Melody (Logan 1)

The table was as elegant and as rich a table as I had ever seen, even in movies. The dishes were on silver platters and there were crystal goblets for the wine. There were three tall candles in each of two silver candelabra as well. Between candelabra was a spray of white roses. For this dinner the judge sat at Grandma's right side and Uncle Jacob sat on her left. Grandpa sat where he had sat before, as did Aunt Sara, May, Cary, and I.

Uncle Jacob said grace, which seemed to go on twice as long as usual, and the meal finally began. It was orchestrated like a theatrical performance with as many people serving the meal as were eating it, each person seemingly assigned the serving of one course. We began with a caviar appetizer. I was ashamed to say I didn't know what it was, but the judge's eyes twinkled with laughter when Uncle Jacob said, "I always feel guilty eating fish eggs."

"I swear, Olivia," the judge said, "you've raised a saint here."

"Jacob is a good man," she bragged. "We've been blessed."

Uncle Jacob didn't blush at the compliment. He merely looked satisfied. But the judge threw me a smile and a wink. He was the main reason I was feeling relaxed at all.

Jerome poured wine for the adults and the judge offered a toast to everyone's good health and continued happiness. I was impressed with the way he could imbue his voice with senatorial power. There was an immediate sense of authority and strength. He could bring seriousness to a gathering in seconds, I thought.

The appetizer was followed with delicious cream of asparagus soup. While we ate, the judge discussed the local political scene and the fall elections. The adults listened attentively, as if they were party to classified information.

After the soup came a mixed salad of baby field greens and walnuts sprinkled with feta cheese in a raspberry vinaigrette dressing. That started everyone talking about the price of fresh produce, but to me it seemed that money problems were the smallest of worries for this family.

I was surprised when we were served a small ball of orange sorbet. Was the meal over and was this dessert? I wondered. The judge saw the confusion in my face and laughed.

"I don't think your granddaughter is familiar with this culinary custom, Olivia," he said.

"How could she be, growing up in the back hills of West Virginia. The sorbet's meant to cleanse your palette. You know what your palette is?"

"Yes," I said sharply. I glanced at Cary who was scowling at Grandma Olivia. She caught the look on his face and turned back to the judge to talk about the race for governor.

All the kitchen staff and the butler served the entree, which consisted of roasted quails with wild rice and baby vegetables. There were servants all around us, replacing silverware, fixing napkins, pouring wine and water. One of the servants appeared to be assigned to Grandma Olivia only. The moment she started to reach for something, the maid was there to get it for her. It was truly an overwhelming feast, capped with a dessert that brought an exclamation of delight from the judge.

"Your favorite," Grandma Olivia announced.

It was creme brulee--sornething I had never seen nor tasted before. The moment I did, I knew why the judge loved it so.

"Good, isn't it?" he asked me.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"Nothing wrong with enjoying rich things occasionally," he said. "Is there, Jacob?" he asked, enjoying teasing my uncle. I had to admit, I enjoyed seeing him do it.

"As long as you know whom to thank for them," Uncle Jacob said.

"Oh, I do. Thank you, Olivia, Samuel," he said and laughed. My grandpa joined him, but Grandma Olivia shook her head as if he were behaving like a naughty little boy.

"Really, Nelson," she said chidingly.

"I'm just kidding, of course. No one is more thankful than I for my good fortune. I only regret Louise couldn't be with me longer," he added, losing his smile for a moment.

"We all miss her," Grandma Olivia said. "Thank you, Olivia."

Coffee was served. Cary and I were permitted some. I had never tasted French vanilla coffee, either, but I didn't want to

appear as unsophisticated as Grandma Olivia was making me out to be, so I sipped it as if I drank it every day.

When the meal ended, Grandpa suggested brandy and cigars in the parlor.

"This is when we could have heard that fiddle concert," the judge remarked, his eyes glittering at me.

"I could still go fetch it," Cary offered.

"By the time you returned, it would be too late," Grandma said. "Another time."

Cary looked disappointed, but I was relieved. I would have hated to perform before such a critical audience.