Chapter 32 Magellan
Magellan
Magellan couldn’t fathom how music could stop a polar shift from happening.
Inherently she knew sound’s fundamental power was yet to be understood.
She had heard of musicians taking part in cutting-edge studies and how sound could cure diseases, including cancer.
She’d even been invited to take part in a medical study herself in Boston.
When—or if—she made it back to her own time, she might need the help of actual scientists to play the song.
If the song Gwynedd described was real. Because right now, she was running on faith and waiting for Fanny to arrive.
From the stormy look on Rhys’s face when she brought up translating the diary again, she would have to wait.
The problem was she had no idea what would happen after Fanny’s visit.
According to Gwynedd, she would need to find a Ley Line and leave, like finding the nearest emergency exit.
This morning Magellan had woken up paralyzed by the thought and had to do every coping mechanism she knew just to get out of bed.
After she played the song with Fanny today, she would need to find a church organ to play Bach again.
It seemed the safest bet since that had worked the first time.
Gwynedd had said Ley Lines’ crossroads were often marked by sacred sites, churches, and temples.
When she had asked Rhys if they could visit a church after Fanny’s visit, he expelled a pained sigh, but she had gotten him to agree.
She looked down at Garesh’s ring and tried to fight the panic blooming inside her.
The first course of action was to finish packing.
She hid more food from her breakfast tray, extra bandages, her ointments, and added a few fresh hand towels.
She slipped a hairbrush into the satchel too and looked around the room for anything else she could take.
Eyeing the breakfast tray again, she wrapped the butter knife in a heavy cloth napkin and hid that as well.
Then she stowed the satchel back in the cabinet.
Mrs. Weathers came to help her dress, and Magellan said firmly, “No curls today.” Instead her hair was styled into a bun with a braid wrapped around it.
Mrs. Weathers told her, “I went through Vivianne’s dresses from last season and found something you might like.” She returned holding a frilly pink dress that made Magellan wince.
There was no way in hell she was going to wear that today.
She needed something functional to travel in, not a dress that looked like a design from an 1800s lace convention.
“Do you have something plainer to help not draw attention to my arm? Perhaps a darker color and long sleeved.” She was busy binding her arm carefully with a clean bandage.
“Of course.” Miss Weathers came back with a simple navy dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Magellan slipped it on, relieved.
After Mrs. Weathers left, nerves hit her hard, and she began to feel sick to her stomach.
Soon the moment of truth would arrive. She headed downstairs, unsure where to find Rhys.
He was most likely avoiding her again. She made it to the back parlor and sat down at the piano bench and took a deep breath.
She stared at the keys for a long time, remembering the opening of the song but not ready to play it yet. She needed Fanny Mendelssohn.
A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
Rhys stood in the doorway. They stared at each other, neither sure what to say.
He gave her a nod and cleared his throat, looking every inch the earl today.
His quizzing glass hung from his jacket vest, lending him a formal air.
The only sign of his unease was the subtle fidgeting with his signet ring as he twisted it back and forth in a pensive manner.
“Miss Mendelssohn has arrived and is waiting for you in the salon.”
She’d come. “Could I meet her here instead? I’d like to use this piano while we talk.”
Rhys arched a careful brow. “Of course.”
Before he turned away, she said, “Alone, please.”
His face shuttered and he nodded before leaving. This was the second time she had sent him away when she was to play. She felt guilty for hurting his feelings, but she needed to be alone with Fanny.
A minute later the butler arrived. Rhys was notably absent. The butler announced, “Miss Brighton, may I present Miss Mendelssohn.” Then he ushered Fanny in.
“Thank you,” Magellan said, feeling breathless as she stood to greet the woman she had been sent back to 1829 to find. The butler shut the door, leaving the two women alone. Magellan was tongue-tied, unable to believe she was meeting the Fanny Mendelssohn.
Fanny gave her a hesitant smile. “I’m relieved to see you are much recovered.” Her voice was rich and melodious with a German accent.
“Thank you. Yes, I heard you were there when I fainted.” Magellan left the rest unsaid, unsure how to explain.
Fanny’s eyes went from her to the piano and back again. “The music you were playing the other day on the street is the same I am composing. It was incredible to hear. I had to meet you.”
Magellan could feel the powerful connection between them. “I had to meet you too.”
“How is it we share the same music?”
“I believe . . .” Magellan measured her words slowly, “music connects us all in a special place, in a perfect world we cannot reach yet but can feel in our hearts.”
Fanny’s lips parted in wonder, and she nodded, saying softly, “Yes. I believe so too.”
Magellan pushed on, knowing here was the defining moment.
“A song has been in my own heart I’d like to share.
Perhaps you know a part of it and can help me complete it?
” She sat back down at the piano, feeling the air around her become charged.
She had never played the song’s opening for anyone else or without headphones.
Magellan knew her part of the song like she knew her own body.
It was the symphony inside her bones she’d been born with. The first part of the first movement.
She began to play, her hands flying over the keys faster than a pianist should be able to.
The symphony’s opening was grand and complex, a musical vortex expanding with momentum and energy.
The full orchestra existed in her imagination, an epic movement of harmonies and counterpoints only she could hear.
Trumpets and French horns, the loudest instruments, would come in like nightingales.
The percussion would follow right behind with bass drums, snares, timpani, xylophones, and marimbas, in a towering wave of rhythm, heralding the beginnings of the song that would keep the Earth spinning.
Fanny watched transfixed as Magellan played on until she reached the end of what she knew.
“That’s all I have so far,” Magellan simply said. “Do you know what comes next?”
Fanny brought her hand to her heart and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, sitting down on the bench beside her, and she laid her hands on the keys.