Eternal Melody

by Anisa Claire West

  “It is Clive, one of the ushers.” The boy replied, as Rebecca struggled to wrench herself off the sofa and hobble to the door.

  “How may I help you, Clive?” She inquired, opening the door just a crack, hoping the boy would see that she was in no mood for visitors.

  “A gentleman left these flowers and instructed me to give them to you.” Clive explained, handing over a grand, multicolored bouquet of every flower a gardener could grow, the blossoms as bold as a peacock’s plumage with snowy baby’s breath interspersed.

  Rebecca looked at the bouquet with confusion, wondering who the flowers were from. If they had been from Luke, the usher would have said so. Besides, Luke would not go through a third party and risk their relationship suffering even more public scandal. He would have hand delivered them with a gallant bow and tip of his hat.

  “Which gentleman?” She asked.

  The gangly boy, who could be no more than seventeen, merely shrugged his narrow shoulders and said, “I have no idea, Miss Meadow. He did not tell me his name.”

  “But you saw him?”

  Clive nodded. “Yes, Miss Meadow, he was in the audience and asked me to give you the flowers. He’s been in the audience every night since the début.”

  If Rebecca had been drowsy before, suddenly she was wide awake and stunned by what Clive had just revealed. The same man had attended every performance of The Magic Flute? Why would anyone do such a thing? The tickets were not as expensive as at major opera houses, but they were still costly enough to preclude nightly attendance. Whoever this man was must have heaps of money, Rebecca concluded. Either that or he was the sort of deranged stalker she had heard about, one who falls obsessed with lady performers.

  The prospect of a stalker made Rebecca shudder and want to lie down again. She looked at the bouquet in her hand, amazed that these delicate flowers could seem so sinister coming from a questionable stranger.

  “What did the man look like?” Rebecca demanded, scanning her memory to recall if there had been anyone odd-looking in the audience.

  Sensing Rebecca’s fear, the boy tried to ease her concerns. “Miss Meadow, you need not worry about this man. He looks to be quite normal, well dressed, perhaps in his late thirties.”

  Rebecca was not comforted. Madmen could come in all shapes and sizes and from any economic background. The fact that her stalker wore suits and appeared to be a gentleman was meaningless if he intended to harm her. She needed to find out as many details as possible about the man, so she could pinpoint him in the next performance, which would not take place until next week, she realized with an inward sigh of relief. It was Saturday, and the ensemble would have a full three days to repose before their Wednesday matinee followed by four nights of exhausting, but joyful, performances.

  Opening the door a little wider, Rebecca probed, “Please tell me everything you can recall about the man’s appearance.”

  The boy seemed to be digging deep into the pockets of his adolescent brain as he shrugged again, “Miss Meadow, I mainly pay attention to what the girls look like, you know.”

  Seeing that she was not amused, Clive said slowly, as though excavating the memory from one of those bottomless pockets, “He was very tall and thin. His hair was brownish, I guess, and he had opera spectacles. Tonight, he was wearing a dark colored suit, maybe brown or black, I really don’t know.” The boy looked at her helplessly, unable to retrieve any more information about the mystery man. “What else can I say, Miss? You have yourself a secret admirer.” Clive grinned as Rebecca shot him a stormy look and gently closed the door.

  She heard his footsteps retreat as she threw the bouquet of flowers across the room. She wished that she could be flattered by the idea of a secret admirer, but her life had taken too many dangerous detours lately for her to feel lighthearted. Rebecca settled back down on the sofa, then instantly jumped up and lunged for the door, locking it behind her. As unsettling as it was for her to spend the night in her dressing room now, she did not have enough energy to walk home. As she snuggled up against the gossamer pillow, she drifted off to sleep hoping that Luke would come for her.

  *****

  Rebecca awoke in the windowless dressing room with a start, disoriented. Her head ached even more than the night before. A clammy hotness on her skin warned of oncoming fever. Tossing the pillow aside where her head had made an imprint, she slowly rose from the sofa. Across the room, the wretched flowers were scattered over the floor, already wilting from lack of nourishment and light.

  With a groan, Rebecca sank back down onto the sofa, not feeling well enough to stand. She desperately needed a cool drink, but she dared not venture out into the main theatre in case it was still night and there could be some cleaning workers roaming around. She submitted to the coma-like sleep that assaulted her again, crumpling like a ball of yarn on the sofa and laying down her heavy head.

  Some time later, she did not know how long, Rebecca awoke again, this time with convulsive chills that rattled her bones. It was now indisputable that she was plagued with fever and, alone in the dressing room, she had no choice but to surrender once again to a tossing, troubled sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I’m sorry, Luke. I have not seen her since the last curtain call.” Ryan, dressed in checkered pajamas and matching bathrobe, told a frantic Luke.

  It pleased Ryan to see how much Luke evidently cared for his sister. Luke had nearly woken the entire building that morning, panicked that Rebecca was not in her chamber and that her bed had not been slept in.

  “I just pray that no one has hurt her. I mean, could Greta possibly be on the loose again so soon? Mr. Graysen assured us that she would be spending the next thirty days locked up.” Luke muttered, shaking his head despairingly.

  “I am sure that no one has done her any harm.”

  “Then where is she, Ryan? I looked for her everywhere last night, hoping to walk her home, but she eluded me. What if she has been kidnapped or raped or…?”

  Luke’s anxiety was contagious, and Ryan suddenly began to panic, tearing off his robe and striding to the armoire to find some clothing. “You and I will search the city for her. Just give me a minute to get some clothes on. But whatever you do, if you see our grandmother, don’t tell her that Rebecca is missing. She has enough to worry about presently.” Ryan said, unbuttoning his pajama top and replacing it with a sage linen shirt.

  “What is your grandmother so worried about?” Luke asked distractedly, staring towards the door, primed to bolt down the stairs and begin the search on his own.

  Shoving his shirt into his pants and buckling a tan leather belt, Ryan replied sardonically, “Our brother Gregory appears to believe he is a carefree vagrant because he and Ethel abandoned their daughter, Annabelle, yesterday morning.”

  Taken aback, Luke said, “Rebecca didn’t mention anything about that, and we spent the whole day together. That’s odd.”

  “She probably did not find out until later in the day. Besides, it’s a private family matter and not one that she would likely discuss with you.”

  Luke was affronted. “Why would you say that? Rebecca and I have grown very close.”

  “Yes, Springwell, you don’t need to remind me of your, how shall I say, intimate connection. I am her brother and not inclined to discuss such details.” Ryan reminded, running a comb roughly through his red hair.

  More offended than before, Luke defended, “I was not referring to our intimate relationship, but rather our friendship. Becky and I have spoken at length about our childhoods, life goals, and many other topics.”

  Luke neglected to mention their sensual swim lesson and the singing session that had followed. It tugged at his heart to remember those brief but blissful moments.

  Grabbing his key so they could finally leave, Ryan apologized, “I’m sorry, Luke. You’re a friend of mine, and I certainly did not mean to offend you. Listen, if I tell you something dirty about our family, do you promise to keep it to yourself?”


  “Of course, I promise.” Luke swore.

  Lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, Ryan said, “Gregory is a habitual gambler. He incurred sizable debts in Grand Rapids and here in Vienna. That is why he had to flee the country with his wife. Now, it is up to Rebecca to care for our little niece.”

  “Why Rebecca? It seems that your grandmother is always with the baby.”

  “Yes, but Grandmother is old.” He explained, echoing Gloria’s own sentiments. “No one has asked Rebecca yet, but it is expected that she will eventually adopt Annabelle.”

  Ryan’s last statement jarred Luke, and he took a step backward. It did not bother him in the least that Rebecca had a gambling brother on the run. He would not judge her based on the errors of her family. But to have the serious responsibility of raising someone else’s child made Luke apprehensive. From the inception of their relationship, his meager funds had made him feel inadequate as a man. If he were to marry her, he would have a babe to support even before the wedding!

  “Have I said too much?” Ryan asked, reading the discomfiture on Luke’s face and dreading his response. “Please don’t think any less of my sister for Gregory’s shortcomings. He has always been the black sheep, so to speak.”

  Still wrapped in his own contemplations, Luke tried to dismiss Ryan’s worries. “Believe me when I tell you that I think as highly of your sister as ever. She is as extraordinary a woman as she is as an opera singer. Perhaps even more extraordinary as a woman, if that is indeed possible.”

  “Thank you. I knew you were a good man, Springwell.” Ryan patted his comrade on the back as they reached the sidewalk.

  Luke could not bring himself to meet Ryan’s gaze, as his current troubled thoughts were contrary to what Rebecca’s brother would expect. Ryan might be a free-thinking fellow, but he likely was anticipating that Luke would make an honest woman of his sister and adopt the baby with her. The pressure of such a notion overwhelmed Luke, and he yearned to break free of Ryan.

  “Why don’t we go our separate ways? Independent searches will allow us to cover more ground and find Rebecca sooner.” Luke suggested hopefully.

  Unaware of Luke’s motives, Ryan agreed. “That’s an excellent idea. I shall go down towards the Ringstrasse, and you can go towards the theatre district. Does that sound like a plan?”

  Luke nodded a brusque response as the two men set off in opposite directions. The moment Ryan was out of sight, Luke ran a nervous hand through his thick hair and blew out an anxious breath. He wanted desperately to find Rebecca and hold her in his arms again. If only matters were simpler, he thought. Why could they not run away together without cumbersome issues such as financial instability and abandoned babies?

  While these concerns swarmed in his head, Luke came to the corner where the theatre was located. Ignoring the dilapidated Gothic structure, he turned instead towards a coffee shop where baristas were preparing for the lunch rush.

  Poking his head through the door, Luke addressed one of the apron-clad baristas. “I’m looking for a young woman in her twenties, average height and slender with bright red hair. Have you seen her?”

  The barista looked perplexed and repeated Luke’s description to one of the other young employees. After five minutes of standing there while the workers all said that they had not seen a woman fitting that description, Luke knew he had reached a dead end and proceeded to try another establishment.

  For the next two hours, Luke inquired inside every shoe shiner, candy maker, and dress designer he could find. He made other stops inside the local bank and post office. When each search proved fruitless, he circled around to the corner where he had begun, directly outside the rehearsal hall. Something in his gut told him to go inside, though it seemed unlikely that Rebecca would be there.

  Resolutely, with a weary sigh, he strode towards the familiar building where he had first met Rebecca. As he walked through the door into the hollow corridor he silently reminisced about how she had found him that day playing the piano. She had been very shy initially, quite a different picture from the feisty, willful woman she really was. He smiled in spite of his worries, savoring the memory of their first encounter and the tart taste of her personality. Rebecca Meadow was like an Independence Day firecracker, blindingly colorful and just the slightest bit dangerous if not handled properly. But she had a soft side too. The way she had opened up to him about the nature of her parents’ deaths made him feel honored and protective of her.

  Winding past the theatre where they performed each night and disappearing into the alcove where a trio of dressing rooms was located, Luke heard a distinct moaning sound. Halting his footsteps so as not to obscure the noise, he listened closely and was astonished to realize that the moan was coming from Rebecca’s dressing room. In a fit of panic, he ran to the door and roughly turned the knob. When it would not open, he began to shake it and then push his entire body against the wooden barrier.

  The moaning ceased as Luke tried violently to open the locked door. “Rebecca, are you in there? I’m here to help you!” He shouted, continuing to bang on the door in a mad effort to pry it open and reach her.

  A moment later, a very pale, wide-eyed Rebecca opened the door and looked at him gratefully. “Luke, thank God it is you. That was so frightening how you were trying to break into my dressing room. I thought it was some maniac.”

  “And I thought some maniac was already in there hurting you. I heard you moaning down the hall.” Luke said, aghast that he had scared her.

  “What a misunderstanding! Oh Luke, I fell ill last night and slept here on the sofa.” She explained feebly, walking back to her makeshift sickbed and reclining against the pillows.

  “If only I had known that! Ryan and I have spent the entire morning looking for you. We split up so we could scour the whole city. If you’re sick, we should get you back to the apartment. This drafty building is no place for an ailing woman.” Luke attempted to lead her by the hand, but she resisted.

  “No, Luke, I must stay here. I am not strong enough to walk right now. If you feel my forehead, you’ll see I have a fever. And I’m terribly nauseated as well.”

  Luke surveyed her glazed countenance, hoping that she did not have a case of influenza. That could last for weeks and ruin the rest of the season for The Magic Flute. Not wanting to alarm her, he refrained from mentioning the possibility of influenza and merely said, “Just lie here if you don’t feel well enough to move. Give me a quarter of an hour and I shall return with some juice and other remedies.” Luke promised, caressing Rebecca’s forehead.

  “And some cold compresses.” She added, as Luke grinned, amazed that even when sick she made demands. Rather than finding it offensive, he thought it was the most adorable trait he had ever discovered in anyone.

  “Cold compresses coming your way.” He assured, hurrying out the door to dash to the nearest pharmacy.

  When Luke returned with a brown paper bag in hand, Rebecca was lightly napping. Hearing the rustling of the bag, she awoke and favored him with a weak smile.

  “Thank you for taking care of me. You know I would do the same for you if you were sick.”

  “Yes, I do know. Wait right here. There’s one thing I missed.” He said softly, padding down the hallway again and leaving the bag in her hands.

  She opened it, finding therein fresh fruit including an orange and pear, a small bottle of aspirin, bread rolls, and two washcloths. As she began to peel back the orange rind, suddenly ravenous, Luke returned with a ceramic mug that he offered her immediately, popping open the bottle of aspirin. He watched in amusement as she munched on the orange. Her appetite indicated that she did not have influenza, and Luke was relieved.

  “I fetched you some water from the drinking fountain down the hall. Swallow these aspirins with it. They will lower your fever.” He commanded authoritatively, as she drained the entire mug, replenishing her dehydrated body.

  “I feel better already.” She said truthfully, offering a section of orange to Luke
.

  “No thank you. This is all for you. You need to get your strength back, though I suspect that bit of nourishment has already helped significantly as you say. You’re not accustomed to such a rigorous work schedule, so your immune system is more susceptible. But you likely just need some repose.” He said, moving across the room to grab a chair so he could sit next to Rebecca while she reclined on the sofa.

  As he did so, he noticed the haphazardly thrown flowers littering the floor. “Where did these flowers come from?” He inquired, picking up a parched baby’s breath and holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

  Sighing, Rebecca told him about Clive’s visit to her dressing room last evening and how he claimed she had a secret admirer. “That’s why I was so frightened when you nearly broke the door before. I thought it could be the strange man that gave me those pitiful flowers.”

  Luke frowned stiffly, regarding the flowers and thinking that they looked anything but pitiful. Indeed, if the bouquet had received proper attention, it would have made a charming centerpiece in the dressing room, exhibiting a rainbow of cheery hues. A bouquet with such a meticulous selection of blooms could only come from one of the fanciest florists in Vienna, he thought bitterly, wondering just how wealthy Rebecca’s secret admirer could be.

  Giggling at the sight of the flowers spread across the floor, Rebecca added, “I shouldn’t laugh. I mean, it’s absolute lunacy for a man to watch the same opera for three consecutive nights, don’t you think? I should be cowering right about now, and I was last night. But I feel safe now that you’re here Luke. Come sit next to me.” She made a space for him on the sofa and gestured for him to join her.

  Still gripping the dry flower in his hands, he walked over to the sofa and sat down on the edge.

  “Relax, Luke. And put that silly flower down.” When he continued to hold it, she playfully knocked it out of his hand, watching it tumble to the floor where it belonged. “What’s the matter with you, Luke? Say something.” She snapped, unnerved by his sullen muteness.