Chapter Ten
NORA STARED OUT THE WINDOW, her heart heavy with an unexpected grief, as Theresa’s family carriage trundled up Central Avenue.
How had tonight gone so wrong? Attending the opera was supposed to be filled with awe and wonder.
Instead, panic had robbed her of enjoyment and still nipped at her heels.
Mr. Beaumont’s kindness in recommending her to Mrs. Reed had been well-intended, but it was rife with danger.
What if Mrs. Reed recognized Nora as Constanza’s daughter?
While Nora didn’t remember her from Mum’s opera days, that didn’t mean they hadn’t known each other.
A single rumor, and Father’s concern of discovery could be realized.
Until her panic during the performance, Nora hadn’t understood how much she feared being found again.
Even reasoning with herself that no villain would chase her family for nearly twelve years failed to calm her.
Then there was the trouble of Mrs. Reed’s offer of formal training with the potential for Nora to take to the stage herself.
It had both terrified her and struck a flint to her soul, igniting hope for the dream she’d dared not have.
Should not have. Already she suffered the burns of tamping down the flames before they grew into a ferocity that could not be snuffed.
It was one thing to sing with Mum at the asylum, something altogether different to pursue a career Father forbade.
She couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. Oh, but how she wanted to.
“I cannot understand why you will not accept Mrs. Reed’s offer.” Theresa would not let the subject die and be buried. She insisted on resurrecting it.
“Father will never allow me. It’s not worth discussing.”
“What if you told him how much you wanted to take the lessons?”
Curse Theresa’s persistence.
“You’re assuming she does,” Lydia chided. “You’ve been hounding her for the last fifteen minutes. It is up to Nora if she wishes to accept Mrs. Reed’s offer.”
“Do you want to take the lessons and perform on a stage?” Flossie asked. “You’ve never told us what you hope for your future, aside from a husband and children. Whenever the subject has come up, you’ve always kept quiet.”
What could Nora say without revealing more of her family’s past?
She couldn’t tell the Guardians how desperately she longed for her family to be whole again, for her entire life to once again be consumed with music, singing, and the chaotic marvel of always traveling.
Her world back then had been perfect, innocent, and full of wonder.
Did she want to sing for herself? To go on a stage and live as Mum once had?
Her chest burned with desire at the thought of it.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. Nothing will change Father’s mind.
He has reasons, and I cannot defy them.”
“Why not?” Theresa’s foot tapped against the carriage’s floor, competing in volume with the rattle of wheels. “What possible reason could he have to keep you from pursuing this? The lessons are free.”
“You know the reputations performers have. Father would not want me so sullied.” It wasn’t his true reason, but one they should accept readily enough.
“Tell him it’s your ministry. Missionaries go into the savage wilds all the time, and there is nothing more savage than the stage.”
There was more truth to that than Theresa realized.
Newspaper critics could be especially cutting.
Nora had read plenty of reviews where the performer’s physical appeal had been more staunchly critiqued than his or her acting or singing ability.
Maybe that’s what Nora needed to do to put out this flaming ember of a dream, to write a review of herself in the most cutting way possible.
After all, Mum claimed there was no harsher critic than oneself.
“You didn’t answer the question. Is it something you want?” Now Flossie had taken up the persistent interrogation. “Be honest with us. You know you can trust us with the truth.”
Trust and truth. The two words hit Nora with staggering power.
These women were her friends, her best and only friends.
Her sisters in a secret society that stood by and fought for one another, no matter what.
Yet for their entire friendship, she’d hidden the truest part of herself from them .
. . all because Father said it was the only way to keep their family safe.
Nora studied the expectant women before her.
For years she’d argued with Father. Keeping secrets from those who loved her wasn’t a protective shield.
It was an isolating cage that cast a debilitating shadow of fear, shame, guilt, and distrust over the relationships that mattered most. Well, Nora was tired of being a compliant prisoner.
She wanted to be free to let her friends know her, truly know her. Down to her deepest secret desire.
“You’re right. I do want to sing and perform . . . just like Mum used to.”
“Your mother was a performer? A real performer?” Lydia voiced the question, but it was stamped on all of their faces.
“She was before we came to Cincinnati. Father was an impresario. He arranged all her shows and our travel with her.”
“You mean your father, Mr. I-Hate-Everything-Music, was an impresario?” Theresa’s squinched countenance showed she’d have an easier time believing the sky was green and the grass was blue.
“What was it like to travel with them?” Flossie ignored Theresa and scooted to the edge of her seat.
Nora smiled as the cherished memories of living out of trunks and seeing the country through train windows brushed off years of collected dust. “We only traveled until I was eleven. Most of my memories are of the wings or greenrooms, but I remember them fondly. Father usually came into the greenroom at intermission to read me a story until I fell asleep in a makeshift bed in the corner. If Mum was able, she would join us and sing.”
“Then surely we could convince your father to allow you to join Mrs. Reed. It’s a family tradition!” Theresa clapped her hands.
“I wish it were that simple. There is a reason why Mum left the stage and Father forbade music from our lives.”
“Your kidnapping.” Lydia was the first to make the connection.
Nora nodded, the panic of this evening resurfacing. “I was taken from the greenroom during one of Mum’s performances.”
The strength of their gasps should have sucked all the air from the carriage, but enough remained for Nora to take a deep breath before facing the demand she knew would follow.
“Tell us all.”
Other than when she’d relayed the details to the police the night it happened, she’d never told anyone the full story.
Going back to that night, to the nightmares .
. . Suddenly the carriage felt too small.
Too stuffy. She fumbled with the window, but it had been secured for the winter drives.
Theresa must have noticed, for she slid the door open to the driver and allowed a slight cold breeze to filter in.
It helped a little, but Nora didn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands.
If only she had her knitting supplies, then she could work on a sock while she talked. The motion always settled her.
Without her usual method available, she focused on the loose strings at the edge of her coat.
Running the threads through her fingers, she launched into the story.
Years later and she could still feel the stabbing pain in her shoulder as her kidnapper dragged her across the floor.
His scream still rang in her ears until her own voice was hard to hear.
Worst of all was the feel of her hairpin prongs puncturing his eye.
By the time she finished, she trembled so much she would have dropped her knitting needles if she’d had them.
Flossie wrapped Nora in a hug. “Thank God He protected you. I understand why your father would be afraid to have you perform. That must have been terrifying for all of you.”
Nora had never really thought about what her parents had gone through during her absence, but thinking on it now did give new light to their protectiveness.
While she’d actively fought for her escape, her parents had waited for hours in agony, not knowing whether their daughter was alive or dead.
Father said Winston and Ursula were jealous colleagues whom Mum had upset.
If Nora took to the stage, would they take their jealousy out on her?
Unlikely, but if it happened once, it could happen again.
“Well I’m glad your father brought you here, even with changed names. I don’t know what we would do without our Nora.” Lydia squeezed her hand.
Theresa crossed her arms. “Is that why you’re afraid to do the lessons with Mrs. Reed?”
“Mum and Father have sacrificed a lot for our family’s safety. As much as I want to dream of becoming an opera singer, I don’t think it wise. For them or for me.”
“But it’s been”—Theresa looked at the ceiling as she counted—“almost twelve years. Certainly you could take lessons now and pursue your dream. I mean, for all you know, Winston and Ursula could be dead now. I don’t think you should give up your dreams just because your family is afraid.”
“Theresa, we’re not pushing her,” Lydia reprimanded.
“Well, this stinks.” Theresa huffed. “We finally find out what you really want in life, and then it turns out you can’t have it.”
The carriage rolled to a stop.
“Don’t be so certain of that,” Lydia said. “I never thought I’d write again, and now look what God has done. I’m marrying a man better than any hero I’ve written, and I have a contract for a new book.”
Theresa’s face brightened. “That’s right, and look what God’s doing. Not only is Mr. Beaumont handsome, he can give you a taste of the opera life even if you can’t perform.”
Oh no. They were back on that topic again.
Flossie smirked as she collected her bag from beneath the seat. “I think we should go inside and play a game. First one to get Nora to admit she likes the man wins the whole tin of Lydia’s molasses cookies.” Flossie had the good sense to jump out before Nora could kick her in the shin.
“Not all the cookies. We have to eat some while we play.” Theresa followed Flossie out.
Nora ought to open and eat a can of sardines just to punish them.
Theresa popped her head back inside. “Are you two coming?”
“You and Flossie go on in; I need a moment alone with Nora.” Lydia waved her off.
Theresa held her hand out. “Give me your keys. You don’t have any booby traps set, do you?”
“No,” Nora answered. “I didn’t have time.”
“Don’t worry. Flossie and I will ensure the house is empty, then we’ll start the hot chocolate. Will you bring my bag with you?”
“Yes, but remember not to attack the vase by the front door again. Flossie’s already had to make two new ones.”
Lydia waited until the others were far enough away to not hear. “Do you want me to guide Flossie and Theresa to a different topic? Mind you, I would love to hear what you really think of Mr. Beaumont instead of all that hogwash you served us, but I also know Theresa can be a little pushy.”
“Please and thank you. I know you hope I’ll find a man who makes me as deliriously happy as you, but I don’t think Mr. Beaumont fits that description.”
“Why not?”
And Lydia was worried about Theresa. “I just need time to make my own decision without being urged toward him. His connections to the opera are something to consider. I have to protect my family.”
“Fine. I’ll guide Theresa and Flossie to other topics.”
A crash of breaking glass echoed onto the street, followed by Theresa’s voice. “Sorry!”
“It’s a good thing Flossie is a potter,” Nora muttered.
“I’ll go help her clean up. Again.” Lydia shook her head as she climbed out with her carpetbag.
Nora sat alone and processed the night before she would have to face the onslaught of Mr. Beaumont–related teasing.
Why had that man on the stage—Mr. Adler—struck so much fear in her?
It made no sense. Would she always respond like that when attending the opera?
Had Winston’s stealing her from the world she loved most ruined her ability to ever enjoy it again?
If she took lessons from Mrs. Reed, could she go on a stage without panicking?
Even now an odd sensation of being watched slithered up her spine.
Impossible, considering she was in a closed carriage.
But impossible didn’t keep her heart from sprinting or her breathing from coming in short gasps.
Maybe staying out here to think through the night had been a bad idea.
Facing the Guardians’ teasing had to be better than allowing her mind to lather itself into another fright.
She collected Theresa’s bag and stepped out of the carriage to the sidewalk. Out of habit, she glanced either direction to check for potential dangers. Other than a lone hack at the corner a few houses down, the street was dark and quiet.
“Do you need help, Miss Nora?” Theresa’s driver asked.
“No, you may go on. Thank you for driving us.”
He tipped his hat from his place at the front of the carriage, then urged the horses forward. As Nora stepped toward the house, a haunting voice called out to her above the clop of hooves.
“Good night, Eleonora Brisbane.”
Gooseflesh crawled up her neck. She spun around, but no one hovered nearby.
She glanced at the hack driver, but he was too far away for it to have been his voice.
That only left Theresa’s driver. Nora pivoted.
An unnatural shadow ran in the street alongside the carriage but quickly melted into the darkness.
Had it been her imagination or someone real?
“Nora, is everything all right?” Lydia stood in the doorway.
Nora inspected the street again. Everything was as it should be.
The voice must have been her imagination, stirred up by recounting her tale.
It was nothing more. You are safe. No one is here to hurt you.
Deep, slow breath. You are not alone. God is with you, and Lydia is at the door.
Another slow breath and release. She was fine.
The hour was late, and her emotions spent. That was all.
She forced a calmness to her tone as she answered. “’Twas nothing.”
Even so, as she walked into the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching her.