The Piano Teacher

Chapter 12

"Nellie, you haven't been making any significant improvements since we began. Now, your brother is studying, and you aren't. That shows in how you play. Don't you want the music you play to sound nice?"

Nellie stood, wide-eyed and looked about ready to scream. "My music does sound nice! And Willie's being unfair! He never studies, never! He's doing it now just to spite me."

"Nellie, no one is trying to spite you. I'm here to teach both of you how to play this instrument. I can't do that if you don't listen to my requests for you to practice. Now, your brother is much younger than you, but he might surpass your playing skills soon if you don't take this more seriously."

Nellie's eyes immediately filled with tears and she produced a cry much like that of a wounded animal. She retreated from the room using her usual route up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming her feet on the stairs and making as much noise as she went.

Mrs. Oleson, who had been sleepily leaning against one of the mercantile's counters for some time, perked up and immediately went after her daughter. "Nellie, darling, what's wrong?" The older woman shot a glance at Charlotte in the parlor. "What did you do to her? How in the world have you gotten her so upset?"

Charlotte was too stunned to say anything. Mrs. Oleson clicked her tongue in frustration and stomped up the stairs after her daughter.

Mr. Oleson peered up the stairs but didn't bother to follow, too busy cleaning out a glass jar with a rag. He glanced at Charlotte and gave her a tired smirk. "It gets a little old when she does it for the third or fourth time, doesn't it?"

"Mr. Oleson, I'm sorry. I worry I don't... have the skills to teach her."

"Oh, it has nothing to do with your skills, Miss Richmond. If skills were the issue, then I don't think anyone in the world would have enough to teach my daughter. Nellie's very stubborn, and she likes to think that everything she does is perfect.... You're quite a lot tougher than I thought you were, coming back every week to teach her and Willie. If I was in your place, I think I would have packed up and left by now."

His words created a little spark in her mind.

For the past few weeks, she had been very depressed. Her uncle had tried to cheer her up with his usual stories and jokes but to no avail. She had been thinking too much about being considered pathetic by everyone who saw her, especially Mr. Oleson. She didn't want someone who she considered a close acquaintance to think of her like that.

However, Mr. Oleson's offhanded words today changed her perspective slightly. Perhaps he doesn't think I'm entirely pathetic. Perhaps he didn't hire me solely out of pity.

Willie, who Charlotte forgot was there, ran up to his father. "Pa, can I go play ball outside?"

"Well, all right. The hour's just about up anyway." The boy raced past him like a firework and was gone. Mr. Oleson grinned and put the jar he was cleaning on the mercantile's counter once it was spotless. Then, he stepped into the parlor next to the piano where Charlotte sat, hooking his thumbs into his waistcoat. "How's my son doing with his lessons?"

"Surprisingly well. He's no savant, but he's right on track. He's been practicing."

"That is a surprise," Mr. Oleson replied, raising his eyebrows. "I thought I heard him playing something pleasant from out in the store."

"It was a duet I played with him of the Turkish March. Mozart." She played a few seconds of the song to prove her point.

"That's right," the man replied, smiling broadly. He hummed the tune briefly as if it was familiar. "You know, I think that's the song my mother used to play. She taught me to play one part, and she played the other. I was always so awful, I could never get the hang of it."