Tallis' Third Tune

by Ellen L. Ekstrom

I sat down to catch my breath and looked around to see if Donovan had returned. He was still upstairs – the shower had been turned on. For the longest time I stared at the tickets, as if they would disappear if I touched them again, or I would be thrown back somewhere I didn’t want to be.

  “That was years ago,” I murmured to myself. “What are the chances?”

  “It may have been, but you knew then and now that nothing changed. Well, if anything, it set the wheels in motion, didn’t it?”

  I frowned at Richard the Third, who stood in the doorway and held the Vaughan Williams album in his hands. In one movement I strode across the kitchen and snatched the album from him. In doing so, I was jettisoned back to the Curiosity Shop.

  “That was mean and spiteful!” I growled at him.

  “What? My saying what you were thinking or Donovan taking you to the concert?” Richard asked.

  “Maybe it’s time you took that side trip?” Dennis hinted, joining us.

  “I only needed one more moment with him; I could have prevented…”

  “Absolutely not!” exclaimed Richard.

  Both Richard and my brother jerked their heads towards the door.

  “Get a move on!” they ordered, but Dennis kissed my cheek and Richard the Third winked.

  Out the door I went, to find myself at Union Station and queued up for a train that would take me to the City of York…

  Chapter 12

  I took a detour through Berkeley.

  The slam of the door behind me became the pop of a champagne cork; the bottle was handed to me and I chugged a mouthful, then passed the bottle to Harry, who then poured flutes and distributed them around the dining room to our friends and neighbors. Dennis stood apart from us, drinking silently.

  “Congratulations and happy birthday to Doctor Alice Martin, doctor of Philosophy, historian, author, queen of hearts, our Faery Princess!” Harry crowed as he raised his flute. His accolade was repeated and when other praises had been sung and the topic of conversation turned to local politics and the latest movies, I went to Dennis.

  “Now you can go back to school and finish what you started,” I said.

  “Might be too late for that – the business is doing well. Besides, your success is enough for me.”

  “You don’t sound very happy, Denny.”

  “That’s because I know what’s in the second envelope you got in mail today.”

  “You went through my mail? Denny!”

  “No, I took the call from the university,” Dennis admitted, taking a sip and wincing. “Harry has no taste when it comes to champagnes and wines, God love him! At least he has good taste in men. Don’t look at me like that! I put two and two together, okay?”

  “It doesn’t mean I’m going to Rhode Island, just that they offered me a job. I haven’t said yes. I’m surprised, given that I had some fierce competition out of Yale, Princeton and Stanford.”

  “But are they sleeping with Doctor Donovan Trist with the deep pockets?”

  Dennis’ voice was bitter and sarcastic.

  “That was cruel and truthful,” I murmured.

  “This is the guy that broke your heart, Alice!”

  “As did Quinn.”

  “Quinn wouldn’t have done some of the things you said Trist has – and I don’t think Quinn intentionally hurt you, either. But, settling for Trist…”

  “Why do you think I’m settling?”

  “Because you are. You just aren’t admitting it. Hope the sex is good and worth it.”

  “Again, cruel – and truthful. Donovan isn’t really a bad person, Denny. I do have affection for him, enough that I want to be with him – he’s asked me to marry him and I said yes.”

  “I knew it,” Dennis muttered as he turned away and walked towards my kitchen, taking empties and plates with him. The hallway seemed longer than it really had been, and I followed my brother through a tunnel that led me onto a train somewhere in the English Midlands going north. Looking around, I knew where I was headed.

  The journey didn’t take as long as I remembered – perhaps it was watching scenery that had, over the years, become familiar. I knew how many rocks and trees until the next station. The conductor entered my compartment and waited as I took my ticket out of the book bag and handed it over for punching.

  “Dinner will be served…”

  “I’m not hungry, thanks all the same.”

  “All the same,” he responded, smiling and tipping his cap. Whistling Never Comes the Day, the conductor moved on to the next compartment.

  The gentle rocking of the train lulled me to sleep, which was becoming easier as my travels, or travails, became more frequent. When the train lurched into a station, I sat up and glanced out the window and saw the spires and towers of York Minster.

  “York, Miss!” the conductor said, though he wasn’t smiling. “You have five minutes.”

  “I’m going…”

  I wandered through the station to the baggage claim and once in possession of my suitcase, glanced around for a taxi to take me to number 50 Gillygate at Portland Street, the magnificent townhouse where I lived during the summer of 1978. It was a summer that was relaxing and exciting, spent lecturing at York St. John University in Medieval Studies to first year students while undertaking my own research for a history of the city and its part in two pivotal moments of history: the Wars of the Roses and the Pilgrimage of Grace.

  The townhouse was fully furnished down to food and drink. A note on the refrigerator welcomed me to the faculty and listed all of the amenities provided. I puttered around, opening cupboards and closets, adding my personal touches to the two-bedroom flat that would be my home for three months, before I returned to marry Donovan in August – if I married him at all. I was still fence-sitting on the idea, but no one knew. I gave up control of the wedding plans to Dennis and Arielle and decided to let them fight it out. I figured if I showed up in a suitable dress on the afternoon of the wedding, I had done my job.

  But would I show up?

  Placing a photo of Donovan near the nightstand, I picked up the telephone and was glad the phone company had already turned the service on. While I dialed the number, I twisted the engagement ring cutting into my finger and cradling the receiver between ear and shoulder, removed the heavy carved band with its obscenely-large emerald and massaged the skin where a rash was forming. The ring was tossed into the nightstand drawer where it rolled about as I listened for the transatlantic rings. Two, three, finally a pick up.

  “Hi, it’s me…I arrived a while ago. You should see this place, Denny; it’s straight out of Jane Austen. I love it! I’ll take pictures so you can see…maybe you can help me decorate the place in Providence to duplicate the look and furnishings. The brownstone may be the Trist family shrine, but it could stand something more than colonial drab…Oh, a bit tired, but now that I’m here, I think I’ll go out for an early dinner…What? No, haven’t heard from him since I left Italy. He said he was checking out a dig in Ephesus before going on to Petra…No, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least…She what? Well, is she okay?...How many people can say they survived a fall off the stage at Lincoln Center? And at her age, too!…Hey, you brought it up!…I’m not laughing, Denny, but you are…I’ve got her number – I can call her – oh wait, time difference…yes, if it’ll make you feel better. I'll call before I grab a bite to eat…Okay, okay, I promise…Love you…No, love you three…Talk to you later, Sweetness. Bye.”

  I waited a moment and then pressed the receiver button and listened to the dial tone for the longest time. I hung up.

  The Minster bells struck the hour. It was just four o’clock and there was enough time to get in a bit of sightseeing before dinner and spending the evening preparing for tomorrow’s first day of classes.

  The Lantern Tower of York Minster caught my attention as soon as I left the flat. Like Santa Maria del Fiore, the cathedral of Florence, The Minster dominated the skyline and was a beacon. I wandered over and joined other like-m
inded travelers in strolling through the nave, staring up in awe at the windows and architecture.

  I caught a flash of light glinting off a window and turned to see what it was; that three hundred and sixty degree turn placed me at The Cloisters in New York a year later, on my wedding day.

  We were in one of the exhibition rooms, The Five Heroes Tapestry Room, with a Museum docent, a photographer, the wedding planner and a seamstress. Dennis and Harry were adjusting their ties and checking the shine on their shoes while Arielle circled me, smoothing the lace of my gown and calling attention to a loose rhinestone, Swarovski crystal or a pearl that prompted the seamstress to swoop down and make the necessary repairs. I was standing on a bench and smiling on cue for the photographer.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Five minutes later than the last time you asked, Faery Princess,” Harry answered.

  “She does look like a princess, doesn’t she?” Arielle billowed. “Oh, wait until Donovan sees you!”

  “If he decides to show up,” I quipped. I smiled at the photographer. “Can I get down now?”

  I was helped down and immediately started to pace. The heavy fabric of my gown made my progress slow and I imagined that this was how noblewomen must have felt having to wear layers of wool, velvet, linen and silk every day with trains longer than mine dragging in the floor rushes, the dirt and Lord knew what else. I at least had a freshly scrubbed tiled floor to walk.

  To the west of where we were gathered was the Chapter House where a quartet was entertaining our waiting. We had compromised on a small guest list – fifty altogether, and most of them Donovan’s guests, but they were enough to fill the chapter house. Music and conversation drifted through the medieval museum to where I waited.

  “Where is he?” I snapped.

  “Traffic from the city might be holding him up,” Harry suggested. “It is rush hour.”

  Arielle was adjusting the small train for another photograph. “Of course, darling, you know how he is; and let’s be honest, everyone heard the quarrel last night.”

  “Thank you, Arielle. Just because you paid for most of this wedding that doesn’t give you the right to meddle.”

  The door opened and we all turned expectantly. The priest entered and stopped short, looking at me, hands raised as if to bless. “Look at you! You are perfection!”

  “Thank you, Father. Any news on Donovan?”

  “I’ve sent someone to the hotel, and we’re trying to get him on the phone…”

  The museum director now came in with an aide. “Missus Trist, we really can’t wait any longer; it’s almost seven o’clock, it’s been two hours.”

  “Well, something might have happened!” Arielle whined, looking around at us.

  “I agree; I won’t wait any longer. Sorry for your trouble and the expense, Arielle, I’ll try to pay you back.”

  “What? Wait! Where are you going? Alice!”

  I brushed by the priest and director to the door and moved as quickly as I could, making my way to the Chapter House.

  “God, but you are incredible!”

  I turned at the sound of his voice. Donovan was sitting on the stairs leading up to the Gothic Chapel.

  My first impulse was to charge at him like a wounded animal and sink my teeth in. Instead, I approached slowly. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” I said, stopping at the stairs.

  “Why is that, and where did that tradition come from?” He chuckled.

  “Don't know; my guess is that if the groom saw the bride before the marriage rite and didn’t like what he saw, he’d bolt. The bride’s family wanted to be certain it got their money’s worth.”

  Donovan studied my face for the longest time. “Well, that certainly isn’t the case here, Alice!’ He whispered. “What about the bride?”

  “Given all that’s been said and done this last week, you couldn’t blame me. I was on my way in to tell everyone to go home. Maybe you were going to beat me to it?”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “We should have had this conversation in March,” I sighed, taking the stair below his and not caring about the yards of Alençon lace flowing around us like waves.

  We sat in silence. Finally Donovan took one of my hands and said, “What are we doing? Are we so afraid of making mistakes that we’re willing to make the biggest mistake of our lives, and one that we’ll live to regret years from now?”

  “It wouldn’t be a mistake if, after we swear our wedding vows you did not honor me and I was forced to disobey.”

  “What do you mean?” Donovan was staring with incredulity. “I intend to honor you with my life, my mind, my soul, my body! I’m ready to stand up before all those people in the Chapter House who know me too well and do that. I will give you no reason whatsoever to disobey, Alice.”

  “Will you?” I queried, a sadness to the voice and words. “You show up two hours late, and then you’re here, you don’t say a word.”

  “Last night you gave me a lot to think about. I wondered if you would be here, knowing how you felt several months ago.”

  “And would you have blamed me?”

  “No, but again, I will give you no reason to doubt my sincerity. Or my love. I have no doubts about yours and I know I’m lucky to have it.” Donovan stood and extended his hand. “Come and see.”

  I took his hand.

  As soon as our fingers entwined and he lifted me off the stairs, I caught a flash of light – the photographer’s flashbulb I thought until my eyes adjusted and I was back at York Minster, the light fading in the Great East Window in the Minster. A cleric in robes was standing under the lantern at the crossing and for a moment I thought it was King Richard come to scold or instruct, but no, it really was a priest and I smiled as we passed one another – he to wherever his business should take him, I to the streets of York, to The Shambles, the oldest street in York and now a shopping district.

  Shops were closing up for the night but there was a pub to the north, just as the street met King’s Square, The Bitter End, to be exact, and I started for it.

  No one paid attention to me when I slipped in and took a booth near the door. The publican immediately saw to it that I had drink and food and introduced me to some of the locals when he learned that I was an American in York for the summer. The pub became my haunt every night after finishing lectures and grading papers, a familiar routine that took an interesting turn in late July when, one Friday evening, I pulled open the door and found myself face to face with Quinn.

  “Sorry – my God! Alice!” he exclaimed with that knee-disintegrating smile.

  “Quinn! Hi! What are the odds?”

  “Are you on vacation?”

  “No, no, I’m working here through August.”

  “Working! What are you doing?”

  “Lecturer in Medieval Studies at York St. John’s – just for the summer session. Then I return home and…”

  “And…?”

  “…and I figure out what the next chapter will be in this bad Jane Austen novel that is my life,” I quipped.

  Why not tell him you’re going home to get married?

  “So it’s Doctor Martin, I guess?”

  “Yes, Maestro. And you? Is the orchestra touring here?”

  “No, taking some time off this week to take care of family business. My grandmother died a few months back and I’m here to take care of the house and shop.”

  “Oh, Quinn! I’m so sorry; I know you and she were close.”

  We stepped to the pavement to allow patrons access to the door and for a moment just stared at one another. I wondered if he noticed the extra pounds I’d put on, or that at the age of twenty-six, there were two gray hairs struggling to rise above the dirty-dishwater blonde. He certainly improved with age.

  “You won’t believe this – I know you won’t,” he laughed nervously. “I was just thinking about you the other day.”

  “I’m flattered,” I giggled – I was.r />
  “This is so great – to run into someone from home.”

  “I've been traveling myself."

  “Italy?”

  “Yeah, yeah. And busy with school. How are your parents?”

  “They’re fine from what I hear,” Quinn said with a dismissive shrug.

  We continued to smile at each other like idiots.

  “I should have called you,” he said all of a sudden. “I wanted to. Then, I thought, no, she wouldn’t want to, then I got busy, and…”

  “Quinn, it’s forgotten; no harm, no foul.”

  “So, did you marry the guy?”

  “Who? Adam? No, I think he’s doing time somewhere – most likely for assault and battery on someone else’s boyfriend,” I joked nervously and Quinn laughed with the same amount of self-consciousness.

  “You’re worth a good fight – or a beating in my case. Wow; y’know, I’m always saying the wrong things with you, Alice.”

  “As opposed to what you say to other girls?”

  “Yeah – well, no, no – God! I did it again! What I mean to say, is, what I wanted to say that day wasn’t what came out of my mouth.”

  “Ahhh…”

  We glanced about, watching the traffic in the street, staring at our shoes; finally I looked up and saw his smile, genuine and loving.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t imagine you with someone like that.”

  “Stop while you’re ahead, Quinn.” I laughed.

  “Listen, do you want a drink?”

  Quinn pointed towards the pub and we went inside, taking a booth in a corner.

  “Youngest conductor of the Royal Philharmonic,” I said as we clinked glasses. “I suppose the professor is proud.”

  “It’s not like I care what he thinks,” Quinn commented as if to himself and winked as he took a sip from his beer.

  “If you must know – and I know you must – I told your father what I thought.”

  There it was again – the sense of lightness and joy.

  “My God!” Quinn whispered. “How did he take it?”

  “He stared at me with those huge blue eyes and said, ‘See you around, Alice,’ and walked away. Haven’t talked to him since – though your mother calls from time to time. She came to my birthday party this year. Denny invited her.”