Chapter 7
Seven
Cadenza’s voice mixed with the piano, hovering in the air of Thomas Learmonth’s office.
“These are for you.” He handed her a binder of sheet music at the end of the song.
“For Friday’s show. The rehearsal with the band will be Friday afternoon at two.
You’re welcome to stay here after rehearsal until the performance.
” Thomas opened a new piece of sheet music.
“This one is for a few weeks from now.” He adjusted his glasses—rose pink frames this time—and played the intro to “The Flower Duet” from Lakmé.
Her eyebrows shot up and he chuckled. “We’re having an opera-themed night for one of the shows this month. I thought you wouldn’t mind.” He swayed side to side while he played. “You take the soprano line.”
Cadenza didn’t need the sheet music. “The Flower Duet” was one of the first songs she’d ever fallen in love with, during one of the few peaceful times with her mother. The lyrics soared out of her, and she was six years old again.
Ilaria prepped at a vanity table in her dressing room. A guest artist in San Francisco, she had allowed her daughters to visit her backstage one evening. Cadenza played at her feet, sorting sequins she’d found on the floor, while “The Flower Duet” played on a CD player.
Cadenza’s heart swelled in the here and now, and the earth answered. Threads of melody grew from the ground, wrapped around her body, tangled in her hair. Earthsong shot through her chest and into her throat. Urgency roared through her.
She clenched her fists. No. I lead. Real singers are in control. She reined in the music, pushed it down. Stayed in control.
Thomas leaned his elbow on the piano at the end of the song, considering her, lips pressed together. She tensed. The notes had all been right. Her dynamics felt natural. What had she screwed up this time?
“You, my dear,” he said. “Have a singular instrument. But you’re holding something back. Can you feel that? Like you’re restraining yourself.” He made a fist in the air. “Or squeezing something too tight.”
Cadenza didn’t answer. There was no way Thomas knew she’d been wrestling with the earthsong—no one else could hear it. She didn’t even know if it was real or not.
“I’ll work on relaxing my throat.”
Thomas tapped a finger on his cheek like she was a tricky puzzle. “I’m not sure it has to do with technique. Are you experiencing extra stressors in your life? Or perhaps some kind of…external pressure?”
Cadenza didn’t meet his eyes. Sure, pressure from music that no one else can hear. But I can’t tell you that, can I?
She picked up the sheet music from the piano instead. “So, ‘The Flower Duet.’ Who’s singing the other half?”
“Oh, yes.” Thomas snapped upright. “Your partner.” He fished a business card out of his breast pocket and handed it to her. “She’s actually located up near you, so I expect the two of you to get together to rehearse.”
Cadenza glanced at the card.
Reyna Weyland
Blacksmith, Gold Feathers Forge
Columbia State Park, CA
209-586-1004
“She’s a blacksmith?”
“Aye, and a fine mezzo soprano as well. I think your voices will meld quite nicely.” He shut the cover over the piano keys. “Off you scoot now.”
Cadenza gathered up her music. “Thank you, Mr. Learmonth.”
“Thomas, please,” he reminded her. “And Cadenza?”
She turned back at the door. “Yes?”
“Don’t worry over much about that tightness.” He smiled, not unkindly. “We’ll sort it out.”
Cadenza had spent Monday job searching in person, but no one was open to hiring someone who was leaving the country in a month.
Her lesson with Thomas Learmonth and the drive back from Modesto had taken much of Tuesday, leaving no time for more job hunting before getting ready for Canon's campaign rally, so by the time she arrived at the event Tuesday evening, her finances were burning a hole in her belly, and her mind had yet to come up with a possible reason that Taran Norroway produced earthsong. And she’d dreamt of him twice since meeting him at the bridge Sunday evening.
Canon met her at the entrance to the Sonora Opera Hall with a wide grin. She’d agreed to attend to support him but had insisted they take separate cars to make it less date-like. A steady stream of people passed them, greeting him on the way into the building.
“I thought this was supposed to be informal?” she asked, eyeing Canon’s jewel-blue button-up and white silk tie. Her peach blouse might pass for dressy but not her jeans.
“It is.” He grabbed both her hands. “And you look great.”
“Canon.” She pulled her hands back.
“No, I know.” He held his hands up to forestall her argument. “But you do.” The polished veneer slid away, and his eyes softened. “And I appreciate you coming, even if it’s not a ‘date’.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, and gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “And hey, look at that! You have real expressions under that politics…sales…face.”
He laughed. “Glad you noticed. Come on, I’ll introduce you to your prospective student.”
The Opera Hall’s one long room swam with people. Cadenza slowed at the sight of the stage at the far end of the hall, hugging her arms around her middle. She’d had her first recital on that stage, at just barely eight years old, after Ilaria had left them but before her father had remarried.
She shook off the memories and let Canon retake her hand to navigate through the wall of people.
“This is crazy!” she called over the noise.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Even I’m surprised.”
Canon introduced her to his teen cousin, Brylee, then pointed out a table on the stage. “There’s a seat up there for you when you want it. I’m going to keep circulating, so I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
Cadenza exchanged phone numbers with Brylee, who, late for work, shoved her way through the crowd to the front doors, leaving Cadenza alone in the press.
Across the room, Canon mingled like a pro, all smiles and hospitality.
Just watching him made Cadenza want fuzzy socks and tea.
She rubbed her hand where he’d held it. What would it feel like if Taran held her hand?
What would she hear?
Maybe it had been a fluke, hearing music from him, but the earthsong had been so unsettled since she got to Norroway Auto, perhaps she was developing the ability to hear people too? She didn’t know if that was possible, but it wasn’t as if she’d had a teacher for this weird thing she did.
She surveyed the crowd. No better place to test if she could now hear music from humans than in a room full of humans.
The earthsong beat beneath the floor. A faint fiddle tune danced in the wood of the walls.
The evening sun beamed through the windows, tinkling like crystal.
But when she searched, no music came from the people around her.
She brushed against the woman next to her, in case she had to touch someone to hear them.
Nothing.
Only voices, arguing politics or chatting with friends, that she heard with her physical ears. None of the earthsong that she felt with her whole self.
She tried once more. The crystal sound of the sun cut out, leaving a gap in the song. The same fluttering sensation she’d felt at Canon’s fundraiser short-circuited her ear drum, like she’d ducked underwater.
Porca miseria. She rubbed her ear, trying to find the song again. What did I do this time?
“Times like this, a little quiet could go a long way, don’t you think, Ms. Cavalieri?” a voice at her shoulder asked.
She jumped, heart pounding, and turned to find Canon’s financial sponsor. “Mr. Pearce, I didn’t know you were here.”
“Of course.” He wore an expensive-looking suit and carried his silver-handled walking stick, despite the jeans and sneakers of everyone else. “I plan to support Mr. Richards at every step. Although,” he said, glancing around the room. “It is rather chaotic in here.”
Cadenza lifted an eyebrow and nodded. “You’re not wrong.”
The volume in the room shot up, covering his next comment. She motioned to the mass of people and pointed to her ear to show she hadn’t heard him.
Mr. Pearce leaned closer. Her hearing crackled again, and she tugged at her earlobe.
“Canon is fortunate to count you as a friend, Ms. Cavalieri,” he repeated. “I hope to see you at more of his rallies. You lend elegance to the room. And please, call me Vasilios.” He touched his forehead with the tip of his cane in farewell and moved off through the party.
Cadenza threaded her way through the bodies to the stage. A volunteer wearing a “Canon Richards for State Senate” T-shirt handed her a pamphlet detailing Canon’s platform. The crowd jostled, bumping her against the person next to her.
“Sorry!”
“Caddie!” Drostan smiled, a paper plate of fruit and chocolate cake in his hand.
“Drostan?” Cadenza smiled back, relieved to find a familiar face. “You came too?”
“Aye, aye. Got to support our boy, don’t we?”
Cadenza held up the pamphlet. “You really think he can do this? Get elected, I mean.”
Drostan chuckled and popped a grape in his mouth. “After what I’ve seen him manage to do at the shop? I don’t think there’s much he can’t do if he wants to. Mind you, we could do a lot worse than young Canon.”
“You think?”
“I do. He’s been a good comfort to me the last year or so.
I was right lonely, all my boys gone, and not even your father, God rest him, to keep company with anymore.
And then up comes this hotshot salesman, smart clothes, handsome face.
He could be in San Francisco, or the valley the weekends, but instead he sits up here and plays board games with this old bugger.
” He pointed a thumb at himself. “Goes regularly down to the Veteran’s Museum here too.
Records the lads telling their stories. Doesn’t want them to feel like their contributions didn’t matter, you know?
He’s a good man, under all those sales techniques. ”