Toke and Hilda will appear in the next chapter :)

CH 144

There was a barely audible tap on the door that Phelan answered nearly two hours after Tadhg had departed from our train car.

The Irishman had combed his hair back. His blue eyes were feral in appearance, his nostrils flared and complexion white as the folder he clutched to his chest. Beads of sweat dampened his brow as he peered into our quarters like a man staring out at the scaffolding as he awaited his execution.

"Ah, Mr. Bruno, there you are at last. We didn't think you were returning," my brother said.

Tadhg averted his gaze. "I made a list of reasons why I should and should not return," he said as he shuffled onto the carpet and nervously fumbled with the latches of his violin case.

"Well, we are glad the list in favor of returning was apparently longer," Phelan said.

"It was not, Mr. Phelan," Tadhg said.

"Oh?"

Tadhg shook his head.

"Then what convinced you to return?" I asked.

"I assumed we will never stand face-to-face again and I would like to remember this encounter with my favorite composer."

"Then please come inside," Phelan offered.

"Thank you," Tadhg said. He bumped his elbow against the door frame and in doing so dropped his folder, the loose sheets inside falling to the floor around me. There were only a dozen or so individual pieces of paper, but the musician appeared horrified by his folly. He took several steps away from where I was seated until his back hit the door and he inhaled sharply.

"Oh no."

"Sit," I said, noting the panic in his gaze. "Please."

"My music," Tadhg said under his breath.

"Here," Phelan said as he retrieved several sheets of paper while I grabbed the ones nearest my feet. I briefly looked over the composition he had brought with him.

"A violin solo?" I asked.

Tadhg gave a nervous nod of his head. "Forgive me, but I cannot speak, Mr. Kire. My heart is beating too rapidly and I can barely hear my own voice. The rush of blood through my veins is deafening."

Phelan handed Tadhg the rest of the papers while his gaze remained focused on me, his gray eyes filled with concern for our guest.

"Mr. Bruno, have you heard that my brother is conducting his own music in a few weeks?"

Tadhg shuffled the papers in his grasp, rearranging them into their original order. "I have," he said. He swallowed, his eyes blinking rapidly. "I have heard there will be many famous vocalists singing."

"You didn't audition for the performances?" I asked.

"No, no," he answered, distracted by the pages in his hand. Two sheets fluttered to the ground and Tadhg appeared frustrated. "There were other matters at hand." He looked up at me for the first time since he had entered our train carriage, his gaze filled with panic. "My heart, it is beating so fast and my hands..."

"May I see your music?" I asked.

Tadhg swallowed and nodded once, and I took the papers from him, thankful they were numbered at the top right corner to facilitate the process. The sheets were still out of order, most of them now crumpled from being scooped up off the ground.

"My apologies," he said under his breath, his voice trembling. "I should stop speaking. I am making matters worse."

"When did you write this?" I asked, ignoring his unnecessary apology.

"Two years ago," he blurted out. "Two years and three months to be exact, if you are asking when I started to write it. If you are asking when I finished it, then four months ago. Four months and…" He glanced up at the ceiling, making a face. "Three days if it is Saturday."

I handed back the papers in the correct order while Tadhg unlatched his violin case and stared at the instrument inside as if he still needed to muster the courage to play.

"No," he said quietly. He slammed the case shut and pressed his palms to the exterior as if he expected the violin would put up a protest and fly out on its own accord. "No, Mr. Kire, I cannot do this."

"Would you rather Erik play your music?" Phelan asked.

Tadhg appeared horrified by the thought. "No, I couldn't suggest such a terrible idea."

Phelan crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. "How is my idea terrible?"

"Because my music isn't good enough," Tadhg answered.

"As a musician and a composer, I greatly dislike your reasoning," I said.

Tadhg's jaw dropped open. "Mr, Kire–"

"Play," I commanded, sitting back in my chair. I folded my hands and gave a nod. "I insist."

Tadhg stared at me. "No, I–"

"Tadhg Bruno," I said firmly. "Play your music."

I could feel my brother staring at me, perhaps silently reprimanding me for my harsh tone directed at our nervous guest. Rather than protest again, however, Tadhg opened the violin case and gently removed the instrument. He licked his lips and lifted his chin, settling the violin in place. Taking a deep breath, he placed his bow against the strings.

I expected he would sit in silence for a moment, steeling his nerves, but he instead squeezed his eyes shut and began playing at once.

Before our eyes he transformed from a nervous musician to a violinist who had mastered the composition he'd written. Emotion flowed through him, and I found myself staring out the window, allowing the melody to carry me into his world of sweeping, poignant music.

The arrangement reminded me of the quiet nights Julia and I spent sitting in her parlor when we had first met, the two of us engaged in light conversation between uncertain strangers. The notes hinted at laughter and coy smiles, the brush of fingertips and shy glances. Such small moments laid the foundation of something unexpectedly bigger.

Slowly the music became more powerful and certain as the love between the two people deepened. The relationship expanded; fingers laced together, risked glances turned to more confidently held gazes. They smiled at one another with adoration and familiarity. The flutter of hearts beat as one, two strangers becoming bonded through conversation and time spent in each other's company. They were safe when they were together, as if their lives were always meant to intertwine even though they had not expected the union.

The melody changed from a typical violin solo I would have expected to hear in a theater to more of an Irish jig one would have enjoyed in a noisy tavern where the volume of the crowd nearly drowned out the musicians. The music was fast-paced and playful, reminiscent of two people dancing, hands entwined and bodies spinning.

I smiled to myself, appreciating the variation and the images the music conjured in my mind. They were more than lovers; they were friends as well, individuals who could no longer imagine their lives lived separately.

But then the tempo slowed, the hands no longer touched and the look of admiration turned to mourning. Darkness crept in and extinguished their light. The lovers in the song parted and the heaviness of their lost connection lingered as the music came to a sorrowful end.

Tadhg returned the violin to its case and sat back. His expression was sullen, his gaze distant. In my mind I played the ending over again, left speechless by how the story had come to a tragic close.

"What is the title?" I asked.

Tadhg appeared startled by the sound of my voice. "Little Dove," he said.

I reached across the table for the box containing the figurines Phelan and I had purchased in Cologne and removed the dove.

"A gift to you, in gratitude for sharing your music," I said as I set the figurine into the Irishman's open palm. He cradled it in his thick hands as if it were a fragile, living creature.

"Oh," he said, running his finger along one of the oversized wings. His blue eyes became misty and he smiled to himself. "How very beautiful. I saw so many doves above the cathedral when the train stopped. I walked inside to see their breathtaking house of worship and a few of the doves took flight when I approached, but many more remained overhead and watched me."

"They take up residence inside of the cathedral," Phelan said. "Some will eat seeds directly out of your hand if you stand still long enough. Children are particularly delighted by this when the nuns sell bags of seeds on Friday mornings."

Tadhg smiled to himself. "My little dove." He stroked the figurine's back with his thumb. "My Maeve. My sweetheart."

"Your wife is not going to believe you when you return home and say you met both Erik Kire and his famous artist brother Phelan Kimmer," my brother said. "And that you were asked to perform for the composer himself."

Tadhg closed his hands around the wooden bird and his chin dropped to his chest. His shoulders sagged, and Phelan and I exchanged looks.

"Tadhg?" I questioned, dreading what he would say.

"Brothers Erik and Phelan," he wept. "I am afraid I will not be able to share my joyous news. I have lost my beautiful dove."

oOo

"My Maeve," Tadhg wept. He closed both meaty hands around the dove figurine and his body shooSrtyuk with emotion. "My lovely sweetheart. Oh, how I miss her voice and her smile."

I felt my breath hitch. Tadhg lifted his hand from over the bird, took another look at the delicate object, and immediately wept harder.

Phelan cleared his throat. "Here," he said, taking the bird from Tadhg's grasp. He wrapped it into a cloth napkin and set it aside. "For safekeeping."

"Forgive me, my new friends," Tadhg said, wiping his eyes. He removed the chain and locket from his pocket and kissed the roses. "It has been almost six months since they've both been gone and yet I still shed tears."

"Both?" Phelan questioned.

Tadhg nodded. "Little Brigit first, a day before she turned two months old. Maeve a month later, confined to her bed. The physician could not tell what ailed her, but I know for certain it was a broken heart."

No words seemed sufficient to say to him for such a tremendous loss as both his wife and infant daughter. I sat in silence beside him, my eyes cast down and heart heavy. Selfishly I thought of Julia and our unborn child. Losing Julia would have been more than I could bear, but both mother and child was an unfathomable tragedy.

"Your wife never heard the completed composition, did she?" Phelan asked.

Tadhg shook his head. "I wrote the ending after they were buried together in the church cemetery down the road from our home," he said. Reaching across the table, he unwrapped the bird figurine from the napkin and caressed its robust, misshapen form. "The day Bridit was born, the doves gathered outside of our kitchen window and cooed. Maeve and I took it as a blessing from the lord, the songs of doves for my precious dove and our new little one.

"But the day Brigit passed, they were silent, and when I lost my sweetheart, there were no birds in the garden for weeks, not even ravens. It was as if all of the birds had abandoned our family." Tadhg took a deep, shuddering breath. "Ever since, I have ached with loss, day and night."

He dug his knuckles into his eyes and sniffled, rendering me speechless as nothing I considered saying seemed appropriate.

"How long were you married?"

"Eight years, seven months, and sixteen days."

"You must have been quite devoted to know the length of your marriage down to the day."

"Maeve wept when our betrothal was announced."

"Women are quite emotional when it comes to joyous events."

"She was devastated," Tadhg explained. "In fact the first time I met Maeve McClary, we were at my Big Mother Bruno's home for a birthday part. Maeve looked at me and proclaimed I was an ogre. Everyone laughed, including my own Big Mother, but Mr. McClary said orge or not, the Brunos were a good family and they only had one eligible bachelor left."

It was true Tadhg Bruno was not the most handsome of fellows with his crooked teeth and wild head of hair, but for his future wife–arranged marriage or not–to humiliate him in front of their families saddened me.

For weeks I had dissected every miserable moment of Christine ripping my mask from my face in front of a full theater audience, of how in that moment the sharp gasps and shrieks were the only sound within the building. My worst fault was revealed by the only person I had ever loved–and she had done it to hurt me in the most intimate fashion.

"On our wedding day, she sobbed through the ceremony and refused to speak to me during the reception. When we returned home at the end of the evening, she locked me out of our bedroom and even pushed the chest of drawers in front of the door so I couldn't disturb her.

"I knocked on the door and said, 'Aye, Maeve McClary, you're a Bruno now and you have all of my belongings. Would you be so kind and hand your new husband his favorite pillow through the bedroom window?' She said, 'Nay, Tadhg Bruno, I am a McClary until my last breath. If you be wanting your pillow, I will toss it out straight away.' And she did." He chuckled to himself. "My favorite pillow was in the flower box, covered in pollen and dirt. She was a feisty lass."

"How did you charm her?" I asked.

Tadhg smiled to himself and wiped his reddened eyes. "I went out to the garden as I did every morning before I walked to the printing house and I fed the birds. The song birds always wait for me to fill their baths and feeders. Some of them are so familiar with me that if I hold out my hand they will eat seeds from my palm.

"I was out there talking to my birds as always, telling them I was a married man and such, when Maeve walked out, still wearing her wedding dress, and took one look at my wee patch of flowers. She ran back inside to grab a bucket and doused the whole window box and the roses beneath them. I asked what she might be doing and she said she was saving the poor wilted plants. Then she asked me what I was doing and I said I was telling the birds all about my new beautiful wife who was kind enough to give me my favorite pillow." Tadhg shrugged. "Somewhere between feeding birds and rejuvenating my sad little plot of weeds, we found our way to happiness. The birds were fat and the blooms were huge and fragrant for eight years."

"Seven months and sixteen days," Phelan added.

Tadhg offered an appreciative smile. "Yes, Mr. Phelan." He wiped his nose and grabbed the dove figurine wrapped in cloth. "We went from not knowing each other at all to married and then married as strangers to friends. About six months into marriage she called me her husband for the first time and a year into living together, she said she loved me. It's odd, isn't it? To think someone could care deeply for you and then one day they aren't there. And you realize what you had with them can never be duplicated."

Both Phelan and I remained silent and contemplative, lost in our own thoughts.

"Ever since Maeve passed away, I have prayed for a sign that she and Brigit are together and waiting for me. When I walked into the cathedral and saw the doves, I thought that was finally the sign I had asked for every morning and night, but this…" He kissed the top of the dove's wooden head. "This is the true sign, delivered to me by my favorite composer, who asked to hear one of my compositions about my sweet Maeve, my little dove. She is here with me again, probably shaking her head at her ogre of a husband writing her a song. I think she would ask me to change the ending, but I can't. I wrote it for her, for the love she gave me."

I swallowed back the lump in my throat and nodded. "Your music is captivating. It should be heard in the biggest theaters throughout all of Europe."

Tadhg's eyes widened and he sat back. "Surely you don't mean that."

"Of course I do," I answered. "It is a rare and unexpected treat to hear another composer play his own work. I appreciate the opportunity to hear your music and hope that you continue to write more. You are talented, Mr. Bruno."

Tadhg grinned back at me. "You have truly given me more than I could ever ask for, Mr. Erik," he said as he stood and held out his hand. I accepted his firm, enthusiastic handshake. "Now if you will excuse me, I must put this dove away for safe-keeping," he said.

Tadhg swiftly gathered up his violin and the dove and excused himself from our train car. It wasn't until after he was out the door that I realized he'd left his folder and music behind.

"He'll return for it shortly," Phelan assured me.

Ninety minutes later, the train made its next stop and we saw Tadhg in his bright yellow suit walk off the train platform and disappear from view, our chance encounter coming to an end.

I opened the folder, removed his music, and played the violin solo, reliving the joy and heartache he had played for me and my brother.