Forbidden Melody

by Magnolia Robbins

  “You’re Juliet’s mother,” Emma said. I fought the instinct to bring my hand to my face. Instead, I forced a long breath. Frederick’s face twitched slightly. I realized he’d come to some sort of conclusion. What it was exactly, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to find out.

  “We were just going to go,” I interrupted, before my mother could get a word in edgewise. “It’s been a long day, and I’m sure Emma wants to get home.”

  “Of course,” my mother said, offering a small smile. I wondered for a moment if she recognized her name as well, but I didn’t have long to think. All I could concentrate on was the stare my father was giving her. The way he looked her over like he was making all sorts of judgements of her when he didn’t even know her. Before he had long to think, I nudged Emma, turning my attention towards my mother once more.

  “Have a good evening,” I said curtly, before I walked off the stage without another word, Emma trailing off behind me.

  It wasn’t until we’d made it out of Fischer Hall into the parking garage and to my car that Emma finally spoke. As soon as she shut the door, she turned to look at me. I couldn’t read the expression on her face. “So that was your parents.” It wasn’t a question, more like a statement. I nodded. “Your mother seems nice.”

  “She can be,” I admitted. Most of the time my mother was civil. She very rarely raised her voice or liked to argue, but if you made her angry, she was spiteful like my father.

  “Your dad didn’t seem to like me much,” Emma noted, seeming unsurprised. “Do you think he knew who I was?” It was the question that had been wracking my brain since he’d seen her. I had no clue. The thought petrified me.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. What was worse, I wasn’t sure what he would do if he did know who she was. What lengths he might go to.

  Emma seemed to notice the panicked look on my face, reaching out to wrap my hand in her own. “Don’t worry.” She smiled. “He doesn’t intimidate me.” It took all my self-restraint to not retort the fact that he intimidated me. That there were a million things that might possibly go wrong if he’d figured out who Emma was. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t at the Bard. She was at the Philharmonic. The orchestra he’d been making sizeable endowments to for the past thirty years, on behalf of my grandmother. He had enough influence to do damage.

  The drive home was quiet. We picked up Kira on the way, who was visiting a friend. Emma sat in the back chatting with her as we rode. Once we’d made it back to the apartment and tucked Kira into bed, Emma and I sat in the living room at the piano. She’d turned her attention towards me briefly, watching as I placed sheet music on the stand. When she looked at it, she smiled. It was a piece we’d played at lessons before, one she particularly liked.

  The Dolly Suite by Fauré was a soft and sweet duet, perfect for a quiet evening like this. It was soft enough not to disturb Kira, simple enough that it didn’t require a lot of thought to play, but still offered sound to fill the silence. The lower register began, which I sat at, followed shortly by the higher notes that Emma played. Once we’d started, I turned to look at her.

  “You’re worried,” Emma noted, her fingers trailing along the keys softly. When I didn’t answer, I watched her face soften. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “He could do a lot of damage,” I argued, harmonizing with her playing. “My father is capable of far more than you’d believe.”

  I could feel Emma’s firm stare on the side of my face as I turned my attention back to the keys for a brief few moments. When I finally looked at her again, she was still staring me down. “I don’t think you’re worried about him doing something,” she noted, rolling her hands down the keys gracefully for her part of the song. “I think you’re worried about disappointing him.”

  My fingers tripped up at her words, and I found myself missing notes. The mistake had me slamming down on the keys angrily. Emma jumped and quickly went to put her hand over my own, quieting me, as to not wake Kira. “Sorry,” I whispered, doing my best to recover. A long sigh escaped me, and I turned my attention back to Emma. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop disappointing him.”

  “Well you certainly can’t keep letting him dictate your life for you,” Emma argued with me. “No matter how much power he thinks he wields, you’re ultimately in control of your life, not him.”

  “He can take away everything, Emma.” I felt my face twist into an expression of annoyance. My voice having grown slightly louder. Emma nudged her head towards Kira’s room and my hands flew in the air. I don’t have a choice. My career, my music, everything rests in his hands. He could take away the Philharmonic from you. I couldn’t do that.

  Emma looked equally as frustrated then, her fingers dribbling over some keys, face turned away. I drew a hand under her chin, pulling her gaze towards me. So we’re just going to live like this forever, you and me? Emma signed. Constantly in fear of him? Hiding ourselves? I didn’t know what to say in response. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. The summer had felt as if it had barely started, and I’d been so consumed in the moment once again, I hadn’t thought of the longer-term. The consequences of our relationship.

  I don’t know, I admitted. Emma’s shoulders dropped, and she looked as if she was about to get up from the piano. I reached out to try and stop her, but she left before I could.

  So, this is all just a big mistake yet again, Emma’s voice had escalated slightly. It’s been three years and not a thing has changed. I don’t know what I expected. I could tell by the way she was standing that she was fending off tears. Quickly, I spilled from the seat, standing up to go to her. My arms wrapped around her tightly. She let me, resting her head against my shoulder as I held her close.

  When we broke, I saw the tears. My hands wrapped around the side of her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks. “Emma, you were never a mistake. You will never be a mistake.”

  “I’m a mistake to your father,” Emma said, somewhat bitterly.

  I am a mistake to my father, I corrected her, signing to keep my voice from raising. You are just a means to an end. An innocent bystander. I’m only trying to protect you.

  I don’t need protecting, Emma said, backing away from me angrily. She turned away, pacing across the floor for a moment. I let her, staying silent. She wouldn’t have heard me either way. After she’d turned back towards me, she spoke before I had an opportunity. I don’t think I can do this, Juliet. Not again. I thought I could. I mean, we went through this all summer but...

  Emma, I trailed after her, but she put a hand between us.

  I’m going to Miranda and Timothy’s, she decided, turning away from me and off towards the door to fetch her purse and coat. I followed her hastily, reaching out for her wrist. She turned swiftly, and I saw tears falling down her face.

  “Emma...”

  Let’s go somewhere else then, she said, running a hand over her cheek to wipe away stray tears. There’s plenty of places to play. I’m sure any would take you.

  My face twisted slightly. I won’t let him take that away from you. From me.

  I don’t care, Emma said, trying her best to maintain her composure.

  “I care,” I found myself snapping unintentionally. Emma recoiled from me a step, likely in surprise of my facial expression. I took a deep breath. I’m sorry. I’ll talk to him. It shouldn’t have to be this way.

  You think he’ll listen to reason? Emma asked, looking very doubtful.

  I don’t know, I admitted. But I have to try.

  BY THE TIME I REACHED my parents’ home in Lindon Acres the following morning, it was drizzling outside. I hadn’t told them I was coming, but it was Saturday and they would both be up eating breakfast by now. It was still relatively early but bright out. Once I’d made it to the porch, I stood outside for a few minutes, trying to work up the courage. I hadn’t quite figured out what to say. Finally, I managed a few deep breaths, and my hand fell onto the doorbell.

  Gwyn answered a few moment
s later, a stack of linens in her hand, and I took them from her, letting myself inside. “Oh, Juliet, you don’t need to do that,” Gwyneth scolded me as I wandered down the hall.

  “This closet?” I asked, nodding towards the first linen closet near the half-bath. When Gwyn nodded, I opened the door, setting them inside and pressing them down neatly. Once I had, I turned and Gwyn hugged me. “Good morning,” I laughed, patting her back softly.

  “How have you been?” Gwyneth asked as we wandered back down the hallway. It had been a long time since I’d been home. Over a year at least, and even then, it was only for errands to see my mother. We hadn’t had family dinners since the argument with my father those few years ago.

  We made a short bit of small talk as we made our way to the dining room. We cut the corner and I saw my parents eating breakfast. I took pause, losing my train of thought.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” my mother turned her attention towards me. “What are you doing here?” She got up from her seat, coming over to meet me on the far end of the room. I didn’t watch her, my eyes on my father, who sat drinking coffee and staring me down.

  “You know why I’m here,” I said calmly, doing my best to keep my attention on him. I’d never been good at it. There was always such an intense look to his eyes, it was hard to maintain my composure.

  My father raised a brow, taking another sip of his coffee. Once he’d finished, he ran his fingers across his beard, wiping away remnants. “I’m not sure I do,” he replied. “Perhaps if you’d enlighten me.”

  “This is between you and me,” I said, moving around the table closer towards him. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell my mother was getting anxious, but I ignored it. “Leave her out of it.”

  “You didn’t tell me that woman was playing with the Philharmonic,” Frederick noted, sitting up in his chair a little straighter. “I thought she’d left the country.”

  I’d never once told him where Emma had gone to. Not once. A chill rippled down the length of me. Instead of protesting, I decided to be honest. “She’s wanted to play for the orchestra since she was a child. Miranda Kepner groomed her for this.”

  “Then it would be a shame if you were to jeopardize her career,” he noted. I couldn’t stand the look on his face. That taunting way he sat and stared at me.

  “What do you want from me?” I found myself nearly begging.

  “I don’t want anything from you,” Frederick pushed back from the table then, getting up from his seat. When I looked at my mother briefly her face was white. For a moment, I thought to console her, but I was too frustrated.

  “I’m a grown woman,” my voice came out loudly, slamming my hand against the dining room table. “Stop treating me like a goddamn child.” I very rarely cursed and never to my father. “She’s not a student. What we’re doing is perfectly acceptable. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “You made it about me the moment you went behind my back three years ago,” Frederick said, his gaze piercing. “As did she.”

  “It was three years ago,” I said angrily. “Three years I went without her because of you. Three years I wasted bending over backwards for you once again. I’m done.”

  “Then you’ll be done with the Bard. Done with the Philharmonic.”

  His words made me freeze in my tracks. I’d been asking for it. It was obvious where it was leading. Even still, once they’d come from his mouth it caused me to take pause. The Bard was one thing I could live without but the Philharmonic. It had been my life for eighteen years.

  “You wouldn’t—” I started, but the look on my father’s face said otherwise. Suddenly, I was angry. Furious even. “Why do you have to be so resentful?” We had drawn closer to one another then. I took steps until I’d met him where he was standing. “You’ve held grudges over me my entire life. Over things I had no control over.” My father scowled at me. “Are you really that petty?”

  There was a twitch in my father’s face. At first, I didn’t think he would reply. He seemed to ponder on my words. “After everything I’ve done for you, you have the audacity—”

  “To what?” I interrupted him, unable to stop myself. “Question you? I’ve done nothing but bend over backwards for you my entire life. What else could you possibly want from me that I haven’t already given to you?”

  “That violin belonged to me.” My father scowled. There it was. The heart of the matter. Ever since my grandmother’s death, it had been like a black cloud looming over him. I’d known exactly what it was, though I’d refused to believe it till that moment. That he’d been so selfish.

  “And what exactly were you planning on doing with a violin?” I asked, a flair of contempt to my voice. “Sell it off to the highest bidder like you did with everything else?” My father inched a step closer. We were so close that I could see his nostrils flare as he stared at me. I’d never seen him look so angry. He didn’t speak, so I continued. “That was the one thing she gave me. Are you telling me you’re so selfish that you couldn’t let me have it?”

  My father’s expression was steady. Piercing. I almost had to look away, but I didn’t. He still didn’t speak. Finally, my mother broke the silence, awkwardly. “Gwyn, can you fetch some more coffee?” It wasn’t until that moment I’d realized they both had been watching us from across the room.

  “Don’t bother, Lilith,” my father spoke without looking away. “Juliet was just leaving.”

  There was a lurch inside my stomach. Despite how angry I felt, how desperately I wanted to fight him, I found I couldn’t. As soon as I’d gotten my wits about me, I turned away from him, leaving the house without another word. Hoping desperately that my father wouldn’t act the way he’d threatened to. Feeling as helpless as I had three years ago, unable to stop his fiery wrath.

  28

  Emma

  Schumann, Kinderszenen

  WHEN JULIET HAD LEFT early that morning, I drove to Miranda and Timothy’s home in Annandale-on-Hudson for breakfast. Timothy made the best blueberry pancakes, and I hadn’t had them in ages. While we sat outside enjoying the crisp morning air, I was lost in thought. They both seemed to notice rather quickly.

  “What’s going on Emma?” Miranda asked after having a sip of juice.

  I shook my head, turning my attention completely both of them. “It’s nothing,” I replied, taking a bite of food to try and hide my face. It didn’t seem to work very well. Neither of them look satisfied with my response. “It’s Juliet,” I finally admitted. “Or I guess more specifically, her father.”

  As soon as I said it, Timothy’s face dropped. The two of them knew of Juliet and my engagements. It wasn’t a secret. “What happened?”

  “Juliet’s gone to talk to him,” I explained, fidgeting uncomfortably in my seat. “About us. We think he knows.” Miranda and Timothy exchanged glances. “I just want this to be over with. She doesn’t deserve this.”

  Miranda seemed to be in agreement with me. “I doubt she’ll talk sense into him,” she said wearily. “He’s always been stubborn. Ever since I first met him.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said, my voice coming out more agitated now. “It feels like he has her cornered. And I’m not sure she wants to fight him on it. I asked her if she’d want to leave. Play somewhere else. She doesn’t seem to be too fond of that idea.”

  Timothy was laughing, a twisted look on his face. I stared at him, curiously, until he finished. “Emma, if there’s one thing you should know about Juliet Hamilton, it’s that she loves that orchestra. More than anything. There’s not a thing in the world that would take her from it. Believe me, we’ve known her a long time.”

  My face fell. The words hurt. I knew Juliet loved music. It was clear to anyone that she loved the orchestra. But she loved me too. “I just thought it’s been so long, maybe she’d consider it.”

  “Emerson has friends in the London Symphony,” Miranda said, looking less convinced than Timothy. It seemed as if she wasn’t opposed to the idea that things
could work out for us elsewhere. To get the hell away from her father once and for all. “I know he’s played with them on quite a few occasions.”

  I hadn’t imagined London of all places. I would have taken anywhere. Anywhere we could go that we both could play. That we both could be together. “Really?”

  “Miranda, she’s not going to just up and leave,” Timothy argued. I could barely make out what he’d said since he turned away from me to look at his wife.

  “It’s Emma’s decision,” Miranda replied, looking at me.

  “I can play anywhere,” I said flatly. “All I want to do is play. I thought for the longest time it had to be the Philharmonic, but I don’t care where it is. I just want this to end.”

  “You really love her,” Timothy said, flabbergasted.

  “More than anything,” I replied.

  “Then let’s talk to Emerson,” Miranda said, deciding for me.

  BY THE TIME I MADE it back home to Juliet’s apartment, she was waiting for me. I watched her, leaning against the wall, as she buried herself in a song at the Steinway. There was no way of telling what it was from the angle I was standing at, but I enjoyed watching her play anyway. The notes were pounding. I could feel them along the floor, even from across the room. Eventually she concluded, turning her back slightly to look over her shoulder.

  “I was at Miranda and Timothy’s,” I explained, moving across the room. She made space on the bench for me to sit beside her. We played again at the piano. I chose the song. Kinderszenen, by Schumann. It was a sweet melodic tune. Enough to fill the room, just the way Juliet liked it. I’d never seen her in silence. She was always surrounded by music.

  The melody played on for a while. I took the higher register while Juliet stayed in the low. Occasionally we’d come together in the middle of the piano. When we did, I’d lean into her affectionately. I felt her lips fall onto the side of my head, and we finally turned ourselves slightly to look at one another. “I am guessing it didn’t go well with your father,” I decided, the strange expression on her face made it rather obvious.