Chapter Twenty-Two
NORA STAYED IN BED WELL into the next morning, with a headache and the weight of grief making anything else unappealing.
In a rare need to cling to something, she retrieved her childhood doll from the shelf.
Molly no longer wore the matching dress from that dreadful night, but she still carried the hatpin Nora had exchanged the hairpin for.
When they first came to Cincinnati, she’d carried Molly everywhere and slept with her every night, knowing a weapon was near at hand.
With age, knitting needles had replaced her doll, but sometimes the need for a piece of her old life—of Mum—couldn’t be denied.
Nora smoothed back the thick red yarn of Molly’s hair and stared at the doll she had long considered a miniature of Mum and sighed.
It didn’t seem right that the sun had come up and the world moved about its business like nothing had changed.
Of course, nothing had for others, and to most of those who knew Nora, nothing had changed for her either.
They thought Nora’s mum had disappeared five years ago.
The need for mourning was long past, not fresh and new.
Practically, the only change to her daily life would be no more Tuesday trips to Longview.
She would rise every day, complete her chores, sup with Father, read books, and knit socks.
Oh. Not socks. Not anymore. She only knit them for the sake of donating to the patients at Longview.
What would she knit now? Maybe she could still donate them and visit once a month.
Ezekiel’s mum still resided there and had visitors.
Nora could always inquire about Mum, maybe find a way to convince Dr. Chalfant to reconsider.
A tear slipped onto her pillow. Dr. Chalfant would never concede.
Lily knocked, then cracked open the door. “Are you awake, miss?”
Nora laid Molly aside and pushed up from the bed. Wallowing wasn’t getting her anywhere, and Lily likely needed help. “I am. You can come in.”
The door opened, and a vase with a large bouquet of colorful flowers preceded Lily’s entrance.
“These came for you.” She set the vase on the side table, then pulled an oddly shaped package from her apron pocket.
The paper-wrapped item was tied shut with twine and had a white note tucked safely beneath the bow.
Nora accepted the package, but no outward evidence indicated who had sent it. She had her suspicions, but she didn’t want to presume. “Thank you, Lily. I’ll be down shortly.”
Once alone, Nora freed the note. A watery smile broke through the heartache.
Donna Anna,
Given yesterday’s events, I thought you might need some flowers to brighten your day. They’re not as beautiful as you, nor do they smell as good.
An unexpected laugh shook her. He’d been smelling her?
Good heavens, depending what she’d just eaten or done, she was as apt to smell of sardines as of her purposely muted and unmemorable perfume.
If he was comparing her favorably to flowers, she must have smelled of rose water.
Either that or, like Tristan, he had an affinity for sardines.
She smiled at his attempts to charm through the written word and continued reading.
I thought about adding chocolate to sweeten your morning, but I recalled you gave Tristan your last can of sardines on Monday and how you wanted nothing more than to go home to sardines, crackers, and bed. I’m sorry they’re late, but may the flowers and f-i-s-h make you smile and think of me.
Until this afternoon,
Don Ottavio
Nora unwrapped the paper to find a package of crackers and two cans of sardines. Of all the gifts she’d ever received, these were the best because they showed he truly knew her. Who else would send her sardines over chocolate?
She chuckled again as she propped the note and snacks against the vase’s bottom.
At least for a few days, the gifts would reside there, reminding her of the man who cared.
Too bad she didn’t have any friends with an interest in photography.
It would be an odd thing to keep a picture of, but she would love to have it for the day when he was gone.
He stood by her for now, but how long would he stay when he discovered her family’s true identity and that she likely followed Mum’s path?
That afternoon, Mrs. Jerden was elated to allow Nora and Ezekiel the use of her piano and even didn’t mind that Tristan joined them.
In fact, she was quick to insist the arrangement even more convenient as she had baking to do.
She could play chaperone by keeping the kitchen and parlor doors open and listening for voices or music.
So long as she heard either, she’d know nothing untoward was happening.
Nora appreciated the bending of chaperone rules.
After yesterday’s revelations and Ezekiel’s gifts this morning, she didn’t know where their conversation would lead, and the extra privacy was a relief.
After his usual exploration of a new space, Tristan took up residence in a sunbeam on the windowsill facing the street and patently ignored Ezekiel and Nora. At least the beast had decided to behave himself today.
The repeated measures of a simple, quiet melody further veiled their conversation as Ezekiel regarded her from his place on the bench.
He’d already discarded his jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, an entirely too appealing look.
“Now that we don’t have an audience, how are you really faring today? ”
Nora blew out a breath as she thumbed through the pages of the libretto he was composing the score for. How did she answer truthfully without crying yet again? He’d endured enough of that from her already. Surely there had to be an end to these tears at some point.
“Like Mum died, and I’ve been denied a funeral or the right to acknowledge that she’s no longer part of my life.”
His free hand captured hers. “There’s always hope she will recover and be released.”
Not really, but it wasn’t his fault he didn’t know.
She’d continued to hide her family’s secret even after he’d shared his.
Oh, she wanted to tell him. Sort of. Maybe she’d be more willing if she didn’t constantly feel the need to look over her shoulder or see Winston everywhere she went.
But that niggling fear she would turn into Mum made her want to shield him from the truth, to protect her heart from watching his opinion of her change.
Right now, he thought her worthy of pursuing.
He truly cared for her and noticed things about her that no other man had.
Those sardines would forever stand out in her mind as proof.
And then there was the way he looked at her even now. Tender. Gentle. Affectionate.
His making little circles on the back of her hand made it harder to be honest about her past and likely future.
“Nora.” Even the way he said her name made her want to curl up in his arms and pretend they had a future beyond friendship. “I know you’re scared that it won’t be true, but what does it hurt to hope?”
“It hurts to hope because when it doesn’t happen, it hurts all the worse.”
He didn’t shame her for her honesty, only nodded and squeezed her hand. “Then I’ll hope enough for the both of us.”
She pulled free and waved the libretto. “We came here to work on composing music, and I, for one, need the distraction.”
“All right. Do you want to hear what I’ve composed so far or jump right into the heroine’s aria about love?”
Good gracious, did he have to be so direct about the type of aria? “Perhaps it would be best to start from the beginning. Did Mr. Linville tell you which voices he wanted for each role?”
“He left it up to me, but I took into account the types generally used for particular story roles. Although I am tempted to change Princess Seraphina from a soprano to a mezzo.” And there went that flirtatious smile.
“And I suppose if you did, you would want to change her love interest”—she flipped to the list of characters at the beginning—“Captain Alaric, into a bass.”
“I don’t see why not.” He stared at her as his hands toyed with a harmony of bass- and mezzo-range notes. “I think they’d make a striking duet.”
Given basses weren’t ever seen as romantic leads, she got the distinct impression he was referring to more than the piece, but he wasn’t wrong about the melodic lines working well together.
The motifs he played did sound good. There was a certain longing and yearning to the musical phrases, like a heart afraid to hope but daring to try.
How well she resonated with that. Maybe starting with the duet wouldn’t be a bad idea.
“But wouldn’t you have to start over with what you’ve already written? ”
“Not really. Composers regularly write the music for the singers they have in mind.”
“It’s your score. I’m only here to give my opinions and suggestions.”
“You’re more than opinions and suggestions. You’re my partner in this. So what do you think—should we start with ‘Whispers in the Dark’?”
She flipped to the section labeled as such and read through the passionate duet where Seraphina and Alaric confessed their love, though neither knew the identity of the other.
This operetta had more parallels to her life than she cared to admit.
Ezekiel did not know her true identity as Eleonora Brisbane and all that it entailed.
She could easily understand Seraphina’s desire to be known and loved by Alaric, to share who she was, but too afraid of the consequences.
“It’s exactly where we should start,” Nora said. “And we should work with that combination you just played. I think it will fit.”