Hearts Unfold

by Karen Welch

  It's a sad state of affairs when we are reduced to imagining one another nearby. I confess that in the past I often tried to imagine you, the sound of your voice, your smile, the way you move. I had only the image of you so badly injured, so still on the floor by the fire. Your photographs were fascinating to me because they showed me things about you I hadn't been able to see that night. But now that I have actually spent time with you, I have so much more to fuel my imagination. May I say how pleasantly surprised I was by your voice? I don't think that's something easily imagined. I never anticipated the depth (or the accent!). I think I imagined you a tenor, rather than such a warm baritone. At any rate, now I have so much more on which to build my fantasies.

  And now that I've shamelessly confessed my fascination with you, you'll think I'm just like every other girl who waits outside the stage door for your autograph. Sorry to disillusion you.

  Please take care of yourself. Wishing I could be in the audience for you,

  Emily

  Dearest, most wonderfully shameless Emily,

  You do realize your last letter went from the sublime to the ridiculous? Fantasized over me? I doubt you gave me more than a passing thought. But please, feel free to do so now if you are so inclined.

  I am taking care of myself, or at least John is trying to. And I'm truly enjoying this little tour, which is different from any I've done before. I'm performing, as always, in large and small halls, with orchestras I've worked with in the past and a few new, smaller groups as well. But the most interesting part of this tour, and the something different, is that I'm visiting music schools, both at large universities and some of the smaller conservatories. I give a short recital and then spend time talking with the students. It has been an amazing thing, to meet these very talented people not that much younger than myself, and realize what a struggle many of them face in pursuit of their goals. I've been so wretchedly ungrateful for my own good fortune. I must have thought somehow I deserved all the special attention along the way. These musicians have to pay for everything and work so hard to get an education before anyone will consider them for the lowliest jobs. Their love of music, their desire to perform and their determination to excel are truly inspiring.

  Milo has never wanted me to accept these invitations—too far, too much time for too little (if any) pay. It was my decision to do this, and believe me he was none too pleased. But my therapist had advised me to find some way to give of myself, and this seemed the obvious way. Now that I know the rewards, I'm so glad I took the chance. Milo has been about making money, keeping a high profile; but there can be no harm in giving as well can there? I learned this past year, because I asked for the first time, that I've already earned a great deal of money, probably more than I'll ever need. Why should I always be paid so much to do what I love and what seems to bring joy to others as well? I plan to talk with Peg about other ways I might give more of myself and what I have. I'm sure she can help me with this as she is, after all, an expert in these matters. I feel so ashamed that it has never occurred to me to do this sort of thing before. You see what an incomplete person I really am?

  I must go now. John is reminding me that the driver has been waiting long enough. I wanted to get this posted before I left for the concert hall.

  All my best, such as it is,

  Stani

  On a late autumn day when the sun cast the gently rolling hills in sharp contrasts of gold and bronze, Emily stood at the bedside of her new friend and bid her safe passage. Mae’s only surviving child, Anne, had only hours earlier left her mother with a promise to see her again soon, but Emily felt sure she must have known the end was near. The passing had been absolutely peaceful, as the sunset blazed above the distant ridges and Brahms played softly on the stereo. While Emily found herself intensely grateful for the shared moment, she hesitated to think too deeply on the experience. Some encounters in life should be allowed to simply leave their impression on the heart, she decided.

  At Anne’s invitation, Emily traveled to the funeral in Richmond. The big downtown church was filled with a lifetime of friends who came from all over the country to honor a woman who had quietly but very effectively touched so many lives. What struck Emily most profoundly was that Mae would be remembered for not only her generosity, but the joy with which she had shared her wealth. Stories were recounted of her strength in the face of loss, but also of her sharp wit and unfailing graciousness. She found herself wishing Stani could be there to hear the fine musicians who had come to play, musicians who had benefited over the years from Mae’s patronage. The service was a fitting celebration of a life well-lived and Emily was sure Mae would have heartily enjoyed it.

  Dear Stani,

  I have had the most surreal experience. I have met Peg Shannon. At the funeral for Mae Hanbury, she came right up to me. Of course, she only knows me as Mae's nurse. Mae's daughter, Anne, introduced us and Peg told me how much she appreciated the care I had given her friend. You would have been proud of how calmly I handled myself.

  But the most surreal part of all was the window. You see, we were standing in front of a stained glass window in the narthex of the church after the service. I had actually been standing there for a while, studying the window, which is dedicated to the memory of Mae's son, David. It's the most beautifulimage of a shepherd boy, surrounded by his little flock, his harp raised to his shoulder. You can almost hear the music just by looking at his face. I knew by his red hair that he was the young King David, but the scene behind him is not the rugged terrain of Israel but the gently rolling hills of the Blue Ridge.

  It was so moving, I couldn't take my eyes off it. When Peg came up with Anne, and we had said our hellos, she turned to the window, too. Stani, it was as though I could read her mind. She looked up at the boy with the red curls, and after a moment, she said, “What a remarkable face.” I knew she was thinking of you, just as I had been. I thought, just for a second, that I might tell her I was the one who pulled you out of the storm and sent you back to her, but of course I didn't.

  So, once again our worlds have crossed. I suppose I should accept that this sort of thing is going to go on happening. After almost three years, I think it's safe to say you are in my life to stay. If only you, not just some reminder of you, some image of you, some person who might have seen you or even known you, if only you yourself were more in my life, then I might be better able to accept it.

  I'm going to Angela's for Thanksgiving and then home until after Christmas. Where are you, where will you be next week, next month? Wherever you are, please take care of yourself. Your tour sounds exciting and exhausting. What you’re doing with the students is wonderful! You're right, there can be no harm in giving.

  Back to Peg Shannon, she’s much younger that I expected, and very beautiful. How could you spend so much time together and remain just friends? Are you sure you aren't in love with her or she with you?

  I'll be home on Friday night after Thanksgiving. I'll put a light in the window that and every night until I see you again.

  Still impatient,

  Emily

  The happy chaos of the Salvatore household, overflowing with Italian and Greek relatives visiting from a distance, was a welcome change after the quiet of Crestview; but Emily was anxious to get home. This year, for the first time, she planned to spend the holidays with the friends and neighbors who had shown her so much support in the past few years. She was a full-fledged member of the community now; and she intended to do her part. With that in mind, she had promised Sara to prepare the children's music for the Christmas Eve service. She had also volunteered to help Jack with the Christmas Family boxes. Each year the Sheriff's Department distributed baskets to the less fortunate families in the county; Emily had offered to shop for toys, matching them to the wish lists of the children. She was looking forward to the busy month ahead. If Stani found time for a visit, he would not find her sitting idly by the window watching for him.

  Returning late on Friday evening,
she was still unloading her car when the phone rang. Given the hour, she was sure it was Jack, checking to see that she’d arrived safely, so she let it ring. She would call him once she finished with the last load. But the ringing persisted. When she answered, the voice on the line was Stani's. “Thank God you're finally home! I've been calling for hours!”

  “What on earth for? Are you all right?” She was alarmed and confused. He’d never called before, and he sounded frantic.

  “I have tomorrow if you'll let me come.”

  “All day?”

  “Most of it. I'm in Baltimore. If we leave early enough I can be there by mid-morning. I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow evening. May I come?”

  “I'd be furious if you didn't. Hours, Stani, just hours. But that's more than we've had so far.”

  “Then I'll see you tomorrow. And Emily?”

  “Yes?”

  “We'll make those hours count, I promise.”

  She stood in the middle of the room, imagining him in front of her. Her heart threatened to explode in her chest, she could barely breathe and she wanted to scream for joy. He was coming again, not just words on paper, but real hours together! Sudden terror threatened to stop her heart altogether. What if face to face they found nothing to say to each other? In the safety of distance, she had found it easy to talk intimately with him, sharing her innermost thoughts and even her warmest feelings. There would be no safety with him here in this room, no hiding from those dark, searching eyes. He would be a touch away, and she remembered all too well her response to his touch.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Once again, she made careful preparations, seeing that the house and the space near the fireplace in particular were in order. The day had dawned cloudy and chill, a perfect day to stay inside by the fire. With the golden glow of the lamps warming the gray light from the windows, and the fire crackling on the hearth, she was content that the stage was set. Cushions comfortably arranged on the couch, the ottoman at the ready if he wanted to put his feet up. She draped a quilt over one of the chairs, just for effect. At the last minute, she cleared the game table by the window of her correspondence and books. They might have afternoon tea in here, if he wanted to.

  As for herself, it had not been so simple to decide what needed to be done. She wanted to put him at ease, so she thought she should dress casually. But what if he arrived so elegantly attired, as he had the last time? She would feel awkward in jeans. Finally choosing a relatively new outfit, gray flannel slacks and a soft alpine cardigan in shades of rose and gray, she tried it on first with a tailored white shirt. Too much, too bulky and masculine. Eliminating the shirt, she buttoned the sweater, leaving the last two buttons at the neck unfastened. Much better, more mature, less school-girlish. She decided to leave her hair down, parting it in the center and sweeping it behind her ears. A little makeup, her silver cross around her neck, and she felt she looked as well as she could. Eying herself in the mirror, she decided she looked awfully tall in the slim trousers; but there was nothing she could do about that.

  Ready by nine, she paced the front room for an hour, tending the fire and plumping cushions periodically. At ten, she stationed herself by the window, willing a car to come through the gate. The gate! Dashing across the yard, she reached the end of the drive just as a long, shiny black limousine approached, virtually crawling up the narrow road. Swinging open the gate, she tried to catch her breath, standing next to it as the car pulled through. The driver, an aging Negro in a very proper uniform, turned and gave her a huge smile, his eyes twinkling.

  The moment the door opened, and Stani stepped out, she found herself running straight into his outstretched arms. If she had been worried, now she was completely reassured, as he held her close and pressed his cheek against hers. He turned to wave to the driver, and arm in arm, they walked to the house.

  She helped him out of his overcoat, taking note that again he was all in black, today a heavyweight twill shirt that hugged his body like a glove, and jeans, perfectly creased black jeans. Still elegant, she thought. Carefully folding his coat over a chair, she turned and was immediately drawn into his arms again.

  “I've been looking forward to this for so long. All those lovely things you wrote were driving me to distraction.” His eyes were searching hers, waiting for a signal it seemed. Without the least hesitation, she took his face in her hands, meeting his gaze. She had never kissed a man, but it seemed the most natural thing now to press her lips to his, at first tentatively, and then with ever-increasing intensity.

  When they parted, his eyes were wide and still searching. “Emily, what have you done to me? I'm the one who’s supposed to sweep you off your feet.”

  “Should I apologize?”

  “Never. But I think we should sit down. I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed, if not quite undone.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling now.

  She laughed softly. “I remember the feeling. I got over it. So will you, I expect.” She led him to the couch, perching on the edge of the cushion beside him, one foot tucked beneath her. For a moment, she studied his face. “Stani, you look exhausted! You haven't been taking care of yourself after all!”

  “I admit I didn't sleep much last night. I was too excited and ready for morning to come. I'm fine, really. Just let me sit here and look at you. The fire's lovely, by the way.” He stretched his legs toward the hearth, resting his head against the back of the couch. “Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking.”

  “I'm thinking you need a nap, silly. You're about to fall asleep.” Sliding to the floor, she started to remove his boots.

  “What are you doing? I don't want to sleep while I'm here with you! Emily, please!” But she had cast aside the boots and was lifting his feet to the couch.

  “Just stretch out here for a while and rest.” She tucked a cushion behind his head. Once again, she kissed him, this time a slow, lingering kiss. “I'm quite content to watch you sleep, you know. This time, I'm sure you'll wake up.” Taking his arms from around her waist, she crossed his hands on his chest.

  Stani grinned, his lids drooping. “Quite undone.”

  Stani drifted in and out of sleep, the crackle of the fire and sounds of activity from the kitchen mingling with his dreams. She was in his arms, her eyes warm and wide. He could smell the freshness of her hair, the sweet clean scent of her skin. She had kissed him before he’d even known what was happening. He’d been suddenly dizzy with the power of his own response. He could never have dreamed such a thing. It had happened, this morning, in this room. Emily had kissed him, not once, but twice. The sweet promise of those kisses had opened some new place inside him. An almost painful longing for more of her, a yearning to have her near again, disturbed his dream.

  He jerked awake at a sudden sound. Blinking up at the ceiling, he tried to remember how he’d come to be here alone, lying on the couch. He sat up slowly, running his hands through his hair in an effort to clear his head. Where was she? How long had he slept? He started to call out, but another voice sounded nearby. As he looked around, a tall man was just coming through the front door. He couldn't hold back the words already on his lips. “Emily, what have you done with my boots?”

  But the other man was calling her too, “Em, are you here?'

  Their eyes met over the back of the couch, as each contemplated the other in amazement.

  Emily came from the kitchen, a smile lighting her face. If he’d possessed the presence of mind to notice anything, Stani would have been surprised that she wasn't blushing at all. He felt his own face flaming as he struggled to his feet. She was gazing fondly up at the man in the doorway, who looked back at her with raised brows, obviously awaiting an explanation.

  “Jack, I didn't expect to see you this morning. You remember Stani Moss.”

  Stani cringed. Here he stood, in his stocking feet, sleep still clouding his brain, as he was introduced to the most important person in her life. Emily was reaching for him, drawing him around the couch to stand beside her. “S
tani, this is Sheriff Jack Deem. He also happens to be my godfather and the best friend I could ever wish for.”

  Stani extended his hand, his face cracking into an embarrassed grin in spite of his desire for some shred of dignity. “Sir, it's a pleasure to meet you. Emily’s told me so much about you.”

  “Oh, she has, has she? Well, that's more than I can say about you. I must say you look a sight better than the last time I saw you.” Jack took his hand, gave him a good looking over, and returned his gaze to Emily's still smiling face.

  “Stani's only here for a few hours, Jack. Did you need me for something?” She looked pointedly at the parcels he carried. “Not that I'm not happy to see you. I was just putting lunch on the table. Would you like to join us?”

  He glanced at Stani, and then his eyes crinkled in a smile. “No thanks, Em. I just brought these things for you.” Handing her a brown paper bag, he said, “Turkey soup from Martha Jean. Sara said you'd want to look over this music before Sunday School tomorrow. And here's the first of the kids for the Christmas Family.” He passed her two folders, one bulging with sheet music. “I know there'll be more. It's been a hard year, with the drought. You're sure you want to take this on your own?”

  “Positive. It'll be fun. I may get Angela and Lil to help me shop if I can get to Charlottesville.” She was juggling the parcels, trying to get a look at the list of names. Stani took the bag from her, thankful for some way to feel useful. He was keenly conscious of Jack's eyes traveling from his tousled hair to his socks. Emily, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to his discomfort, as well as the bemused expression on Jack's face.

  Another moment of awkward silence and Jack appeared to rouse himself. “I'll be going, then. You two enjoy your afternoon.” He held out a hand to Stani. “I expect we'll meet again.” But he continued to wait expectantly, obviously hoping for an explanation. “Em, I'll see you in church tomorrow?”