The Music Shop

Samuel raised his hand to knock.

Before his knuckles touched the door, it swung open.

Maple Hart stood there smiling.

"Oh!"

She laughed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Samuel looked at his hand still hanging in the air.

"I suppose you just saved me the trouble of knocking."

She stepped aside.

"Come in."

The room smelled of fresh pine, varnish, and linseed oil.

Violins hung neatly along one wall.

Fiddles, guitars, banjos, mandolins, dulcimers, and flutes rested in carefully crafted wooden racks.

Two apprentices sat quietly carving a violin neck while another polished the body of a guitar.

Then Samuel stopped.

Against the back wall stood the largest brass tuba he had ever seen.

Its polished bell reflected the filtered light pouring through the windows.

"My goodness," Samuel whispered.

"Who plays that?"

Maple glanced toward the corner.

"I don't know."

Samuel looked puzzled.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

She smiled.

"Well..."

"...the truth is..."

"...nobody around here has lips big enough for it."

For a moment Samuel simply stared.

Then the entire shop erupted in laughter.

Even the apprentices had heard that joke before.

Samuel shook his head.

"I walked right into that one."

Maple smiled.

"I've been waiting for somebody to ask."

Samuel walked slowly through the room.

"You've gathered quite a collection."

"We found many of them after the Great Exodus."

She gently picked up an unfinished fiddle.

"But someday..."

"...I'd like every instrument in this room to be made by our own hands."

Samuel nodded.

"Just like everything else."

One apprentice carefully drew a bow across a newly strung fiddle.

A clear, sweet note floated through the shop.

Everyone stopped working.

Maple closed her eyes for a moment.

"That's the sound I was hoping for."

Samuel listened.

"I've been visiting every trade in our settlement."

"The blacksmith has his hammer."

"The sawmill has its blade."

"The creamery has its churn."

"The bee yard has its humming."

"The bakery has the laughter around Rebecca's tables."

He looked around the room.

"But this place..."

"...this place has tomorrow's songs."

Maple smiled.

"I hope so."

She carefully returned the fiddle to her workbench.

"You can build houses in a few days."

"You can build wagons in a week."

"But music..."

She looked around at the instruments.

"...takes generations."

Samuel nodded thoughtfully.

"Then we'd better begin now."

Maple walked to the window overlooking the village.

Children were playing near the schoolhouse.

Rebecca's dinner bell rang across the valley.

The windmills turned steadily.

Far overhead, Saturn's magnificent rings shimmered in the black sky as Earth quietly continued her journey among the stars.

Maple smiled.

"Someday those children will play these instruments."

Samuel joined her at the window.

"And someday..."

"...they'll teach their children."

Maple nodded.

"That's how songs travel farther than people."

Samuel looked once more at the great brass tuba standing patiently in the corner.

He grinned.

"I still hope somebody shows up with enough lip to play that thing."

Maple laughed.

"I'm not giving up."

They stepped out onto the porch together.

Behind them the music shop grew quiet again.

The unfinished violin waited patiently on the workbench.

The great tuba gleamed in the afternoon light.

And somewhere in the settlement, another child was already humming a tune that no one had ever written down.