Seven years later . . .
“Oh, Papa, it is a very big present,” said young Thomas, his eyes shining with excitement as his father handed him the ungainly, paper wrapped parcel.
“Happy seventh birthday, son,” Malcom said, ruffling the lad’s hair affectionately. Thomas hugged the present to his small chest, hardly visible behind it.
“Yes, a very happy birthday to you, darling,” Cassandra put in, smiling lovingly at their precious little son.
“Thank you, Papa and Mama,” Thomas told his parents, a gap-toothed grin splitting his little face. It made Cassandra’s heart squeeze to look at their son, who was a perfect replica of Malcom, with a mop of dark hair and bright blue eyes.
“It is almost as big as you, Tommy,” she told him, chuckling to see the young boy maneuver the parcel carefully as he sat down cross-legged on the drawing room hearth rug to open his birthday present.
“Can you guess what it is?” Malcom asked him, coming to sit next to his wife on the sofa to watch the lad open his present.
“I do not have to guess, Papa, because I am going to open it now, so I will soon find out what is inside.”
“I see. Well, I cannot fault your logic there, Son,” Malcom replied, his eyes crinkling at the edges with amusement.
“That told you,” Cassandra told him, elbowing him lightly in the ribs and setting him chuckling.
“Indeed,” he replied, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Well, are you going to open it or not?”
“I am waiting for you to watch me,” Thomas said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, we are ready,” his mother said.
“Very well.” The boy then proceeded to carefully unwrap the present. “There is a lot of paper,” he remarked, his smooth brow crinkling with concentration as he tossed aside the shreds. His parents watched with rapt attention until he came to the present itself, when his face suddenly lit up.
“Oh! That is the best present ever!” he shouted joyfully, pulling the last of the wrapping away to reveal a beautiful child-sized cello of light-colored wood, with a little bow attached to it by a red ribbon.
“I am glad you think so,” Malcom told him, beaming with pride as Thomas stood up, holding the cello as reverently as if it were a precious ancient artifact.
“I love it, Papa! Thank you. Thank you, Mama” It is a wonderful birthday present.” He came over to them and kissed their cheeks, his small face wreathed in smiles.
“Papa made that for you himself, you know, Tommy, Cassandra said, looking proudly at her husband
The boy’s eyes flew wide, and he looked at Malcom with awe. “Did you really, Papa?”
“Yes, Son. I wanted you to have something special, since you seem to like music so much. You said you wanted to learn an instrument, so here it is. I enjoyed making it for you.”
“I hope I grow up to be as clever as you, Papa,” Thomas opined. “May I play it?”
“Of course. Untie the ribbon and take off the bow.” Malcom got up and fetched a small wooden stool from next to the hearth. He set it down on the rug next to his son. “Come and sit on this stool. I think it is about the right height for you. I will show you how to sit and hold the cello and see how it sounds. Then I could teach you to play a little tune if you would like.”
“Oh, yes, please,” the little boy said enthusiastically, doing as his father suggested and sitting on the stool.
“Now, you hold it between your legs, like so,” Malcom instructed him, helping the lad to position the cello correctly. “And you hold the bow like this.” He demonstrated. “Now, pull the bow gently across the strings and see what comes out.”
Young Thomas hesitantly drew an experimental bow stroke across the strings as directed, conjuring up a rich, resonant tone. He looked up at his parents, his face bright with wonder before trying a few more times.
Cassandra came to stand next to Malcom as they watched their son’s musical experimentation. She slid her arm around Malcom’s waist and laid her head against his arm.
“It is truly wonderful, Malcom,” she told him, her heart bursting with love for the two men in her life.
“It is rather good if I say so myself,” he said with a grin of pride. Cassandra let him go to their son, and she watched with loving fascination as, with his father’s patient guidance, Thomas had soon mastered a simple folk tune on his cello.
After the lesson, the lad scampered off to have tea and his favorite butter cakes with Christine, Mary, Lou, and Lynn in the nursery. But before he went, he carefully laid the cello aside on a large sofa and paused to hug his father and mother tightly.
“Thank you, Mama and Papa, for a wonderful birthday!”
“Well, it seems the musical heritage of Lindenhall is to be lovingly preserved for another generation,” Cassandra said as Malcom and she shared a private moment together before going up to the nursery for some birthday cake. “And talking of generations, darling, I have some rather special news to share with you.”
“Oh, and what is that, my beautiful wife?” Malcom asked, putting his arms around her and gazing into her eyes.
“I am expecting another child,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “It is due in the spring.”
Malcom gasped, his delight obvious. He caught her around the waist and whirled her about. “Oh, Cassie, that is marvelous news! I do not know what I have done to deserve such happiness as you have brought me, but I am awfully glad for it.”
“As I am for you, my darling husband. It makes me happy to see you happy. What do you think it will be this time? Another boy, or a girl?”
“I do not mind as long as it comes into the world healthy,” he told her, his arms still around her as they began to walk slowly to the door. “Did I tell you today how much I love you, Cassie?”
“Yes, several times, but I can always stand to hear it again,” she said, laughing. “And I suppose I had better tell you that I adore you with all my heart.”
“I suppose you should,” he said with a nod. “For I shall never get tired of hearing you say so.”
THE END
