the cushioned seat beside her. “Ready to get started?”
Mariah had rushed for the piano the moment she spied it, but Kaylee approached slowly, almost reverently. The two looked to be close to the same age, but their temperaments were as different as girls could be. Kaylee slid onto the bench and sat rigid, her hands clasped in her lap.
“Have you ever taken music lessons?” Jill asked.
Kaylee shook her head.
“Do you know the notes on a piano?”
Again, the child shook her head. That suited Jill fine. Mariah had never taken a lesson either, which meant both her students would be at the same level. Much easier for her. They could use the same lesson book, and she would only have to prepare one lesson each week instead of two.
“All right, let’s begin by learning the keys. The very first key on the keyboard is an A, just like in the regular alphabet. It’s all the way down here on the left side.”
Jill went through the same introductory comments she’d given to Mariah, only without parental interruption the lesson went much quicker. When she asked Kaylee to point out all the C’s on the keyboard, the child did so quickly, without hesitation, but also with a soft touch of obvious reverence for the instrument that the other girl had not displayed. Jill found herself drawn to the shy girl, to her quiet manners and, especially, to her obvious deferencefor the piano. She also had a quick mind, and listened to everything Jill said with the attention of a cat focused on a bird’s nest.
“That’s really good, Kaylee,” Jill told her when they’d covered the black keys and the concept of sharps and flats. “Now, I’d like to hear you play something. What do you play at home?”
When she’d asked Mariah to play, she’d been treated to a clanging but enthusiastic performance of “Chopsticks,” followed by “Heart and Soul” pounded out with both index fingers.
Once again, Kaylee showed herself to be no Mariah. A look of absolute horror crept over the girl’s features. She shrank from the keyboard, her fingers curled into fists and pressed against her collarbone. “But I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay.” Jill placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’re here to learn how, and you will. I just want to hear what you can do. It doesn’t have to be good.”
The large eyes studied her, and gradually Kaylee’s features relaxed. “Okay.”
She extended her hands, and her childish fingers hovered for a moment over the keys. Then they lowered.
The piano awakened as music poured from beneath the raised lid like clear, fresh water bubbling over a rocky stream bed. Jill’s jaw went slack during the first few, intimately familiar notes of
Für Elise.
The child, who’d never had a lesson, was playing Beethoven, and playing beautifully, with real feeling for the piece. Her dynamics were nearly flawless, her interpretation much the same as Jill would play herself. Her technique wasn’t perfect, for sure. The tempo was a little off when she moved from the left-handed arpeggios into the relative major.
When she made a jarring mistake, blood suffused Kaylee’s face and she jerked her hands off the keyboard. “See, I told you I couldn’t do it.”
For a long moment, Jill could only stare at the girl, incredulous. Had the child been lying when she said she’d never had a lesson? No, Jill saw no guile in Kaylee’s face. And during the lesson it had been obvious that she didn’t know a C from a D-sharp.
“How did you learn to play that piece?” she asked.
The child looked down at the hands in her lap. “From you.”
“Me?”
She nodded. “Mama took me to hear your concert in Halifax when I was seven, and she bought me your CD. I listened to it over and over.” Her thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Then I played it. But I can’t get it right.”
She played by ear. First she listened to a piece, and then she sat down and played it. No sheet music, no training, just
Mariah had rushed for the piano the moment she spied it, but Kaylee approached slowly, almost reverently. The two looked to be close to the same age, but their temperaments were as different as girls could be. Kaylee slid onto the bench and sat rigid, her hands clasped in her lap.
“Have you ever taken music lessons?” Jill asked.
Kaylee shook her head.
“Do you know the notes on a piano?”
Again, the child shook her head. That suited Jill fine. Mariah had never taken a lesson either, which meant both her students would be at the same level. Much easier for her. They could use the same lesson book, and she would only have to prepare one lesson each week instead of two.
“All right, let’s begin by learning the keys. The very first key on the keyboard is an A, just like in the regular alphabet. It’s all the way down here on the left side.”
Jill went through the same introductory comments she’d given to Mariah, only without parental interruption the lesson went much quicker. When she asked Kaylee to point out all the C’s on the keyboard, the child did so quickly, without hesitation, but also with a soft touch of obvious reverence for the instrument that the other girl had not displayed. Jill found herself drawn to the shy girl, to her quiet manners and, especially, to her obvious deferencefor the piano. She also had a quick mind, and listened to everything Jill said with the attention of a cat focused on a bird’s nest.
“That’s really good, Kaylee,” Jill told her when they’d covered the black keys and the concept of sharps and flats. “Now, I’d like to hear you play something. What do you play at home?”
When she’d asked Mariah to play, she’d been treated to a clanging but enthusiastic performance of “Chopsticks,” followed by “Heart and Soul” pounded out with both index fingers.
Once again, Kaylee showed herself to be no Mariah. A look of absolute horror crept over the girl’s features. She shrank from the keyboard, her fingers curled into fists and pressed against her collarbone. “But I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay.” Jill placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You’re here to learn how, and you will. I just want to hear what you can do. It doesn’t have to be good.”
The large eyes studied her, and gradually Kaylee’s features relaxed. “Okay.”
She extended her hands, and her childish fingers hovered for a moment over the keys. Then they lowered.
The piano awakened as music poured from beneath the raised lid like clear, fresh water bubbling over a rocky stream bed. Jill’s jaw went slack during the first few, intimately familiar notes of
Für Elise.
The child, who’d never had a lesson, was playing Beethoven, and playing beautifully, with real feeling for the piece. Her dynamics were nearly flawless, her interpretation much the same as Jill would play herself. Her technique wasn’t perfect, for sure. The tempo was a little off when she moved from the left-handed arpeggios into the relative major.
When she made a jarring mistake, blood suffused Kaylee’s face and she jerked her hands off the keyboard. “See, I told you I couldn’t do it.”
For a long moment, Jill could only stare at the girl, incredulous. Had the child been lying when she said she’d never had a lesson? No, Jill saw no guile in Kaylee’s face. And during the lesson it had been obvious that she didn’t know a C from a D-sharp.
“How did you learn to play that piece?” she asked.
The child looked down at the hands in her lap. “From you.”
“Me?”
She nodded. “Mama took me to hear your concert in Halifax when I was seven, and she bought me your CD. I listened to it over and over.” Her thin shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Then I played it. But I can’t get it right.”
She played by ear. First she listened to a piece, and then she sat down and played it. No sheet music, no training, just
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