by Kay Moser
“We shall go, of course.”
Victoria met his eyes, and he nodded. “Not enough,” he concluded. “You want him to come here.”
“Will you trust me that much? Can you?”
“I made my peace with this last summer, Victoria. I will never be the artist you want, but I am the man you need. I am stable, I love you, and I am making you my priority. You cannot follow Antonio all over the world, carrying his violin case for him.”
“I know. I came to the same conclusion last summer, and I do love you, Hayden, for the man you are. I am erratic and temperamental and far too visionary.”
“All characteristics I love in you.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Now, when is Antonio coming to visit us?”
“You know me too well.”
“When?”
“The eighteenth.” A slight smile drifted across Victoria’s face. “You do like him, remember?”
“I do ... especially across a chessboard. I am considerably less fond of him around my wife.”
“But he may come?”
Hayden chuckled. “He’s coming. I’ll just have to do my best to hold my own.” He stood and pulled her up. “Now you come back to bed. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow and clean my dueling pistols ... just in case.”
***
When Sarah climbed down the ladder on Sunday morning, she was clad in her simple cotton Sunday dress. Her mother had started breakfast, but her pa was clearly waiting for her.
“I’m glad to see you ain’t planning to wear those fancy clothes to church,” he said. “I don’t much like you putting on airs. We are what we are, and we got every reason to be proud of what we got ’cause we worked hard for it.”
“Yes, sir. And I’m grateful, Pa, for the sacrifices you and Mother have made. I’m just trying to build on them a little bit.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Sally, ’cause I don’t want nothing but good things for all my children. It’s just that I’ve lived a good bit longer than you have, and I know that it ain’t possible to step out of your class. You got to make the best of what you got.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, here’s the way I see things. I’m bound and determined to get those acres cleared, and you ain’t any ’count helping on a job like that. Your mother says she’s making it fine without your help during the week, so the best thing for the family is for you to bring home cash money like you been doing. That’s the only reason I’m letting you go back into town to work tomorrow. I gotta confess that I don’t understand a woman that considers educating you to be a job—”
“I do work, Pa. I just don’t do physical work.”
“Well, I guess it don’t make any difference to me how that woman spends her husband’s money as long as you bring your wages home.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But there ain’t no future in this, and I know it, so I want you to accept the attentions of Havel Sykora.”
Sarah opened her mouth to protest.
“That’s the way it’s gonna be, Sally, or there ain’t gonna be any town work. Now, I convinced Havel that you just made a mistake on that cherry pie ’cause you were working so hard on laundry and cleaning that day. He’s a good boy. He forgave you, and he wants to come calling again.”
Sarah gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain silent.
“So I’m inviting him over this afternoon, and this time you’ll receive him like you ought to.”
“Yes, sir.” Sarah couldn’t trust herself to say more.
“It ain’t like I don’t care nothing about you, girl. Why do you think I’m working so hard to clear those acres? If we can get them planted this spring, you and Havel can marry in the fall when the crop is in. Why, by this time next year you could be taking care of your own house, not waiting on some rich woman.”
“Yes, Pa.”
“Now, help your mother feed the boys. I got to go hitch the team for church.”
As soon as he was out the door, tears of fear and fury raced down Sarah’s cheeks. Her mother rushed to her side, held her in her arms, and whispered, “Inch by inch, Sally. That’s the only way you’re gonna make it.”
“I won’t marry Havel Sykora!”
“But you don’t have to announce that—not now. Just keep quiet and study every minute you get. I’ll help you. We’ll make it ... somehow.”
***
On Monday, Sarah slipped out of the house in the early morning dark as soon as Pa left to milk the cows. Carefully folded in a clean sheet, the green velvet skirt and ivory silk blouse were draped over her arm, and she held her shawl close to her chest with the other hand. As so often happens in Texas, the blustery storm of Saturday night had ended any hopes of Indian summer weather reoccurring. Winter had arrived with its sparkling air and hard freezes. Sarah walked briskly to keep warm, looking straight ahead toward the east and the town that held hope for her. As she topped the low hill overlooking the river and town, the sun rose in front of her and illuminated the water and the buildings in wintery yellow light. No longer able to restrain herself, Sarah plunged down the hill in a full run, tears streaming down her face. Home! The word sang in her brain. The events of the previous weekend, the Christmas party, and the forced companionship of Havel Sykora had emboldened Sarah. I’ll just walk away if I have to. I will!
When she entered the gates of the Hodges’ front garden, the bright sun glanced off the marble figures dancing around the fountain and turned the sprays of water to diamonds. Sarah’s joy was quickened by her delight in the frolicking water. She looked up into the happy carved faces of the muses. But we don’t believe in them. She remembered what Miss Victoria had said as they looked at the plans for the fountain. No, we don’t. We believe in a God who … Sarah stopped at the foot of the steps, her lips trembling. I believe in a God who—I don’t know what I believe! If God gave me a love of books and a desire to teach, why is He letting Pa stop me? Why did He even make me born into the family I’m in? I must not be good enough ...
Miss Victoria walked out the front door. “Are you all right, Sarah?”
Sarah’s head shot up, and Miss Victoria saw her tears. “Oh, my dear!” She raced down the steps and took Sarah in her arms. “Was your father furious? I’ve been so worried about you. I started to come out to the farm a dozen times yesterday, but Hayden said I would make things worse.”
“It’s better you didn’t come. Pa was really mad, but it wasn’t just because I was late. He’s upset because he has a plan for my life and I won’t cooperate with him.”
“He allowed you to come to work this morning. I was so afraid he wouldn’t.”
Sarah dropped her head onto Miss Victoria’s shoulder as shame washed over her. “He allowed it because he wants my wages to hire a strong man to help him clear more fields. He allowed it because I agreed to entertain a farmer he wants me to marry.”
Sarah felt Miss Victoria stiffen. “It’s too cold for you out here,” Miss Victoria announced. “Let’s go inside.”
“I don’t want Mr. Hayden to see me crying.”
“We’ll go upstairs. We need to talk.”
Safely inside the seamstress’ room, Sarah removed the fine clothes from the sheet and hung them in the wardrobe. Closing the door, she caught sight of herself in her farm dress. “I don’t belong in either of these worlds, you know,” she said to Miss Victoria. “Not on the farm and not in high society.”
“There are many other worlds, Sarah. You know who you are. Others in your life are confused about you, but you know.”
Sarah sank down on the edge of the bed. “Pa says I’m an ungrateful daughter and that I’m making a fool of myself and in danger of shaming the family.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“No, I don’t. I’m a young woman trying to become what she’s meant to be, but it’s going to be so difficult. What if I fail?”
“You won’t.”
“But if I do? People will say I tried to be somebody I wa
sn’t and failed. They will laugh at me.”
“Their words, their laughter, their opinions—none of those things are the source of your worth, Sarah. God made you. God makes the best—always. By our own choices, many of us fail to be the person He made. We fail to live up to the potential He gave us. But we never lose our worth, because we don’t have the power to diminish or remove what God creates. We are simply not that powerful.”
“I admire you, Miss Victoria, more than I can say. You took your life into your own hands and made it what you wanted it to be.”
“No, Sarah, I did not do that. In my anger, I tried to do that, but I failed. I got as far as England, and I surrounded myself with paint, brushes, and canvases, but I could not make my life what I wanted it to be. You see”—Miss Victoria sat down beside her—“I wanted to live for art alone because I had been so hurt by people and so betrayed by God. At least, that’s the way I saw it.”
“Betrayed by God?”
“I was only looking at my circumstances, and there I found a young woman who had been ridiculed by her mother, bereaved by the loss of her beloved father, and deprived of the love of her life by a senseless war. I wanted nothing to do with such a God, so I ran away from God.”
“What happened?”
“God arranged things so that I ran right into the perfect mentor.”
“Mentor? Someone who helped you become an artist?”
“No. Someone who helped me to learn to be still in my spirit, to draw close to God, and to finally hear Him.”
“What did He say?”
“That He loves me. That he gifted me with certain talents and attributes. That my contentment comes from using His gifts, not from having painless circumstances.”
“Are you saying it’s possible to be happy even if your circumstances are hard?”
“I said ‘contented.’ Happiness is fleeting and shallow. Contentment is constant and dwells deep in your very being. Be who God made you to be, Sarah, and you will be content.”
“That’s what Mrs. Boyd is doing, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And speaking of that extraordinary lady, we have some exciting plans to make that involve her amazing musical gift.”
“We do?”
Miss Victoria stood and grinned down at Sarah. “What would you say if I told you that we are going to host a musicale here at Hodges House, featuring Antonio Santoro and …” Miss Victoria paused for maximum effect, “Christine Boyd!”
“Mrs. Boyd is going to play the piano with the famous Italian violinist?”
“She is ... although, I confess, she doesn’t know it yet.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, absolutely brilliant! Mrs. Boyd deserves to be heard by everyone. She’s so talented!”
“Indeed she is, and we are going to give her a proper venue right here in this house. So we must send her a note and ask her to come by this morning. I want to tell her about the musicale, beg her to play, and also ask her to try the piano in the drawing room. I just hope it can be played. Hayden says no one has touched it in years, but there’s no time to buy another.”
“When is the musicale?”
“It’s Friday the twentieth, and a short four days later Christmas will be here.”
“Will you invite Mrs. Atkins and Miss Amelia for Christmas?”
“I will, but they won’t come.” Miss Victoria bit her lip. “I wish they would, but ... I know Mother. So we need to shop and put their presents in the mail this week. Change into your uniform and meet me in the drawing room. We have much to do. A guest list to make, invitations to write, food to plan, but first of all—Christine! I’ll go send a note right now.”
***
Two hours later, Sarah’s smile broadened when she opened the door and discovered that General Gibbes accompanied Mrs. Boyd.
Miss Victoria sailed into the main hall. “I have the most exciting news, Christine. Oh!” She stopped in her tracks at the sight of General Gibbes. “How absolutely perfect! You are just the man I need, General Gibbes.”
“I am at your service, madam.” General Gibbes kissed Miss Victoria’s hand.
“Do tell us!” Mrs. Boyd insisted. “What is your news?”
“You won’t get another word from me until I have you both ensconced in the drawing room and disarmed by one of Frances’ scones. They’re hot out of the oven.” She took Mrs. Boyd’s arm and hurried her away.
General Gibbes leaned toward Sarah and asked. “Dare I follow, Miss Novak? Bribery is a crime.”
“I think you’re going to love Miss Victoria’s plans, sir.”
General Gibbes winked and held out his arm to Sarah. “If you accompany me, I shall have no fears.”
“What a delight the Christmas party at the store was, Victoria!” Mrs. Boyd exclaimed as she joined Miss Victoria on the settee and Miss Victoria began pouring tea. “It really was the grandest party.”
“And the first electrified tree I’ve seen,” General Gibbes commented as Sarah seated him and brought him a cup of tea.
“I’m glad everyone enjoyed it,” Miss Victoria said, “but it’s another event I want to talk to you about, one that will be grander than the party, at least in my opinion.” She leaned closer to Mrs. Boyd. “Hayden and I have the most extraordinary guest coming for the holidays.”
“Who?”
“Antonio Santoro.”
Mrs. Boyd’s mouth flew open as she clinked her cup back into its saucer. “The violinist?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my!” Trembling with excitement, Mrs. Boyd set her teacup and saucer on the table and stood up. “Victoria, you can’t be serious.”
“I am!”
“But how do you even know him?”
“I met him in England several years ago. He was resting after the concert season at a resort hotel in Sidmouth, and an English couple, Lord and Lady Wraxall, introduced me to him. He is the preeminent artist, and I immediately adored him. We spent many happy hours just walking the beach and dining together.”
“Oh, how I envy your knowing such a fine musician. As soon as the notice appeared, Father bought tickets for us to hear him in Galveston in February.”
“Well, you won’t have to wait until then.”
“What on earth do you mean?”
“He’s agreed to play here in this house for a musicale we are going to host.”
“This is absolutely stunning news!” Mrs. Boyd sat back down and fanned her face with her hand. “Please say I can at least sit on the porch and listen through the window.”
“Oh, I have better plans than that.” Miss Victoria grinned. “You will definitely be in the drawing room with him because you’re going to play with him.”
“What?”
“I want you to play a duet with him.”
“You can’t be serious, Victoria. I’m not a concert pianist.”
“But you should be, Christine. You are a better performer than many I have heard in major concert halls.”
“I ... I just don’t think I’m qualified.”
“Nonsense!” General Gibbes finally got a word in.
“I must ask Richard. He may not want his wife performing in public.”
“Richard will be delighted,” General Gibbes insisted. “Leave Richard to me.”
“But what on earth would we play?”
“Antonio has sent me a list of suggestions for the program, some of his favorite short pieces. You know, the kind of thing he rarely gets to play onstage. Several of them are for violin and piano. You are the perfect choice for pianist. No one else comes near your talent and ability, and you know it.”
“I can hardly breathe.”
“I’m totally confident.” Miss Victoria bounced up and clapped her hands. “And so excited I can’t keep still, but I’m also worried about our piano. No one has played it in years.”
“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound promising.”
“Come look at it, Christine. Try to play on it and tell me what to do. We haven’t much time.”
“When is the musicale to be?”
“December twentieth.”
“In ten days? My word!” Mrs. Boyd raced to the piano and lifted the lid. The moment she began to play, Miss Victoria groaned and sank into a chair.
“What am I going to do? You can’t possibly play on that.”
Mrs. Boyd stopped and swiveled to face her. “It is in very bad shape, Victoria, but I think Mr. Woodrow Turner can probably fix it. He’s an absolute genius and loves a challenge. Perhaps Hayden could send to Galveston for him immediately. He’s going to need several days to work on this.”
“But can he make it usable? No! More than usable. Can he make it excellent?”
“He can make it good, I’d say, but I doubt anyone can make it excellent.”
“You deserve excellent,” Miss Victoria insisted.
“Antonio Santoro deserves excellent.”
General Gibbes rose. “Leave this matter to Hayden and me, ladies. I’ll go now and telegraph Mr. Turner.”
“Oh, Father! Would you? That is ... if you’re sure I should play.”
“I’m positive.” General Gibbes bowed to the ladies. “No, Sarah. Don’t get up. I know my way out.” He turned and left.
“How long is Antonio Santoro staying in Riverford?” Mrs. Boyd asked.
“Three weeks.”
“Three weeks! What a joy! Oh, Victoria, just think, you’ll be able to listen to him practice every day.”
“Yes. Yes, I will. And I’ll be able to talk to him about art and—” Miss Victoria’s face glowed. “Well, enough of that. Here. I have Antonio’s letter, Christine, with the pieces he suggests.”
“I’m frightened to look. What if I can’t—”
“You can,” Miss Victoria insisted.
CHAPTER 17
Shortly after noon on the day of Antonio Santoro’s arrival, Miss Victoria and Sarah walked through the house one last time, eagerly checking their preparations. The drawing room mantel was decked with glistening magnolia leaves, trailing sprays of longleaf pine, and English holly. Elegantly etched cranberry glass hurricane lamps covered the ornate silver candlesticks at each end, and wide, cranberry satin ribbon danced toward the mantel’s center, culminating in a large, fluffy bow. The newly refurbished mahogany piano glowed in the diffused light of the long windows, its top fully opened and ready to lift the room to heights far beyond the merely visual.