Heartstrings

by Marilee Boekweg

  Chapter Twenty

  “This color looks best with her eyes,” said Tilly as she held a length of fabric up to Eroica’s face.

  “But this one will probably look better under the stage lights,” AnnaMaria suggested.

  Eroica, AnnaMaria, and Tilly were all three at the fabric store on a Saturday morning in March. Mrs. Hamilton had called AnnaMaria and made her promise that she would take charge of having dresses made for Eroica’s senior recital and graduation. AnnaMaria had to get Tilly and Eroica together, and get Eroica to make some decisions. It was not going to be easy.

  Eroica hated making decisions about clothing, was very unsure of what she liked, and had no idea what kinds of materials she should look for. So Tilly and AnnaMaria took her to the fabric store, and took over the decision-making process.

  “I just want a basic “performance black” dress. I don’t want it to be showy,” Eroica protested.

  “But Eroica, this is your senior recital. You don’t have to wear black. You ought to wear a bright, bold color,” said AnnaMaria.

  “I don’t feel bright or bold. I just want to blend in with the orchestra.”

  “What if we choose one of these stunning two-tone fabrics?” Tilly chimed in. “This one is perfect. It’s black with a shimmering royal blue undertone.”

  “And it would look great under stage lights,” added AnnaMaria.

  “I could make the skirt really full, with a bit of a train in back. And the sleeves could be elbow length, but not long enough to get in the way, and extra puffy. And I could sew some sequins and rhinestones on it.” Tilly was becoming excited.

  “But not too many,” warned Eroica. “Remember, it’s a performance dress, not a costume.”

  “It’s all the same thing. And it will look great. Now, on to your graduation dress.”

  “If my recital dress is going to look like a costume, can my other dress please be a simple one?”

  “I think that’s fair enough,” said AnnaMaria.

  “I want it to be pink, and I want it to have lace.”

  Tilly and AnnaMaria both laughed.

  “So you do know what you want,” cried Tilly. “That’s great. I thought you just knew what you didn’t want. Come over here and look at these. This is great material. It gathers and hangs so nicely. And pink is such a good color for you. It makes the color come out in your cheeks, and gives your freckles a young, healthy look.”

  “Oh Tilly, stop it,” cried an embarrassed Eroica. “Let’s just buy the stuff and get out of here.”

  Tilly laughed all the more. “You know, when I was young, my mother bought all of our clothes at the thrift store. I got so tired of being unfashionable that I taught myself how to sew. I even made my own prom dress. I thought it was the most wonderful dress in all the world. Of course I went with Jem, so everything was perfect.

  “Now when I look at pictures of that prom dress I get such a good laugh. Even in the picture I can see such glaring flaws in that dress. The hem was so uneven that my slip showed on one side. The sleeves looked like they were two different sizes. They probably were. I probably cut them out wrong. And the waist was too high, which made me look plumper than I actually was.

  “It’s a good thing that Jem was gone for two years on a mission. He came back and married me anyway. His memory of that dress must have faded. Although men generally don’t notice details like that. Anyway, Eroica, I’m a much better seamstress now, and I promise that I won’t do that to you.”

  “Tilly, I trust you. I’ve seen your handiwork, and I am very impressed. You are amazing.”

  Tilly sighed. “I used to dream of sewing outfits for my girls. It wasn’t easy to teach myself how to sew. I ruined quite a few things, and picked out a lot of seams before I really knew what I was doing. And then I got married and had all boys. Isn’t that just the way things go?

  “Anyway, I just finished sewing a whole bunch of Sunday shirts for them. That was necessary, but sewing these dresses is going to be fun.”

  “I can’t imagine that sitting down at a sewing machine could be fun,” Eroica sighed.

  “It just depends on what you like. I can’t see myself sitting down at a piano. That would be funny. Although my father did play the guitar occasionally. I certainly didn’t turn out to be very musical, though. I’m one of those people that can appreciate good music. I sure love to hear you girls play the piano. I could listen all day long.”

  “Maybe this summer you can help Eroica learn to sew. Like you did for me. I really appreciated it, and now I can at least mend my boy’s clothes.”

  “Oh, would you? I would love to learn.”

  “You bet. We had a good time together, didn’t we, AnnaMaria?”

  The girls chattered on until they found themselves at home again. Eroica realized that she was one step closer to her senior recital. She didn’t know how she was going to get through it, even if her dress was a “stunning two-tone.”

  Eroica had learned about so many different instruments in the last few months, that it was all starting to mix together in her mind. She had finished violin and viola in her instrument appreciation class, and next was the cello. This meant that Mark Wallace would be coming into the class.

  Eroica was assigned a cello from the school’s instrument shop, and she headed towards the classroom with it. She felt foolish and conspicuous lugging around such a large instrument. She wondered why anyone would choose to learn anything other than the piano. It didn’t have to be carried around.

  With these thoughts, Eroica went into the classroom and proceeded to get the cello out of its case. She watched as the other students did the same. Most of them were freshmen, with a few sophomores mixed in. Eroica was obviously the oldest one there, which made her feel all the more foolish.

  “Good morning,” Mark Wallace greeted the class as he walked through the door. “I can see that everyone is ready to learn to play the world’s greatest instrument.” He knew how to put the class members at ease.

  This might have worked for Eroica, if she could have figured out how to hold onto the instrument. It kept wobbling around and hitting her in the head, causing the pegs to get knocked loose. Mark was every five minutes retuning her cello. At one point the whole thing went crashing to the floor because she hadn’t tightened the endpin well enough.

  “We’re going to have to get an iron cello for you, Eroica,” Mark tried to make light of the situation as he picked up her cello, checked it all over, and once again tuned it.

  That first ugly day of cello appreciation class did not make Eroica appreciate the instrument. She wished that she never had to look at it again.

  The clock ticked on, and so did everyone’s lives. Harmony and Alexandra made it through their senior recitals. Alexandra became engaged. Eroica felt more confident teaching Relief Society lessons. Practicing for her senior recital was coming along very well. And spring was on its way. The days were getting longer and warmer, and they held the promise of new hopes and plans. Eroica couldn’t help but feel that something exciting was going to happen to her. She longed for it, whatever it was.

  With spring came a rush of performances for the chamber group. Everyone wanted chamber music to welcome the season, so Eroica found herself caught up in a busy performance schedule. She was interested to see how Mark and Allisun would interact with each other, since they would all be spending some long hours together.

  The chance came on a sunny day at the beginning of April. They were going to play at an art gallery in Park City. Eroica had never been to Park City before, so she was excited to go. Plus, she was going to be skipping several classes, music appreciation included. She was going to thoroughly enjoy this break.

  When they pulled into the parking lot of the art gallery, Eroica was thoroughly carsick. Winding canyons always did that to her. So far, she was not enjoying this. There was plenty of time to set up and Eroica didn’t need to
help, so she slipped away and walked down Park City’s Main Street. Walking always made her feel better.

  Eroica had never liked shopping. It was such a tedious thing to do. But the objects in the shop windows looked interesting. She didn’t last long, though. After ten minutes of looking at trinkets and wall hangings and clothes that she would never buy, she decided that she was better off back at the art gallery. The paintings must prove to be more interesting than the shop windows.

  As Eroica went from painting to painting, she was surprised with how much she liked them. Most of the paintings had a western theme: Indians, mountains and sunsets, pioneer hardships. Living in Utah had helped her to appreciate what had been done to settle the west.

  There was one painting that Eroica couldn’t leave. It was of a young pioneer woman, holding an infant and standing next to a handcart that was stuck in mud. A rocking chair had been taken out of the cart to be left on the trail. The painting was entitled Choices. Eroica sat down on a bench in front of it and thought about that young mother. What was she feeling? She was probably grateful to be leaving just the rocker, while so many others left loved ones in the ground. Yet she must have struggled to see it being left behind.

  Eroica wondered what kind of pioneer she would have been if she were that mother. She wanted so much to prove to herself and to her Heavenly Father that she would be true to her testimony. No matter what. Her trials and experiences seemed boring compared to the pioneers.

  “Eroica, where have you been?” It was Allisun.

  Eroica didn’t know how long she had been lost in thought. She had forgotten why she was there. She jumped up, muttered an apology, and grabbed her music.

  “It’s okay,” Allisun slowed her down. “Mark is going to start with some trios. He sent me to find you and told me to look someplace unusual. He said that you don’t like crowds.”

  She laughed and added, “Sometimes he thinks he knows everything. The way he talks, its sounds as if he has known you forever. But I know that’s not true. I think I know you better than he does. So what painting were you looking at?”

  “The one with the handcart,” Eroica absent-mindedly answered. She was wondering what reason Mark and Allisun had to be discussing her.

  “I would have made a horrible pioneer,” Allisun broke in on her thoughts again. “Especially in the wintertime. I hate being cold. I would have flopped down in the snow and told them to press on without me.”

  “Maybe if the saints had settled somewhere like Florida, you might have been a great pioneer,” Eroica encouraged.

  “Except that Florida has tree lizards and alligators. I could never live in a place where lizards dropped on my head and alligators snapped at my toes.”

  “That is definitely something to think about,” Eroica laughed. “I guess we’d better go back now before Brother Wallace sends the local search and rescue team after us.”

 

  After performing with the chamber group for about an hour, Eroica was no longer needed. The rest of the music that they played was only for strings. Eroica wandered over to the buffet table and dove into the shrimp tray. She loved seafood. And because she was “hired help,” all the art dealers ignored her. They knew she wasn’t going to buy anything. So she loaded up her plate with fresh shrimp and headed for a quiet corner.

  “You’re the pianist in the chamber ensemble. I’ve been listening to you, and you’re really quite good.”

  Eroica froze with a piece of seafood halfway to her mouth. She quickly put down her plate and turned to the stranger. He was a distinguished-looking businessman who was very well-dressed. His dark hair was slicked back and arranged perfectly. He was also wearing gold jewelry everywhere that he felt he could—a watch, gold rings, and a heavy gold necklace.

  “My name is Dominic DeLaney.” He handed her a business card that had on it the name of an art gallery in New Mexico. “Would you care for a glass of champagne?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t drink.” Eroica replied.

  “You’re probably right. It’s not such a great habit.” He downed his glass and reached for another one from a tray that a server was carrying. “Are you a professional musician?”

  “I have been paid for my musical abilities, if that’s what you mean. Right now I’m finishing school at the music college in Provo. I’m just a student.” Eroica had no idea where this line of questioning was going.

  “So you don’t have an agent yet?” It was more of a statement than a question. Eroica returned it with a blank look.

  “You need an agent,” he continued, “And you’re just too good of an opportunity to let get by. What is your name, by the way?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s Eroica Hamilton.”

  “Will you spell that for me?” He opened a schedule book and pulled out a pen.

  “Excuse me, Mr. DeLaney, but I’m not looking for an agent. I’ve never even thought about it.”

  “You should. When do you graduate?”

  “Next month.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And you say you’ve never thought about an agent? Are you going on to graduate school?”

  “I don’t know. I had never planned on it. Maybe I will. I don’t know,” she repeated.

  “Do you have any types of plans for the future?”

  Eroica didn’t answer him so once again he said, “You need an agent. Here’s my personal phone number.”

  He took the card out of her hand and wrote on the back of it. “You think about it and give me a call, anytime. Day or night.”

  “But,” Eroica finally managed, “I don’t know anything about you.”

  “Oh, if that’s all that’s bothering you,” he reassured her, “Then that’s easy to fix. Most of my clients are artists—oil painters and bronze sculptors. But I have been representing a select class of musicians for a long time. Give me your email address and I’ll send you some information and a sample contract.”

  Eroica hesitated, but knowing she had to do something with her future, finally gave it to him.

  “Well, I’d better get back in there,” he pointed to the main gallery, “or they’re going to drink all the good stuff without me.”

  Dominic DeLaney sauntered off, leaving Eroica with much to ponder. She was graduating in a month, and she didn’t know what she was going to do with herself. Of course she planned to continue teaching. And with occasional accompanying jobs, and performing for weddings, she could probably make a good living. After all, she would only have herself to take care of. But it sounded so lonely.

  Eroica had thought of going on to graduate school, but she was so tired of being a student. She wanted to get out of the classroom and have an adventure. Nothing exciting ever happened to her. She longed to get away, to see new things, maybe even to have her heart broken, if it meant that she would have the experience of falling in love. Eroica wanted desperately to feel as if she were living, not just existing.

  She stood up and stared down at her untouched food. She picked it up, threw it in the nearest garbage can, and headed for the door marked exit. She would create her own adventure if she had to.

  Outside she didn’t even know where to go, so she picked a road and started walking. At the end of the road, elementary school children were being let out. Some were walking home, some were playing on the playground one more time before leaving. Eroica walked to the playground and was immediately bombarded with children begging her to push them on the swings. It felt so good to act like a child again. The wind was blowing, taking all of her cares away. But when the last child got the last push and turned for home, Eroica headed back to the art gallery, reality full in her thoughts.

  She got back just in time. Everyone was packing up instruments, stands, and music. Mark was at the piano trying to put Eroica’s music back together. It didn’t matter that she had only performed with the chamber group for a little while. She still managed to make a m
ess of her music.

  “I’ll do that.” Eroica rushed to the piano and took the pages from Mark. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

  “You certainly have a way of disappearing. Where have you been?”

  It was easy for Eroica to ignore his questions since she was halfway under the grand piano, gathering up sheets of music.

  “Your hair looks as if you have been through a wind storm. Where did you go?” Mark asked again from under the piano. He took her so by surprise that she jumped and whacked her head on the piano.

  “You, Brother Wallace, certainly have a way of sneaking up on me,” she cried, rubbing her head. “Stop doing that!”

  Mark opened his mouth to protest, but instead just stared at her. She stared back at him, confused with what she had said, and confused with what was in his eyes.

  “Mark,” Allisun sang from somewhere above them, “We need the key to your van so we can start loading things into it. What are you doing under there, anyway?”

  “Okay,” Mark quietly answered.

  Eroica wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Allisun. But the moment was gone, and so was Mark. She didn’t mean to sound angry. And she didn’t mind that he always seemed to be around. In fact, she admitted to herself, she liked it. He showed up at unusual times, and in unusual places, and it always brightened her day. She looked forward to seeing him, and now she realized that she even watched for him. He was someone that she could rely on, and she had pushed him away.

  Eroica thought that she saw hurt in his eyes, but how could she hurt him? After all, he was going to marry Allisun. But nothing had ever been said by anyone else. Had she made up that relationship? Who was Mark referring to when he talked about his future? Regardless of all this, Eroica knew that she had behaved unkindly, and Mark had done nothing to deserve it.

  Still brooding, Eroica headed for the van. She almost didn’t hear Dominic DeLaney calling after her until he was right next to her.

  “Eroica, promise me one thing,” he said, putting his arm around her in a confidential manner. “If you do decide to choose an agent, contact me first. After all, I’m the one that put the thought into your head.”

  “Okay,” she promised. He patted her on the cheek, smiled, and left.

  Eroica had too much to think about. She got into the van and stared out the window, not noticing what anyone else was doing. As they drove down the road, Eroica was accosted by the violist, a cynical freshman.

  “So what was that all about?” he demanded of her.

  “Excuse me?” Eroica was jarred out of her thoughts.

  “Who was that man that you were talking to just before we left?”

  “Oh, that. His name is Dominic DeLaney. He wants to be my agent.”

  “Oh,” he sneered, “Is that what they are calling it these days? He looked wealthy. I bet that gray at his temples came from a bottle. He probably put it there to attract younger women. Some girls go for older men. Especially if they have money.”

  Eroica stared back at him in complete shock. She had no idea that her short conversation with Mr. DeLaney would be seen in such a way. Eroica always tried to avoid the appearance of wrongdoing. She had to be careful since she accompanied so many faculty members. She didn’t even know how to respond to such a backhanded accusation.

  “Eroica has done nothing wrong,” Mark shot back at him. “You ought to shut your mouth and mind your own business.”

  This managed to silence him. It also kept everyone else quiet. No one had ever heard Mark Wallace speak in such a way before. Eroica was glad that she didn’t have to keep up any conversations. She didn’t feel equal to it. This day that was supposed to be fun turned out to be anything but that.