, because of reporters, photographers and other press agents who tried to get a quote from me. I gave everyone a pretty smile, with the exception of Paul Trent, who, until the day I die, will never get a smile out of me. After changing back into the clothes I borrowed from Trixie and Honey, I sat down to write a letter on my personal stationary.

Dear Aunt Della,

I need to talk to you about a very important matter that involves my career. Your date book is full, and it seems that I can't arrange to speak with you until months from now. So, I've decided that I need to be alone for a while. If you come looking for me in my room, you will not find me as I will be out for a walk. I didn't want you to worry, so that's why I'm leaving you this note.

I realize I'm probably going to make you angry by going out alone again, so I'll be prepared to take whatever punishment you'll have lined up for me.

Love,

Your very own niece, Gaye.

I slipped the note under my aunt's door and hurried down the hallway. Photographers and interviewers crowded around the front doors, talking with my aunt, no doubt grilling her with questions about me and my life. I scowled and hurried down the stairs and ran back to the kitchen to use the door there.

"Why, hello there," a man said, looking up from his recipe book. "Little girl, you can't be back here. I think you've taken a wrong turn."

My cheeks flushed pink; I looked down at my loafer-clad feet. "Mister, I'm only trying to find a way out of this place. Each door is blocked by the press, and I would only like to go out for a bit."

"You're the little violinist," he said, taking his reading glasses off. "I'm very sorry, but I didn't recognize you without your aunt."

"That's the way it seems to go these days. If I'm out of costume, if I let my hair down, and if I am without my aunt, people don't seem to know who I am."

"Must be nice to have a little privacy once in a while, huh?" he said, closing his cookbook but keeping a finger between a few pages. "Well, if you'd like to get out of here the safe way, you may take the housekeeper's entrance." He pointed to a door on the other side of the kitchen. "That will take you past the laundry room and cleaning supplies. You'll go past a desk where there is a big calendar on the wall and canning jars full of laundry markers. There's a door on your left you'll want to take. It'll take you right outside where, chances are, no one will be. We've had famous people stay here before and when they want to leave without being mugged to death, we tell them to take this door. Most people don't think to hang out at this one because the only people who come and go around here through that door are housekeepers."

I flashed him a grateful smile. "Thank you very much, sir!"

In no time, I was on my way to Crabapple Farm to exchange the clothes I was borrowing for my own and to thank them for their support and help. I know that Aunt Della would have wanted to come by, too, but I just felt that some things I needed to do alone. It was now or the next time around, if there even was going to be a next time. I could see the homey lights from the living room twinkling through the trees as I, once again, walked up the long and winding Belden driveway. Ever since my first visit here, I had often thought of someday having a house that was just like this one, but every time I dreamed about it, it just didn't seem to have the lived-in "home" quality about it. It was just a house and nothing more. Just as I reached the front porch, the lights went out.

I let out a frustrated sigh as I turned around and headed back down the driveway. Figures. I guess they go to bed early to get up early to work in their garden or whatever people with farms do.

"Why, Gaye!" came a voice from behind. When I turned around, I saw Trixie and her brothers walking out of the door and down the porch. "Didn't expect to see you out this late!"

I shrugged. "I came by to return these clothes and get mine, but it looked like you were going to bed, so I didn't want to bother you."

Trixie laughed. "It's summer vacation, Gaye! We're never in bed this early."

"Moms and Dad are up at Manor House. Would you like to join us?" Brian asked, smiling at me.

Gosh, he's handsome! "Sure," I said. "It'll give me a chance to say good-bye to Honey and Jim, too."

"Good-bye?" Trixie asked. "You're not leaving already, are you?"

"I'm afraid so," I said, running up to meet them. We took a trail that cuts through a patch of trees and up a hill. "Aunt Della has me booked solid the rest of this month and through to the end of July. We're leaving tomorrow morning. We're flying out of White Plains for Seattle, Washington."

"Are you coming back?" Bobby asked, pushing past Mart and Brian to walk next to me. "I hope you are."

I shrugged. "I don't know if I'll ever play this town again, but I'll definitely come back, Bobby. I've made all kinds of friends here, you know."

Everyone was sitting out on the veranda, looking out at Mrs. Wheeler's wonderful rose bushes and the amazing hedge work labyrinth that was created. Once we reached the Manor House, Bobby ran up ahead to join his friends. Mindy and Cindy Lynch were waiting too, but they weren't invited to play with Larry, Terry and Bobby.

"I must say," Mrs. Wheeler said, gingerly taking a bratwurst from Mr. Belden, "it's been a very long time since I've had grill-out food. I've almost forgotten the smell of charcoal and the wonderful taste, too!" she said. "Well, hello, Gaye! Care to join us?"

I nodded and took a seat, sitting straight with my best posture and crossing my feet at the ankles.

"Madeleine," Mr. Wheeler said, wiping his mouth at the corner, "if you would like to grill out more often, all you need to do is say something, and I'll contact Weber and order a custom-made grill for you."

Mrs. Wheeler laughed and sipped her iced tea. "It would hardly be worth it, Matthew. We are never home enough to use it."

Adult conversation is probably one of the most torturous things this planet has to offer. They talk about the stupidest things.

"I never got a chance to tell you, Gaye," Trixie piped up, accepting a glass of iced tea from Celia. "Your concert this evening was wonderful!"

"Thank you," I said, not really knowing what else to say. I was in the spotlight once again, and I wanted to tell them all exactly how I felt, yet I couldn't. Not with everyone looking. I wanted to tell them how I had made up my mind about Aunt Della and my career, but not with all these adults watching and probably all ready to tell me that I should listen to Aunt Della, since she knows best.

"Those students were marvelous to work with."

"I wish we'd been given enough time to work with you on some kind of fund raiser," Honey said, taking a seat next to me. "You play so beautifully that I'm sure people would love to pay extra for a ticket if they knew that it would go towards a worthy cause, such as UNICEF or something like it."

"A fund raiser?" I asked. I had never thought of that. "Yeah, that would have been a neat thing to do."

"Maybe next time around," Mart said, helping himself to three bratwursts and a large helping of sauerkraut.

"Maybe," I said, not real sure of myself. Just then, Bobby, Larry and Terry showed up, each wearing black outfits, old World War Two motor bike helmets that had been painted black, and were each carrying a bucket and a flashlight. "You guys look like you're ready for a some kind of raid!" I said, laughing.

"We're going frog hunting, Gaye. Wanna come?" Bobby invited.

"Frog hunting?" I asked, suddenly remembering Bobby's penchant for reptiles, such as the chameleon he tried to give me named Oscar.

"Yeah. Larry and Terry don't think girls should be invited, but since this is your last night here, I thought we'd make an exception."

Mindy and Cindy wrinkled their noses. "You boys are stupid," Mindy said, rolling her eyes. "They just want to catch a frog and throw it at you, Gaye. Don't go with them."

I smiled. "Thank you for inviting me, Bobby, but not this time. Maybe some other time, all right?"

He shrugged. "Suit yourself, Gaye. Come on, men!"

For the next half hour, I sat quietly, watching all these long-time friends and neighbors enjoy each other's company. Once in a while, one of them would smile at me, but it was rather obvious that they didn't really have much to say to me, because they really didn't know me at all. Dan knew more about me than the others, and he wasn't there. I don't know where he was.

"It's time I should be getting back, I suppose. I still need to change clothes, though," I said, standing up. "These are Honey's shoes and Trixie's clothes.

"Keep the clothes," Trixie said, grinning. "They don't fit me at all anymore, and it looks like you're pretty comfortable in them, so go ahead."

"Same with the shoes," said Honey. "I haven't worn those loafers in simply ages!"

"Thank you, but I simply couldn't. You see, Aunt Della..." I cut myself off. Aunt Della wouldn't like them at all, but I suddenly realized that it's not about Aunt Della and what she likes. I can't wear frilly frocks all day, every day. "Thank you," I said, looking down at the baggy jeans. "I guess I'll grow into them one of these days."

Trixie took me back down to the farm to get my clothes and then sent me on my way. She offered to walk with me, but I declined. The press had disappeared from the front of the Inn, so I casually walked in and up the stairs to my room. I took a deep breath as I noticed that Aunt Della's light was on. Mustering up all my energy, I knocked on the door.

Aunt Della and I had quite a heart to heart talk that night that lasted until about four in the morning. At first, I didn't want to tell her about it, fearing for what her reaction would be, but in the end, I was very thankful that I did it anyway. She understood, even though she seemed so brokenhearted about it. After she was too tired to carry on, she told me that it was entirely okay with her, that she had been hoping for a little time off, too.

Some day, years from now, I would return to Sleepyside and visit old friends. Maybe there would be a mystery for Trixie, or Brian would be given a chance to use his medical expertise, Bobby could tell me once again how he lost his bug collection that took him ages to put together, or maybe Dan will be around more often so I can talk to him. I enjoyed talking to him last time, at that clothing store while everyone was shopping for Father's Day gifts. Maybe Jim's school might be open and I could get a tour. Maybe I could actually go frog hunting with Bobby and the other boys. Maybe I could get to know Mindy and Cindy. Maybe I could visit during Christmas and watch It's a Wonderful Life with the Bob Whites at Crabapple Farm. I knew that one thing was for certain, that I would never lead a normal life like everyone else in Sleepyside unless I did something about it right now. There wasn't a single second that whole night I wished I could have backed down and let Aunt Della have her way, but I knew if I did, I would probably never have another chance again.

The flight to Seattle was nothing but ten hours of pure stress. The tension was so thick, you could have cut it with a knife. We had a two-hour layover in Chicago, Illinois, and I knew that Aunt Della was anything but happy. I'll never forget how furious she was!

"Why would you want to quit now when you're bordering on the edge of stardom?"

"It's those Belden kids! They're the ones who put this foolish idea in your head! I knew I shouldn't have let you associate with them!"

"I will not have any ward of mine tell me when they need a break from this work. You have the easy end of it. I'm the one who needs the vacation, Gaye! I'm the one who does most of the work! All you have to do is practice, show up and play, and you even get all the credit! Your picture is in the paper, not mine!"

"I'm doing this for you, Gaye. Do you really want your name to go down in history as the little child who foolishly quit before she reached international fame? People will scoff and laugh at you for ages!"

I sat there and cried, the sobs coming out uncontrollably. She scolded me for crying, for not respecting my elders, and for not respecting her job as the decision maker. But, after I kept the argument going until four-thirty a.m., she finally gave in out of exhaustion. I agreed to finish out the tour, but after that, I desperately needed to take time off to relax, possibly to retire. I had won a battle, but not the war. I fought and won relaxation, but I will have to fight a greater fight to retire from this hell-ish life completely.

Can you hear me
that when it rains and shines
it's just a state of mind
Can you hear me
Can you hear me

Author's Notes:

First of all, a very big special Bob-White whistle goes out to Susan for her editing prowess. You rock, honey! *hugs*

Second, Trixie Belden and all characters mentioned in this story with the exception of just a few are property of Random House and were used without permission. No profit is being made from this story. Trust me, would you seriously pay money to read this drivel?

Gaye Hunya, Aunt Della, and Paul Trent were first introduced in "Marshland Mystery". Most people don't care for Gaye at all. I'm one of those few who actually like the little girl. She had so many stories to tell, so much character and such a loaded history that I just couldn't leave her alone.

And, did you think I was going to let a story from my 60's Universe go by without a Beatle reference of some kind? LOL! The Beatles did not appear on Ed Sullivan as a live band on June 5th, 1966. Instead, they sent him two music videos to play in lieu of their absence. "Paperback Writer" and "Rain" were sent and broadcasted for all their fans to see...and they were in color, too! So, households with color TVs at the time got to see an extra added bonus. The Beldens most likely did not have a color TV. Families such as the Wheelers and the Lynches would have had color TVs.

The WW2 helmets Bobby and the Lynch boys were wearing would probably be in museums these days instead of hanging around for kids to play with. This being the sixties, ideas about old things, keepsakes, and especially old war paraphanalia were not the same as they are today. People got rid of the old because it was simply just that: old. The idea was to move on and buy brand new. These ideas were constantly found all the way through the Trixie Belden books, such as in #7 (Mysterious Code) when several people gladly donated their old antiques to the show because it was just old junk. Now, where the boys got the WW2 helments from is waiting to be written. Yes, you guessed it, another story has just joined all those on my hard drive...

The CWP I wrote this for called for "a bicycle helmet" but the first bicycle helmet wasn't tested until 1974, and this story takes place in 1966. Unless the Beldens knew something the rest of the world didn't, they wouldn't have had a bicycle helmet. That is why I substituded in the WW2 motorbike helmets.

All songs, with the exception of "Rain" are in public domain, so I don't feel bad about stealing them. Ashoken Farewell is a very sad Irish ballad, but it is my favorite. Check it out sometime if you love Irish music. I don't know who wrote it or anything, but it is a very old song. Pachelbel's Canon in D was written by Pachelbel (of course *g*) and can be found on several compilation albums of classical music, wedding music, or the Ordinary People soundtrack. Beethovan's Opus 40 is a beautiful piece of music, and perfectly perfect for a violinist of Gaye's stature... :)

The fact about Mozart writing symphonies at age six is true. He wrote his first symphony at age six and was performing in front of the Emporer of Austria by the age of eight.

Gaye's thoughts about rock and roll music and the use of an orchestra were just way too prolific. She must've known something. :) After 1966, the music scene changed quite a bit, many groups using the deep, rich sounds of the bass, cello, viola and violin to add depth and flavor to their music while still maintaining the rock and roll and experimental sounds. They didn't stop with stringed instruments, however, and even wrote pieces of music for brass and wind istruments as well. Little did she know that thirty years later, even a metal band (in what would be one of thier worst mistakes ever) would also team together with an orchestra for a concert.

All famous violinists that Gaye listed to the Bob-Whites with the exeption of Konrad Hunya are real famous people who would have been well known at this time. Konrad Hunya was my creation and is, of course, her father. :)

This was my submission for CWP #10, Mary C's Springtime CWP. Elements were as follows:
    Mention of a Holiday between March 1 and July 1 (Father's Day)
    Any song with the word "Rain" in the title (Rain - The Beatles)
    An umbrella - Gaye takes one with her to the park because it rained the night before
    A muddy shoe - Gaye's muddy shoes after coming back from the park and working in the garden
    A cupcake - Cupcakes are served at the Lynch house
    A game of hopscotch - Gaye finds the outline of a hopscotch game at the park
    Markers - Laundry markers in the Mason jars at the Inn
    A straw - Lemonade served with straws at the Lynch house
    A bicycle helmet - the motorbike helmets that Bobby and the Lynch boys were wearing.
    A missing homework assignment - Bobby tells her about his missing bug collection
    A carry forward item from one of the previous CWPs. (Well, I went whole hog and did one from each...
           CWP#1 - Secondary Character - Gaye Hunya
           CWP#2 - Makeup Mirror - In Trixie's room
           CWP#3 - Picture Taking Tourist - Many of them outisde the Inn
           CWP#4 - Someone other than Dan chopping wood - Mart
           CWP#5 - A broken heart - Aunt Della upon hearing Gaye's decision to take time off
           CWP#6 - A layover - on the way to Seattle
           CWP#7 - A cookbook - The cook at Glen Road Inn
           CWP#8 - Wearing somebody else's shoes - Gaye wears Honey's old loafers
           CWP#9 - A holiday TV show or Movie - It's a Wonderful Life - Gaye thinks about watching it with the Beldens during Christmas.

I think I've pretty much covered everything...

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