“I’d like to be in the orchestra, too, and we can’t both use the same violin at the same time.”
Daddy’s face looked sad. That night, and many following nights, I heard him remind God in our f***ly devotions, “...and Lord, Mary Lou wants her own violin.”
One evening we all sat around the table. The twins and I studied. Mother sewed, and Daddy wrote a letter to his friend, George Finkle, in Columbus. Mr. Finkle, Daddy said, was a fine violinist.
As he wrote, Daddy read parts of his letter out loud to Mother. Weeks later I discovered he’d written one line he didn’t read aloud, “Would you watch for a violin for my third daughter？ I can’t pay much, but she enjoys music, and we’d like her to have her own instrument.”
When Daddy received a letter from Columbus a few weeks later, he announced, “We’ll be driving to Columbus to spend the night with Aunt Alice as soon as I can find someone to care for the livestock2.”
At last the day arrived, and we drove to Aunt Alice’s. After we arrived, I listened while Daddy made a phone call. He hung up and asked, “Mary Lou, do you want to go with me to visit Mr. Finkle？”
“Sure,” I answered.
He drove into a residential3 area and stopped in the driveway of a fine, old house. We walked up the steps and rang the door chime4. A tall man, older than Daddy, opened the door. “Come in！” He and Daddy heartily shook hands, both talking at once.
“Mary Lou, I’ve been hearing things about you. Your daddy has arranged a big surprise for you！ ”Mr. Finkle ushered us into the