Chapter 14

The next morning, Mary informed Anne that Jenny would be caring for the boys during the evening.

"So, you will be able to come with us!" Mary never let on about the argument of the previous night. She preferred to sulk in Charles' presence instead. The only time Anne heard her speak to Charles was when he returned home that evening.

"Jenny will be here tonight," she announced firmly.

"Good," was all Charles responded as he programmed his TiVo.

Anne prepared for the dinner in the best way she could; she did not think about it.

"We met John Poole on the course today," Dr. Musgrove told the women sitting around the table. He turned to Edward, "Don't be surprised if you are invited to a party soon in your honor." Edward looked to him to explain, and Dr. Musgrove chuckled.

"The Poole's love to give parties for any occasion," explained Mrs. Musgrove.

"And they are quite fun when the right people are there," expressed Louisa, looking at Frederik.

"And who are the right people?" asked Frederik. Anne could tell by his voice that he was somehow displeased with her statement and wanted her to elaborate. Louisa did not seem fazed; her statement was guileless.

"Why, haven't you figured out that you fall into that category, dear?" The endearing term was a bit much, but the other guests in the room did not let on. Anne looked at Dr. Musgrove, wondering what he must think.

He looked completely oblivious and continued. "Yes, I shouldn't wonder if they give a party within the next week."

Mrs. Musgrove looked slightly embarrassed by her husband's remark. Quietly she stated, "If they do not, it might be such a disappointment that we might consider giving one instead."

Both Louisa and Henrietta were ecstatic immediately. "Oh, yes let's!" Even Mary looked overjoyed.

"Should we have a little party, then?" Dr. Musgrove's eyes were twinkling.

"I shall organize it," exclaimed Louisa immediately. "And, of course, it will need to be in honor of Frederik as well."

"Well, I don't see how that would suit, since I will be leaving for Florida in four days."

The sighs of protest were an objection to such an announcement.

"Do you really have to go so soon?" Henrietta's blue eyes looked at him so pleadingly.

"You must remember I have this piece of musical theater I need to attend to."

"So, it's business," ascertained Louisa, looking glum and picking at the almonds in her green beans.

"Sort of," stated Frederik. "I am soliciting the help of some old friends regarding a song that the producers are wanting changed." All felt the lack of excitement that had filled the room only moments before. Frederik continued, "So…I will be flying to St. Augustine on Tuesday."

"Oh! I want to vacation in St. Augustine." Mary's eyes alighted on Charles, and then, remembering that she was ignoring him, back down to her plate.

"We should all go," decided Louisa. "It would be a good break for Henrietta and me before we go back to school as well."

"Well, I am not going to Florida," contradicted Mrs. Musgrove, concerned that her daughter's enthusiasm would override her own desires to stay at home.

"Nor are we," exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth. "Though I am sure it would be fun, I am just getting settled."

Mary was beginning to see a trend and wasn't pleased with the way things were going. "Well, I think it would be lovely. Don't you, Anne?"

Anne did not know how to answer. This whim of Louisa's had not seemed realistic in the first place. But now, she felt as though she needed to support Mary; and generally speaking, she had nothing against the thought of vacationing in Florida. "Yes, it does sound lovely," she finally answered. And the golden eyes which had rested on her as she formulated her answer quickly reverted to Louisa as Anne, unconsciously, turned to look at him.

"Well then, if we are to have a group this large, I should get in touch with a friend of mine about using his jet." There were pleased expressions and words of delight given to his remark.

Even Charles seemed taken with the idea. "You know, we haven't had a vacation in quite a while." Mary's face broke into a grin, and her former irritation with him was forgotten.

The dinner guests moved into the music room after supping, and Louisa, jubilant about the trip, was ready to show off her musical skill. She played a lovely piece on the harp. Afterwards, Louisa moved to the piano and motioned for Frederik to attend her.

Frederik had been speaking with Mrs. Musgrove. For that kind lady had an overabundance of concern about the safety of the proposed jet plane. Though tentatively stated, her doubts about the projected plan were made plain to Mr. Wentworth.

Anne overheard him say, "I assure you, Mrs. Musgrove, I know of no better pilot than the one my friend employs. He is very safe, and his plane is top of the line. I will take good care of your daughters." His manner with her was very gentle and reminded the single woman of the manner in which he had spoken of his mother years ago.

It had been the first time she had felt at ease with him. He had let down his guard for a brief moment, and she had seen the lost boy inside.

"We will sing a different song today," he announced as she knocked upon the door and walked into the room at his welcome. It was a week into the new school year, and Erik, being very pleased with her return, had been less strict with her and given more compliments than she knew she really deserved.

"I am sure you are familiar with it, but the music is on the chair for you."

Anne picked up sheets. It was Dido's Lament. She scanned the words to remind herself of the feeling of the song. She felt the lump in her throat and tried to swallow it. Trying to push aside the emotions it brought to mind, she listened to his playing and concentrated on the music.

"When I am laid, am laid-"

His hands rested on the piano. There was silence, and Anne knew the reason.

"You must concentrate on the words you are singing. What is the meaning behind the song? How can you best convey that to me? Begin again." The pianist started a few meters before she would sing this time.

Anne tried to allow the feeling of the song to be translated through her but did not let the words filter through her own memories. This time she made it to the second stanza.

"...am laid in earth, may my wrongs create-"

The piano ceased its chords again. "Where are you?" The whispered words were behind her, in front of her, and beside her all at once. "You sing your exercises with more feeling."

"I can't sing this song." He waited, and she felt she had to explain, but couldn't. "You just don't understand," she said as her voice broke in frustration.

"Do you really believe I don't understand?"

'Did he know about her mother?' she asked herself. He seemed to know everything else. But this was something she would not discuss with him.

"Erik," it was the first time she had used his name, "I refuse to sing this song." She set the paper down but hesitated to walk out the door.

"Do you think you can ever really love her if you never really sing for her?"

That was too much. "What do you mean?" The emotions boiled over and she could not stop herself. "I do sing to her!"

"I know you sing to her, Christine. I know every note that comes from your being that you pray will reach her ears." He allowed the quietness in the room to still her beating heart. Then he asked, gently, "But do you sing for her?" Anne could not answer.

"Do you want to allow yourself to really sing the way she knew you would one day?"

"I want to sing for her. I do." Anne replied, softly.

"That is why I am here. I can help you to do that, but you must open the door to those feelings. Let them have a voice."

Anne's eyes were swimming. "I can't," she whispered.

"You are. Now, pick up the music and sing it. Pick it up." His last words were a tender command. He began to play again.

Anne lost control of her voice after the first stanza but continued to sing. The salty taste was on her lips as the streams of her tears covered her cheeks.

"Remember me, but ah! Forget my fate."

And somewhere between the haunting melody and the power of the words emerged a voice that pleaded in the purest tones. It was the voice of Christine.

"Forget my fate," she finished. The piano faded away, and Christine found herself standing in the cluttered room, yet miles away in a peaceful, tranquil place. Her eyes were closed, and she did not want to open them.

"Was she beautiful?" Erik asked her quietly.

"She was so beautiful," answered Christine, and a smile was on her face.

"Did she sing you to sleep?"

Christine only nodded. "She gave my fingers little kisses when I went to bed and told me that each kiss was a happy dream. I always had happy dreams when she gave me those kisses."

"Was her scent like fresh flowers?"

Christine breathed in. "I don't know what her scent was, but it was lovely. Sometimes…sometimes I can still smell it when I'm by myself, and I think 'are you here, mummie?'"

"And is she?"

"Sometimes," Christine whispered. "Sometimes I know she's there." And then Christine knew; he understood. "What did your mother look like?" she asked him in return.

His voice was full of a singular joy as he spoke. "She had dark blue eyes that reminded me of a night sky filled with stars. Her hair was dark and wavy, the way yours is when you curl it. She loved to sing, and she taught me to play. I remember how she used to laugh-"

A noise of heavy footsteps in the chapel overhead caught both of their attentions. From the distance an older man spoke loudly, "Who's in here?"

"Christine! You didn't shut the door," he admonished in a hushed voice.

Christine moved as though to go back up to the chapel, but Erik stated, "No, it is too late. I will take you out another way."

It was then that he had led her to the rooms where he lived under the opera house.

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A/N: I am pathetic for telling this, I know, but when I wrote this I couldn't keep from crying. Did this chapter move you? I want to know if I got the emotions across.

xXx-dee-xXx: How lucky you are to be brought up in a place with so much knowledge and history of E.B.B.'s life! The love she and Robert Browning shared through poetry is extremely touching. I couldn't help but correlate her story of waiting with this one.

Reader: I omitted to point out that E.B.B.'s Sonnet IX was from her Sonnets from the Portuguese. Forgive me, and I've changed that.

Ana-Misa: Thanks for your thoughts on Mary; I have a special affection for her. I hope I have portrayed her well. As far as which man Anne will end up with, tell me: who would you prefer? Not that the story is going to change; I'm just wondering.