While Atlanta was not my beloved Paris, it was a bustling city, full of life. Despite the ravages which the Civil War had brought, there was an exuberant quality to Atlanta which appealed to me. As we made our way from the train depot, I found that I rather liked the scenic homes, the newly constructed businesses and the gas-lit streetlamps. I felt as if I were an alien world as I watched prim and proper ladies pass by in their stiff brocades and victorias pass by with fine teams of horses.
Immediately, Brett hired a buggy to take us to the Atlanta Opera House. I was awed at how large it was compared to all of the other establishments in its wake. With bright red bricks, ivory columns and a balcony with ornate railings of black steel, it was almost ostentatious in its glory.
"What do you think?" Brett asked. He was as excited as a little boy with his first train set.
"I'm impressed." And I truly was.
"Come on!" Brett hopped out of the coach, reaching out for my hand. "Let's go inside! The interiors are still being designed, but at least you will get a feel for the place."
As I alit from the carriage, I heard him whistle soft and low.
"Well, Angelica DuBois, here is your chance to make good. You might as well get burned at the stake now as any other time…"
"What do you mean?"
He nodded his head in acknowledgement of the couple approaching us along the boulevard. They appeared almost stately in their stiff somber clothing and proud stance. Although I did not know who they were, obviously they were people that Brett wanted to impress.
Nervously, I contemplated how I looked. I supposed that I was respectable enough in my light pink satin gown trimmed with lace, suitably light weight for the weather. I had forgotten just how hot it could be in the South. I had even taken to carrying a parasol with me to protect my complexion from the cruel sun.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Wilkes," Brett smiled as he tipped his hat, his voice honey-coated with charm. "And Miss Wilkes."
I was struck right away by the older man before me. While his hair was graying, I could see the golden hue still present. He had a kind and handsome face. In fact, he could have been Raoul de Chagny twenty years from now. But his eyes seemed so sad…as if he had seen too much in his lifetime.
Mr. Wilkes' expression brightened somewhat as Brett introduced us.
"Mr. Wilkes, might I introduce you to my new artistic director, Miss Angelica DuBois?"
The gentleman bowed and kissed my hand.
"Angelica, this is Mr. Ashley Wilkes, the owner of one of the finest lumber mills in Atlanta. He has been a great help to me with furnishing the necessary equipment for the furnishings."
"Charmed to make your acquaintance," I said. And indeed, I was.
"And his sister, Miss India Wilkes."
His sister was not nearly so pleasant. With a stern expression on her countenance, her dark eyes flashed at me with haughty resentment. In fact, she seemed downright sullen. And her dreary dress of burgundy did not seem to add any softness or attractiveness to her plain features.
"It is a pleasure, Miss Wilkes," I said with a smile, trying to engage her in conversation.
She merely nodded at me with decorum, although it seemed to pain her to do so.
"I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am at the prospect of this new theater in our city, Miss DuBois," Mr. Wilkes said with an easy smile. "Ever since the war, we have had so few cultural endeavors to speak of. It warms my heart to know that Atlanta is rising back to its feet again."
"I hope the Opera House shall live up to your expectations, Mr. Wilkes," I said with sincerity.
"I do not see how it could possibly disappoint me. It is so beautiful already!"
He turned to take in the sight of the edifice and then turned to Brett.
"Mr. Watling, might we go in just to get a peek of what is to come? I am so curious…"
Before Brett could answer, his sister spoke out with a chiding tone.
"Ashley, we have an engagement at the Meade residence, remember? We are late already."
"Oh, just for a moment, India…"
"I should be most pleased for you to see the inside of the Atlanta Opera House," Brett said proudly. "Just be warned that the inside will not be nearly as pretty as it is a work in progress."
"That is understood," Mr. Wilkes acknowledged with a nod. "How many more months until this shall be completed, Mr. Watling?"
"About three, I should think."
As we entered the building, there were planks of wood, nails, panes of glass…all sorts of tools and equipment strewn all about. I was again struck at the size of the place. Although the walls were bare, they were imposing and magnificent just the same. While it could not compare with the Paris Opera House, it would be wonderful in its own right.
"Take care not to trip on all of the hardware about…" Brett cautioned. "Let me just make sure there are no workmen skulking about here..."
As Brett left to survey the rest of the building, Ashley Wilkes wandered about, admiring the space with a faraway look in his eyes. His sister paced about, showing very little interest in the surroundings.
I stood by Mr. Wilkes' side, mainly to get away from that horrid sister of his.
"When the war broke out, all activities which were in the least bit artistic were the first casualties," Mr. Wilkes reflected. "But I felt that was so wrong. People need escape, especially when death is everywhere in their midst."
"I so agree with that philosophy, Mr. Wilkes," I responded. "All of the creative fields – music, dance, writing, playacting – they are all meant to celebrate life. That is why they are indeed called 'creative' arts."
He turned to me with a surprised smile.
"How perceptive you are for one so young, Miss DuBois."
A ring of familiarity hit me with those words. I believe Erik had said something like that to me on the night we met.
"If only this place had been built ten years ago…" Mr. Wilkes mused, an air of solemnity in his voice. "Melly would have so loved it…"
"Melly?" I asked politely.
"My wife, Melanie," Mr. Wilkes said, his voice lowering. "She passed away before her time."
"Oh, I'm so sorry..."
And I truly was. Somehow I felt as if I were kindred spirits with this man as we were both haunted.
Mr. Wilkes shook his head, not wanting to remember her death.
"She loved music. That was one of the first things we found we had in common before our courtship."
"Music does have a way of binding two people together."
I recalled sitting next to Erik on the piano as he sang with his voice of magic.
Stop it, I screamed at myself. Stop it, stop it, stop it!
"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Wilkes," I said. "The air in here is so dusty I feel as if I'm choking. I am just going to get some fresh air."
"Of course, Miss DuBois."
As I stood out on the Atlanta street, I pulled my nerves together. If I were to have any hope of making a success out of my new life here, I had to put the past behind me. I had to banish Erik from my mind forever somehow. If I only knew how I could...
Taking a deep sigh, I reentered the building.
The peevish tone of India Wilkes made me stop in my tracks.
"I can't help it, Ashley!" she whined. "It's something about that woman...with her fancy silk dress and her flirtatious ways...the way she is taking it upon herself to run this opera house...and with the son of that Watling woman, to boot! Why, she is like Scarlett O'Hara all over again!"
"India, I thought we agreed not to discuss Scarlett anymore," Mr. Wilkes spoke with anger latent in his voice. "Besides, I think you are being horribly unfair to Miss DuBois! Why, you don't even know the girl! And she seems perfectly charming to me. In fact, it is a breath of fresh air to have someone with culture and taste in this town. Hasn't enough happened? Can't you just put your prejudices aside for once?"
"I am sorry you think I am prejudiced, Ashley, but..."
"But nothing! I shall hear no more on the matter..."
"But..."
"So what do you think of our new project, Mr. Wilkes?" Brett had apparently interrupted their quarrel when he reentered what was meant to be the lobby.
"I am quite pleased with what I see, Mr. Watling. So much so that I am prepared to offer you a donation," Ashley Wilkes announced.
I could not help but silently giggle at the audible gasp of horror from India Wilkes.
With this turn of events, I stepped fully inside the lobby, making my presence known.
"But, Mr. Wilkes, you have already helped me so much! There is really no need to..."
Mr. Wilkes interrupted Brett's protests.
"I insist. After having made the acquaintance of your new director..." Mr. Wilkes then nodded towards me with a sly smile. "...I have higher hopes for this place than ever. I should very much like to see it flourish."
"Mr. Wilkes, we are so thankful for your generosity," I added.
"I do have one small request though."
"And that is...?" I asked.
"If there could be some small tribute to my late wife in the name of my donation...so that she can be here in spirit, at least."
Lord, would I never stop wanting to cry? I thought with irritation, searching for a handkerchief.
"Of course, Mr. Wilkes," Brett answered, his voice coated with sympathy. "We could certainly use your generous donation in order to finance the necessities for the audience seating. Perhaps we shall name the auditorium for her, would that please you?"
Mr. Wilkes' eyes were moist.
"Very much so," he nodded. "Well, my sister is correct that we do have an engagement to attend. Good afternoon. It was a pleasure, Miss DuBois."
With that, Ashley Wilkes and his sister departed.
After a respectable amount of silence, Brett let out a large whoop of excitement and danced about.
Wiping the tears from my eyes with a handkerchief, I was quite incensed.
"I do not see how you can find this situation amusing in the least! That poor man...how he misses his wife so..."
"Yes, Angelica, it is quite tragic I know…but I cannot help myself! A Wilkes donation is as good as gold in this town! We could not be off to a better start!"
With a bright smile, he spun me about the room.
"I knew my investment in you would pay off! And this is just the beginning!"
When I had voiced my concern about where I was going to live, Brett assured me that the nearby dormitories of the Opera House had already been built and that I could stay there until I had found someplace more to my liking.
My small room was simply constructed with black walnut walls. There was a narrow low-backed bed, plain net curtains and clean rag rugs.
"I know the place is not a grand hotel in Paris, but we had to cut costs somewhere..." Brett apologized as we left my belongings there before proceeding back outside.
"It is suitable for my needs, Brett. Thank you so much."
"Excuse me?"
A young maiden of a girl stood before us. With a light yellow dress of muslin, soft auburn curls and big brown eyes, she was the personification of youth and innocence.
I felt Brett's arm underneath my hand stiffen so tightly I had feared for his health.
"I am searching for the management of the Atlanta Opera Company. For days I have been walking about here in search for them. Would you happen to know anything about where I might locate them?"
I waited for Brett's smooth response, but there was only silence. With a sideways glance, I noted his expression of wonder in his eyes as he gazed upon her. The cat had completely gotten his tongue.
"This is Mr. Brett Watling, the founder of the Atlanta Opera Company," I said. "And I am Angelica DuBois, the residing director. How may we help you, Miss...?"
"Ella. Ella Kennedy."
Brett's arm now had begun to tremble.
"Miss Kennedy, delighted to make your acquaintance," I said as I offered my hand to shake hers in friendship.
Now Brett's awkward silence had become rather obvious.
"Brett, where are your manners? Introduce yourself to Miss Kennedy," I chided, wanting to laugh. A precedent had been broken as never had I seen him so out of sorts.
Finding his voice, he bowed and kissed her hand reverently.
"Miss Kennedy, it is a privilege and an honor."
I raised my eyebrows. Before this lovely girl, he seemed to be melting into butter right before my eyes.
She blushed underneath the heat of his grey-eyed gaze.
Just like I had blushed on my wedding night with Erik…all suffused with tenderness and longing…
"You wished to see us?" I asked abruptly, viciously pushing love out of my mind.
"Oh, yes," she giggled nervously. "You see, I am from the Saturday Night Musical Circle. It is a small group of locals about Atlanta. And of course we get together every Saturday night and sing and play the piano and such...And we were wondering if perhaps you were in the need of any opera singers?"
I tried not to chuckle in derision. With the sort of money being spent on this place, we would have to bring in talent from all over the country, even some from abroad as well. We would need more full houses than empty to keep this place afloat for I imagined that the overhead of this theater would be extreme, even with all of Brett's money and business acumen. We could hardly afford to give recitals with local amateurs as if we were a young ladies' academy.
"I am afraid, my dear girl, that..."
"We shall take the matter under advisement, Miss Kennedy," Brett interrupted me.
I was so outraged that I wanted to haul off and slap him!
"Oh, that would be marvelous!" Miss Kennedy beamed. "I would so love to sing on a big stage in front of an audience. How thrilling!"
"I am sure you would charm everyone out of their seats," Brett flirted, tipping his hat to her.
Oh, this was too much!
"I am so grateful I don't know how I will ever be able to thank you enough."
"I'm sure I could think of a thing or two…" Brett commented with a sly grin.
I jabbed Brett in the ribs with my elbow after that scandalous remark.
"Oh, dear," Miss Kennedy said, looking up at the sky. "It is getting late and I must hurry home before dark."
"Allow us to escort you home safely, Miss Kennedy," Brett offered.
I pursed my lips and bit my tongue as I sat in the carriage, watching Brett ogle Ella Kennedy like a cat contemplating the proverbial canary. Then I noted that, dressed in yellow as she was, Ella indeed could have been a canary...
She lived in a mansion atop a hill on Peachtree Street. I was amazed at the elaborate ostentatiousness of her home.
"What a magnificent house, Ella!" I commented.
"Oh, it is dark and dreary and I hate the place! I can't wait until I marry and leave here..."
"And are there any nuptials to be expected in the near future, Miss Kennedy?" Brett pried.
"None as yet, Mr. Watling," she admitted shyly with another blush. "I do not even have a beau."
"A situation which I imagine could be remedied easily enough..." he suggested.
Clearing my throat, I decided to play the part of the chaperone that was so obviously needed between these two.
"Mr. Watling, weren't we going to select fabrics for the draperies in the Opera House? Perhaps we should do so before it becomes much later in the day."
"Of course," Brett said, remembering himself. "Again, Miss Kennedy, it has been a pleasure. I do hope we shall meet again soon."
"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Watling," Ella smiled with pleasure as she left the carriage. "And you too, Miss DuBois," she added as an afterthought.
As we proceeded back towards downtown, I could no longer hold myself back.
"Brett, I feel it is my responsibility as director to advise you that hiring local talent for this opera house would be a grave mistake. At least, in the beginning. That theater is so large that you will have to have big stars come in to fill the seats. As pretty and charming as Miss Ella Kennedy is, I do not believe that she has that kind of ability."
"I disagree, Angelica. I think that having some local talent would bring in local patrons. And I believe that then we would acquire loyal and faithful audiences which would return to every show. Not only must we match the size but we also must have longevity."
"And I believe that you are allowing a young morsel of a girl to lead you astray from good business decisions."
"And I believe that I am the founder of this company which makes my decisions override yours!"
With an insulted sniff, I shrugged.
"It is your opera house. You may run it into the ground as you see fit."
