The Light in the Darkness by Ellen Fisher Page A

that three months before she had been little better than a slave. Unfortunately, most of the changes were superficial. But considering the girl’s startling level of intelligence, Catherine was confident that she would very shortly be a lady in every way.
    “There was another thing,” Jennifer remarked idly, surprising Catherine, who had never known her to speak without prodding. “My uncle believed that I was mad. He used to beat me for that reason, every now and then.”
    “I can’t imagine why he would think that,” Catherine said honestly. Despite the unpleasantness of her childhood, Jennifer seemed relatively normal, if reserved. Certainly she was the sanest member of this household!
    Wide green eyes, the color of pine needles in the summer sun, glanced gravely at her as if deciding whether to disclose a momentous secret. At last Jennifer said, “Because I hear music.” At Catherine’s puzzled expression, she clarified, “In my head. Every now and then a travelerwould take out a fiddle and play a tune in the tavern. I can hear those tunes whenever I want to. But I also hear other tunes, tunes I’ve never heard before.”
    “Melodies you made up yourself?”
    Jennifer considered this with her customary solemnity. “I suppose so,” she agreed at last, “though I never thought about them. They just came into my head.” There was a slight, embarrassed pause, and then she burst out, “You said I could learn to play the harpsichord. When?”
    Startled by the girl’s enthusiasm, Catherine said, “Well, I thought learning to read was most important.” At the girl’s crestfallen expression, she added, “However … I suppose other accomplishments are important, too. If it means that much to you we can start on the harpsichord today, if you like.”
    Jennifer smiled, actually smiled, and the radiance of it spread across her face like the rays of a sunrise spreading across the sky. Leaping to her feet, she lifted her skirts and ran down the stairs with childlike glee. Catherine followed more slowly, leaning on her walking stick.
    “I know I can learn to play,” Jennifer was saying excitedly from the bottom of the staircase as Catherine limped down the steps. “I know I can! I’ve dreamed about playing the tunes in my head. And new tunes, ones I’ve never heard of or imagined. I never thought I’d have the opportunity—” She broke off, suddenly aware of Catherine’s surprised stare at her uncharacteristic burst of words. Once again her quiet self, she followed the other woman meekly into the parlor.
    As Catherine had expected, Jennifer was full of questions about music, her enthusiasm for the subject overcoming her reticence. At first, puzzled, she inquired why the scale only went up to G rather than to Z. When her curiosity regarding that enigma was satisfied, she demanded an explanation as to why there was no black key between B and C. Her questions might have gone on forever had not Catherine demonstrated the scale. Jennifer ran throughthe C-major scale, clearly delighted to actually be touching the instrument, then, to Catherine’s utter astonishment, she picked out a melody, with surprisingly few mistakes.
    “I understood you to say you had never played the harpsichord before,” Catherine said in surprise.
    “I haven’t.”
    “Then where did you learn to play that melody?”
    Jennifer gave her an apologetic half smile. “I heard it once.”
    “And you can play it? Just like that?”
    Jennifer nodded and played the melody again, perfectly this time.
    The girl had an innate grasp of intervals, Catherine realized. Teaching her how to play might be easier than she expected.
    She ran into an unexpected snag, however, almost immediately. Once she had given Jennifer a rudimentary explanation of fingering techniques, she tried to show the girl how to read music. Jennifer became perplexed, then frustrated.
    “I don’t understand,” she protested, unhappy that she was a poor student, but