A few weeks later Mr. Capianelli returned to Missoula to give a Christmas concert, and Mom invited him to dinner I played my violin for him, and he praised how my music had matured. "Although," he said to my parents, "you realize there's a limit to what Tess can do here."

"What do you mean?" Mom asked.

"That Montana, no matter how you look at it, is..." He hesitated. "Is a bit provincial. For a serious musician, that is."

"But you said Tessie's music is maturing."

"It is, it is. Just not to the extent that it might if she were in, say, New York. There, her opportunities to hear the best, perhaps to play with the best, would be unlimited."

Mom got a faraway look in her eyes. But she laughed. "I'm afraid that's out of the question," she said. "Tessie is very young."

"Out of the question," Dad echoed.

Mr. Capianelli mentioned New York again as he was leaving Standing in the doorway with his overcoat on, he said, "The time to make things happen for Tess is while she is young Wait too long, and it will be too late."

LATER DAD BUILT a fire in the fireplace. Mom and I poured mugs of hot spiced cider and put on some music.

Instead of taking their usual two chairs, my parents sat close together on the sofa, and Dad put his arm around Mom. Then Mom said, "Mr. Capianelli certainly surprised me with his talk of New York."

I tensed up, sure she was going to ruin the nice mood, but she added, "It's unrealistic, of course."

"It is," Dad said. "And as for hearing good music—how about I stop the CD and you give us some live piano music."

Mom, who rarely touched the piano anymore, took some coaxing, but then she played well, and Dad and I clapped enthusiastically. "You could go onstage, Mom," I said, teasing, wanting to make her happy.

Mom returned to the sofa, snuggling back into Dad's arm. "Not at my age," she said. "Talk about too late."

Her voice took on a musing tone. "Maybe if I'd begun the way you did, but I was in high school before my family even got a piano. Or maybe if I'd had a bit more courage in college ... had at least walked into the music building to find out if I belonged there..."

She broke off. "Who am I kidding? I could have started learning piano when I was a toddler and I still wouldn't play the way you play your violin, Tessie."

"Don't sell yourself short," Dad told her "You're a fine pianist."

"I'm an amateur pianist," Mom answered. "I doubt if I'd ever have been more than that no matter what opportunities I was given."

She looked down at her hands, so long boned and slim. "It's different with Tessie," she said. "Sometimes I suspect we still don't grasp how much talent she's got. That's why I'm so afraid we'll do something wrong with it."

"I'm more scared we'll do something wrong with her," Dad answered.

"Hey!" I interrupted. "Did you two forget I'm here? I've got some ideas."

Dad and Mom looked startled, but then they laughed. "And what are they?" Dad asked.

"The first is that we go outside and build a snowman."

"It's dark out," Dad protested.

"There's a moon."

"And it's past your bedtime," he said.

"My second idea is that I get to stay up an extra hour."

"I vote with Tessie," Mom said.

We didn't build a snowman. We built a snow family that we gave pinecone eyes and our hats. They looked happy. Cold but happy, with their stick arms all interlocked.