Adeena bowed her head. “I know you do. But, it’s not you… it’s me.”
“What do you mean?” His voice becoming urgent.
“I don’t understand it myself. Maybe, I’m not ready or maybe I never will be.” Their eyes locked together. “To be married, to anyone.”
Adeena looked down at the ring on her finger. She touched it, staring at the sparkling gem that graced her hand. She began to remove it from her finger.
Philippe placed his hand over hers. “No,” he said quietly. “That is yours.”
She closed her eyes. Her face seemed heavy and sad. Philippe had played out the scene of proposing to Adeena in his head so many times. Never had he imagined this.
“It’s not right for me to keep it, to do this to you, Philippe.” She removed the ring from her finger, and pain shot through him as if someone had poked an open wound.
“Are you afraid? Is that it?”
“Maybe,” she replied. “Maybe I am.”
“Do you love me?”
Adeena closed her eyes, another tear rolled down her cheek. Every second of silence was another moment of molten pain searing his chest. Finally, without opening her eyes, she spoke. “Of course I do.”
Should he embrace her? His beloved, so close, yet so far away. Should he just leave, and take his wounded pride with him?
Maybe this is a test. If it’s is really meant to be, if she is the one, then this was just an obstacle to conquer. Someday, when they were looking back on years of marriage, this little drama would be something they laughed at. Just keep it in logical perspective he told himself.
Logic and love though, don’t make good companions.
“Fuck.” he finally said. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
“What?” Adeena said, looking a little startled at his sudden change of tone.
“I thought that we could build a life together. I convinced myself that you and I wanted the same things. I fooled myself into believing that I was really it. The one for you….”
He stopped, his head swirling. The pain, the anger, the bitterness – all were getting the upper hand. He didn’t want to let it all out, afraid of these feelings and how he could screw up completely.
“Philippe, you’re a good man. You’re not stupid. I’m not sure I know how to do it, to love someone. Completely. To commit to anyone…”
He nodded. “I have to leave.”
ALONE IN HER living room, she sat staring at the ring. It represented so much, and every sparkling reflection seemed to be trying to convince her that she made a mistake.
Was she that afraid of all that it meant? To be married, to have a family, to be someone’s ‘wife’?
Or was it that unfulfilled feeling that Adeena could not shake? A sense that she wasn’t complete, that she was still searching for fulfillment as a musician? Or maybe as a composer? It was desire for creation that haunted her, frustrated her and demanded she find a way to bring it to life, no matter what the sacrifice.
“I’m so fucking stupid.” Those were his words, but they applied more to her, than to poor suffering Philippe. Did she love him? What does that kind of love feel like? Maybe the last few years, struggling to find her musical career while he took care of her, always being patient, waiting for her to really embrace their relationship, had all combined for her to take him for granted.
How she could she say no to someone who loved her and probably always would?
She looked over at the case holding the Duncan Cello.
Tears welled up again, and without knowing why, she got up, unpacked the instrument from it’s case. She lifted it up and in a kind of stupor felt its oddly familiar touch.
She sat and drew the old cello between her legs. The notes of the lost score played in her mind, as she reached for her bow. The entire piece lived within her, as it had since she first transcribed the opening notes so long ago. She was re-discovering what had always been there.
Her bow touched the strings. She began to play the score once again. The same feeling she had experienced in the conductor’s studio overcame her within a few bars. A bright light lifted her once more as the clouds swallowed her and she felt the sweeping power of the music carry her consciousness away. The piano and violin filled in the sound and another stringed instrument added counterpoint and depth.
Was she dreaming again?
Adeena’s eyes flashed open to the same glimmering world of silk gowns and lively merry-making by the roaring fires. She was once again playing with the music ensemble in the great room with its soaring stone walls. Stern portraits looked down once more at the group of musicians and their enraptured audience.
She saw the man, George, from her previous ‘dream’, standing beside another man dressed in a red military uniform. Both focused their gaze on her, each with a deadly serious look. Neither smiled.
There was a different group of people here than from her previous performance. Almost everyone watching her now was male – soldiers or officers, dressed in the same colourful red as the man beside George.
Adeena continued playing, and once again set aside the Duncan cello to sing. The words flowed effortlessly, ending in her final verse:
Now as you raise the flame of hope,
Sailing into the darkest sea,
The black night is all around,
You light the way for me.
When will you turn night to day?
So hope may greet the dawn?
Forever, I will wait for you,
Even after I’m gone.
When she was finished, the men were more boisterous than the previous group and their applause even more thunderous. She felt humbled, still confused by what was happening. She was surprised that her voice carried so well in this medieval setting. It was not just the torches and hearth that created the kind of warmth she had never experienced before. While she had no way of making sense of what was happening, and was as confused as before, this was something completely new – an audience connecting with her music.
George began to approach her, but another man held him back. They looked at each other sternly for a moment, as she took a bow in recognition of the continuing applause.
“My sister, Lady Katherine Carnegie,” the man said in a commanding tone, directed towards the cheering soldiers. “She honours my return to the United Kingdom of Scotland and England, mighty Great Britain, ruled by our gracious King, George the Second.”
Adeena stared at him tentatively. Another brother of Lady Katherine?
She walked toward him now as the men continued to cheer, many calling to her. She smiled and accepted their praises modestly. Her music had touched them, deeply it seemed.
Adeena was beginning to believe, impossibly, that this was not a dream. She tried to wake up, shaking her head, pinching her hand forcefully, trying to return to her apartment, to her familiar Ottawa surroundings. Nothing worked. She couldn’t wake herself up.
For the moment, she was here - performing at an ancient concert, somewhere in the United Kingdom, probably Scotland, it seemed. The only truly familiar thing was the Duncan Cello. It was her lone connection to the world of Adeena Stuart. That and the lost score. The song connected her to this world and to an emotional centre that may have always lived within her.
Adeena bowed one more time, her cheeks glowing from the outpouring directed towards her. She had reached this audience in a way she had longed to from the very first time she had performed.
A strong grip on her arm, intended to get her attention and cause discomfort, pulled her from her thoughts. It was followed by an angry whisper, the speaker inches from her ear. “Under whose authority do you play that whoorish instrument in this society?”
“What?” she responded, forcefully prying the hand from her arm.
George stepped forward, as the soldiers continued to show their approval, chanting for more.
“Could we step outside please?” he said, taking Adeena’s hand and whisking her away.
The chanting
and applauding continued even as George stepped quickly, hurrying through a great stone vestibule. Adeena marvelled at the walls. A massive chandelier, with dozens of burning candles illuminated the entrance to this place.
It’s a castle she thought, as George pulled her like he might a troublesome child, and the three siblings stepped out into the crisp evening air. George marched straight ahead a few feet before he stopped and finally let go of her hand. He turned to his brother.
“James! Leave Katharine alone!” he exclaimed to the other man who stood defiantly before him.
“It is ‘Sir James’,” the man seethed with indignation. “You’ll do well to remember that I am the sitting Member of Parliament for Kincardinshire!”
George glared at him angrily. “As if you’d ever let me forget, brother!”
“I’m also a Captain in his Majesty’s service,” the older brother snorted, glaring at George and Adeena. “Are you trying to deliberately undermine my authority with the officers from the Royal Twenty-first Foot? And tell me, the two of you, what in the name of our Lord God, is the meaning of this childish, seditious, overbearing music?”
“Childish? Overbearing?” Adeena responded. “What’s your problem, bud?”
George and the Captain both looked at her, with confusion.
“It is me who arranged for Katharine to play for you, Captain,” George responded unable to say the title without a mocking inflection. “And your men call for her still. Listen”
Adeena could hear the chants from inside the castle. She looked around at the outside of this massive structure, lit by a long series of torches. It was like castles she’d visited on her summer trips to England and Scotland as a teen. She listened to the chants coming from the open doors.
“LADY KATHARINE!”
It seemed to annoy the Captain who now turned to George.
“And was it you, dear brother, who invited the Jacobite traitor James Drummond to Kinnaird?” he sneered, “seeking volunteers to follow the Young Pretender? I’ve received reports the coward was here earlier, indeed this very eve!”
George made no effort to reply. The brothers faced off, two bulls sizing each other up, searching for any weakness before charging. Adeena turned over the name in her head – James Drummond, the man from her previous dream?
Dream?
It was real, so sensory, so rich with detail and feeling. She felt the cool evening air and shivered, pulling her arms together. She breathed deeply, the savoury aroma of roasted meat filling her senses. She touched her soft hair, long and full, flowing over her shoulders.
This is not a dream. But yet, it can’t be real either.
“He honours his father and our uncle, the Earl Carnegie, who made a pact on this very spot to unite our clans forever against the Union,” George finally retorted. “They both died trying to preserve the kingdom of Scotland – something you seem to both forget and to detest!”
The Captain seemed to weigh his response. Adeena sensed his outrage at George’s comments, but he said nothing, and instead turned towards her.
“As your oldest brother, the rightful heir to the estate of Kinnaird, a loyal member of his Majesty’s army and the Member of Parliament for Kincardinshire, I hereby forbid you sister, from ever performing that seditious music again,” he announced stiffly to Adeena. “Give me the script you played from, lest it become known beyond the shire.”
“You can’t forbid me from doing anything, especially not playing that music, which I wrote and will perform wherever, and whenever I please!”
The Captain stared in shock.
“You pernicious wench!” he fumed. “I will not allow you to bring shame on our family. I will take that music and I warn you thus; never perform it again, lest you desire to discover the full bounty of my wrath. As for that that lewd instrument, it is intended for a man, not a lady of moral repute. You shan’t play it ever again.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” Adeena shot back. “Who do you think you are jerk-off? King Kong?”
George and his brother seemed dumbstruck. They stood staring, unable to mount any suitable response to this strange outburst. There was complete silence for a few seconds, save for the background chanting that continued from inside the walls of the castle.
“I am the head of this family with charge to command as I please,” the Captain responded. “With my authority as a member of his Majesty’s government, and an officer in his infantry, I could have you arrested. Heed my warning sister, or presently you shall discover the consequences of your disloyalty.’
Adeena glared at him. Her anger tempered only by the ongoing backdrop of chants and applause that continued from the depths of the castle before her.
“I don’t think your men share your opinion,” she said pointing to the open door. “They seem to like my ‘childish, overbearing’ music.”
The Captain stared at her, pursing his lip and listening to the pleas of his men. One of them appeared at the door, and he waved the officer closer.
“Escort my sister, Lady Katharine, back to the hall and instruct her on the jig we dance to,” he commanded to the man. Adeena and George began to walk away, toward the open door. The Captain held the officer back with his arm, and spoke to him under his breath.
“And bring her music score to me.”
9
THE MORNING SUN greeted the produce vendors in the ByWard Market with the promise of a warm September morning. Beneath a powder-blue sky they prepared for another hectic day of commerce. The sweet aroma of freshly-baked bread and hot croissants from the French bakery filled the air. A driver unloaded overflowing baskets of the Ottawa valley’s autumn bounty - butternut squash, beets, pumpkins, and brussels sprouts.
A block away, Adeena winced at the first rays of sunlight streaming into her bedroom. She peered dimly at the light through flaking mascara as she slowly awakened.
‘Thank God it’s Saturday,’ she thought, closing her eyes, only to immediately register excruciating pain in her head. The pounding pressure behind both eyes stretched from her temples and ran deep into her skull. She massaged her forehead seeking relief as a familiar line from a Bruce Springsteen song surfaced through the pain. A freight train running through the middle of my head.
“Jesus!” Adeena cried. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, images of her dream flashing through her mind. Something felt strange on her left hand. She reached over and touched the diamond ring on her finger.
She raised her hand to take a look and then winced, remembering the pain she saw seared across Philippe’s face last night. She had hurt him with her ambivalence.
Ambivalence? Try cruel bitch. Why couldn’t she say yes to a man who adored her? Yes to the man who promised to love her always, a guy that wanted to build a life together?
But no, she couldn’t give him an answer. He had left, angry and hurt, with the ring still on her ungrateful finger.
She closed her eyes. But even that set her forehead throbbing. Adeena finally dragged herself from bed, her head pounding like a jackhammer on steel. She swallowed two extra-strength ibuprofen tablets with water, closing her eyes as they slid down her throat.
After the pain eased a bit, her mind wandered to the dream she experienced after Philippe left. It didn't make sense and she couldn't explain it, but she had again gone to another place, in another time and once again, become another woman - Katharine Carnegie.
She opened her eyes and looked around the apartment, back at her life as Adeena Stuart. Her mind felt like it wanted to run in a dozen different painful directions.
God. She needed coffee…
By the time she had nursed down a large mug of a strong, dark roast, the freight train in her head had run its course, leaving only a dull ache behind.
She noticed the Duncan Cello carefully standing in the corner.
That is Katharine's cello, she thought. Adeena relived the performance - remembering the words she’d sung so effortlessly, so powerfully. She recalled the textures
of the sound filling the ancient hall and the faces of the men and women who watched her perform.
How was it possible? Was it really her? Her words, her voice?
She looked once more at the cello and suddenly thought of Tara. Adeena looked at the clock, and realized she better get it back to the gallery before Michael, the young security Casanova, finished his shift at nine this morning.
Adeena took another long sip of coffee, staring out the window, and thought more about how she would get the Duncan Cello back to the gallery. Good thing Michael was such a sweet kid. He was clearly taken with her, and if she just happened to fuel his imagination with her innocent flirtations, who was she really hurting?
She noticed her iPhone on the table and thought of her own grandmother. Of all the people on earth, perhaps only she would understand. But Margaret Rose was gone. She felt very alone and wished that her parents were here with her.
She picked up the phone and touched her Dad’s face on her favourites list. She hoped he would pick-up, even if he and Mom were so far away. She waited as the circuits connected across five time zones to Scotland.
“Hi, Pumpkin,” her Dad’s familiar voice finally greeted her.
She could almost feel his arms wrapping around her. “Hi Dad! How are you doing over there? I really miss you. Both of you.”
“We miss you too,” he responded. “It’s been a rough couple of days. I wish you were here.” He paused for a second, and then added, “Is everything okay, Adeena?”
She felt a flood of despair welling up inside her. She fought not to dissolve into tears. Every word that popped into her head seemed useless, incomplete. Her Dad must have sensed something, because he broke the long silence by changing the topic.
“We’ve been thinking about you. How did your audition go yesterday? Any news?” her father asked with a tone of parental optimism.
Adeena had almost forgotten about the audition. She closed her eyes for a second, hoping to exorcize the sadness that seemed to possess her over her grandmother’s passing. Her dad sounded so hopeful, so proud of her.
Song for a Lost Kingdom, Book I Page 9