The place was getting filled as eight o'clock approached. Trey had often worked with both the lighting and the sound before; since nothing too complicated was going to be involved he soon had things pretty well the way he wanted them. He did find a few minutes to charge out to the lobby and find Dr. Hamilton, who was greeting people as they arrived. "Was that flyer your idea?" he asked without preamble.

"A little," the college president admitted sheepishly. "More Dr. Mansfield's than mine. Is she mad at me?"

"I'd be careful, if I were you," Trey grinned. "Still, since it was your idea maybe you'd better be the one to introduce her."

Five minutes later, Dr. Hamilton strode confidently up the steps of the stage and walked over to the microphone as Trey brought the house lights down about half way. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Earlier this week I was given a copy of a videotape that had been recorded off of Great Performances on PBS last Saturday night. I will admit to being quite surprised to find that one of our people from Marienthal College was a main performer. I thought about asking her to perform for the students and faculty, and was then surprised to find that she'd already agreed to give this performance tonight. So, without further introduction, I give to you Dr. Myleigh Harris of Marienthal College and Jenny Easton's Boreal String Band!"

As Dr. Hamilton scuttled off to the steps on stage left to some applause from the audience, Trey whispered to Dr. Harris, "Knock 'em dead!" as she started in from stage right.

The applause grew as she walked across the stage, carrying the dark blue Celtic harp. She swung up onto the stool in front of the microphone, quickly fastened the harp to a white harness she was wearing, and pulled the microphone close as Trey turned the house lights down the rest of the way.

"I see that we have a lot of people here who have nothing better to do on a Thursday evening," she said in a cool voice, but with a glint of a smile. "There are especially a number of literature students who obviously haven't been assigned enough homework, but I shall deal with that tomorrow." There was a slight groan throughout the auditorium, she waited for a moment, and continued, "For tonight, however, I hope that I may be able to afford you some amusement with Blue Beauty, which is what I call this instrument. Blue Beauty is a solid-body Celtic harp, made in France. I suppose some would say she is something of an unusual instrument. She is still a harp, however, and sounds like you would expect a harp to sound."

She picked up her hands, and began to play something harp-like that Trey couldn't identify -- a long, lush run of typical sounding harp music, but it soon morphed into an intricate piece of lighter music, something else he couldn't identify. It was not what he would normally have considered harp music; it involved delicate, precise fingering. Once she'd worked her way through the opening bars, she began to sing with her precise enunciation, in a light but soulful rich alto.:

Whatever this was, Trey had never heard it before. By now he had the balance between the pickups about like he wanted it, so he just stood there in rapt attention as she played a short musical bridge, then continued singing about the boy and the girl exchanging letters between Confederate soldiers and their families in the Union-occupied lands under the guise of a kiss, right under the noses of watching guards. It was as intense a piece of music as Trey had ever heard.

The audience apparently thought so too. At the end there was a roar of applause, and Trey found himself joining in from over at the light controls.

"Thank you," Dr. Harris said a little shyly while she casually picked out a four-note rhythm with her right hand. "This is not the easiest instrument to play, and sometimes my left hand doesn't know what my right hand is doing." As her right hand continued with that four-note beat she leaned her head back, looked at her right hand and said, "Oh, very well, if you insist." With that she reached out with her left hand, and began to play some bass notes to the accompaniment of her right hand.

Anyone who had seen the Great Performances concert, live or videotape, recognized what came next, although Trey couldn't put a name to it -- it was a purely instrumental song that the Boreal String Band had played along in the middle of the performance. It had been a high energy piece for the group -- now Dr. Harris was playing both the rhythm and the accompaniment, beating hard and rocking. Backstage at the mixer panel Trey stood with his jaw hanging agape. From having seen Great Performances, he knew that Dr. Harris could do unexpected things with her harp -- but he had never imagined that it could be like this. The only thing that sounded even vaguely harp-like was the concluding four-note run.

If Trey had thought the applause before was good, this was even better. By now, he could see that Dr. Harris had the crowd in the palm of her hand. Again, she said, "Thank you" as the applause died down. "That was something out of the sixties. If there are any other surfers out there, you might have recognized it as a tune called Pipeline." Looking on from backstage, Trey frowned and wondered, did she just say what I thought she said? Dr. Harris on a surfboard? That was hard to imagine!

Well, there wasn't time to think about it now. "As you might know," she smiled, laying one hand on the top of the harp, "I was an undergraduate at Northern Michigan University, up on the shores of Lake Superior. I was a member of a small group that was considered to be either demigods or certifiable lunatics for daring to surf on those icy waters. It gave me special appreciation for this song." She dropped her hand, and began to play, a rather simple intro. Then, in her clear alto voice, she began to sing.

Trey had heard The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald often enough, but it certainly sounded different with Dr. Harris playing it on a harp -- Gordon Lightfoot had never sounded that good!

Dr. Harris brought the song to a close. After the applause, again very strong, she smiled and told the rest of the story. "My surfer friends were both guitar players," she said. "If you were a guitar player it was understood that you were expected to know how to play that piece if you dared bring a guitar on campus. In sympathy with them I decided that I'd best learn it as well."

She leaned back, and put her hand on the top of the harp again. "I've often had people ask how I decided to play the Celtic harp. The truth is, it was a simple mistake." She smiled, paused for an instant, and went on. "When I was quite young I happened to hear a man playing a Jew's-harp. I thought it was a most intriguing sound for such a tiny instrument. I begged and pleaded with my parents to buy me a harp, and ultimately I received one."

That brought a laugh from the audience. "So there I was, at the age of twelve, with this beautiful instrument that I hold in my hands," she went on. "I had no idea of how to play it, and had no one to learn from, there being few harps around, and even fewer competent instructors, but I decided I'd better try. Mostly I learned by playing along with various records -- not tapes, not CDs, but a collection of old-fashioned but honest vinyl records. It was some years before I actually had a lesson at the harp. I was wandering through a renaissance faire one afternoon and chanced upon a woman playing a beautiful Celtic harp. I struck up a conversation and explained that I played the harp a little. Ultimately she offered me her instrument for a trial. Needless to say, I took her up on it." With that, she started a three-note rhythm with her right hand. "I took her harp, settled down, and began to play one of my favorite pieces, an instrumental Henry Mancini piece that I'd played numerous times to the accompaniment of the record player."

With her other hand, Dr. Harris picked up the melody. It was another song that sounded vaguely familiar to Trey -- and then it snapped into place. Yes, it was a fun song, but the version he had in his head had been done by a full orchestra. It sounded, well, different, but it was a fun piece of music, full of slurs and staccato notes that Trey could tell would be difficult to do on a stringed instrument. But the sound was like magic! She played it right down to the end, the "Good evening friends!" sound of the harp finishing the song. Again there was applause.

"Needless to say," Dr. Harris continued when the applause died down, "I had been concentrating very hard to get it right, and was quite surprised to look up and see this lady's jaw hanging open, and her eyes wide. 'You can't . . .' she stammered, 'You can't play that on a harp!'"

The audience laughed again. When it died down Dr. Harris continued. "In case you didn't recognize it, it was called Baby Elephant Walk, from the John Wayne film Hatari. One evening, when I was an undergraduate my friends found a copy of the movie in a video rental store. I had never seen it, but I have to admit it was one of Mr. Wayne's more enjoyable films that I have seen. But, I digress. To get back to the story, I spent the rest of the day with my fellow harpist at the renaissance faire, learning some of the more traditional techniques. I went back the next day with Blue Beauty, and we played duets together the next two days while we taught each other. That's the sum total of the lessons on the harp that I've ever had. It was from her that I began to learn a number of the traditional Celtic ballads . . ."

Over the next hour and a half Dr. Harris demonstrated an enormous range with Blue Beauty. Many of the songs were popular songs, or at least music that Trey had heard before, ranging from spirituals like Swing Low, Sweet Chariot, to torch songs like Fever, novelty songs like Empty Cat Blues, and on up through some fairly hard rock. However, some of it was songs that he'd never heard before, and she generally but not always followed a slow song with a fast one. It was an awesome performance; Trey realized she was no amateur he was watching a master at her work.

As time went on, Trey did notice that she didn't do any Jenny Easton songs, or at least, none that he could recognize. It seemed strange -- and eventually Dr. Harris commented on it. "I normally don't like to do songs that Jenny Easton has released, although she's responsible for several of the pieces I've played tonight. This is largely because I don't like to compare my modest talents as a vocalist to her wonderful range. However, since it's getting late and there are some literature students who need to get some homework done, I feel that I should at least do one, and this is rather special. My boyfriend at the time lived just up the street from Miss Evachevski and Mr. Walworth. He was able to supply us with some of the pieces that they'd written, but had decided not to record. When the opportunity came to play a couple of those pieces for the two of them, they heard this one and decided to record it after all. I for one, think that she did a magnificent job with it. My poor talents hardly do it justice, but it's a good song to bring the evening to an end." With her bell-clear alto voice, she began to sing in a sad tone,

It was Dawnwalker, the magical piece from the At Home with Jenny Easton album. Trey and Justin had listened to it several times over the last few days. It was a ballad of an Irish fisherman's wife walking the beach in the early morning light, searching for a sign of her husband's boat, expecting that she'll never see him come home, expecting the worst, but hoping against hope. There could be nothing that fit the Celtic harp better. The final notes died out into dead silence, which was suddenly filled with thunderous applause. Dr. Harris got to her feet, unsnapped Blue Beauty from the harness, and gave the audience a bow, then strode off stage toward Trey.

He greeted her with a high-five. "That was wonderful," he said, listening to the rising applause. "I don't think you're going to get away without an encore."

"Yes, it did go very well," she smiled broadly. "And I suppose you're right." She got a big grin on her face. "Since I've gone this far I might as well enjoy it."

She turned around and strode confidently back on stage, to renewed applause. This time, she didn't sit down on the stool, but stood in front of the microphone. "Well, if you insist," she grinned as she made a little production of getting the harp back in place on the harness. "It is getting late and I'm getting a little tired, so I shall need your help on this one. I suspect everyone knows the chorus."

She began to sing in a slow, quiet voice, without the accompaniment of the harp,

Of course, everyone knew American Pie. Dr. Harris soon joined in with her harp, and when they reached the chorus, most of the audience joined in:

The song rolled on, the short Madonna version of the Don MacLean classic, without all the esoteric references. As the last slow "This'll be the day that I die . . ." rolled out, Trey brought down the stage lights and brought up the house lights half way. From the semi-darkness of the stage as the last note rolled out, he could hear Dr. Harris say in a warm voice, "Thank you. You've been a wonderful audience."

* * *

It took a while to get out of the auditorium. There was a crowd around Dr. Harris as Trey shut down the lighting panel and the sound system. Dr. Hamilton was right in the middle of it. As the crowd finally dwindled down, Dr. Harris came back up on stage and sat on the bar stool again, and a photographer took a number of photos of her with Blue Beauty -- probably for the campus newspaper, Trey surmised. It was half an hour or more before the crowd shrank to the point where she could bring Blue Beauty back to the case waiting backstage.

"Thanks, Dr. Harris," Trey said. "That was an absolutely wonderful performance. They should have taped that for Great Performances."

"I thought it went rather well," she smiled. "Certainly better than I expected."

"Better than I expected, too," he agreed. "I don't think I've ever seen a solo live performance that intense and at the same time that much fun."

"Thank you, Trey," she smiled as she began to unbuckle the white harness. "And thank you for your efforts."

"No problem," he shrugged. "Someone had to do it. I'm just sorry that this turned out to be something bigger than we both expected."

"It worked out quite well," she smiled, "Despite my misgivings at the start."

"Uh, Dr. Harris, anything else I can do for you? Maybe carry your harp out to the car or something?"

"Oh, I live in an apartment just across the street," she smiled. "But if you wish, I'd appreciate it if you were to carry it home for me. I find that I'm rather exhausted."

"I can understand why," he smiled. "You were working that crowd pretty good."

"Yes, they were quite responsive. As I told them, they were a wonderful audience." She closed the harp case, and he bent to pick it up.

Side by side, they walked down the aisle and, after Trey turned off the lights, out into the cold of the December evening. "Didn't you bring a jacket?" he asked.

"No," she replied. "After the years I spent at Northern Michigan University, I find this night to be only pleasantly cool, and it's but a short distance to my apartment." They walked on through the cool wind and on across the street. "You know, Trey, this evening has put me into something of a quandary."

"I thought it went pretty good," he said.

"Oh, it went very well indeed," she agreed, "which is why it has put me into a quandary."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," he said, furrowing his brow.

"It's not easy to explain," she said uncertainly, "Even to myself." She was silent for a moment before she went on, "Trey, could I beg the favor of your being a listening ear for a while? I feel the need to talk this out to someone, but I would also beg you to be completely confidential about it."

"Sure," he said. "It doesn't have to go any further. Would you maybe like to go somewhere? Maybe pizza, or something?"

"That sounds excellent," she smiled. "I fear it's been far too long since I've been out for a simple pizza. However, I must point out that there is a certain teacher-student propriety that we must maintain."

"I understand, Dr. Harris," he said.

"I'm glad you do," she said. "That being the case, though, while we're off campus, would you do me the favor of calling me by my given name?"

"Myleigh, isn't it?" It felt strange to even think about it. There were several professors around the campus who were sufficiently non-formal to use first names, but Dr. Harris wasn't one of them.

"Yes," she smiled. "I confess I'm still not quite used to being called 'Dr. Harris,' even though I worked long and hard enough to gain the honorific."

"I can imagine," he smiled as he followed her up the outside stairs to her second-floor apartment. He waited, holding the harp case in his hand, while she unlocked the door.

"I shall only be a minute," she smiled. "I fear a gown such as this is hardly the appropriate attire for a casual pizza off campus even though I acquired it for the paltry sum of a mere five dollars at a garage sale. Do make yourself comfortable."

Trey looked around the apartment. It was, well, different. It looked like a library. There were tall bookshelves all around the living room, filled to overflowing with more old English literature books than he could have imagined. An overstuffed chair sat in front of one of them, and a couch along one wall in front of more bookshelves; a desk sat facing the window, piled high with student papers. He glanced at the desk and noticed a framed picture sitting on it. That drew his attention. The photo was of Dr. Harris -- damn it, Myleigh -- wearing a tiny black string bikini, on a beach somewhere along with another girl and a guy. They were all with arms around each other, and holding onto surfboards -- so she'd been right, she really was a surfer. The guy was about her size, perhaps a little bigger, dark-haired, with a Van Dyke; Trey thought he recognized him from the band on Great Performances. The other woman was taller than both by several inches, sandy haired, large-boned -- and obviously considerably muscled as well. Her undergraduate friends she'd mentioned a couple times during the show? Possibly. In any case, the bikini showed that she really was a babe as if the gown she'd worn this evening hadn't settled that.

In only a minute, the door to the bedroom opened. By now, Trey could have expected almost anything, but he looked up to see Myleigh wearing a knee-length denim skirt with a white blouse and denim jacket. "Somehow I didn't think you'd wear jeans," he smirked.

"Oh, no," she laughed. "My roommate once bought me a pair of jeans back when we were undergraduates, but I never wore them. In fact, the only time that I even wear anything that resembles pants is when I don a gi for my karate lessons."

"You do karate?" he asked, a little bemused at the thought. Clearly, there was considerably more to her than he'd ever noticed in class.

"Blake and Jennifer introduced me to it," she smiled. "Blake is quite expert, and Jennifer was close to her black belt when I last saw her. However I should say that the fact that she's moderately expert at karate is supposed to be kept confidential. Jennifer is rather passionate about her privacy for someone in her position. Shall we be off?"

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