“It’s beautiful. Beautiful and peaceful and perfect.”
“I was hoping you would say that.” He spread out a blanket, steadied her arm as she sank to the grass, and settled beside her. Taking her hand, he raised the still-bruised fingers to his lips, his breath warm and real against her fingertips. “Welcome to Hume, Virginia, in the foothills of my Blue Ridge Mountains.”
His eyes swept the autumn landscape. “When I was a boy,” he said slowly, “I wanted to own a ranch in the mountains just like this. But somewhere along the line, Afghanistan got in the way …” He gestured toward a small herd of horses grazing in the meadow. “‘There’s something about the outside of a horse that’s good for the inside of a man.’ Old man Winston sure knew what he was talking about.”
“This is your place,” she said, with sudden understanding.
He nodded, his eyes sparkling like granite in the morning light. “One night before you were shot, you asked me how I dealt with the darkness. And I told you I had a special place where I go, when I can’t breathe.” He looked out, his eyes distant, toward the mountains. “Been here quite a lot lately.”
“You said you’d take me one day.” Her eyes left his to sweep the brightening hills. “There’s nowhere else I would rather be.”
“Shiloh and I, we come here when we need to feel that there is peace somewhere in our world. Light, to banish the darkness.” He gestured down the gentle slope to the right, where the horses grazed and new sun lit the roof of an old barn, turning it to bright copper. “See that ranch? It’s been there for well over a century. Think of the history …”
Her gaze found the ranch, low red buildings the color of old brick, surrounded by acres of wooded hills and fenced pastures. “I can’t imagine a more peaceful place.”
“I’m glad. Because as of yesterday, it’s ours. Mine and Shiloh’s. Right, big fella? We’re partners. Signed the papers just before dinner.”
Shiloh’s tail thumped on the grass in his version of a happy dance.
“Oh, Michael.” She cocked her head at him. “Are you going to live here?”
“Nope. Love the cabin too much. We’re going to work here.”
Maggie turned to stare at him. “I’m almost afraid to ask …”
He flashed the crooked grin she loved. “Don’t be. When I was in Afghanistan, Maggie, every night I’d look up at a vast black sky filled with stars and wonder if I still had a soul. I have the answer now. Shiloh and me, we’ve found a new purpose in our lives. We’re starting our own business. A ‘Shelter to Service’ program. Dogs working with vets. We’ll hire war veterans and their dogs, teach them how to help other vets. We’ll train rescue dogs, similar to Jac. But our dogs will help the wounded warriors.”
He touched his finger to her cheek. “Dane is gone, Maggie. It’s time to start over. Leave the darkness.”
“And does this new place of yours have a name?”
A spike of silver brows. “Sunrise Ranch.”
She smiled and lifted her coffee cup. “To you and Shiloh.”
Shiloh gave a happy woof and hopped off. She watched the Golden nose with interest through some low bushes, his gait uneven as ever, but his gaze now eager and strong.
“He gets his prosthesis next week,” said Beckett.
Maggie nodded. “But he’s already like a new dog. Bless Jac’s heart.” They exchanged a quick smile. “Has Hannah told you she’s moving to DC, to be a cellist with the National Symphony?”
He grinned. “Jac will be closer to Shiloh, and Sugar will be closer to Hannah. Everybody wins. And speaking of romance …” He turned. “Shiloh! Come, fella. You’re part of this, too.”
The Golden hopped over and sat, straight and tall, next to Michael.
“Part of what?” said Maggie with a raised brow. “What’s going on, you two?”
Michael looked at the words on her t-shirt—Don’t shoot the piano player—and shook his head at her. “I still can’t believe we almost lost you.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “You had us all scared to death. Sitting in that hospital, night after night, I made a deal with God.”
“You—and God? And no lightning struck you down?”
“I think he enjoyed having the upper hand for a change.” His voice was gruff, vibrating with long-held-in emotion. “I told him that if he let you live, I’d tell you the truth. The truth about how I feel.”
“Now I’m scared.”
Something whispered across his eyes. Michael took both her hands in his, pulled her close enough so that they could feel each other’s breaths. “Magdalena O’Shea. Maggie. Looking at you is like staring into the sun. You burn off the darkness, blind me with your light. I love you. You’ve gotten so deep in my head, in my heart—I am so deep in love with you that I can’t breathe.”
He shook his head back and forth, and she leaned in close to put a hand over his heart.
“You and Shiloh,” he said softly, “remind me what it’s like to feel elementally alive. That it’s the simple things I’ve been fighting for, dreaming of, all my life. A woman, a man, standing together in the sunlight. A dog, braver than hell. A ranch in the mountains. Peace.
“Shiloh and I, we want to be a family with you. We want to come home every night to your music. Your light. We want to spend our lives with you. So—I’m in if you are.” His silver eyes were locked on hers, waiting. “Feel free to tell me when you know, ma’am.”
She felt the sharp rush of love and raised her palm to his face. “I can’t think of anything else. I’ve wanted to say the words for so long. I feel them. But for me, it’s never been a question of love. It’s about trust. About fear of losing you. Because once I say the words, there is no going back.”
“We all have to decide, ma’am, if this is the life we want to live. The person we want to love. The choice is yours, Maggie. Just trust me. Say the words.”
“You actually make me believe that I can trust again. Believe in the future.” Maggie’s eyes met his, and she said the words out loud for the first time. “I love you, Colonel Michael Jefferson Beckett.”
He wrapped her in his arms and held her close, his breath against her lips. “Say it again, darlin’.”
“I love you.”
FINAL CURTAIN
CARNEGIE HALL
LATE DECEMBER
THE AIR WAS electric.
Maggie stood in the darkened wings, waiting, gazing out at the theater. Carnegie Hall had never looked more beautiful. The faces of the audience were a pale blur in the flickering shadows. The circle of lights glowed above red velvet tiers that curved toward her like enveloping arms from all those who had been here before, welcoming her home.
The musicians were in place. The Steinway grand piano silent, expectant, waiting for her.
She raised her hands, shook her head at her trembling fingers. Stage fright. Deal with it. You’ll be fine. Just breathe.
She searched the boxes above her. Her son and his wife, home from California with her new grandchild.
Sugar and Hannah, heads bent together, whispering. She smiled. The Matisse Dark Rhapsody, the oil painting that had brought all of them together tonight, had a place of honor in Hannah’s new apartment in Foggy Bottom.
Her eyes found Robbie, black-robed and solemn, now forever bound to a wheelchair. Next to him, Gigi, resplendent in amethyst velvet.
And there—Michael Beckett, her Colonel, craggy as his beloved mountains, his silver eyes gazing right at her with that crooked smile. “I am so in love with you, too,” she whispered.
The oboe played its long, tuning A note. Almost time. Her pulse began to race. No sound like it in the world, she thought.
A bright rustle of expectant sound, and her gaze flew to the stage. Finn. Her father, just taking the podium. Tall and gaunt, his proud falcon face carved and serious, his hair like shining threads in the spotlight. What was he thinking? They had talked in his dressing room, just hours earlier.
Tonight, you will meet your grandson, and your grea
t-grandson, she’d said.
I can’t, sprite. I don’t want them to know what I did.
They need to know how much you sacrificed for love, how much you have always loved them. And your great grandson has your blue eyes. You can’t miss out on that.
The clapping began, bringing her back to the present. Growing louder and louder, until the air vibrated with applause. A quick bow, a deprecating smile. Welcome home, Dad.
Any minute now.
Once more her gaze swept the audience. All those classical music lovers, whispering, expectant, waiting for the lights to dim. Waiting for Rachmaninoff. Waiting for her. Her father’s words, shared so long ago, spun into her head. Some night, Maggiegirl, someone will hear you play. Someone broken, someone hurting, someone lost or afraid. Your music could change that life.
It’s why you do it, she told herself. Because you can pass on something beautiful. And someone will be listening.
She smoothed the long, midnight-blue silk over her hip, adjusted the shoulder. Shook her tingling fingers. One more deep breath. Her mother’s necklace, with its golden treble clef charm, was warm against her skin. She pictured her mother, Lily, seated at her grand piano, playing the Rachmaninoff so many years ago. Music tells our stories, she thought.
This Rhapsody is for you.
The lights dimmed.
The audience fell quiet. It was the sound of people listening …
Her father looked toward her, gave a slight nod.
Holding her head high, Maggie strode out onto the stage.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Thank you for joining me in Maggie’s world.
More than anything, I wanted to tell a good story, create characters with depth, and paint pictures with words. And, whenever possible, make the reader feel.
I never planned to write a sequel to The Lost Concerto, but everyone, myself included, wanted to know what happened next to Maggie, her Colonel, and Shiloh. Also, for me, I wanted to explore Maggie’s past. And so Dark Rhapsody was born.
I learned the legend of the “Ghost Light” during a backstage tour of Sarasota’s beautiful Opera House and knew it had to be part of Maggie’s story. But while many theaters have Ghost Lights, Carnegie Hall does not—except in my imagination. All other aspects of Carnegie Hall, including its history, are as accurate as I could make them.
In the interest of accuracy, the Yale Symphony Orchestra (YSO) was founded in 1965 and celebrated its 50th Anniversary several months before Maggie and her godfather do.
As for the settings and locations, there are some places that just speak to you—
Tintern Abbey in Wales became the inspiration for a climactic scene in southern France.
In New York City, I have loved walking the High Line with my family. I remember discovering the Morgan Library on Madison Avenue, with its beautiful Chopin score in a glass case, and knowing I had to set a scene with Maggie there. I felt the same way sitting in St. Malachy’s Actor’s Chapel. Robbie Cardinal Brennan came to life for me in that tiny church.
Cemeteries, for me, are a source of deep emotion and remembrance. I wrote two of my most moving scenes after visiting Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia and discovering a tiny Tuscan cemetery on a hillside near the village of Montepulciano in Italy.
Two years ago I visited Vienna for the first time. Touring the Vienna State Opera, I saw—in my imagination—Simon Sugarman standing in the darkened wings, waiting for a musician. Who was it? Hannah Hoffman was born at that moment. Likewise, when I learned the story of the Lipizzaner stallions, and stood near the Spanish Riding School stables as those gorgeous stallions thundered past, I knew where Johann Vogl would share his secrets from the war.
Many years ago I visited Salzburg with my family and was fascinated by Nonnberg Abbey. I can see Finn, conducting his imagined orchestra on the hillside above the abbey.
Over the centuries, thousands of priceless pieces of art, musical scores, and valuable instruments have been documented as stolen, destroyed accidentally or purposely, or simply disappeared. Henri Matisse’s Seated Woman, looted by the Nazis almost seventy-five years ago, was recently found in a Munich, Germany, apartment. Almost every piece of art I list in “The Hoffman Collection” did exist at one time, and is still documented as missing, looted or destroyed during the World War II years. But the Hoffman Collection itself, and Matisse’s Dark Rhapsody, exist only in my imagination.
You may be interested to know that, like Firebird and The Lost Concerto, net proceeds from Dark Rhapsody will go to nonprofit organizations that benefit our most vulnerable women, children, and families. Royalties will support inner-city food banks, education, health, shelter, child protection, the arts and economic development, with an emphasis on programs that promote dignity, independence and safety, and combat poverty, hunger, sickness, and homelessness. A list of these organizations is included on my website, HelaineMario.com.
If you are interested in learning more about PTSD and animals helping veterans, here are several websites for more information:
https://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/ptsd-overview/basics/what-is-ptsd.asp
K9s for Warriors: www.k9sforwarriors.org
Paws for Vererans: www.pawsforveterans.com
Battle Buddy Foundation: www.tbbf.org
And finally—the music.
As many of my readers know, my son, Sean, was the inspiration for Maggie’s vocation and her beloved classical music pieces. I’m listing below several of “Maggie’s favorites,” many newly included in Dark Rhapsody, for those of you who love classical music.
Bach—Cello Suites (Yo Yo Ma)
Beethoven—Moonlight Sonata
Beethoven—Piano Concerto # 1 in C major
Beethoven—Piano Concerto # 5 in E flat (The Emperor)
Beethoven—Concerto in D major for Violin
Beethoven—Symphony No. 3 in E-flat major (The Eroica)
Chopin—Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor
Chopin—Ballades, Nos. 1–4
Chopin—Heroic Polonaise
Dvorak—Cello Concerto in B minor
Grieg—Piano Concerto in A minor
Khachaturian—Toccata in E-Flat minor
Liszt—Hungarian Rhapsody # 2, C-Sharp minor
Mozart—Piano Concerto # 19 in F major
Mozart—Piano Concerto # 21 in C (associated with Elvira Madigan)
Rachmaninoff—Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini
Rachmaninoff—Piano Concerto # 2 in C minor
Tchaikovsky—Piano Concerto #1 in B-Flat minor
Tchaikovsky—Concerto in D major for Violin
Vivaldi—The Four Seasons
And finally—I thought Maggie’s story was finished. But now a new character has come into my head, surprising even me with a shocking secret that will change Maggie’s world. To be continued …
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