And then the commission came for Giacomo to write the music commemorating the death of Hans Richter. She was bound and determined that this would be the first great piece credited to his name after the Ring of Fire.
Zenti came to her, and said that Giacomo was having trouble focusing on the music he was trying to write, because of the piano workshop next door. "Bring him here," she told him. "Fred is out of town for a week."
So Giacomo moved into her house that night. The kids were there, but Fred wasn't. And she didn't care.
The next two days were like heaven to Elizabeth, working with a talent of Giacomo's level. He was a man on fire, and she caught fire from him. Her passion for this work, this Lament for a Fallen Eagle, was the equal of his. As he described the arc and flow of it, she grasped it intuitively. And God, the music that he dictated to her!
At the end, Giacomo held a wonder, a joy, in his hands. And she had helped him create it.
March 1635
"Giacomo," she said, hands behind her back. Nothing more.
December 1633
The performance of the lament had been beautiful. Giacomo had wanted Elizabeth to sing the solo at first, but she had convinced him to ask Marla Linder instead. Elizabeth could have sung the solo, and sung it well. Part of her really wanted to do exactly that, but. Marla's voice was better than hers, and what mattered was giving Giacomo the best performance he could get. And at the performance, Marla had justified Elizabeth's belief in her.
Afterwards they were both on cloud nine, Giacomo because the performance had gone so well, and Elizabeth because his reputation was increasing.
They spent a lot of time together; singing, playing, laughing.
Some days she forgot to miss Fred.
March 1635
He looked up at her, and stood.
"Elizabeth."
January 1634
And then came the letter from Italy, telling Giacomo his father had died. Zenti came and got her. Fred was gone again, so Elizabeth made arrangements for the kids to sleep over at friends, and went with Zenti to the house the two Italians shared.
She had never seen a man in so much pain before. The lines on Giacomo's face looked like they had been graven deeply with chisels, and his eyes were so dark they looked like someone had put black holes in his eye-sockets. She gave him wine, and he choked on it and sprayed it across the room. Then he began to weep. She was so tempted to take him in her arms like one of her own children, and cradle his head against her breast, but she just sat and held his hand while the storm of tears took its course.
Elizabeth asked him about his father. He told her, story after story after story, all filled with love and affection for a man she'd never see.
That touched her, in an unexpected way. Giacomo had always been a gentle and caring man. Now she saw that he was, in his own way, a deeply loving man.
March 1635
"Kids, go finish your homework. I need to talk to Mr. Carissimi for a minute."
Spring 1634
Giacomo decided to write a Passion in honor of his father, one based on St. Matthew's Gospel. Elizabeth began to spend more and more time at their house, watching him write, taking musical dictation, singing parts with him when he would play new pieces of the passion for Zenti and his journeyman and apprentices.
He took such joy in writing the work, so much love for his father flowed from him, that at times Elizabeth felt like a fly trapped in honey. Other times she wondered if she were a moth, circling a candle flame, dazzled by the light but drawing closer and closer to the fire.
The passion was finished in March, and scheduled for performance over Easter weekend. Giacomo went into whirlwind rehearsal mode with instrumentalists and the choir of St. Mary's Church. Elizabeth watched, waiting for Giacomo's greatness to be publicly displayed again, hungering for the display of his talent in the service of love.
March 1635
She got unhappy looks from Daniel and Leah, but they knew not to make a fuss in front of others, and trailed off into the back of the house.
April 1634
The performance of the passion went extremely well. Afterward, elated, she let the children run free while she waited for a chance to speak to Giacomo without crowds of people around him. When the opportunity came, she praised him, and they laughed, and she called him her pet nickname for him, Jude. Whenever she saw him, "Hey, Jude" came to mind.
Then something changed. She didn't understand what, or how, or why, but something changed. Giacomo's gaze sharpened somehow, and locked on hers, seeming to flow into her soul. He raised a hand, and brushed her cheek with one finger; just barely touching her.
It wasn't the first time Giacomo had touched Elizabeth. Many times they had touched hands during piano lessons, or marathon music writing sessions. Often he had patted her shoulder. Or they would brush against each other walking down hallways or sidewalks. But those had all been contacts between fellow workers, fellow musicians, fellow seekers after the holy grail of music.
This was different. Now Giacomo saw Elizabeth as a woman, and had given her the lightest of caresses. No mistaking it for a simple touch; it was a caress.
At that moment, Elizabeth leaned toward him, wanting to feel the touch of his hand again, always. She would have gone with Giacomo anywhere.
"Mommy!"
The genuine alarm in Leah's voice acted like a plunge of ice water. Elizabeth whirled to rescue her daughter from the chance of a serious fall from the organ loft. The moment that Leah was safe, her mind inexorably showed her what would happen if she turned to Giacomo.
In that moment of clarity-in that very precise instant of time-Elizabeth saw the hurt she would cause Fred, and her children, and her friends and family if she went with Giacomo. And even the hurt she would cause him if she did so.
It was the hardest thing Elizabeth had ever done to reject Giacomo then.
But she gathered her children's hands in hers and left him standing in the nave of St. Mary's Church. Alone.
March 1635
"So why are you here?" Elizabeth asked after a long moment of silence.
Late May 1634
Elizabeth avoided Giacomo after that. She knew that people noticed, but no one seemed to be saying anything about it, so she didn't either.
Then she heard the news. It took her a day or so to muster the courage to see Giacomo again, but on Friday afternoon, she went to his classroom after the school day was over. He was packing his document case. He stood and they looked at each other.
"So, when were you going to tell me?" Elizabeth asked.
Giacomo shrugged. "Tomorrow, I thought."
She walked over and sat down in one of the student desks.
"Master of the Royal Academy of Music, huh? That sounds like a great gig." She tried to keep her voice light.
"I think it will be," he responded.
There was another period of long silence.
"So when will you leave?" she finally said
"Around June first." Giacomo looked at his hands. "I have to make some arrangements, and pack up what I will take and give away what I won't."
More silence.
Finally, she stood up and said, "Good luck."
"Thanks."
Elizabeth stepped over and held out her hand, but before Giacomo could reach to take it, she suddenly threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely.
After a moment, Elizabeth broke the embrace and pushed back. She looked down at the floor, then looked up with a wry grin on her face.
"It would never work between us while I am married, and I won't leave Fred."
She struggled to keep her voice calm.
"You are Euterpe," Giacomo said after a moment. "You are my muse. I am my best because of you."
Elizabeth shrugged.
"Thank you for that compliment," she replied. "But I think you will have a new muse now. I think Princess Kristina will be your muse from now on, one way or another."
Giacomo shook his head.
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Elizabeth stepped closer, rested a hand on his cheek, and whispered as the tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes, "God go with you, Jude. Be well, be happy, be magnificent. And think about me from time to time, if you can stand it."
She left the room then, expecting to never see him again.
March 1635
Giacomo gave a very Latin shrug. "I needed to come confer with Master Wendell and Master Atwood about some of the Grantville Music Trust matters, and I wanted to read through the church music libraries again and see what I can use." Another moment of silence, then, "And I miss the children. " He swallowed.". and I miss you."
To see him again, to hear him say that, tore at Elizabeth's heart. Oh, how she wanted to embrace him. But she couldn't. He started to shift position, and she held up a hand. He froze.
"Nothing has changed, Giacomo. The answer to your question is still 'No.' Understand?"
Carissimi looked down, and nodded.
Despite the pain, it was still good to see him. He still looked like Doug Drake, and he was still the same gentle man he had always been.
Elizabeth gave a small smile, and said, "The kids miss you, too. You're welcome to stay for dinner." He looked up in surprise. She held her hand up again. "But that's all, and you leave before they go to bed."
He nodded again, this time with a little lighter expression.
"Come on, then. You know where the piano is."
Giacomo headed for the music room. Elizabeth returned to the kitchen to finish the carrots. She found herself humming along with the music that poured from the piano. She couldn't even be mad at herself for her spirits being lighter than they had been in months.
Dinner was simple; a piece of smoked ham, carrots and some green beans that someone had canned and given her last year. But the meal was almost festive, as Daniel and Leah competed for Giacomo's attention. Elizabeth found herself smiling again as she watched them. They really did like the Italian master, and he obviously liked them as well.
Once the kids were through pushing green beans around on their plates, she sent them back to the music room to finish their homework. Giacomo drifted along behind them, and the piano began singing again while she cleared away the dishes to the kitchen.
Just as the last of the dishes were placed on the counter, the doorbell rang again. Wondering who it could be at this hour of the night, Elizabeth headed for the door. Her heart sank when it opened to reveal Preston Richards and Harley Thomas framed in the doorway, both in uniform.
"Press? Harley?"
"Can we come in?"
A chill settled in her soul.
"Sure. We're back in the music room."
They followed her. Daniel and Leah, both sprawled on the floor, looked up from doing their homework. Giacomo was seated at the piano, but he stilled his hands as soon as he saw who was with her.
"You know Signor Carissimi. He. "
". wrote the song about Hans Richter's death." Press reached out his hand. "I haven't had the pleasure, before. Pleased to meet you. Um. " He looked at the children.
"Whatever it is," Elizabeth said through the gathering cold shroud, "they'll need to know. Bad or the worst?"
"The worst," Press admitted. "They're bringing him back."
She sat down on the end of the piano bench. "What goes around, comes around, I guess." She clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Last week. Last week I was actually feeling-sort of good, maybe even a little bit smug-that Fred was over there in Ohrdruf. Safely away from what happened at the hospital and the synagogue. As safe as a man could ever be, in his line of work."
She gestured vaguely with her hand. "I'll need to call Jenny Maddox at the funeral home, I guess. To be expecting him. I don't know who else, really, since Reverend Wiley is dead."
Elizabeth felt Carissimi stand up behind her. "Orval McIntire," he said. "The man who preached the state funeral. Admirable eulogies-the ones he delivered for the mayor and your minister. Stay with Daniel and Leah. I will call them both. That much of the burden, Elizabeth, I can take from your shoulders."
Both kids looked scared, and Leah was crying. Elizabeth could hear Giacomo making the first phone call. She opened her arms, and the kids came to her, huddling together within the circle of her embrace. She felt the tears starting in her own eyes as she looked at the two men who had brought the bad news, and who obviously wished they hadn't had to.
"What happened?"
Press shrugged. "We haven't received a full report yet, but what we know at this point is he fell off a roof and broke his neck."
"What was he doing up on a roof?" Elizabeth demanded.
Press shrugged again. "From what we can tell, he was doing some kind of protective over-watch on people that were being persecuted by some of the citizens of Ohrdruf. He seemed to have slipped and lost his grip, and. " Press stopped for a moment. There really wasn't anything else he could add to that. Elizabeth's stomach churned as she thought of that fall. "I'll let you know as soon as we know more," Press finally finished.
"Please." She bent her head over her children, all she had left of Fred, and let her tears mingle with theirs.
The doorbell rang again, and Harley answered it. That was the beginning of neighbors, friends, and family coming to see if they could help.
The next days passed in a blur. It took longer to schedule the funeral than normal, because they had to wait for Fred's body to arrive from Ohrdruf. There was a constant flow of family and friends. She and the kids were never left alone. In her lucid moments, she understood that and was thankful for it. And the food kept coming. Everyone brought something: ham, roast beef, potatoes, vegetables, breads; even desserts, although the cost of sugar these days made those really extravagant.
The nights, however, were very dark, and very lonely. More than one night found her crying herself to sleep, muffling the sobs with her pillows. And more than one night found her facing her guilt in the darkest hours before dawn-guilt that she had not loved Fred like she should; guilt that she had chased another man, that she had been unfaithful. Yet in the cold light of dawn, she always knew that whatever her thoughts, when it came to the test she had been faithful to her vows. More so than Fred had been, she suspected.
The one constant theme in those days-the one thing that Elizabeth always remembered afterward besides the feeling of being possessed by ice-was that Carissimi was always near. Not hovering; not butting into meetings with the family or the consultations with the funeral home and the minister; not intruding or obtruding in any way. But always near.
Finally the day of the funeral arrived. The funeral home Cadillac arrived to take Elizabeth and the children to the church for the memorial service.
The service went as well anyone could desire for that kind of thing. It was a closed casket service. Jenny Maddox had suggested it, given the state of Fred's corpse on arrival at the funeral home in Grantville.
The music was beautiful. Orval McIntire did an excellent eulogy, and his recitation of the promises of eternal life and the resurrection were of some comfort. But the hole in Elizabeth's life was still there when he was done.
Daniel and Leah, one on each side of her, were her main concern at that moment; the one silent and still, the other gripping her mother's hand like an iron clamp and sniffling occasionally. At the end, they walked with her to the Cadillac for the ride to the cemetery.
The old-fashioned graveside service was brief. Orval said the final words with grace, and they lowered the casket into the ground. Elizabeth stood and picked up a handful of dirt from the mound at the side, and poured it into the hole.
"Goodbye, Fred," she said, tears trickling down her cheeks, almost like liquid ice.
Afterward, Elizabeth stood to one side with the kids in the cold wind, and accepted the final condolences of those who had come to the graveside service. As the last of them gave her a hug and turned away, she became aware of one last figure, standing well behind the canopy that had shelter
ed the attendees.
"Jenny," she said. Jenny Maddox stepped over from where she had been waiting by the grave. "Would you take the kids to the car, please? They're getting cold, and I need to talk to someone."
"Sure," Jenny said.
They almost had to peel Leah's fingers from Elizabeth's hand, but she finally let go upon the iron-clad promise that her mom wouldn't take very long. As Jenny led them to the waiting limousine, Elizabeth walked over to face Giacomo.
He spoke first, after an obvious hesitation. "I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jordan."
"Thank you, Mr. Carissimi," she replied in like kind.
"If there is anything I can do to help, please, let me know."
"Thank you for everything you have done."
They looked at each other in the cold, in the silence.
"The answer is still 'No,' you know," she finally said.
He looked offended. "I would never have asked you at a time like this."
"I know." And she did. But she had still needed to make it clear.
He looked around, then looked back at her with a twist to his lips. "There are others, however, who will think you fair game. I am surprised that they are not lined up here, to make their offers for your house and body."
That jolted Elizabeth for just a moment. "And they would get a 'No' forever."
There was curiosity on Giacomo's face now. "Why? They could give you a very comfortable life, and raise your children well."
Elizabeth smiled. "First, to paraphrase a Grantville expression, I've soared with eagles; I'm not about to tie myself to a turkey."
Giacomo chuckled at that.
"And second, I have some things to do, some things to take care of. I've got to get my head on straight." And I've got to lightning-rod some guilt out of my soul, she said to herself.
Another moment of silence, broken finally by Elizabeth. "Actually, there is something you can do for me."
Giacomo looked to her with expectation.
"In six months come see me."
A look of hope began to form on his face.
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