Chapter 44 #3
“Sometimes, he almost seems happy.” Yet she was frowning.
“He treats Clare with such affection and solicitousness; but beneath it… I’ve woken in the middle of the night to find David standing over her cradle, staring down at Clare with such a worried expression on his face.
‘I wanted to make sure she was all right,’ he will say, even though he knows Hannah and I are both there to watch over her.
And last week, when I asked David if he wanted to hold Clare, he shook his head at once—as if the thought terrified him.
‘I might drop her!’ he cried. He actually ran from the room. ”
Joseph finished with his choker. “I think most boys—most men—find babies disconcerting. They’re so fragile and unpredictable. I’m sure it will be different when Clare is older.”
At the edge of his vision, Tessa smiled and nodded.
Her every movement excited her scent. He thought it also wafted from the folds of her cloak. Gardenia encircled him—overwhelming yet not nearly enough. He asked without thinking: “In the Language of Flowers, do you know what gardenias mean?”
“The first book Hélène gave me said ‘purity.’ But the second book said ‘ecstasy.’ So, I suppose ’tis both.”
He closed his eyes. He remembered Bernini’s statue of Saint Teresa in ecstasy.
Scattered applause told them the intermission entertainment had ended—some sort of acrobats.
When he and Tessa settled back on the sofa, Joseph was careful to keep his hands beyond her reach.
Finally, she relinquished his glove onto the seat between them.
As he covered his hand again, she replaced her own long glove.
They sat like two strangers, although they shared her libretto.
Joseph ventured another glance at the boxes across from them. The young men had lost interest in them. The elderly couple leaned close to each other. For a moment, the woman looked up; and Joseph thought she smiled at him and Tessa. But from this distance, it was difficult to tell.
In Act II, Enrico revealed his villainy.
By seizing Edgardo’s letters and forging one in their place, he convinced his sister that her beloved had abandoned her.
Enrico also claimed that his life was in danger, now that the Ashtons’ allies had fallen from power.
He would be executed if they did not secure the protection of Lord Arturo—Lucia must marry him instead.
The Ashtons’ chaplain, the bass Raimondo, also urged the distraught young woman to accept this new husband: “You are offering yourself, Lucia, as a victim for your family’s good. ”
Heartbroken and trembling, Lucia signed the marriage contract. “I have sealed my doom,” she predicted.
As soon as she released the pen, Edgardo burst into the castle. Lucia fainted and was revived. After a stunning sextet, Raimondo showed the marriage contract to Edgardo. “Forget this fatal love,” the minister counselled. “She belongs to another.” Edgardo denounced Lucia and wished he were dead.
At the second intermission, their captors asked again if Joseph and Tessa needed anything.
He did not humor them with a response; but Tessa answered.
Joseph’s father passed her two coupes of champagne around the side of the box.
For a while, Joseph and Tessa chatted awkwardly about the qualities of the score and singers.
All along, he sensed that the music was not what concerned Tessa.
Finally, she blurted: “I don’t understand why Lucia didn’t tear up the marriage contract the moment Edgardo returned. ’Tis a piece of paper—nothing more.”
Joseph stared into his champagne. “She made a promise. She should take that seriously.”
“But she was coerced! If she’d known her beloved was waiting for her, longing for her as she was for him—”
“She believed her brother’s future depended on her marrying the other man.”
For a moment, Tessa fell silent. Finally, she murmured: “No matter what it meant for his career, my brother told me not to marry Edward. Liam knew, even then…” She set down her champagne coupe and paced to the back of their little prison.
“I think I would be fond of Edward, if he were a neighbor—or if we could live as brother and sister the way some of the married saints have. ’Tis only because he…
” She broke off, her left hand braced in a fist, her right hand gripping her forearm, as if she were steeling herself.
“The truth is, I am grateful when Edward leaves me alone. He’s kept his distance for nearly a year now, because of Clare; but I know ’tis only a matter of time.
I feel it, like the Sword of Damocles. Even the scent of him—his sweat and the Florida water he uses after he shaves—I can hardly bear it.
He can be across a room, and I still feel as though he is suffocating me. ’Tis all I can do not to retch.”
Joseph closed his eyes in shame. All these nights, as he’d imagined Tessa in his bed, Joseph had told himself he had her consent. But he’d only twisted her words to serve his own depravity.
In her Confession, she’d said she longed to touch him, which he’d promptly interpreted in the vilest way possible.
He understood now: she’d meant caressing his face as she’d done beside the camellia, or his hand as she had a few minutes before.
For her, that had not been a promise of something more but a consummation in itself.
Perhaps her own dreams extended to a chaste kiss or a clothed embrace—but not coition!
She’d spoken of wishing her children were also his—but this did not mean she desired the act that made children possible. How could she, when it had caused her nothing but pain? The weight and invasion of another sweating male body must be the last thing she wanted.
Joseph had always known his sin was greater than hers, but now his true selfishness raked its claws across his heart.
For weeks, he’d been violating her in his head, just as his father had violated his mother.
If Tessa knew how Joseph had been aching to rip open that golden dress, his proximity would repulse her more than her husband’s.
Tessa thought she was safe with Joseph. She had every right to expect it.
Surely it was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with a Priest—because she knew he would never ask that of her.
A burst of applause signalled the end of the second intermission. Tessa returned to Joseph’s side. She was safe with him, he vowed silently.
The opera resumed. The guests celebrated Lucia’s wedding to Arturo. Then the chaplain Raimondo appeared, bearing terrible tidings. Lucia had gone mad. When her unwanted husband tried to claim his marital rights, she had killed him with his own dagger.
Lucia staggered on stage, her hair loose, her husband’s blood smeared across her white night-dress.
She did not see it; she seemed unaware of what she’d done.
In her madness, Lucia’s arias were particularly breathtaking.
Yet Joseph noticed that Tessa turned her face away from the stage and even the libretto; she failed to turn the page after the cadenza.
In flights of coloratura, Lucia imagined she was marrying her beloved: “At last I am yours, at last you are mine; God has given you to me! Every pleasure, every joy I shall share with you!” Finally, she collapsed.
After the soprano took her bows, the wedding party hurried off stage.
Set dressers shoved fake gravestones into view.
At the tombs of his ancestors, Edgardo poured out his grief.
From the chorus, he learned that Lucia had never stopped loving him; but now she was dead.
He resolved to join her: before Raimondo could stop him, Edgardo stabbed himself.
As he lay dying, he continued to sing of Lucia’s “beautiful, loving soul,” in a melody more sublime than any music Joseph had ever heard.
At the edge of his vision, Joseph saw a flash of white. It was Tessa’s handkerchief. She was weeping.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached for her. Of his own free will, he joined his hand with hers. Tessa gripped it as if he were a life-raft and smiled at him through her tears.
“I am coming to you!” cried Edgardo on the stage. “Though we were divided on Earth, God will unite us in Heaven!”
While the deep voices of Raimondo and the chorus remained Earth-bound, Edgardo’s tenor seemed to soar to his beloved. The other men pleaded for the suicide’s soul: “God, forgive such a sin!” They were the final words of the opera.
As the cast luxuriated in the applause, without releasing Joseph’s hand, Tessa dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. She smiled apologetically. “I knew how it would end, and yet…”
If she’d come with Edward tonight, Tessa would be alone right now. Joseph offered her his own handkerchief as well. She was not quite so beautiful with a reddened nose and a lapful of snotty linen. Yet he wanted to be nowhere else but beside her.
Maybe, just maybe, they could do this, he thought.
Now that he understood the limits of Tessa’s desire, surely he could restrain himself.
He must, or he would lose her. The affection between them was still a sin; but free from physical violation, it was less grave.
If they schooled themselves, their sins might even become venial and not mortal.
They’d acknowledged how they felt and that they could do nothing about it.
They would simply continue on as they had for the last seven years.
Tessa squeezed his hand. “You know, you have a divine voice yourself, Joseph. ’Tis not only your sister and I who think so. Many of the other women in our parish have said what a joy ’tis to hear you chant a High Mass. You might have been an opera star yourself.”
He glanced down at Edgardo and Enrico taking their bows. “Tenors get all the hero r?les. A baritone is either the villain; a buffoon; or some forgettable supporting part. I wanted all eyes to be on me, so I had no choice but to become a Priest.”
Tessa laughed as he had hoped, but she argued: “There are baritone heroes!”
“In serious opera? Name one.”
Tessa’s forehead bunched up in thought. “Don Giovanni.”
“A Hell-bound libertine?” Joseph chuckled. “You are proving my point.”
It took them a minute to realize the door was open at last. Their erstwhile captors stood watching him and Tessa with self-satisfied smiles. Joseph wasn’t sure whether to shake them or kiss them. All he knew for certain was: he never wanted to let go of Tessa.