Chapter 21

"I can hardly believe it, Mother." Charles stood within in the bedroom, out of the line of sight from the study. Piano music drifted in through the slightly open door. "Has he been at this all morning?"

Christine nodded, as she appraised one of Erik's suit jackets from the wardrobe. "Piece after piece. Once he finishes, he folds it up and puts the next onto the stand. Hours of music. Before today he would maybe tinker with one of two before shutting the lid."

"Do you think … ?" Charles let the question dwindle in the air as the piano fell silent at the end of a piece.

She smiled and whispered, " … that he may be ready to arrive back from his travels? Why do you think I am here. He will desire to make as grand an impression as before. Nothing less will do."

"Damrosch will be thrilled."

"I should say. He has nothing but compliments to offer about your work. Word is that there is a waiting list for your instruction? For an apprentice this is nearly unheard of."

Charles tugged on his cravat.

The first note trembled in the air. They both turned to stare at the door.

The Stradivarius? The note was timid, followed by another. A slow series of scales filled the silence. Erik's beloved violin, played by him, for the first time in ages. Charles had, of course, kept it conditioned, but other than scales he had not dared to truly play her. She was his father's soul. And Charles respected it.

Gradually the notes gained fluidity. Not quite the quality Erik had once produced. However for his first efforts in close to two years, it was a profound joy to hear his fingers on the strings again. Christine abandoned the wardrobe and drifted to her son's side as the chords of a familiar song drifted through.

"There is a chance that no one will be the wiser. Listen to that, Charles. He's back."

Charles smiled down at her. "I never should have doubted you. I deeply apologize that I had."

"None would blame you in those bleak months. I had near lost hope myself. But now I think we can tuck these dismal times in our past. Erik may step back out into society and none shall be the wiser."

The notes faltered, followed by a shriek.

They dashed into the study to find Erik seated on the piano bench, the violin still in his hands. He gasped for air, his gaze fixed on something near his hands.

Christine knelt before him. "My love, what is it? Whatever is the matter?"

His eyes stared past her, toward the neck of the violin.

Charles leaned forward, "Father, you're scaring us. What is wrong? Did you see something?"

Erik trembled. "Look." His eyes never moved.

They studied his grip on the violin's neck and everything seemed alright. "Erik dear, please tell me, whatever is the matter?"

"It is over," he whispered. "Before it even begins … it is over. Look."

He lifted the violin as if to play. The starched cuff of his shirt slid down. Even on the other arm, when he raised the bow, the cuff shifted. Against his winter pale skin, the darker scars from the shackles betrayed him.

"I … can never play." He laid the Stradivarius across his lap and drew in a shuddering breathe.

Christine clasped his hand. "Gloves. Erik, no one will see these if you wear gloves."

A tear dashed against the polished wood. Erik somberly stared into the gleaming sheen.

Charles bowed his head. "No mother, for the piano, maybe. But not with the violin. A glove would impede contact with the strings." He laid a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Father is right. The moment his sleeve drops, someone is bound to notice."

Erik picked up the violin and shoved it into Charles hands. "Take it. Take it please. Put it back in the case. I do not want … no … I just … "

As he was bid, Charles carefully took the instrument and tucked her safely away in her case. Erik leaned on his elbows, his masked face gripped in his hands. Gently, Christine caressed his shoulder. "My love, please. You have been here too long. Damrosch and his wife are going for a stroll this afternoon in the park. Perhaps we should join them. It is a gorgeous day."

He seized the tip of the cane and pushed up from the bench. With a sigh, he walked to the open balcony doors and lingered just inside, his gaze taking in the landscape in full bloom. "What does it matter." His shoulders sagged. "What is done … is done. There is no sense in remaining a hermit any longer."

"Oh look at the lovely swans." Margaret Damrosch tugged on Christine's wrist. "Let's go get a closer look. Maybe they will dance for us."

Christine laughed and called over her shoulder. "We'll be by the pond."

Leisurely, Walter Damrosch tapped his cane without breaking stride. Behind him, Erik cut a somber figure, even more reserved than he had been prior. All things considered, he was walking remarkably well. Only because he was looking could Damrosch tell that the cane was not for mere show.

The park was alive. Children dashed around under the watchful eyes of their governess's. Gentlemen strolled about, taking in the sunshine. Ladies under parasols colored the park, a mirror of the summer blooms. A few glances and whispers turned their way. Damrosch offered a nod of his head with a smile to each passerby. In complete contrast, Erik kept his gaze fixed on the path without offering a single word.

Damrosch took a seat on a bench and stretched his legs out. A moment later Erik joined him, folding his gloved hands over the cane handle. His eyes looking at nothing in particular.

Casually, Damrosch remarked, "It's such a nice afternoon. I want to thank you for joining us. Margaret loves to come and see the swans. The stories that she and Christine come up with here."

A gentleman walked by, the tap of his cane against the ground stole Erik's gaze. Once he had passed, Erik looked back down at the one in his own hands. His shoulders crumpled a little more.

Keeping his voice down, Damrosch held up his own. "It's fashionable to have a cane. You shouldn't let it bother you."

"It is not that I have one. It is that I must rely on it, for what would seem the remainder of my life. For without it, I may fall." His knuckles turned whiter. "If they see, if they notice … "

"None of that now. You look resplendent as ever, Erik."

"The elite are like vultures, circling in their feathered finery looking for an opportunity to kill … a weakness."

Damrosch pointed out to the swans drifting in the pond under the amused gaze of their wives. "The elite are more like lazy swans getting fat off the compliments of gawkers. Don't fret. Now that you are back everything will settle again."

"I wish I could be so certain."

The swans took the air and a moment later their wives came breathlessly to the bench, a handful of discarded feathers in their hands. "This would look lovely on that old hat of mine. Just what it needs."

"Don't you have a lovely broach you could use?"

"Oh yes and a nice bright ribbon. It will look beautiful for the late summer concert."

Damrosch held up a finger. "That reminds me. The Symphony Society is rehearsing tomorrow afternoon, and I was wondering Erik, now that you are back from your travels, if you would be so kind as to grace the Hall with your presence?"

Slow to reply, Erik was cut off by Christine. "Of course. You have the concert program set. An exclusive chance to hear it. Oh how wonderful."

Damrosch concealed a quick wink to Christine. Her smile broadened.