“Ye will?”
She tilted her head. “You’ll need an accompanist, won’t you?”
“I believe I would, lass,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
Her mind whirled with plans. “We’ll go to Scotland first, of course. You’ve met some of my family. I’d like to meet yours.”
“Hold on there, lass. Yer gettin ahead of yourself.”
The air froze in her lungs, making it hard to breathe. Once again, she’d jumped to conclusions, gotten the wrong impression about someone’s feelings for her. When would she learn?
“You don’t want to go?” Her voice quivered in spite of her effort to sound neutral. “Or you don’t want to go with me?”
“Ah, lass, there’s nothin I’d rather do than take ye to Scotland.”
Her breathing eased. No mistake, after all.
“But it wouldna be proper for us to be travelin together, ye and I.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not married. Yer sister would have a fit.”
Really? That was the problem? “Well, then.” She stared at her gloves.
“Well, then,” he parroted. Gently he lifted her chin, so she faced him. A dimple quirked at the corner of his mouth. “I guess there’s nothin for it but for ye to marry me.”
Heart pounding, she looked him straight in the eyes. “Do you mean it?”
“I do.”
A laugh bubbled up from her chest. “Then I do, too. I mean, I will. Marry you.”
He swept her up off the bench and into his arms. “Now yer sister really will have a fit,” he said, laughing. “How soon can we be married?”
“Right away. The sooner, the better.”
He set her on her feet, and together they sat on the bench. His arms went around her and drew her close, her head on his shoulder, her face close to his.
“I love ye, Rose Marchmont,” he said. Then he lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. “I can do anythin, with ye by my side. Even get on a ship. And then we’ll go home, lass—to our home—together.”
Author’s Note
This story is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this novel, including Callan MacTavish, are entirely fictional. The sinking of the Titanic was, of course, all too real.
The professional musicians aboard Titanic included a violinist from Scotland named John Law Hume. Twenty-one years old at the time, Hume perished in the sinking, as did all of the other musicians.
“Many brave things were done that night, but none were more brave than those done by men playing minute after minute as the ship settled quietly lower and lower in the sea.” (Lawrence Beesley, Titanic survivor)
Hearing the story, I imagined what might have happened if Hume had survived the sinking and ended up in America. Thus, The Violinist was born.
With deepest thanks to:
My husband, Thomas, for his support, enthusiasm, and cheerful willingness to discuss my characters as though they were real people
My editor, Pegg Thomas, without whom this story would not exist
My steadfast writing partners: Anita Aurit, Melissa Bilyeu, Cassandra Cridland, Terese Luikens, and Grace Robinson
Olivia Luther and the Bonner County Historical Society in Sandpoint, Idaho, for their enthusiastic support and research assistance
With a passion for all things historical, Jennifer Lamont Leo captures readers’ hearts through stories set in times gone by. Her first novel, You’re the Cream in My Coffee, won the Grace Award for women’s fiction and a Carol Award from American Christian Fiction Writers. She is also a copywriter, editor, and journalist. An Illinois native, she grew up listening to stories about Chicago’s vibrant history. Today she writes from the mountains of northern Idaho. Visit her at A Sparkling Vintage life (JenniferLamontLeo.com/blog) and Miss Marjorie’s Jazz Age Journal (MarjorieCorrigan.blogspot.com), as well as on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.
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