The Gift of Song
After extensive training and lessons, Erik had assembled Christine and Frans to the sitting room where he would finally reveal the progress Marigold had made in her singing lessons. Christine had been very curious as to why they had spent many evenings in Erik's study. It wasn't until Erik had moved the pianola into the room as Christine, Frans and Marigold sat down.
"Well, Erik, what sort of secret have you been keeping these past few months?" inquired Christine.
"I'm very glad you asked, Christine," he said, as he placed the pianola in place. "Are you aware, my darling wife, that our very own daughter has inherited our musical abilities?" He glanced over at Marigold, who slightly blushed as she looked at the floor.
"How do you mean?" asked Christine.
"Well, earlier this year, I heard singing in this room. At first, I thought it was your beautiful voice, but this voice was somewhat different from yours. I then discovered that it was Marigold singing and I couldn't believe how much she sounded just like you, but she sings with the technique that I use when I sing. So, I have been secretly tutoring her and I think she is ready to sing in front of you and Frans, as her first audience."
Erik extended his hand towards Marigold, who took it as she stood nervously in front of her mother and Frans. She looked at her father who gave her an encouraging smile and nodded as he sat at the pianola. As he began to play, she took a deep breath.
Think of me,
Think of me fondly, when we said goodbye.
Remember me,
Every so often, promise me you'll try.
On that day, that not so distant day,
When you were far away and free,
If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.
And though it's clear, though it was always clear,
That this was never meant to be.
But if you can still remember, stop and think of me.
Think of August when the trees were green,
Don't think about the way things might have been.
Think of me,
Think of waking, silent and resigned.
Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind.
Think of me, please say you'll think of me,
Whatever else you choose to do.
There will never be day, when I won't think of you!
Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade,
They have their seasons, so do we.
But please promise me that sometimes,
You will think…of me!
Christine and Frans both stood up applauding as Marigold gave a curtsy. Erik walked over to her and kissed her forehead.
"Bravo, my darling!" said Christine, as she embraced her daughter. "This was quite a surprise. It's as though my voice and your father's merged together to give you an angelic voice of your own."
Frans stood next to Marigold and smiled. "You were wonderful. I knew you could do it." His smile made her blush.
"Well, Erik, what does this mean for her now?"
"I think with more training and practice, she could even be ready enough to have a debut at the Clasir Theatre. Perhaps just in time for the start of the new century. And I think it's time for Frans to soon be ready to assume his role as the new manager. I think it's what his grandfather would want."
"I don't know what to say, Monsieur Erik. Do you really think I can do it?" said Frans, nearly speechless.
"You will be eighteen by then and Marigold will be sixteen. It should be a fine start for you both."
Marigold lowered her head in silence and sat down on the chaise.
"Darling? Is something wrong?" asked Christine, as she sat next to her and put her arm around her.
"Mother, you are a glorious singer. What if I can't be that? What if the audience doesn't like me?"
"You mustn't think that way. Papa will help you and you have Frans and I to help you as well. When I started singing at the Palais Garnier, I thought I would never be a great singer either. But your father helped me, just like he will help you now. Your father is a very good teacher," said Christine.
"And I know potential when I see it," said Erik. He walked over to them and placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders. "I have great faith in you, my Mari. You will be just as wonderful as your mother."