And now that I've shamelessly confessed my fascination
with you, you'll think I'm just like every other girl who waits outside the
stage door for your autograph.
Sorry to
disillusion you.
Please take care of yourself.
Wishing I could be in the audience for you,
Emily
Dearest, most wonderfully shameless Emily,
You do realize your last letter went from the sublime to
the ridiculous?
Fantasized over me?
I doubt you gave me more than a passing thought.
But please, feel free to do so now if you are
so inclined.
I am taking care of myself, or at least John is trying
to.
And I'm truly enjoying this little
tour, which is different from any I've done before.
I'm performing, as always, in large and small
halls, with orchestras I've worked with in the past and a few new, smaller
groups as well.
But the most interesting
part of this tour, and the something different, is that I'm visiting music
schools, both at large universities and some of the smaller
conservatories.
I give a short recital
and then spend time talking with the students.
It has been an amazing thing, to meet these very talented people not
that much younger than myself, and realize what a struggle many of them face in
pursuit of their goals.
I've been so
wretchedly ungrateful for my own good fortune.
I must have thought somehow I deserved all the special attention along
the way.
These musicians have to pay for
everything and work so hard to get an education before anyone will consider
them for the lowliest jobs.
Their love
of music, their desire to perform and their determination to excel are truly
inspiring.
Milo has never wanted me to accept these invitations—too
far, too much time for too little (if any) pay.
It was my decision to do this, and believe me he was none too
pleased.
But my therapist had advised me
to find some way to give of myself, and this seemed the obvious way.
Now that I know the rewards, I'm so glad I
took the chance.
Milo has been about
making money, keeping a high profile; but there can be no harm in giving as
well can there?
I learned this past
year, because I asked for the first time, that I've already earned a great deal
of money, probably more than I'll ever need.
Why should I always be paid so much to do what I love and what seems to
bring joy to others as well?
I plan to
talk with Peg about other ways I might give more of myself and what I
have.
I'm sure she can help me with this
as she is, after all, an expert in these matters.
I feel so ashamed that it has never occurred
to me to do this sort of thing before.
You see what an incomplete person I really am?
I must go now.
John is reminding me that the driver has been waiting long enough.
I wanted to get this posted before I left for
the concert hall.
All my best, such as it is,
Stani
On a late autumn day when the
sun cast the gently rolling hills in sharp contrasts of gold and bronze, Emily
stood at the bedside of her new friend and bid her safe passage.
Mae’s only surviving child, Anne, had only
hours earlier left her mother with a promise to see her again soon, but Emily
felt sure she must have known the end was near.
The passing had been absolutely peaceful, as the sunset blazed above the
distant ridges and Brahms played softly on the stereo.
While Emily found herself intensely grateful
for the shared moment, she hesitated to think too deeply on the experience.
Some encounters in life should be allowed to
simply leave their impression on the heart, she decided.
At Anne’s invitation, Emily
traveled to the funeral in Richmond.
The
big downtown church was filled with a lifetime of friends who came from all
over the country to honor a woman who had quietly but very effectively touched
so many lives.
What struck Emily most
profoundly was that Mae would be remembered for not only her generosity, but
the joy with which she had shared her wealth.
Stories were recounted of her strength in the face of loss, but also of
her sharp wit and unfailing graciousness.
She found herself wishing Stani could be there to hear the fine
musicians who had come to play, musicians who had benefited over the years from
Mae’s patronage.
The service was a
fitting celebration of a life well-lived and Emily was sure Mae would have
heartily enjoyed it.
Dear Stani,
I have had the most surreal experience.
I have met Peg Shannon.
At the funeral for Mae Hanbury, she came
right up to me.
Of course, she only
knows me as Mae's nurse.
Mae's daughter,
Anne, introduced us and Peg told me how much she appreciated the care I had
given her friend.
You would have been
proud of how calmly I handled myself.
But the most surreal part of all was the window.
You see, we were standing in front of a
stained glass window in the narthex of the church after the service.
I had actually been standing there for a
while, studying the window, which is dedicated to the memory of Mae's son,
David.
It's the most beautiful
image of a
shepherd boy, surrounded by his little flock, his harp raised to his
shoulder.
You can almost hear the music
just by looking at his face.
I knew by
his red hair that he was the young King David, but the scene behind him is not
the rugged terrain of Israel but the gently rolling hills of the Blue Ridge.
It was so moving, I couldn't take my eyes off it.
When Peg came up with Anne, and we had said
our hellos, she turned to the window, too.
Stani, it was as though I could read her mind.
She looked up at the boy with the red curls,
and after a moment, she said, “What a remarkable face.”
I knew she was thinking of you, just as I had
been.
I thought, just for a second, that
I might tell her I was the one who pulled you out of the storm and sent you
back to her, but of course I didn't.
So, once again our worlds have crossed.
I suppose I should accept that this sort of
thing is going to go on happening.
After
almost three years, I think it's safe to say you are in my life to stay.
If only
you,
not just some reminder of
you, some image of you, some person who might have seen you or even known you,
if only
you yourself
were more in my life, then I might be better able
to accept it.
I'm going to Angela's for Thanksgiving and then home
until after Christmas.
Where are you,
where will you be next week, next month?
Wherever you are, please take care of yourself.
Your tour sounds exciting and
exhausting.
What you’re doing with the
students is wonderful!
You're right,
there can be no harm in giving.
Back to Peg Shannon, she’s much younger that I expected,
and very beautiful.
How could you spend
so much time together and remain just friends?
Are you sure you aren't in love with her or she with you?
I'll be home on Friday night after Thanksgiving.
I'll put a light in the window that and every
night until I see you again.
Still impatient,
Emily
The happy chaos of the
Salvatore household, overflowing with Italian and Greek relatives visiting from
a distance, was a welcome change after the quiet of Crestview; but Emily was
anxious to get home.
This year, for the
first time, she planned to spend the holidays with the friends and neighbors
who had shown her so much support in the past few years.
She was a full-fledged member of the community
now; and she intended to do her part.
With that in mind, she had promised Sara to prepare the children's music
for the Christmas Eve service.
She had
also volunteered to help Jack with the Christmas Family boxes.
Each year the Sheriff's Department
distributed baskets to the less fortunate families in the county; Emily had
offered to shop for toys, matching them to the wish lists of the children.
She was looking forward to the busy month
ahead.
If Stani found time for a visit,
he would not find her sitting idly by the window watching for him.
Returning late on Friday
evening, she was still unloading her car when the phone rang.
Given the hour, she was sure it was Jack,
checking to see that she’d arrived safely, so she let it ring.
She would call him once she finished with the
last load.
But the ringing
persisted.
When she answered, the voice
on the line was Stani's.
“Thank God
you're finally home!
I've been calling
for hours!”
“What on earth for?
Are you all right?”
She was alarmed and confused.
He’d never called before, and he sounded
frantic.
“I have tomorrow if you'll let
me come.”
“All day?”
“Most of it.
I'm in Baltimore.
If we leave early enough I can be there by
mid-morning.
I don't have to be anywhere
tomorrow evening.
May I come?”
“I'd be furious if you
didn't.
Hours, Stani, just hours.
But that's more than we've had so far.”
“Then I'll see you
tomorrow.
And Emily?”
“Yes?”
“We'll make those hours count,
I promise.”
She stood in the middle of the
room, imagining him in front of her.
Her
heart threatened to explode in her chest, she could barely breathe and she
wanted to scream for joy.
He was coming
again, not just words on paper, but real hours together!
Sudden terror threatened to stop her heart
altogether.
What if face to face they
found nothing to say to each other?
In
the safety of distance, she had found it easy to talk intimately with him,
sharing her innermost thoughts and even her warmest feelings.
There would be no safety with him here in
this room, no hiding from those dark, searching eyes.
He would be a touch away, and she remembered
all too well her response to his touch.
Chapter Thirty-six
Once again, she made careful preparations,
seeing that the house and the space near the fireplace in particular were in
order.
The day had dawned cloudy and
chill, a perfect day to stay inside by the fire.
With the golden glow of the lamps warming the
gray light from the windows, and the fire crackling on the hearth, she was
content that the stage was set.
Cushions
comfortably arranged on the couch, the ottoman at the ready if he wanted to put
his feet up.
She draped a quilt over one
of the chairs, just for effect.
At the
last minute, she cleared the game table by the window of her correspondence and
books.
They might have afternoon tea in
here, if he wanted to.
As for herself, it had not
been so simple to decide what needed to be done.
She wanted to put him at ease, so she thought
she should dress casually.
But what if
he arrived so elegantly attired, as he had the last time?
She would feel awkward in jeans.
Finally choosing a relatively new outfit,
gray flannel slacks and a soft alpine cardigan in shades of rose and gray, she
tried it on first with a tailored white shirt.
Too much, too bulky and masculine.
Eliminating the shirt, she buttoned the sweater, leaving the last two
buttons at the neck unfastened.
Much
better, more mature, less school-girlish.
She decided to leave her hair down, parting it in the center and
sweeping it behind her ears.
A little
makeup, her silver cross around her neck, and she felt she looked as well as
she could.
Eying herself in the mirror,
she decided she looked awfully tall in the slim trousers; but there was nothing
she could do about that.