As told by Virginia Vauthier

This story was written and shared with my Sister by my Mother, Virginia Vauthier, of Dublin, Texas. This story was provided to the Texas Tortilla Factory from my Sister Barbara Vauthier-Wienberg.
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It was Easter time in the thirties. I was 15 years old. There was a new dress I really wanted; but Mama said I couldn’t have it. I was the oldest of five and they were having a hard time just feeding us. I cried in my room that night. For two days I pouted and acted like a baby. After Easter was over I forgot about it.

It was early in May that year; the first flowers were in bloom. Dad came home from work early one evening and told me to put on some clean clothes and brush my hair, get ready for a date with him. A date with my Dad, this was something new.

He had an old Model-T Ford; you had to crank it to get it started. It started right away and we bounced over this rough road out into the country. He kept going and going, the road was now more like a path. Pretty soon I could see a light in the distance. I pointed at it and Dad nodded his head. When we stopped there was still a little light. An old man sat on the front porch in a chair made of tree branches.

He asked Dad to get out and sit. We did.

Daddy told me, “This is Ben Hill.”

“Ben, this is my daughter, Virginia. I would like her to meet your grand son.”

Ben rubbed his chin whiskers and smiled a proud quiet smile. Then he whistled a clear whistle that sounded like a bird singing. It was a very pleasing sound. Then he went on talking to Dad. In a few minutes a boy about my age came from the woods. He walked so quietly he just seemed to appear from the shadows. He had on a patched blue chambray shirt and a pair of ragged jeans and a shy smile.

Ben said, “This is Jesse, Virginia. Would you like to hear him play on his violin?”

I said, “Yes, I would love to hear him play a tune.”

Jesse took my hand and bowed form the waist, like I had seen only in the movies. I was really surprised at his good manners. He excused himself and went inside for his violin. Ben told Dad he was teaching Jesse all he knew about the fiddle and the bow.

Then Jesse began to play. It was wonderful. You could hear the joy in some of the music. You could feel the sadness. You wanted to cry, dance and laugh all at the same time. All together it was like the song of life. Some sadness, some joy, a lot of work and when you have done right, a sense of satisfaction. I have never hears such music before or since. After about an hour Jesse put his violin carefully away in the well worn case. Then he asked me to go for a walk. It was dark. I wasn’t sure. Dad nodded yes when I looked at him.

Jesse took my hand to guide me. He told me to listen to the dark. As walked I could hear the sound the sleepy birds make, soft and comforting. The trees sigh and make little popping sounds as though snuggling down to sleep. Then I could hear the sound of a bubbling brook. We walked to the edge of the little stream and turned back to the house.

We said our goodbyes and Dad and I went home. The next day it all seemed like a dream. I never forgot the boy who played so well; he had so little of worldly things and made so much of what the world had to offer.

Year later I read in the paper where the “World Renowned Violinist Jesse Hill would be in Dallas for a concert.” I though of that night and the lesson in life my Dad had shown me.
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© 2007 “Meme Story to Madeline” by Virginia Vauthier, Dublin, Texas
Photo and Website © 2006 Texas Tortilla Factory – Mike Vauthier