by Unknown
Marlena shook her head, feeling her entire body droop.
“Sit up straight, please,” Sarah commanded quietly, after which she sighed and Marlena thought she saw the bright glistening of unshed tears, but as soon as she blinked they disappeared. “Marlena, be sure the thing you risk everything for is nothing less than your heart’s truest desire. Regret is the first step toward ruin.”
A moment passed in silence between them, a moment where Marlena felt strangely connected to Sarah. In some ways, they were both trapped and beholden to Elijah. A twinge of sympathy ached in her chest.
“I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me,” Marlena said, guilt weighing down the tone of her voice. “I’m just restless to begin the life I came here to build and you reminding me of my debt makes me that much more anxious to set my debut and get started paying it back.”
In the last four months, she had been praised and paraded three nights a week before a growing crowd of admirers. The more her confidence grew at The Museum the more frustrated she became with Sarah’s constant criticism and reluctance to set her opera debut. “Put me on the stage, Sarah. I’m ready. I know I am.”
Sarah’s brow knotted contemplatively. “I agree it is time. The first of next month, then. That gives us three weeks to prepare.”
Marlena’s spirits soared, her body feeling light and weightless for the first time in years. She felt her smile all the way to her ears as she ran to Sarah and threw her arms around her neck.
“Thank you!” she wailed. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”
Sarah gently pushed Marlena away. “You’re going to snap my neck, girl.”
“Sorry,” she laughed and pulled away.
A pointed finger waggled in her face. “I still meant what I said to you before, Marlena. You must find a way to emotionally connect with the music and your audience. Work on that, or I won’t be blamed for your downfall.”
“I will,” Marlena said with a nod. “I promise.”
Sarah waved her away with a tired gesture. “I don’t feel up to a lesson today. I pray you can find some other occupation of your time?”
“I’ll be fine,” Marlena said.
She ran to her room, excited enough to burst only to turn crestfallen at having no one to share the happy news with. The stationary sat undisturbed, mocking her for the many untruthful letters she’d written to Jess about fictitious performances at the Boston Opera House. She couldn’t very well write about a debut that Jess believed had already happened.
She sat near the window, listening to birdsong while pondering Sarah’s parting words. How could she elicit an emotional response in her listeners when she used music to deflect emotion? Opera embraced the drama of life, exposed the vulnerabilities of a person’s heart through fear and loss and pain. If she wanted the respect of the musical community and Boston society, if she wanted the celebrity of Sarah Jeanne, she would have to deliver a piece of her she’d locked away years ago.
In the turbulent years of her childhood, music had been her escape, her way out of her emotions and thoughts. The first real traumatic event she recalled was the murder of her father. Afterward, she’d gone to live with her sister, Jess, whose brutal husband commanded her to silence. Marlena had learned quickly to be invisible. When she wanted to cry, she’d sing softly to herself instead. Besides, she hadn’t the right to cry. All of the tears in that household belonged to Jess, who had earned them in her three years of abuse. When Marlena saw that the sound of her voice was a great comfort to her sister, she sang all the more.
Music was her escape and comfort, but never her way to connect, and she’d never, ever, wanted to be a concert artist, until she saw Sarah Jeanne perform. She’d made is seem so effortless, so easy. But it wasn’t for Marlena and she wondered. Could she do this?
Her stomach clenched painfully in doubt. She’d left her family, learned five languages, six if she counted the language of music, studied books upon books of etiquette, how to converse properly, how to sit properly how to dance properly, and signed away her free will for another five years. The idea that it may have all been for naught made her nauseous.
The teacup trembled in her hand and she swallowed the rest of its contents in one gulp before setting the porcelain down. Her footsteps echoed around the room as she paced, attempting to calm and reassure herself. Music was her one strength, and she’d always been confident in it. She wouldn’t doubt it now, no matter what Sarah said. She’d simply have to find a way to give Sarah what she wanted. Emotion. A hot breath escaped her lungs. That was a tall order.
She paced until the room grew too hot and small to accommodate her attitude. A dose of fresh air was necessary. She left the house and ambled down Beacon Street, passing familiar faces and greeting them with the same cold indifference they showed her. She chuckled and rolled her eyes. Today she didn’t care, for her debut was set and soon after she’d leave Boston on tour and never look back.
Down one block after another, Marlena strolled until she turned a corner and bumped straight into another lady. Amid horrified apologies, she glanced up to see a familiar set of blue eyes and a shock of scandalously red hair. The women shrieked in happy recognition, leaping into one another’s arms.
“Juliet!” Marlena exclaimed.
“Good Lord,” Juliet said as she pulled back to appraise. “I always said you’d grow up to be a beauty, but you are far more exquisite than I could have imagined.” She squeezed Marlena’s hands, surveying the shimmering silk gown and ivory hair combs before she leaned forward, conspiratorially. “Money agrees with you.”
Marlena’s smile faded a fraction. People only saw money when they saw the Winthrops, but she’d never counted herself as part of that camp.
“Never mind that,” Marlena said, brushing aside her consternation. “You haven’t aged a day.”
“You are too kind to an old woman,” Juliet said as she fought the smirk rising to her lips. “But I thank you just the same.”
“What brings you to Boston?”
“We’re on our way back to Virginia City. We’ve been in London these past months.”
“London?” Curiosity gnawed on her insides, but she wouldn’t ask. Thankfully, Juliet continued without prompting.
“I received a letter from my mother four months ago.” Her eyes turned sad as they fixed out over the crowd of patrons. “I couldn’t believe it. After twenty-three years, after casting me out for having my Dalton, after all of the horrible words we exchanged, she wanted to reconcile.” She covered her emotions with a snort. “Well, of course she wanted to reconcile. She was dying.”
Marlena thinned her lips in sympathy, and Juliet shrugged.
“Perhaps it was my own mother’s heart that made me go. I couldn’t bear it if Dalton and I were estranged. I could sense her desperation. She gave me life, much as it’s been. The least I could do was give her a peaceful death.”
“I’m sorry,” Marlena said.
“Thank you,” Juliet returned with glistening eyes.
Marlena changed the subject. “Your accent is much more…what’s the word?”
“Proper?” Juliet said with a laugh that Marlena joined. “Honey, I know when to behave. Unfortunately, there’s no way to disguise everything about what I am.” She patted her coif of dyed red hair. “But the farther west we go the less scandalized everyone is by it.” She grasped Marlena’s hands. “I was actually going to call upon you. There is so much to discuss.”
A wave of relief swept through Marlena that Juliet hadn’t called. She would have never made it past the Winthrop front door, and if Elijah ever saw her, he would have pounced brutally. She’d seen him send beggars away with a shove and reduce prostitutes to nothing more than tears with his words.
Marlena glanced around at the wide disapproving eyes of passersby, but Juliet didn’t notice or care.
“When do you travel again?”
“Just under three weeks we board the train west, and is Dalton ever ready for it!”<
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Marlena started, standing a mite taller. “Dalton is here with you? In Boston?”
“Yes, much as he’s hated it. But he wouldn’t let me go on my own. You know how protective he is of me.”
“Some things never change,” Marlena said with a breathy laugh, feeling heat trickle into her cheeks.
“Honey, most things never change.”
Before Marlena could speak again, she heard the deep timbre of his voice behind her. Her heart hammered against her chest as she swallowed past a thick lump, quickly smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt and patting her hair.
“Mother, I was able to procure a table for us. Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize you were speaking with someone.”
Marlena slowly turned and locked eyes with Dalton. He was even more handsome than she remembered with his shoulders broadened, his face more angled and clean shaven. His eyes were the same bright blue that filled her dreams, only more penetrating, so penetrating she couldn’t bear to look at them for long. Her gaze fell to her wringing hands as she bowed in a slight curtsey. He said nothing, and neither did she, for her voice was lost somewhere between her throat and her lips. It was only when her chest began to burn that she realized she’d been holding her breath.
“Hello, Mr. Cunningham,” she finally managed, the meekness of her voice grating on the air. Her eyes flitted to his briefly, then fell again.
Dalton’s brow furrowed and Juliet barked a loud laugh.
“For heaven’s sake, boy. Don’t you recognize Marlena?”
His features fell in what she believed was shock and he shook his head as he took a step forward. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice breathy and incredulous. “Little Miss?”
She chuckled into the palm of her hand. “I haven’t been called that in…”
“Five years?” he offered and they laughed in unison. “You look…” His mouth opened and shut, but no words came out. She watched his eyes travel the length of her, assessing, appraising. Approving? Her skin tingled as if his hands had touched her and not his gaze.
She swallowed past the awkward silence and laughed. “Please, Mr. Cunningham, do finish your sentence. I look…?”
“All grown up,” he finally said, and she fought back the frown tugging at her lips. It was hardly a compliment. “And no need to call me Mr. Cunningham. I believe you remember my name?”
His smile had the same effect on her as it had five years ago. Lord, but she felt like a thirteen-year-old girl again. A tight-chested, thick-throated, flushed, jumbled, voiceless thirteen-year-old girl.
“Dalton,” she finally managed.
“Ah,” he said as he rocked back on his heels with a smile. “You do remember it. What a chance meeting this is. I was just telling my mother we’ve procured a table for luncheon. Would you care to join us? I’m afraid we missed you at the Opera House last night.”
“The Opera House?”
“Yes,” Juliet answered. “Your sister told us you perform there three nights a week. We went last night and saw Sarah, but no you.”
A spindly, hot stone sank slowly down Marlena’s chest and settled in her belly. She’d told that lie to her sister in a letter six months ago. Jess seemed to sense Marlena’s unease and unhappiness, even three thousand miles away. So, Marlena had fabricated a story to ease her sister’s concerns. It had taken her a full week to write the lie and another to actually send it, and now standing before her was her guilt, personified.
“Oh, well, I’m on hiatus as I prepare some new material,” she lied. “I’ll be back on the stage the first of the month.”
“Perfect!” Juliet exclaimed. “We depart on the second. We shall be able to see you.”
“And hear this talent everyone goes on about,” Dalton added.
“Although be forewarned,” Juliet said. “Dalton doesn’t have an ear for opera. He prefers a much more contemporary sound.”
He turned his grin on her. “I am certainly open to conversion, though, if you can manage it.”
Marlena’s laugh was so nervous it sounded foreign to her ears, but all mirth faded from her as she caught a fleeting glimpse of Elijah Winthrop strolling down the street. It wasn’t difficult to suss his approach, for he parted crowds like Moses did the Red Sea. And he was headed straight for them.
“Uh…” her eyes darted frantically to Juliet. “Lunch, did you say? I’m famished. Can we hurry?”
Dalton turned sideways and motioned for the ladies to lead the way. Marlena had no idea where they were going, so she followed Juliet, glancing once over her shoulder to see Elijah still stomping their way and gaining ground. She leaned toward Juliet. “How much farther is it?”
“Just here, dear,” Juliet motioned to a restaurant on the right and Marlena pushed her through the door. She turned in time to see Elijah storm past without a glance in their direction. She heaved a relieved sigh only to look up and find the curious faces of Dalton and Juliet peering down at her. She giggled nervously and cleared her throat.
“Shall we eat?”
“Yes,” Dalton said. “We have a table near the window.”
“No!” Marlena called, surprised by the volume of her protestation, but she knew this area of the city, knew the people who swarmed it and how unforgiving and judgmental they were, and she wouldn’t place Juliet in a position to be shamed and ridiculed. She couldn’t take it. “Can we sit in the back, please?”
Dalton’s face fell into a glower so intense she nearly stumbled back from it. “Away from curious onlookers? Anyone who might judge the company you keep?”
“Dalton,” Juliet hissed in a warning tone.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Little Miss. You seem eager to avoid being seen by anyone.” His gaze bore down on her. It made her sad that he leapt to such a conclusion about her. And angry. She snorted and shrugged.
“You mean apart from the multitude of other people who saw us while we conversed in broad daylight on the street for the past ten minutes?” He chewed the inside of his cheek and she raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Of course you’re mistaken, Dalton. I’ve been the subject of ridicule in this neighborhood for five years and I won’t expose your mother to that if I can help it. And while I’m on the subject of correcting you, my name is Marlena, not Little Miss.”
He flinched, as though he’d been slapped, but his face was full of surprise and…respect?
Juliet turned to her son with a smug grin. “Dalton, please see about getting us a table in the back, and if you’ve found your manners you may join us. Otherwise, I’ll see you back at the inn.”
With a bow, he turned away and Juliet grasped Marlena’s hands. Her smile was sad and patronizing. “You and Dalton worry too much about protecting me. I hope you won’t hold it against him.”
Marlena shook her head just as he returned and led them to a quiet, secluded table in the back of the restaurant. Dalton positioned himself between her and Juliet, sending her a soft, apologetic smile. That and his nearness urged her stomach into a whirl of sensation that made her pulse race. She’d been unprepared for this, for him, and fought to remain her composure. Years of social rules poured through her and she was determined to follow all of them. She conjured an image of Sarah Jeanne and did her best to mimic her, folding her hands primly in her lap.
“Seeing how much you’ve grown makes me feel like an old woman,” Juliet said.
“Mother, you’re beautiful,” Dalton said.
“Truly,” Marlena added, earning a smile from Juliet and a glance from Dalton. She looked at the floor.
“Tell us about your life here,” Juliet said with excitement. “Your sister is going to want to know every detail I can spare.”
Marlena forced a wide grin. Knowing her every word would be repeated, she said, “Oh, life is comfortable here for the most part. I adore living in a big city, but I’m much too busy with performances and lessons to enjoy it in its entirety.”
“So, you love Boston, then?” Juliet cooed.
She took a hard s
wallow. “Yes.”
A long pause ensued, but Marlena remained quiet.
“That’s all you’re going to give me?” Juliet asked with a laugh. “Speak up, girl, and tell me more than that.”
Marlena took a deep breath, conjuring every lie she’d written to Jess to be sure to repeat them to Juliet. “I have everything a woman could hope for, the finest clothes and comforts, and I live in a very fine home. It’s been in the Winthrop family for more than a hundred years and designed with beautiful neoclassical lines. The décor is some of the most beautiful French pieces I’ve ever seen, much like my dresses. The Winthrops are a very charitable family.”
Juliet nodded and exchanged a look with Dalton that was difficult for Marlena to discern and she cringed inside. But she wanted her sister to believe those lies. She couldn’t possibly send Juliet home with messages that Marlena was miserably lonely and suffocating within the constraints of high society; couldn’t say she regretted coming to Boston or that she felt like a weed among roses; couldn’t let on that her only happiness lie in her nights at The Museum.
“It sounds very luxurious,” Juliet offered with a nod.
Marlena had to fight to keep her smile when she uttered the biggest lie of all. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted, except my family, of course. But we all make sacrifices, I suppose. It feels good to know I’ll soon be able to support myself.”
The waiter brought them a bottle of wine and Dalton poured them each a glass before sliding one in front of Marlena.
“No, thank you,” she said, waving it away.
“You don’t take wine?” Dalton asked.
“Only medicinally. It is not good for the throat and voice.”
“I ordered the bottle when I asked for a different table,” he returned with a smile. “Just one glass? Consider it my apology.” She found her lips widening and her hand reaching out to accept the glass.
