The piece was finished. Everyone clapped and shouted “Bravo!” “It was grand!” “A memorable performance!” “Sure to be an astounding success!”
But the Luries did not have to entertain a celebrity to have music in their home. Friends came to spend a social evening, but invariably brought with them their musical instruments—bass fiddle, cello, violin, clarinet—and stacked them on a bed or on chairs. Everyone cheerfully pushed the parlor furniture about, carried the music stands from the closet under the hall stairs, switched lamps from there to here for better lighting. There was talk, gossip of the great ones, a little politics and world affairs, but mostly music.
Judy went to her room shortly after the first pleasant greetings were over. Sometimes she fell asleep in spite of the music played fortissimo right under her room.
She could always tell when it was eleven o’clock, by the clatter of the teacups. Her mother was serving coffee and cake. Why are musicians always so hungry, she wondered, even as she bit greedily into a large slice of cake her mother had thoughtfully brought her.
She opened her diary. Among its pages lay the letter from Mr. Crowley. She read it again, then briefly wrote in her diary.
“I went to the Theater Barn yesterday, just to see it! It was just as I dreamed it would be, except the heavy padlock on the door and the sign ‘For Rent.’ Poor Mr. Crowley!”
And it seemed to Judy that she had no sooner fallen sound asleep when she was awakened by the crash of chords. The early-bird piano student had arrived for morning practice.
5
A RUDE YET PLEASANT AWAKENING
By the end of the second week Judy knew every street in Aspen. She had stumbled over the uneven slabs of stone that passed for sidewalks while gazing absently into shop windows displaying curious articles imported from all over the world.
