Please understand that I admire you a great deal, both as
a man and as an artist.
I know you will
go on to do great things with your life.
But your world and mine have nothing in common.
That's why I let you go alone when Jack found
us.
There was no way I could follow you
home.
I knew there were people there who
loved you and could give you everything you needed.
You asked me not to send you away without the
hope of coming again, and that is not my intention now.
But you must come with the understanding that
we can only be friends, who might see one another once in a great while, might
write the occasional letter, but nothing more.
I would never expect you or any man to leave their chosen
life for me.
And I’m sure you would
never ask such a thing of me.
This is my
life, my home, and I am committed to it completely.
Just as completely as you are committed to
your career.
If you choose not to respond to this letter, I will understand.
Please know that while I might wish for
things to be different, I am realistic enough to accept when the obstacles are
too great to overcome.
God bless you and keep you safe.
Most sincerely,
Emily
The day Emily mailed her reply
a call came from Harriet Wilson.
There
was a job for her at Crestview, an exclusive long-term care facility across the
mountains, if she wanted it.
It would
mean being away from home for several weeks, but perhaps that was what she
needed now.
She said a prayer of thanks
for something to take her mind off Stani and the confusion his letter had created.
As she prepared to leave, she tried to tell
herself it was all for the best.
He had
to be stopped before things went any further.
She would have been tempted to go on with their correspondence; it was
flattering, even exciting, to think of him taking such an interest in her.
But letting him believe they could ignore the
fact of their
very
different lives, when she knew
only too well what the outcome would be, hardly seemed fair.
They would always be connected, she could not
deny that; but there could be no future together and the sooner he accepted
that the better.
With her mind on the weeks
ahead, she stopped watching the mail.
He
was probably furious with her, or so disillusioned he would not answer.
The day before her departure, as she finished
cleaning the house and packing, his letter appeared in the mailbox.
Dearest, most impossible Emily,
I apologize if my letter upset you, but I do not
apologize for anything I said, however outrageous you may have found my
suggestions.
If you think to so easily
discourage me with your well-phrased arguments, you have underestimated me and
my attraction to you.
Emily, I realize there are obstacles to overcome.
The greatest of these is the lack of time at
present, as I have far too many commitments scheduled over the next few
months.
But I'm quite confident that I
would never grow bored with you, and only when time becomes available for us to
spend together will I be able to convince you of that.
Likewise, you should have the opportunity to
become thoroughly bored with me if that should prove to be the case.
In the meantime, please don't cut yourself
off from me.
If you're not comfortable
as yet with the contemplation of a future together, we won't discuss it
now.
I'm willing to wait, but I will not
pretend I don't have hope for such a future.
There is something you must understand concerning my
memory of you.
During the weeks and
months following the accident, as I slowly began to heal, my mind was paralyzed
with the fear that I would never regain the use of my arm.
I was terrified that I would never play
again, that not only was my career over but my life as well.
I was certain that if I failed to recover, I
would lose everything.
I knew what was
expected of me; and while everyone around me was willing to help, I feared that
if I could not continue, they would eventually leave me.
I know only too well that I could never
survive on my own.
I only have this one
thing, my music, and without that I would be worth nothing, to myself or anyone
else.
During those first weeks, you were always with me, Emily,
in my dreams and even when I was awake.
Your face seemed to drift at the edge of my consciousness, and your
voice was always in my head.
You
sustained me, comforted me, encouraged me.
I could not understand who you were other than some angel sent to keep
me from falling into total despair.
I
would fall asleep (and you must understand I slept much of each day) hoping you
would be there.
I was so desperately in
need of your sweet consolation.
As I
began to get stronger, you came less and less; and I was bereft, powerless to
summon you and still so in need of your comfort.
Eventually, I had to accept that I had lost you
entirely.
Can you imagine what
unspeakable joy I felt when you stood before me, when I could in reality look
into your eyes and hear your voice?
And
now by some greater miracle I was at long last able to touch you?
If I had known how to pray for such a thing,
my prayer would have been answered at that moment.
Emily, I promise I would never force myself on you.
But when you tell me you might wish for
things to be different, that you would not send me away without hope, I know
there is every chance we will overcome these differences and find that common
ground you say does not exist.
In fact,
I believe if we care enough, we will create such a place for ourselves.
You are a person of faith.
You say you believe in a plan for our lives,
that God himself has acted in both our lives already.
If you truly believe that, how can you cut
him out of the future we might have together?
Isn't it possible for him to work even greater miracles if that is part
of his plan?
I don't pretend to know
much of such things, but I am willing to give him a chance.
He has allowed me to find you again; is that
not miraculous?
Already, I am a better
man for knowing you.
After hearing what
you told me of that day, I am convinced there was more than just a frightened
girl and a half-dead boy involved in changing both our lives forever.
I, for one, am eager to see what he might
have in store for us, even if you choose to look away.
Emily, I
will
see you, as soon as I possibly
can.
In the meantime, I choose to
continue to pour my heart into these letters you so brilliantly conceived.
Please write back to me, just to let me know
you have not completely given up.
Have
faith in yourself and in me.
We can only
try our best; and if we fail, we
will find a way to accept that and move
on.
If we hesitate now, we will never
know what might have been.
All my best,
Your devoted Stani
Emily let the tears fall, as
she read his description of the weeks following the accident.
And she was stung by the truth of his
challenge.
She
did
believe in a
divine plan for her life.
How arrogant
of her to see it only in her own narrow terms.
Why did he have the power to move her when they should still be virtual
strangers?
But his closing words, so
closely echoing her father's, at last broke her resolve.
Yes, if they hesitated, they would fail; and
if they took the risk, on faith, perhaps there was the slimmest chance they
might find a place to share.
She was
still confused, skeptical, but she knew she would not try to turn him away
again.
Dear Stani,
I’ll be brief, as I’m preparing to leave home for an
extended case.
Please accept my apology
for trying to discourage you.
I thought
I was doing what would in the long run be best for us.
I see now that I am not so wise after
all.
You have shown me clearly that I
was arrogant and short-sighted.
I will
write more once I am settled.
In the meantime,
I am committed to keeping faith and will no longer hesitate to believe in what
might come to us in time.
Most humbly yours,
Emily
When her note arrived, Stani
was packing to leave New York.
He had
slept little the past few nights, and his nerves were jangled with anxiety and
fatigue.
He was still reeling from an
argument with Milo, an argument he had prepared for and in fact felt he’d
won.
Nonetheless, any conflict left him
doubting himself, questioning his own judgment.
His relief at her response was almost physical.
He had risked everything in that last letter,
and now he knew he would have a chance with her after all.
As he and John set off from the city, he
commented with a sigh that life was full of unexpected opportunities if one
knew where to look.
“Like perhaps looking to the
hills, from whence comes help, or some such thing?
How is your friend?”
“She's willing to be my
friend, John, my very good friend.
She
won’t desert me after all.
I have to
find some way to get back there, soon.”
He stared out the window at the horizon, as if hoping to see the answer
there.
“These weeks ahead, this tour and
what we're doing, are you ready for the changes?”
“Of course.
How did you do with Milo?
And you should know I could hear at least the
tone of the conversation.
From the sound
of things, you held your own.”
“I did, though not without
cost.
But then I heard from Emily, and
it didn't matter so much.
She has this
power to lift me up, make me better.
I
can't explain it, but she opens my eyes to things I never knew were there.
She makes me want to deserve her, live up to
her.
I was so afraid she was going to
turn away from me, but something I said seems to have changed her mind.
I can't lose her again.
I won't.
Help me, will you?
Keep me
together, until I can get back there to her.”
“I'll do my best, lad.
Sounds to me like she's already doing a pretty
good job.
Here you are, defying Milo and
going on with what you want.
She's made
you stronger, Stani.
That's what loving
a woman will do for a man.
Not that I'm
saying you're in love with her.”
“Say it, John.
If it's possible for such a poor excuse for a
man to fall in love, I have.
Now I just
have to figure out what to do about it.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Dear Stani,
I am convinced that even if I wanted to (which I confess
I do not) I wouldn’t be able to keep you out of my thoughts.
Wherever I go now, it seems you are there.
As I think I told you, my patient, Mae, is a lifelong
lover of classical music.
She has
brought a large part of her collection to Crestview and we listen to music at
least once every day.
This morning she
asked me to play the Bruch Violin Concerto #1.
Of course, the artist was. . .you guessed it!
But that was the least of it.
It turns out the record was sent to her by a
friend, Peg Shannon, who apparently is a very close friend of yours as
well.
Mae told me how her friend Peg had
taken you on as a “cause,” raising the money for your first tour, and how she
had nursed you after the accident.
I
listened to all of this through the most awful pounding in my ears, hoping I
wasn't turning every imaginable shade of red.