Eternal Melody

by Anisa Claire West

  Rebecca looked at him through hooded eyes, unsure of how she should respond. It was a Sunday morning and she had no plans to speak of, but did not want to leave herself open to whatever he wanted to do.

  Sensing her hesitation, Luke continued, “It’s such a gorgeous summer day that I wouldn’t want you to wilt away in this rented room. I was going to propose that we head to the rail station and take an excursion to Salzburg.”

  Rebecca contemplated his offer. She could not deny that she had been thinking about him all this time, and she certainly did not want to waste the entire day in her suffocating quarters. But it would not be proper for her to accept his invitation outright, so she stalled.

  “Would Ryan be coming with us? I am sure that he would like to see Salzburg as well.”

  “No, Ryan will not be joining us. You’re not a little girl, Rebecca, and I don’t think you have need of an escort. As it turns out, I’m not Count Dracula, so you’ll be reasonably safe with me.” He smirked at her, revealing layers of innuendo and thoughts that she did not wish to read.

  “You’re quite amusing, I must say. If we go, I would have to inform my brother first. I’m not sure where he is at the moment, though.”

  “There’s no need for that. Ryan already knows that we’re going.” Luke replied causally.

  Rebecca was outraged at how presumptuous the man had been, first to assume that she would accept his invitation and then, to tell her brother before even asking her! “In the future, I would appreciate if you consult with me first rather than my brother!”

  “Very well. As long as there will be an ‘in the future.’” Luke smiled maddeningly.

  “It’s just a figure of speech!” Rebecca said hotly.

  “Whatever you say, Becky. Are you ready to go, or shall I wait for you downstairs?”

  Rebecca flashed him a warning look, communicating to him that she would not tolerate any more impudence. “Please wait for me downstairs. I need to collect my parasol and…”

  Like interrupted as he burst into a fit of laughter. “Your parasol? Come now, I can tell just by looking at you that you’re not the type of woman who enjoys carrying a glorified umbrella. That’s all they really are, and I don’t see why anyone would want to bother with an umbrella when it’s not raining.”

  Rebecca knew that he had perceived correctly and nearly giggled at his commentary on the parasol. But she did not want to admit that he was right and give him the upper hand. “On the contrary! I carry a parasol wherever I go.”

  “But you don’t enjoy it. You’re not stuffy like the so-called ladies who traipse around with delicate parasols. You’re earthy and genuine. Even in one of those glittering diva gowns, you’d still be an earthy girl from Michigan.” Luke spoke with unconcealed admiration, and Rebecca was not sure how she felt about his odd description of her.

  An earthy girl? She did not even know what that meant. Luke Springwell was a strange man, indeed, and she knew that to preserve her sanity she should cease trying to analyze or understand him.

  “I’ll repeat myself. Please wait for me downstairs and I will be with you presently.” Rebecca said, gesturing regally towards the door.

  “Feisty and self-confident. Very attractive. I do hope you’ll take that stage soon.” With those words, Luke disappeared into the corridor and descended the staircase.

  When he was gone, Rebecca shut her door with a soft click and tried to collect herself. It would be ridiculous to bring her parasol after the exchange they had shared, so Rebecca settled for a feathered hat. It was hideous. Tearing the hat off her head, she decided to pin her hair up as tightly as possible, and that would have to be modest enough. She refrained from applying cosmetics, as she did not want Luke to think she had dismissed him so she could primp. Rebecca merely wanted to make him wait.

  Moments later, Rebecca glided down the stairs to meet Luke on the ground floor, where he stood staring up at her admiringly. Just as he had the other day, Luke tipped his hat for her benefit, and she could not help but feel flattered by this exhibit of gallantry.

  “Shall we?” Luke offered his arm to Rebecca. She linked her slender arm with his bulky one and they were off into the radiant sunlight.

  Their stroll to the rail station was leisurely and pleasant, highlighted with engaging discourse about classical music and celebrated composers. “How do you feel about Edvard Grieg?” Luke asked spontaneously, as they passed a garden square with vivid tulips, marigolds, and roses in full fragrant bloom. While awaiting her response, he picked a short-stemmed flower and stuck it in his lapel, then selected a red rose and offered it to Rebecca. “To complement the fiery shade of your hair…Becky.”

  “Thank you…Luke.” She addressed him by name for the first time, and he looked deep into her eyes with obvious pleasure. “Red roses are my favorite. And as for Grieg, well he must be the most brilliant man ever to come out of Norway!”

  “You mean other than Ibsen?” Luke clarified, referencing the playwright whose works he had devoured in high school.

  Rebecca wrinkled her nose distastefully. “More brilliant than Ibsen, I would say. It’s nothing personal against him, but I never enjoyed reading theatre. Theatre was meant to be performed, not read from a textbook.”

  “Yes, well, Ibsen’s plays have been performed once or twice.” Luke reminded her with amused sarcasm as she grinned.

  “Of course they have. I suppose I was thinking of how my grandmother made me read those plays as a girl. She was a very strict tutor and made certain that I became acquainted with every cultural gem she could get her hands on.”

  “So your grandmother schooled you?” Luke probed.

  “Yes, but that’s a story for another day.” Rebecca said evasively. “About my beloved Grieg…I could listen to his Piano Concerto all day long. Is that part of your repertoire?” Rebecca asked, imagining what it would be like to hear Luke recreate the stunning piece of music on the piano.

  “As a matter of fact, that concerto is the piece I played when I auditioned for Mr. Graysen. But then he told me that the orchestra needed a violinist, so I switched to Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto.” Luke recalled fondly, struck by the fact that Rebecca should ask him about that particular piece.

  Rebecca looked at him through eyes as pearly blue as the summer sky and marveled, “That must have cinched it for you. I’m sure you hooked him from the first note!”

  “Thank you, Rebecca.” Luke returned her intense gaze, then pointed ahead of them. “There’s the rail station. Prepare yourself for a glorious day in Salzburg!”

  They boarded the train just as the departure whistle was blowing. Luke deferred to Rebecca and let her take the window seat, as he sat close by her side. The train ride through the Austrian countryside was marked by breathtaking scenery. Ridged mountains surrounded mystically crystal lakes where Narcissus himself would have admired his reflection for hours. Fields filled with shepherds tending their wooly flocks stretched over sprawling properties dotted with gingerbread-like houses.

  Rebecca gazed dreamily out the window, feeling for the first time since arriving in Europe that she had made a good decision. Just for that moment, she almost could believe that she was on holiday, a glamorous vacation traversing the heart of Europe.

  “Everything is so magnificent here. It’s nothing like Grand Rapids. I guess Strauss was right when he wrote ‘On the Beautiful Blue Danube.’” She breathed, as Luke gave her a quirky smile.

  Luke smirked. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the Danube River is as brown as swamp mud. Strauss was romanticizing the waters when he composed that piece.”

  Rebecca looked disillusioned by this bit of trivia. “You mean to say that the Danube really isn’t blue at all?” Luke shook his head vigorously, as Rebecca pouted. “Brown as swamp mud you say?” She repeated, earning a chuckle from him.

  “Brown as swamp mud after a torrential rainstorm.” He added, wickedly amused by the stricken expression on her lovely features. “But don’t worry. You’
re not imagining how lovely this land is. Wait until we get to Salzburg. Then you’ll really fall in love.” Luke rested his eyes lingeringly on her and wondered if she perceived his double meaning. If she did, she did not make it known.

  Instead, she fell mesmerized beholding the increasingly dramatic views as the train rolled into Salzburg Province. Rushing streams intermingled with narrow gorges carved through limestone rock, as imposing castles perched high on hilltops. Rows of pine trees enshrouded the scenery, breathing a dewy mist into the air and lending an enchanted aura. They passed cathedrals with intricate stained glass windows, and then a monastery with thirteenth century cloisters.

  “You see that monastery?” Luke pointed as Rebecca’s eyes followed in fascination. “That leads to a salt mine accessible by underground caverns. It’s a natural phenomenon.”

  “This whole place is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought Vienna was beautiful, but it can’t compare to this!” Rebecca marveled.

  “No,” Luke smiled, “Vienna is the center of commerce, but Salzburg is the place for culture and nature.”

  Rebecca reflected on his words and marveled at how the Alps seemed but a hair’s breath away from this vantage point.

  By the time they arrived in Salzburg, Rebecca was famished. Luke took her to the small, family-owned restaurant that served his favorite goulash. They both ate heartily and shared hot apple strudel with raisins and vanilla ice cream for dessert. After their bellies were filled past the brim, they walked through Salzburg to their destination of Mozart’s birthplace.

  The Mozarts Geburtshaus was a museum, just opened to the public a generation ago, sitting opposite a medieval gate leading to the bank of the river Salzach. “This is it,” Luke announced, “Nine Getreidegasse. Look up to the third floor. That’s where Mozart was born.”

  Rebecca cupped her forehead with one palm, trying to block out the blinding midday sun, and looked to the third floor of the residence. She could not believe that she was walking on the same ground as Mozart once had. Together, Luke and Rebecca went inside, as he assumed the role of tour guide.

  “This was the violin Mozart played as a child.” Luke explained, as they looked through the glass at one of the many displays. “And this was his clavichord. And here, his pianoforte.”

  Rebecca listened intently, feeling as though she were receiving a valuable education. Having been home schooled by her grandmother, she never had the opportunity to enjoy such a tangible learning experience, and it thrilled her. Luke continued along, showing Rebecca the multiple Mozart family portraits that adorned the walls as well as letters written in old-fashioned penmanship.

  “I’ve never been anywhere steeped in so much history.” Rebecca murmured, wishing she could hold one of the musical instruments in her hands.

  “I know what you mean. I never want to leave.” Luke concurred with a grave timber to his voice that made Rebecca curious.

  “Are you saying that you never want to leave Austria-Hungary and return to Wisconsin?”

  “That’s correct. Never. Do you want to go back to Michigan?” He asked, suddenly concerned that Rebecca could be just passing through Vienna and might flee if a singing career didn’t immediately flourish.

  Rebecca bit her lower lip thoughtfully, remembering how she had felt the night she and Ryan boarded the midnight train to New York. She had harbored no intention of ever returning to Michigan, wanting to leave her pain in the dust.

  “No, I don’t want to go back to Michigan.” She said decisively, as Luke’s face visibly relaxed.

  “So I suppose we’re a couple of expatriates walking on foreign soil.” He grinned.

  “Well, I wouldn’t call myself an expatriate. That has a negative connotation. I love the United States, but there are certain memories I would like to leave behind.” Rebecca corrected, as Luke looked up with interest.

  “I suppose that’s something else we share in common. Wisconsin is nothing but a pot of cheerless memories mixed up into a bitter tasting goulash.” He made light of his sadness, as Rebecca laughed. “I did always love the snowy winters there, though, and fortunately, being situated in the Alps, white winters are one thing I don’t have to be homesick for.”

  Rebecca felt that he was on the verge of telling her something monumental about his childhood, and she yearned to do the same. “Ladies first.” He seemed to read her thoughts. “Tell me why Michigan is a bittersweet place for you.”

  “I suppose for many reasons it is a bittersweet place, but the primary one is that my parents died when I was just five years old.”

  “How awful. I’m so sorry.” Luke condoled.

  “Thank you. I have only shadowy memories of my parents, but I know that losing them altered the course of my life. I was left in my grandmother Gloria’s care. She’s a wonderful woman and treated me as her own daughter. But since she is a widow, she’s subject to the authority of the eldest male in the house, my brother Gregory.”

  “Is he still in Michigan?”

  “Yes, he and his wife Ethel have a baby girl there. Annabelle was the light of my life before I came here. But Gregory is a very envious sort of person and never wanted to see my musical talents grow. He couldn’t carry a tune nor could he read a note of music if a brigand were dangling him from the Golden Gate Bridge telling him his life depended upon it!”

  Luke laughed heartily at Rebecca’s depiction of Gregory.

  “Well, his wife isn’t any nicer.” She continued. “I’m not even sure if they were a love match because our fathers were good friends and there was talk from the time they were little that they would one day marry. It seemed more of a convenient arrangement than a love story. Gregory and Ethel would constantly foist their daughter on me, as though I were their indentured servant. I adore the girl, don’t misunderstand, but it was a very restrictive life for me. Their domestic dictatorship all but drove me out of our house in Grand Rapids. But more than that, it was my desire to see another part of the world and try to make singing a profession. So, here I am.” Rebecca smiled ruefully, contemplating how her fanciful expectations of life in Vienna had toppled over nearly the moment she arrived.

  “Well, I’m very glad you’re here. The winds of fate have transported you to where I am, and it’s precisely where you belong.” Luke spoke with a profound intimacy and molten intensity that unnerved Rebecca. She looked searchingly into his warm brown eyes, wondering what other passionate thoughts simmered beneath the surface.

  “Tell me about your childhood in Wisconsin.” She prompted, eager to hear his life story.

  Luke took a long, steadying breath and began. “My childhood began rather idyllically, I suppose. My father was a dairy farmer, and my mother a wonderful homemaker. My parents were very much in love, and when she died in childbirth with my youngest brother, Dad was destroyed.”

  “Oh my, I am so sorry you lost your mother as well. How old were you?”

  “Not much older than you were when your parents passed on. I was just six. My father sank into a depression from which he has never fully emerged. He hasn’t even remarried. Many of my mother’s belongings are still scattered around the house, like a sort of shrine to her. It’s really quite eerie. Like you, my memories of my mother are hazy, but I know she was a good woman.”

  “I am sure she was.” Rebecca said softly. “Did you leave Wisconsin because you couldn’t stand the sadness anymore?”

  Luke’s mouth turned cynical, an emotion she had never seen on his face. “No. I left because of a fight with my brother Jonathan. It happened four years ago just before I was about to compete in the Olympics in Greece.”

  Rebecca could not resist interjecting to exclaim, “The Olympics! You mean you’re an athlete?” That would explain his powerful physique.

  The cynicism on Luke’s face intensified. “I was an athlete. Now I’m a musician. Jonathan pushed me down the stairs in the middle of some ridiculous quarrel, and I broke several bones. My right leg has never been the same.”
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br />   As Luke conveyed this painful story, Rebecca recalled him sitting at the piano that first day how he had said that music was not his first profession. Now she understood why his tone had become so somber.

  “Instead of becoming an Olympic athlete, I turned to music, which had previously just been a hobby. I came to Vienna last autumn, and Mr. Graysen hired me on the spot.”

  “Well I can certainly see why he hired you so quickly. If you were half as good an athlete as you are a musician, I have no doubt that you would have taken home the Gold Medal!”

  Luke wore a countenance of modesty, but his eyes betrayed pleasure at her complimentary words. “Thank you, Rebecca. I would have settled for the Bronze, though.”

  “Would you really?” She asked doubtfully, intuitively feeling that Luke was a competitive man who strove to excel in every area of his life.

  He grinned and admitted, “No. But my coach might have.” They exchanged a protracted look, as Luke seemed completely lost in his own very private thoughts. “Should we walk around the streets a bit? I think we’ve seen enough of this museum, and it would be a shame to spend such a sunny day inside.” Rebecca nodded in agreement, thirsty for the invigorating Alpine air and pulsing sun.

  *****

  Lavender twilight veiled the city when Luke and Rebecca finally returned to Vienna, strolling hand in hand from the train station. She felt a chill in the air and, when Luke perceived her shiver, he wrapped his arm around her to offer warmth. She allowed him this liberty and melted towards his body, close enough to detect the subtle acceleration of his heartbeat.

  When they reached their apartment building, Luke opened the door for Rebecca and gestured for her to precede him. They briskly climbed the five flights of stairs and were laughingly breathless by the time they reached the top. Luke stood awkwardly outside the door, not wanting to bid her good night, but aware that requesting entrance to her chamber would be wholly inappropriate. She put her hand on the doorknob, slightly unnerved by the impassioned contortion his features had become in the flash of time from stairwell to doorway.