Hearts Unfold

by Karen Welch

  When all was said and done, Stani admitted that the boots were a success. They were even comfortable, and he opted to wear them most of the time. Somehow, he said, an inch or two made him feel far less insignificant, to which Peg laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. The idea that he had ever felt insignificant at all was beyond comprehension.

  Working to alleviate his shyness, she took him with her everywhere, introducing him to her wide circle of acquaintances, hinting at how important he would soon be in the world of classical music. Now when he walked into a room, Peg could see the admiring glances of women of all ages, and she encouraged him to chat, even to flirt with girls who looked at him with open interest. She learned that he had never had a girlfriend or many friends his own age for that matter. Even as a child, he’d been privately tutored without the benefit of playmates. No wonder he was so shy, she told him, growing up in such a bubble. Now that he was meeting new people, he was displaying a surprisingly charming personality along with the impeccable manners she suspected were a direct imitation of Milo Scheider.

  Peg watched Stani rehearse, making suggestions on his posture and gestures onstage. When she suggested he move more to the music, and demonstrated her ideas, Stani laughed. He would move gently as the music dictated, he said, but he would not waltz about the stage with his violin for partner, the way Peg had done. They practiced his entrance, striding purposefully on stage, firmly extending his hand to the conductor, acknowledging the orchestra. No more slinking to his mark, she insisted, as if he expected to be asked to leave the stage.

  “You're the star, the one they paid to see. Take command of the stage, Stani. They love you. They've been waiting for you. Make them happy.” He seemed to understand that concept. It harkened back to the beginning, he told her, when he and Milo had agreed they could make a lot of people happy just by listening to Stani play. “And now it's about to happen, all over the world. You'll be a rock star, Stani, just wait and see.”

  Indeed, with his new hairstyle, and his flattering clothes, Stani was proving to be handsome young man. He had clear, dark brown eyes and his skin was deeper in tone than might have been expected, given his bright hair. While he often wore an intensely serious expression on his finely chiseled features, he could also flash a sudden, brilliant smile that easily reached the back row of any concert hall. He carried himself with confidence now, moving easily with a natural grace. Peg was pleased with her handiwork, but at the same time she had the disturbing realization that she had fallen a little bit in love with her star pupil.

  Striving to connect his knowledge of music to the rest of the world into which he would be thrust once his concert career began in earnest, Peg encouraged Stani to read. He was already an avid reader, he assured her, but now she pushed him to explore all types of literature and art, expanding on his love of classical writings, history and poetry. They toured galleries and museums, attended concerts and plays, and even visited several trendy night spots, where he was for the first time introduced to popular music. He was an eager student, quickly developing his own opinions and tastes. Gaining confidence, he was able to debate the merits of this work or that, rather than instantly agreeing with Peg's assessments.

  Stani had a particular interest in all things British, she learned. He had no knowledge of his own ancestry, other than the vague idea that his mother had been from the north of England, maybe Manchester, and his father had been born in Scotland. Every musician of note was identified by his nationality, Stani pointed out. As it was, his passport said he was a British national, his address was Manhattan, and his only family was of Eastern European descent.

  Peg encouraged him to think of himself as a citizen of the world, perhaps cast himself as something of a mystery man. He scoffed at the idea, while acknowledging that he was a bit of a mystery to himself. A kid from East London, of doubtful parentage, he had been taken in by two wonderful if somewhat single-minded Hungarian transplants and now was being groomed for life on the concert stage by the most amazing woman in all of New York City. How was that ever going to fit into the liner notes of his first solo recording?

  Stani had initially found Peg's efforts terrifying; but as she quickly let him know she wanted to be his friend, to share rather than force his transformation, he had relaxed and enjoyed the attention. She was fun, never criticizing, always encouraging with a smile that suggested they were embarking on an adventure, rather than correcting his many faults. It was his first friendship with a grown woman, and he was flattered by her praise and approval. There were times when he felt mildly confused, wondering if she expected more from him that the light flirtation that sometimes entered their conversations. The idea that a beautiful woman like Peg Shannon might find him attractive never entered his mind. Yet there were moments when he sensed something warmer, more intensely personal between them. He had the occasional disturbing dream, which left him painfully self-conscious the next time they were together. Whatever their relationship, he knew he would be eternally indebted to Peg for her help. Without her, he was certain he would never have felt this at ease in the world that surrounded him. He hoped her reward would be the knowledge that if he turned out to be a success, it was all thanks to her.

  Milo and Jana were amazed with what Peg had accomplished. They were admiring of Stani's more mature style and new-found confidence. Milo in particular was grateful for the vastly improved stage persona. He had been certain that once audiences heard Stani play, they would be duly impressed with his talent; but now thanks to Peg, they would be captivated by this handsome, poised teenager before he ever lifted his bow. If Milo sensed that Peg might have formed a personal attachment to Stani, he was merely pleased that the boy had gained such a valuable ally. Friends like Peg Shannon were the greatest asset a young artist could have.

  In January of the next year, they set out for London, which would serve as their base of operations. Milo had carefully scheduled performances in order to build interest, slowly allowing the concert-going public to become acquainted with this new talent. All the years of carefully bringing the boy along to this moment were going to pay off, he was certain. Stani was ready in every way. His recorded performance of the Mendelssohn Concerto had been brilliant. His concert repertoire was impressive, chosen to show off his technical brilliance as well as his amazingly mature interpretation. Mindful that touring could be grueling, Milo had scheduled numerous breaks, when Stani would return to London for rest and relief from the strain of constantly being in the limelight. There would be many years of performing ahead; no need to risk pushing him too hard while he was still so young.

  There were no disappointments. Stani Moss was instantly accepted by audiences, critics and most importantly by the leading conductors and musicians of Britain and Europe. He was acknowledged as a modern prodigy, acclaimed as a brilliant new star, and applauded as an original, both musically and personally. His looks, style and personality immediately caught the imagination of the press, and he was photographed and interviewed by both the classical and popular outlets. When Peg saw his photographs in the leading pictorial magazines, she sent him a telegram in Prague. “Warned you you'd be a rock star someday!”

  They returned to London in April to celebrate Stani's eighteenth birthday, and Peg flew in to join them. When Milo and Jana decided to accept an invitation to meet old friends in Oxford for a few days, Peg suggested Stani stay behind to take in the West End shows with her. She needed an escort, and it would give her a chance to hear all about the tour.

  If Peg had hoped to cautiously initiate a more intimate relationship, Stani seemed to have anticipated her plan, offering himself as willingly as when they’d first begun his transformation from awkward teen to polished performer. She led him carefully, patiently to the pleasures of lovemaking. He proved once again to be an apt pupil, sensual and romantic by nature. He was, she assured him, a natural lover and would someday make one special woman the finest of partners.

  For Stani, it was the best possible coming-o
f-age gift. For Peg, whom he already admired and trusted, to initiate him into the world of intimacy was only fitting. She had created his adult persona, made him comfortable in his own skin for the first time in his life. Now she had with her own body shown him how beautifully a woman and man could share this most passionate of relationships. He would be forever grateful to her, but he was well aware that they were not in love.

  Now Peg came to the apartment each day with the image of Stani as he had been at eighteen, beautiful and confident, firmly fixed in her mind's eye. As she worked alongside John Kimble, helping to dress Stani and brushing his hair, she fought against accepting the changes in him. Nothing about him now resembled that striking figure on the concert stage. His hair had been shaved around the ugly gash on his scalp. He still bore the fading yellow stain of a large bruise on his forehead. When he tried to stand or walk, he struggled to maintain his balance. Thin, almost emaciated, the fine bones of his face seemed sharpened, the rusty shadow of his beard harsh against the pallor of his skin. But it was the total lack of animation, the absence of his ready smile and the familiar expression of intense concentration, as if he were always listening and absorbing, that really frightened Peg. His hair would grow, the scars would fade, but how long before he emerged from this terrible introspection?

  Nothing she or anyone else did drew him out. Though he was cooperative, he never responded to her teasing or seemed to notice when she came or went from the apartment. Jana fussed over him, Milo kept a close scrutiny on his daily activities; the therapists worked him hard; but his response to one and all was always polite gratitude, nothing more.

  It was only with John Kimble, as they sat together over a chess board, neither making a move for hours on end, or shared a long, often disjointed reminiscence of some boyhood escapade, that Stani seemed completely at ease. With John, who handled him so gently, yet still managed to allow him some dignity, Stani shared the occasional self-deprecating quip. There was something between them that intrigued Peg. John obviously loved this young man he had last known as a boy, and the feeling was clearly returned. Stani seemed, above all, grateful to have John back in his life, regardless of the reason for his return. And Peg had the distinct impression that for John, caring for Stani now represented much more than a job resumed.

  Peg brought copies of his favorite books, including a collection of Robert Burns, and left them near his chair. When she noticed they had not been touched after several days, she took it upon herself to read aloud to him, finally winning a lopsided half-smile as reward for her very bad attempt at Scottish dialect. Encouraged, she shopped for workout clothes in his favorite dark colors, took scissors and cut his hair short, leaving him with a becoming cap of curls. Stani seemed to respond, slowly, to her spoiling; but he still sat for long hours, gazing into nothing, or pretending, she suspected, to doze.

  Four weeks after his return from the hospital, on an afternoon when they were alone in the apartment except for the ever-present John Kimble, who had retired for his customary nap, Peg discovered Stani attempting to remove a recording from the cabinet over the stereo. Just returning from his bedroom with a sweater he had requested, she stood watching as he struggled to take the disc from its jacket. When he turned pleading eyes to her, holding out the album, she took it from him. It was his own recording of the Mendelssohn Concerto.

  “Please, Peg.” He reached for support, resting his free hand on her shoulder.

  “Stani, are you sure?”

  “I need to hear it. Please.”

  There was nothing to do but play the recording. She knew Milo might object, but then again they had agreed to let Stani set the pace. She saw him back to his chair, set the record turning, and stood watching, ready to lift the needle at any point.

  For a time he stared into space, listening intently. Gradually, he seemed to relax, closing his eyes; and she noticed that his breathing seemed to rise and fall with the changing tempo. His head tilted toward his shoulder, toward the imagined violin, and the fingers of his left hand, resting palm up in the sling, began to move as if from memory. But it was his expression, as he was drawn deeper and deeper into the music, so much like the old Stani that it set Peg's pulse racing. He was totally entranced, carried to some finer place in his mind; the peace that came with the music reflected in his face. When the recording ended tears were flowing unheeded down his face, but there was also a look of fierce determination.

  “Don't you see,” he said softly, “I had to hear what it is I'm working so hard for. Now that I remember how it was, I know I have to play like that again.” For the first time, she could see a glimmer of the boy she’d known. She wondered why he had waited until they were alone, without Milo or Jana, to listen to the recording. She told herself it was because he trusted her, but she also suspected he’d been afraid to see their reaction to hearing him as he had been. It was fear that now filled his eyes, as he sat replaying the music in his mind. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that he would play again. But the doctor's words of caution came back to her. There were no guarantees. Only time would tell. So she leaned down and kissed his forehead, smoothing the rough curls, and left him alone with his memories.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Classes resumed, mid-term exams came and went. January was bitterly cold, and then the February rain moved in and seemed to be ever present. Where previously life had been a slow-moving misery, now Emily found her days full and productive as she looked to her rapidly developing future. Once the process had begun, it had been relatively simple to arrange for application to the University nursing program. She’d been accepted within the month and was carrying an extra-heavy class load in preparation for the transfer. Life was hectic, but she was happy to stay busy, to keep her mind occupied with something other than wondering how Stani Moss might be progressing in his recovery.

  Splashing back from class one afternoon, she rushed into the dorm head down, nearly colliding with a group of girls gathered in the hall. Their faces were sober and they turned as one to look at her with fear in their eyes. “What?” she demanded, instantly thinking of her father.

  One of the girls spoke, her voice hushed. “The bereavement officer was just here. To see Penny.”

  Emily was already headed for the stairs. “Is she up there now?”

  “No, she's in the super's office. We didn't know they were engaged.” Another girl looked sharply at Emily.

  “I did,” she said simply, and strode across to the closed door marked Dorm Mother. She knocked softly and the door was immediately opened. Beyond the concerned face of the supervisor, she could see Penny seated on the couch, ramrod straight, her eyes fixed on the wall opposite. As the door closed behind the departing super, Emily rushed to gather Penny in her arms, holding her tightly until finally she started to sob. For a time, they clung together and cried, whispering words that had little meaning other than to convey grief and comfort. When Penny at last lifted her head, wiping at her eyes with a trembling hand, she looked toward the door, where shadows of the waiting group could be seen through the frosted glass.

  “Take me upstairs, Em? I just want to be alone.”

  Emily draped a protective arm around her shoulders and together they walked out of the office, past the cluster of girls and up the stairs. Once in their room, Penny went straight to Frankie’s photograph on her bedside table, turning it face down without looking at the image. “I can't go to his funeral. It will be in Nebraska. I don't have any way to get there.”

  Emily tried to imagine the anguish behind that simple statement. Not only to lose the man you loved and planned to spend your life with, but to be denied the comfort of attending his funeral, of sharing the grief with his family, was too harsh to accept. She remembered her mother's funeral and how much it had calmed her to sit in the church surrounded by friends and family, to celebrate the life of someone they had all loved. Surely, there had to be some way to get Penny to Nebraska.

  “Your parents couldn't loan you the money?�
� she asked, already sure of the answer.

  “They don't even know about the engagement. I don't know how I'm going to tell them that I was engaged and that now my fiancé is dead.” Penny's voice cracked, but she didn't cry again. Instead, her face seemed frozen in a look so tragic that Emily was instantly determined to find some way to ease her suffering.

  “Penny, we'll find a way. I know there has to be something. . . .Oh, my gosh, of course there is.” Penny looked up skeptically. “I can give you the money, as much money as you need. And you never have to pay me back.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That check. I put it in the bank, like you said, in case of emergency. This certainly qualifies as an emergency. Look, I'll help you make whatever arrangements you need.” Rapidly warming to her subject, she rushed on. “We'll get you a plane ticket. And something nice to wear. You know you want to make Frankie proud when you meet his family. And you can stay there as long as you want, in a hotel if they don't have room for you.” They were both crying now, but Penny for once seemed willing to let Emily take charge. She agreed to call Frankie's family and ask if she'd be welcome at the funeral. At least they knew about the engagement, she said.

  As Emily started to leave, planning to tell the dorm super of their plan, Penny stopped her. “I'll pay you back, Em. I promise.”

  “Don't be ridiculous. I didn't even want that money, remember? I'm just thankful I held on to it. Funny, when you think that it's because of Stani Moss that I can help my best friend now when she needs it.” As she walked down the stairs, the thought occurred to her that it wasn't funny at all; it was another part of whatever miracle had brought him to her valley in the first place.