Amie Bernstein; Chapter 18

Amie Bernstein; Chapter 18

© 2022 by Amber Wright

PIANO MADNESS

Date: Winter 1902

Place: London, England

Thursday it rained.

Thankfully, the sun popped out just as Amie was dumping the last of her school books onto her bedroom desk which was a folding, varnished wooden roll-top. The light from the sun glittered into the room between the pulled-back, royal blue drapes. Her favorite color—Royal blue. She was, after all, distantly related to His Royal Highness. Amie smiled. Maybe that’s why I like him so much. We’re kin! Somewhere up the line…A rapping on the door jarred her into the present.

Kitt and she were going with her oncle Gad and Annie Montgomery to the Royal Marines’ Hospital to play and sing for the wounded soldiers. Amie fished into her closet for her boots, coat, scarf, wool stockings and plaid tam. After tying her laces, she smoothed her tam and made sure her red plaid dress looked neat before shrugging into her coat. She did one twirl before the floor length mirror before answering the door.

“Oui, Monsieur Lazar. Je suis ici!” Amie closed the door behind her, stepping into the hall.

“Yes, I’m here too. Now,” Kitt tugged at his new blue plaid wool slogger. “They’re waiting on us. Are you nervous?”

“Who, me? Never!” Amie giggled and opened her eyes huge. “Of course. Aren’t you nervous as a cat, too? I’m literally shaking inside…dot, dot, dot.”

Kitt laughed. “Me too.” He did a gulp. “Well, let’s hurry and go before we change our minds…dot, dot, dot.”

Shortly afterwards, they arrived at the Royal Marines’ Hospital where soldiers in striped pajamas and blue uniforms filled beds, hobbled around on crutches, sat in wheelchairs and walked about in the halls. Amie felt her smile etching into her face and hoped it wouldn’t wrinkle her face too bad. After all, she was only 12 years old, not old enough for wrinkles. A soldier clomping by on crutches winked down at her.

“Hello.” Amie pointed to his crutches with a twinkling grin. “Grand chap you are, you and Woody get along smashing, don’t you? Or do you have another name for him?”

“Woody t’will be, Miss! Name’s Harry.” Harry’s red hair fell across his forehead in large curls. “And you must be the little singer come to cheer us blokes, aye?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Amie saluted noticing his lieutenant’s badge. “I hope yous will enjoy our performance. I wrote one song we’ll be singing.”

“Which is?” Harry’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Drippy, Drippy Rain! which my oncle helped me with.” Amie said importantly, clearing her throat. “Shall we?” She nodded towards the doorway of the concert room.

“Ladies first,” Harry nodded for her to walk ahead of him.

Amie gulped. The room was already crowded with soldiers—and watching them as they entered the large room. She suddenly gasped, feeling her eyelids blink away in its sockets. “Pl—please, you first, Harry.” She stood there, terrified.

“May I present to yous,” Harry entered the room and announced loudly, “Miss Amie Bernstein and Monsieur Kitt Lazar! Gentlemen.”

The room erupted with applause and Amie found her hands shaking at her sides. She glanced over at Kitt. His face looked ashen. Amie gulped wildly. Kitt, straighten up! We have to do this—gulp—properly. Thank you. She almost fell onto the piano bench.

“Drippy rain, drippy rain,” she found herself singing. “Falling down, falling down on my nose…”



A week and two days later, February 1, 1902, and still the youngsters diligently practiced playing the piano until their fingers ached. Amie thought her fingers would grow calluses on them but Kitt had told her smartly that only stringed instruments did that, not silky piano keys.

“But you can’t be for sure.” Amie furrowed her brows, chewing on a thumbnail.

Kitt shrugged. “No, you can’t be for sure, but…”

“Dot, dot, dot.” Amie giggled and paced the room. She stopped abruptly. “You know what I think? I think there’s something deep going on around here that we have no clue about.”

“If we have no clue about it, then how can we think there is anything deep going on?” Kitt frowned, looking confused. “Explanation? Thank you.”

Amie shrugged, clueless, a grin popping onto her face. “Well, since we have no clue about anything, which is likely there is nothing deep going on around here…dot, dot, dot. Let’s just go to the kitchen and eat some fudge to celebrate our piano madness!”

“Agreed.” Kitt stood up and popped his knuckles. “I’ll race you and the winner gets the first piece!”

Amie nearly tripped over a stack of piano books but managed to keep her balance as she ran to celebrate their piano madness.



“Well!” Amie clacked her pencil against the desk she shared with Kitt in the library after Monsieur Revere had gone. “Valentine’s Day is in exactly 7 days. What shall we do? Oh, I know! Let’s have a Valentine’s Day party, shall we?”

“But Valentine’s Day is only for valentines.” Kitt wrinkled his nose.

“Not at all, Kitt Lazar!” Amie smiled and gave him a reproving frown. “Did you sleep through history class, hmm?”

“What?” Kitt’s face slightly colored. He sat up straighter and leaned up.

“About that man called Valentine who…” and Amie went on to explain about the Christian martyr called Valentine who was renowned for his brotherly love even in his worst moments.

As for the romantic part of the day, Valentine had married young couples who nobody else would marry. Back then, the Roman Army did not allow their soldiers to marry. This was why Valentine had been put to death. Remembering all this, the day had been set aside to celebrate love. “And so, it’s not only a day for valentines, Kitt, but for us who love one another. You don’t hate me, do you?”

Kitt shook his head. “No, I—”

“Well then, it’s all settled.” Amie grinned and bounced up from the bench. “Let’s ask the others if it’ll be alright to make up invitations, shall we?”

“Yes, I—” Kit began again but Amie was already out the door. Gone. He shrugged and talked to the air instead. “Yes, I agree, Amie Bernstein.”



“You know, I’m really glad you came to help me pass out these invitations.” Amie chirped as she and Kitt tripped along the wet streets of London.

Kitt rolled his eyes, but with a laugh. “I knew you’d drag me along if I didn’t volunteer. So I beat you to it.” He grinned.

“In any case…” Amie let her sentence hang, smiling, pleased that this party that she had planned was going to happen—because she had started it.

“Dot, dot, dot.” Kitt began to knock on the door of their very first invitee. “It’s going to be grand and—”

“Yes?” the maid raised her eyebrows with the door open halfway.

“Here, Miss.” Kitt handed her the invitation. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Nicely done, Kitt.” Amie smiled. “Now you… You’d be a fantastic ambassador when you grow up. You should give it a try!”

“Oh yes,” Kitt grinned sarcastically, “an ambassador for South Africa. Too late!”

“Well…” Amie felt her smile weaken as she added thoughtfully, “there is always tomorrow. Maybe the war will stop sooner.”

“Keep dreaming.” Kitt narrowed his eyes onto the sidewalk, looking into nowhere, probably thinking back of his father. His dead father. Probably remembering troubled Russia and the war that had taken so many lives in South Africa.

“Let’s not forget the invitations for the girls at the orphanage.” Amie chirped up, waving a stack of ivory-colored envelopes. “They’ll be the most grateful and I just love grateful people, don’t you? They’re always sweeter.”

“And obligated.” Kitt frowned and closed his eyes briefly before opening them huge. He gave Amie a blank stare. “You’ve never had to be, have you?”

“Had to be, what?”

“Obligated? To anyone.”

Amie stared. So Kitt hated feeling obligated to them? He had said so in so many words. “Don’t be grouchy, Kitt. We’re living off family money—my great-great grandpa Bernstein founded our shipping company. So you needn’t be so prickly about living off of our money. There!”

Kitt blinked a few times, looking started, and gulped down what was left of his pride. “Uhm…I never thought about that. Merci.”

“Now,” Amie said briskly, “to the orphanage before we forget, oui?”

“Oui!” Kitt grinned and led the way in a rush, barely missing mud puddles.



Wet wind slashed against Amie’s face as she walked, arms filled with gifts in paper sacks. Saturday had been spent carefully planning what gifts to buy, what food to eat, what they would do and what ifs.

Annie Montgomery had been strangely quiet all week and Amie hoped she wasn’t coming down with the flu. That would be just my luck! Amie fumed silently, almost wishing the party was over already. Annie always made parties more fun…and put Gad into extra cheerful spirits.

“Kitt Lazar, we don’t have all day.” Amie threw back at him, blinking through the mist-like shower.

Kitt shot her back a saucy grin. “Today’s Monday, not Friday.”

“I know…but we can still get home faster. This—”

Before either could say another word, a motorcar’s lights suddenly beamed from the mists in front of Amie. Kitt was still on the sidewalk a ways away. Amie felt her heart stop and her breath close up. In one brief moment, her teeth locked together and her tongue stiffened. She felt the world spinning. She could not move her feet!

A loud honk blared followed by a man shouting. She felt somebody grabbing her, dragging her back…safely onto the sidewalk. Air swooshed into her brain again, and she felt like crying. However, she willed her sputtering eyes to dry and not pour.

“Are you alright?” Kitt’s eyes were all stars and wonder. “You’re not dead, are you? I mean, you didn’t get hit by the motorcar?”

“No, I’m fine.” Amie took a deep breath and tried to steady her unsettled nerves. She glanced up at the person who had saved her life. The poor woman’s face peered down at her keenly and immediately she realized who had just saved her life. “Thank you!”

“It is nothing.” The woman smiled, looking down at the threadbare coat she wore, a bit embarrassed.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we? At Smitt’s Bakery? On the 1^st Day of Hanukkah, yes?” Amie’s eyes thanked the woman. She then hefted her paper sacks to one side and reached into her pocket. She found five shillings. “Here, please take these.”

The woman shrank back. “Money cannot buy life.”

“But you must have a family. Please take this as a token of my thankfulness.”

The woman studied Amie before slowly reaching out her thin hand. “Bless you!”

Amie found a smile spreading across her face as the poor woman walked away. She turned to Kitt. “You see? Today is also a Valentine’s Day. A day in which we celebrate the love of God.”

Kitt nodded with a smile. “I see. Let’s stay on the sidewalk and—”

“Leave the road to the horses and motorcars. Gladly!” Amie hugged the gifts in her arms and was thankful for the gift of life that she had been given that day—that very hour. Then to the poor woman walking away, she silently called, Blessings upon you!

French/English translation:

Monsieur……………… Mister

Oncle…………………… Uncle

oui……………………… yes

merci…………………… thank you

Je suis ici…………………… here I am