Betsey's hands were tight, muscles flexed with too much tension. I gently put my arm around her back to give support. Eyes focused with intent, she was working with every faculty on alert. My hand readied to turn the page. The next sixteen bars were pure joy.
|Reproduction of a Renior by Joan Kutcher|
I listened, a smile escaping from my zealous countenance. Betsey was finally playing freely. The melody soared above the murmuring baseline. I was relieved and full of pleasure at her success. Her father, the Count, would be put in his place. I disliked his constant criticism when it came to his children. He had employed me to teach Betsey and Stewart and each of them had talent. They were just too afraid of him to see themselves as able.
Was I putting myself above my station to want to prove him wrong?
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