The end of August marked the end of summer for the Cahills. Summer’s end brought with it all the usual preparations. The girls visited their schools and looked for their names on the homeroom lists. Mrs. Cahill took each of the girls, in turn, shopping for clothes and supplies. She followed the lists and listened to requests as each girl’s individual personalities were tended to.
After all of the preparations for school, there was one last thing. All four girls were headed out to the hill and vale – to the band camp at River Blackwater.
“Chelsea,” said Meg, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, Meg.”
“Let me check.”
Then, Meg proceeded to unpack her littlest sister’s duffel bag.
“I said I was ready!”
“Just let me check.”
Meg carefully placed all of Chelsea’s things on the bed in exact, tidy groups. Then, she began counting things.
“You have four t-shirts, four pairs of shorts, four pairs of socks, two pairs of shoes, two pairs of pants…”
Meg stopped and looked around. She noticed one thing missing.
“Where’s your dulcimer?”
“You know where it is, under the bed for safe-keeping.”
Meg reached under Chelsea’s bed and grabbed the dulcimer. It looked somewhat like Meg’s harp, only that it was flat instead of upright and attached to a fret board by tuning pins at the end of each string.
Meg placed it atop Chelsea’s dresser drawer and proceeded to repack the duffel bag.
“I guess that’s it,” said Meg, “Good night to you.”
“Good night, Meg.”
Meg planted a kiss upon little Chelsea’s forehead and tucked her into bed. Then, she took Chelsea’s duffel and left it at the top of the stairs.
Morning came quickly, which meant a rush about the house. The girls took their turns in the bathroom, oldest to youngest, which meant Chelsea had the pleasure of the longest sleep.
“Chelsea?” called Meg, “it’s time to get ready.”
“Alrighty!”
Chelsea rushed into and out of the shower while Sallie and Korrit fought over space at the bathroom sink.
Mr. Cahill was in the kitchen enjoying coffee and tea bread while Mrs. Cahill made a full Irish breakfast for the girls. It included fried eggs and hash browns, fresh from Grandpa Donaldson’s farm, slices of bacon, blood pudding, and tall glasses of goat’s milk. When Meg came down, she looked upon it with a smiling face.
“It smells great, ma.”
“Thank you, dearest Meg. Is everybody ready?”
“Chelsea just finished showering and the other two should be down any time now.”
Sallie and Korrit were down in short order. Chelsea, however, remained upstairs, getting ready for the trip.
“Meg?”
“Yes, mother, I’ll go fetch her.”
Meg hurried upstairs, only to find Chelsea towel-drying her hair.
“Come on, scooter. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
Meg helped Chelsea, blow drying her hair and combing it just right. Then, they picked out a good outfit and joined the rest of the family downstairs.
“Here’s your breakfast,” said Mrs. Cahill.
“That’s it, eggs and blood pudding?”
“That’s all that’s left.”
Chelsea frowned for a moment. Then, she tried to make the best of it, taking small bites of black pudding between large gulps of milk.
Mrs. Cahill reacted quickly, popping a couple pieces of tea bread into the toaster. She spread raspberry jam on the toast and put it on Chelsea’s plate.
“Is that better?”
Chelsea nodded as a smile spread across her face. When Mrs. Cahill stabbed the last bit of black pudding with a fork and ate it herself, that made Chelsea even happier.
“If we don’t hurry, we’ll be late,” said Meg.
Four sisters and a small collection of stringed instruments were loaded into the family SUV.
“Is everyone ready?” asked mother.
“I think so,” said Meg, “Does everyone have their instrument? Chelsea, where’s your dulcimer?”
Chelsea looked into the back. Korrit’s fiddle, Sallie’s banjo mandolin, and Meg’s harp were all accounted for, but Chelsea’s dulcimer was missing.
Chelsea ran upstairs and retrieved it from the top of her dresser drawer, just where Meg placed it the night before. When Chelsea returned to the SUV, there was no room in the back, so she rested the dulcimer across her lap.
“Now is everyone ready?” asked father.
“Yes, I think so,” replied Chelsea.
On the way to summer camp, Sallie strummed Chelsea’s dulcimer. It made a sound similar to a harp. Chelsea immediately clamped her hands over the strings, silencing the dulcimer.
“You’re not supposed to play it like that!”
“I just like the sound of it,” said Sallie, “Can you play it for us while we head to camp?”
Chelsea slid open a secret side panel that revealed a tiny opening. She retrieved two hammers, which she held lightly in her fingertips so they bobbed easily in her grip. Then, she used the hammers like gentle mallets. Each time she bounced a hammer against a string, the string let out a gentle melody. At first, Chelsea played a random song she made up as she played.
“Would you play ‘Wild Irish Rose’ for us?” suggested mother.
Chelsea clamped her hand over the fret board again, silencing the sound. Then, she began playing again as everyone listened. It was no coincidence that the word “dulcimer” came from ancient word roots that meant ‘Sweet Song”, because the sounds that emanated from the dulcimer were soft and gentle, like a waterfall or a cold spring rain. Everyone, including Sallie, genuinely loved the gentle pitter-patter of the notes as the dulcimer’s song filled the air.
Chelsea played one old Irish standard after another until the SUV arrived at Camp River Blackwater.
The first parking lot was filled with teachers, parents, and younger children. The first camp was for the Primary School children aged six to twelve, like Korrit and Chelsea.
“Chelsea! Korrit! I’m over here!” It was Miss Sompres, the girls’ band teacher.
“You’re both in Cabin A. I’ll help you get settled.”
Chelsea frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want to go…”
Miss Sompres reached down and gave Chelsea a giant bear hug.
“It’ll be alright, I’ll take care of you.”
“Okay…”
Chelsea reluctantly said her good-byes and headed to Cabin A with Korrit and Mrs. Sompres by her side.
“Here’s your bunk.”
“I’ll take the bottom,” said Chelsea.
“Okay,” said Korrit, “I’ll take the top bunk.”
As Chelsea and Korrit settled in, Meg and Sallie arrived in the second parking lot. They jumped out of the SUV and grabbed their things. With a quick good-bye, the pair was off to find their cabin.
“I need a wheel cart for my harp,” said Meg.
“Here’s one,” said Sallie.
“Let me help,” said Mr. Lowrie. He led the girls in concert band at the secondary school.
They lugged the wheel cart slowly up to the cabin, avoiding the ditches on either side of the dirt path.
“Whew! That was something.”
First things first, Meg unpacked her harp and tuned it. It was a Irish harp and was known by Meg and her classmates as a clarsach. It was shaped like the traditional Irish harp with the angled base and curved top, all made with heavy wood. Strings stretched from top to bottom, held in place by steel tuning pins.
Meg struck the tuning fork and plucked the appropriate harp string until the two were in tune. Then, she plucked other strings, two at a time, matching the notes until her harp sang out in perfect harmony when she ran her fingers over the strings.
Meanwhile, Sallie tuned her banjo mandolin. It had a round drum like a banjo, but had eight strings instead of four, like a mandolin. The strings were grouped into four pairs. Sallie plucked and strummed her banjo mandolin until each set (or course) was tuned as a pair. Then, she played her banjo mandolin. Its plucky banjo melody sounded very different from the waterfall sounds of Meg’s harp and the pitter-patter of Chelsea’s hammered dulcimer.
Across the way, Chelsea had finished settling in while Korrit was still fidgeting with her fiddle. She pulled the bow across the four strings and the sound vibrated within the plastic bridge that suspended the strings over the fiddle’s base. The sound also echoed throughout the base of the fiddle. As Korrit twisted the bow over the strings one way and then another, the sound changed.
Korrit’s fiddle, however, was nothing more than a classic viola – the smaller, higher-pitched version of the violin. It wasn’t the instrument that made it a fiddle. It was the way Korrit played her viola. Instead of the long, now sounds of a voila played in an opera, the movements of Korrit’s bow across the strings was quick and staccato, forming notes that were both extremely short and high in tone. As she lay in the top bunk, playing her fiddle, Chelsea listened from the bottom bunk.
Chelsea, who had finished settling in a while earlier, was ready to go out and about.
Chelsea climbed onto her mattress and peered over the edge of the top bunk.
“Korrit?”
“Yes?”
“Let’s go visit Sallie and Meg.”
“They’re all the way over in second camp.”
“I know, but all the big kids are there.”
“Alright,” said Korrit, “but put on your puddle-jumpers. It’s muddy outside.”
Korrit climbed out of the top bunk and put her viola into its case. Then, she and Chelsea quickly put on their raingear and headed out the cabin door.
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