Playing the Maestro by Aubrie Dionne

pointed his finger at her. “Don’t call your aunt a sillyhead, young lady.”
    “Why don’t you take Violet down and see?” Laini leaned back in her chair and cracked her neck. “It would give us a chance to get some shut-eye.”
    Melody couldn’t believe she was actually considering staying on the chance the “piano man” might be Wolf. I’m here to spend time with Violet, not go chasing after men.
    Violet gave her the sad puppy dog eyes. “Puleeze?”
    How could she refuse such a cute, pouty face? Besides, it probably wasn’t Wolf. The “piano man” could be Mr. Wallsworth for all she knew. He was retired and had a lot of time on his hands. And she’d love to see Mr. Wallsworth again. Maybe she could even fill him in on what was happening with his orchestra. “All right, I’ll take you down. What time is he coming?”
    “Eleven.” Laini checked her watch. “You’d better go now if you want good seats.”
    Violet grabbed her hand and Melody squeezed. “Mozart, here we come.”
    They shuffled down the corridor toward the children’s playroom, Melody watching Violet like a mother hawk. “You tell me if you start to feel funny, okay?”
    Violet huffed. “Okay, Auntie Mel-D.”
    People had already gathered in the playroom. A few parents and nurses stood by the door. Violet ran and sat in the front row on the floor next to the other kids, while Melody took a seat in the back by a wall painted with children riding a carousel. Some of the children wore their hospital gowns, trailing IV bags on poles, while others wore pajamas. A girl with a ragged pink burn covering half her face sat next to Violet. Behind them sat a bald little boy holding a teddy bear.
    Empathy spread through Melody’s soul. All these little kids had problems bigger than she could imagine, and they were so cheerful, so brave. They sat facing the stage in the center of the room with hope in their eyes. Whoever this conductor was, he gave them something special to look forward to. To Melody, that was magic.
    “ Guten tag , little music makers!” A man wearing an eighteenth-century overcoat and an oversize white wig sprang into the room. Powder dusted his face, but Melody recognized the heavily accented bass voice before she even saw him. Her breathing quickened as her stomach somersaulted.
    Wolf bowed before the kids as they clapped and laughed. He walked to an electronic piano set up by the coloring desks and played the Turkish March forward, backward, then upside down. The kids hooted and cheered hysterically. The little bald boy fell over with laughter.
    Was this really Wolf? Melody couldn’t match the snobby, stiff-backed conductor with the goofy man in the white wig. Which one was show and which one was real?
    Violet bounced on her butt and shouted, “Are you really Mozart?”
    He spoke in a string of German words that Melody couldn’t understand, then winked at Violet. “What do you think?” At that moment, his eyes caught Melody’s. Her pulse raced and her face heated. It was almost as if he asked her the question she’d just asked herself.
    What did she think?
    Before Violet could answer, he had the nurses pass out sparkling wands.
    So that’s why he was at the toy store.
    Using a laptop and speakers, he blasted Beethoven’s fifth symphony and taught the kids how to conduct the opening. After that, he let them go crazy, swinging their batons any which way they liked to express themselves through the music. He danced with them, swinging them up when the music crescendoed and diving them back down again with a descending run.
    The mom sitting beside Melody leaned over to whisper in her ear. “He’s wonderful with the kids, and he does it all for free.”
    “Really?”
    She nodded. “As part of the volunteer program. I’m the president of the Helping Hands Organization. He signed up the day he got to the States.”
    Melody had never seen such laughter and compassion in his eyes. And she thought she was Mother Theresa