Listening Valley Read Online Free PDF Page B

ear for music and—to tell the truth—did not care for it much, but she soon learned to play “The Joyful Peasant” and “Träumerei” and had gone on to Songs from Schubert while Tonia was still struggling hopelessly with five-finger exercises. Fortunately Tonia had a refuge from the trials and troubles of life. It was a place inside herself—a listening place—and when life pressed upon her too strongly, she could hide from her troubles and enjoy peace and quietness there. When Tonia went into her listening place, her small face became utterly blank and the sights and sounds of everyday life faded away into the distance. She had not much control of her comings and goings—that was the odd thing about it—and sometimes when Mother or Nannie was speaking to her, she would feel herself slipping away and the voice of authority would grow dim.
    â€œThat imbecile expression!” Mrs. Melville would complain. “Really, one would think the child was half-witted.”
    Nannie was a trifle more patient, but only Lou understood; for Lou was the only person who had been allowed into the secret.
    â€œI can’t help it, really,” Tonia would explain. “I don’t want to help it, of course, because I like going there; but, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”
    â€œWhat do you see there?” Lou would inquire.
    â€œNothing—I listen,” said Tonia vaguely. “It’s sort of music—”
    â€œLike Joan of Arc?”
    â€œNo, not like that a bit.”
    Lou sighed. She was a trifle jealous of the listening place, for it was the only thing they did not share. She had tried very hard to make a listening place for herself but without much success.
    They shared everything else—lessons and walks and reading. They worked their way through Mr. Melville’s library like a couple of bookworms. Mrs. Melville was one of those curious people who believe that any book bound in leather is a classic and that all classics are suitable for the young, so she put no constraint upon her daughters’ activities. “My girls are tremendous readers,” she would say as she shuffled the cards in her strong white hands and prepared to deal. “Dickens and Scott, you know…” She was still as keen as ever on bridge—they were playing auction now, of course.
    ***
    â€œReading again,” said Nannie one day as she came into the nursery. (They had tried to call it the schoolroom but without much success.) “Reading again—and in this light, too. You’ll ruin your eyesight. That’ll be the end of it.”
    Lou was curled up in the big basket chair and Tonia was stretched full length upon the hearth rug—these were their invariable positions—for Tonia’s hands soon tired of holding a book and she found it much easier to lie facedown with the book on the floor.
    â€œWhat else should we do?” asked Lou, stretching her arms above her head. “We don’t know anybody to talk to. Why don’t we know people, Nannie?”
    â€œWhy don’t you know people?” said Nannie in a doubtful tone.
    â€œYes. Other girls know lots of people and go to parties.”
    Nannie was silent. She knew the answer, of course, but she had a queer feeling of loyalty to Mrs. Melville, and she would not criticize her. If Mrs. Melville had bestirred herself and asked the children of her own friends to tea, it might have helped a bit. As a matter of fact, Nannie had suggested this several times, but the suggestion had borne no fruit.
    â€œYes, Nannie. Yes, we’ll see…” Mrs. Melville had replied in a vague sort of tone, and she had hurried off to her club.
    â€œWe don’t know anyone,” said Lou, thinking it over and looking rather surprised. “It seems odd, doesn’t it?”
    â€œWe don’t want other people,” declared Tonia, raising her head from her book. “I think