Eternal Melody

by Anisa Claire West

  Seasickness assaulted Rebecca during the next week on the ship, and she was primarily confined to her cabin with dry heaves. Ryan, on the other hand, was having a grand time at sea. Rebecca felt envious of her brother’s iron stomach and was desperate for the cruise to conclude. With every tip and sway of the vessel, Rebecca clung to the hope that they were edging ever closer to Europe and the realization of her most earnest desires.

  Chapter Two

  A broiling summer sun rose over the misty shoreline as crew members anchored the ship to the bustling British dock. Moments later, Rebecca breathed a sigh of utter delight as she set her feet onto solid earth. She wished that she could remove her cumbersome shoes and sink her toes into the cool velvety grass of a pasture. But she proceeded with decorum alongside Ryan as they made their way to the smaller vessel that would bring them into the heart of Europe and at last to the Austro-Hungarian border.

  Aboard the new boat, Rebecca was disappointed to find that her cabin was no larger than a closet, and a rather cramped one at that. There was no bathtub for her to luxuriate in, only a short bed that she imagined would cause Ryan’s long legs to dangle hilariously over the edge. She set her belongings upon a wooden chest of questionable cleanliness and flopped onto the bed, disgusted by the mustiness of the sheets and blanket, but too travel-weary to obsess over it.

  Her seasickness greatly subsided during this last leg of the odyssey, despite the fact that this smaller boat was even more volatile than the sturdy liner that had navigated from New York.

  She passed her time reading the only book she had brought from home, a biography of the brilliant composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Rebecca marveled that before the sun would set again, she would be traversing the same land that Mozart had inhabited. As soon as she became acclimated to Vienna, Rebecca vowed to visit Salzburg, the celebrated hometown of Mozart.

  As dusk painted the sky a mystic shade of lavender, the boat floated over the serene Rhine River and docked. Rebecca snapped her book shut and sprang to her feet, excited to the point of breathlessness. She and Ryan quickly disembarked and followed confusing directions to the rail station, struggling to navigate as twilight deepened. Images whizzed around her as she hurried with Ryan to make the next departing train. Rebecca did not want to know what a disheveled clown she must look like after the countless days spent in transit. The only upside was that she had carefully conserved her voice and would be ready to sing at her audition.

  The train ride was an exhausting blur for both Ryan and Rebecca. When the whistle finally sounded, indicating their arrival in Vienna, Rebecca bolted from her seat, instantly revived knowing that her voyage was complete. As the siblings ran out of the station, a summer shower was tapering off and left in its midst a rainbow like a vaporous crescent in the sky.

  Rebecca looked wondrously around her, trying to grasp the reality that she was really in Austria-Hungary. She had read so many volumes about the countries that were combined into both empire and kingdom. Rebecca wondered how close she was to the royal residence of Franz Joseph, yet another limb on the dynastic Hapsburg tree and simultaneously Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary. It boggled her mind to ponder how one man could wield so much power. Textbooks had taught her political facts, but nothing could have prepared her for the beauty inherent to every square mile of the land.

  As Rebecca gazed longingly at the Alps shimmering from afar, Ryan suddenly spoke. “Our first order of business is to find temporary lodging. After that, we can fetch a map and go to the hall where auditions are being held.” Ryan’s tone was laced with the authority of an older brother.

  “Must we go immediately to the concert hall? I feel so depleted from this voyage.” Rebecca complained.

  “Becky, do you know what day it is, or have you not been keeping track on your calendar?” Rebecca shook her head in cluelessness. “Today is the thirtieth of July. According to the newspaper, tomorrow is the last day for auditions. “

  “Well, then we can go tomorrow. What is your haste, Ryan?” Rebecca argued as her head swelled with the need for sleep in a suitable bed that did not flatten like a flapjack. It was then that she noticed Ryan had bluish circles under his eyes, doubtlessly drawn from an equal lack of sleep.

  “I suppose you’re right. But we must awaken at dawn and proceed immediately to the hall. Is that agreed?” He yielded, and Rebecca nodded wearily as they plodded on in search of lodging for the night.

  *****

  The next morning, Ryan and Rebecca stood anxiously outside the rehearsal hall. For what seemed like the thousandth time, Ryan checked the address to see if it matched the one from the newspaper announcement.

  “It says forty-nine Kirschstrasse, but I cannot believe this is the place.” Ryan shook his head in confusion.

  “Stop being neurotic, Ryan. Of course this is the place!” Rebecca scolded, eager to go inside and allay her nerves by finally auditioning.

  The previous night, Rebecca had scarcely gotten any sleep, so preoccupied was she with visions of faltering or singing off-key during this long-awaited audition. Finally in Vienna, Rebecca was faced with the fact that it was not some fairy land for a Michigan girl to magically float into, but a real geographic place that beheld the power to crush her dreams. What if she performed miserably and did not get a part? Her impetuous nature had not allowed her to devise an alternative plan, and she felt the pressure of her entire future riding on this single audition halfway across the world.

  Rudely, Ryan clapped his hands in her face as she scowled at him. “Snap out of it, Becky. I’m not being neurotic. I just find it hard to believe that this decrepit building is the home of an international orchestra.”

  Rebecca stood back for a moment and looked at the dilapidated Gothic structure. The building, with its cracked foundation and decaying exterior, looked to be very neglected. Ryan had a point that this was not what one would expect of a newly assembled orchestra that aimed to impress Europe and become renowned. Again, Vienna was not a fairy land, Rebecca mused silently.

  Ryan resumed with his characteristic pragmatism, “Perhaps I’m being rash in my judgment. I mean, this is just the rehearsal hall, not the place where we would be performing. A rehearsal hall is not intended to be a castle.”

  Reassured by this line of reasoning, Rebecca agreed emphatically. “That’s precisely correct, Ryan. Now let’s please go inside and see about auditioning. Please.” She gave him a look that betrayed her mounting nervousness, and he obligingly opened the door to the hall, tightening his sweaty-palmed grip on his violin case.

  The interior of the building was dismal, with endless corridors covered with faded maroon carpets from wall to wall. Several Baroque paintings adorned the otherwise barren walls and, in the distance, the muffled sounds of a clarinetist could be discerned. Rebecca looked around for a signpost giving directions to the audition room, but there was none.

  “Where do you think we go to audition?” Rebecca queried.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea. If I hadn’t read about this audition in the newspaper, I’d think that this were all a hoax from the looks of this place. The interior is more dreadful than the exterior.” Ryan looked around in futility to figure out where to go next. “Becky, you wait for me right here. I’m going to scope around and see if I can find the conductor or any breathing body who can tell us what’s going on.”

  Rebecca looked reluctantly at Ryan, not wanting to be left alone in the dreary hallway. If she were approached by someone, she would not know how to respond, as her spoken German was very limited. Adept at memorizing lyrics phonetically, she could sing for hours in the language, but it was Ryan who had a mastery over the intricacies of conversing.

  “Must you go on your own? Let me come with you.” She urged, yanking on his sleeve.

  “Becky, don’t worry, I’ll just be gone a few minutes. Wait here---and don’t get yourself into any mischief.” He turned a bend in the hall and disappeared.

  Rebecca stood immobilized, beginning to
wonder if this trip to Vienna had been a foolish enterprise. As the dimness cast gloomy shadows over her surroundings, Rebecca remembered the open sea, the saltiness and crispness of the air, the plentiful July sun, and the freedom from the monotonous life she had left behind. As she reminisced, she became aware of a remote-sounding piano melody drifting towards her. The music almost seemed to be pursuing her. Inexorably, she was drawn to the ethereal music.

  Following the melodious sounds, Rebecca found herself in the center of an empty ballroom across from a lone piano player with his back to her. The distinctive notes of Beethoven’s “Für Elise” echoed from a black baby grand piano. The player’s form appeared sturdy and his posture self-assured within a finely cut tan suit. From the thickness of his rich russet hair, he was likely very young, yet the sounds emanating from the piano were mature and could only be attributed to a practiced professional or genius prodigy. Rebecca respected the integrity of the piece, so she quietly crept closer, now admiring his long fingers as they expertly manipulated the keys. His hands were large and covered with the same dark hair on his head; the fingers looked thick and capable, almost too masculine to play the piano so effortlessly.

  Moments later, the man concluded the piece and a heavy silence descended over the room. Rebecca held her breath with the impression that the piano player was trying to discern if he were alone in the ballroom. Before she could introduce herself, he whirled around on the bench and looked her square in the eyes with a startled and intrigued expression. His face definitely belonged to a young man, and Rebecca estimated that he could not be more than thirty. His deep-set eyes were a warm, enveloping shade of brown and his lips molded full and sensual. Rebecca tried to resist the compulsion to stare, but she was completely unnerved that the flawlessly executed Beethoven melody had come from such a young, broodingly handsome man.

  He seemed to be just as fascinated as she was, as he raked his eyes over her long cascade of strawberry blond hair, half undone and trailing wildly down her waist. To her surprise, he suddenly looked away and turned again to face the keyboard where he flipped a page in the composition book. Devastated that she was being ignored, Rebecca stepped forward until she was standing next to him, peering into his mysterious eyes.

  “I take requests. Is there anything you would like to hear?”

  His words set her instantly at ease, not only because he clearly had no intention of snubbing her, but also because the words were spoken in perfectly enunciated American English.

  When she smiled but said nothing, he recovered, “Ah, Fraülein, sprechen Sie Deutsch?”

  “No, I speak English!” was her immediate reply. He looked up at her with fresh intrigue, processing the familiar sounds of her American accent.

  “You are from the United States?” He asked incredulously.

  “Yes, I am.” She replied pleasantly.

  “I’m sorry, but when you neglected to answer me before, I thought that perhaps you didn’t understand English. I’m Luke Springwell.” He extended his hand as she shook it delicately.

  “Rebecca Meadow.” She offered with a slight curtsy.

  Luke rose from the bench to provide her with a chivalrous bow, and she noted how much their heights differed. He stood proud at around six feet and possessed an impossibly athletic build.

  “That was an exquisite rendition of “Für Elise.” Is Beethoven your favorite composer?”

  Luke gave Rebecca a look of sheer amusement that made her wonder if she had said something foolish. In a tone that contained a hint of condescension, he said, “There have been too many extraordinary musical composers to cite just one favorite. Beethoven is certainly one of the giants, but I don’t prefer him to Bach or Mozart or any of the others. They’re all worthy to my ears.”

  Rebecca nodded in fervent agreement, absorbed in Luke’s passion for music.

  Luke continued, “I came here from Wisconsin last year when they held the first round of auditions for the orchestra. Now, we have lost some instrumentalists and there’s need to replace them. Is that why you’re here?”

  “Yes, but I’m not an instrumentalist, I’m a vocalist. My brother, Ryan, and I have just arrived from Michigan in the nick of time it seems.” From the moment she uttered the name of her home state, Rebecca noted how Luke’s countenance became ever more intrigued.

  “We are both from the Midwest! If you and your brother are accepted into the orchestra, that will make a total of three Americans.”

  “You mean to say that presently you’re the only American in the orchestra?” Rebecca asked, trying not to let her hopes get prematurely dashed by that unfavorable piece of information.

  “Presently, yes. Most of the orchestra members hail from the continent…Poland, Serbia, Russia and the like. But don’t let that discourage you. But the conductor is American. His name is Christopher Graysen, and he’s an exceptional man. You’ll see when you meet him. He should be here shortly.”

  “Yes, Ryan went in search of the conductor or manager. It seems this hall is empty except for us.” She observed innocently, and Luke’s eyes glittered at the realization that they were alone in the imposing Gothic building. He couldn’t help but notice how wild her hair was and wondered if her disposition rivaled it.

  Lowering her lashes demurely, Rebecca asked, “Do you play any other instruments?”

  The mocking amusement returned to his exquisitely sculpted face as he replied, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I play first violin in the orchestra. I just dabble in the piano.”

  Rebecca’s blue eyes widened in amazement that the masterful performance he had just given was the result of “dabbling” in an instrument. “You’re very modest. I would have guessed that piano was your primary instrument and that you’ve been playing all your life.”

  Inexplicably, Luke looked down solemnly, any trace of amusement obliterated from his features. “No, I have not been playing all my life. Music began as a hobby for me, but through various twists of fate, it has morphed into a profession. You should know that the wages for musicians, even vocalists, are rather meager. If you’ve come to Vienna with the desire to acquire fame and wealth, you might be disappointed.”

  Rebecca was disheartened by the edge his voice had suddenly assumed and insulted by his suggestion that greed and vanity were motivating factors for her coming to Vienna.

  “On the contrary, Mr. Springwell, I have no such fanciful notions of striking it rich. This is not the Gold Rush in California, and I am well aware of the brutal reality of this business. I have come to Vienna with a pure love for the art form of opera and endeavor to share my gift of singing with people who appreciate music as much as I do.”

  Her dignified rebuttal effectively silenced Luke, and his face maintained the grave shadow from earlier, leading Rebecca to wonder what he had been referring to when he confessed to not having played music all his life. She was too tactful to ask him the question outright and, after the money-hungry slant he had attached to her career aspirations, she frankly didn’t care to know.

  “You’ll have to pardon me, Miss Meadow. In the past year, I have become accustomed to haughty divas who care nothing for music. In truth, some of them secretly detest opera and refer to it as whining and screaming. They merely covet the adoration that derives from a stage career along with a wardrobe of expensive gowns and bouquets of flowers bestowed upon them as the curtain goes down.”

  Rebecca could not help but raise her tawny eyebrows at Luke’s depiction of these divas. Although she would not admit it, the prospect of gowns and flowers was naturally attractive to a young woman as herself, who had existed in plain clothes from the cradle. The Meadow family was by no means impoverished, but they had a strict frugal philosophy that required Rebecca to don lackluster muslin dresses rather than the silk and taffeta gowns that were en vogue.

  As for flowers, the only time she had ever come close to receiving them had been as an eight year old girl when Ryan picked a dandelion from the yard, shoved it in her face, and instruct
ed her to smell it so her nose would turn yellow. That childish prank hardly qualified as receiving flowers. Yes, if forced to admit, Rebecca did desire the whole glittering package that came with a career in opera. Still, she had been sincere in expressing her foremost objective to share the gift of music with the world. Any pretty dresses or flowers would merely be a bonus.

  Unaware of her thoughts, Luke proceeded, “I should have known by the way you reacted to that Beethoven number how dedicated you are to your craft. Again, my apologies.” He looked at her ruefully through heavy-lidded eyes that narrowed to examine her face, now punctuated by an indignant upturned chin.

  “Your apology is well taken, Mr. Springwell. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be getting back to my brother. He probably thinks I’ve lost myself in this maze of a rehearsal hall. It was a pleasure to have met you.”

  Rebecca gave another curtsy, this one more grandiose and proper than the first. Without uttering another word, she turned on her heel and left Luke Springwell staring after her gape-mouthed and speechless.

  *****

  Wandering through the curving hallways, Rebecca listened for the sound of voices that would indicate where her brother was. The building contained such a surplus of rooms that she had no idea where to begin. But the sounds of Ryan’s violin led her forward like a trail of breadcrumbs. Moments later, the solo ended and Rebecca could hear the applause of what sounded like a single pair of very enthusiastic hands. She dodged forward into a large empty room, spying her brother placing his violin down on a table while an older, white-haired man looked at him with approbation.