him as a wiry man whose waistcoat pockets were forever full of broken strings and peppermints. After the scandal, he had left Philadelphia with a touring ensemble. Now he was standing under red velvet curtains, older and stooped, but his bow remained steady. He glanced toward her and lifted his chin in a tiny greeting. Lydia felt tears burning behind her eyes. "How much does he know?" she asked. "Enough that he has returned to keep a promise." Nathaniel offered no further explanation.
They waited until the set of dances ended. When the orchestra began rearranging its music, Lydia slipped into the adjoining anteroom, where Mr. Alder was waiting with a battered leather case. He took one look at her and covered his mouth. "Your father's eyes," he said. "Good heavens, child. I should have come sooner." Lydia embraced him before she remembered the formalities of the room. His coat smelled faintly of rosin and the cold outdoor air. "You played his song," she said. "You remembered it." "Remembered it?" Alder gave a sorrowful laugh. "I have carried that tune across half the country. Your father made me swear it would be heard again when someone was finally ready to listen."
From the case he withdrew a bundle of sheet music tied with a faded blue ribbon. Lydia recognized Daniel's neat notes in the margins and a small ink blot he had always called his personal signature. Between the pages lay a thin envelope. Her name was written on it. For a moment she could only stare. "He gave this to me just before they took his books," Alder explained. "He believed Wetherell's men would search the house. I was leaving for Baltimore and agreed to keep it safe. Then your father died, and Wetherell warned me that if I returned with accusations, he would see that I never played in Philadelphia again. I told myself I would wait until I could bring proof with me. I waited too long. I am sorry."
Lydia opened the envelope carefully. The letter within was short. Daniel wrote that he had refused to authorize the transfer of relief money, that Wetherell had presented him with altered accounts, and that he had copied the original transaction numbers before his books were confiscated. He believed the Baltimore bank could confirm the money's destination. He ended not with bitterness but with a message for Lydia and Samuel: You may hear a hundred people describe me as a stranger to you. Remember