Hearts Unfold

by Karen Welch

  The day after his twenty-second birthday, Peg brought her hairdresser to the apartment. When Stani's hair had once again been cut in what had become his signature style, she chose black jeans and his favorite charcoal V-neck sweater and helped him dress.

  “We're going to lunch,” she explained to the hovering John Kimble. “There's a wonderful place near the harbor where they do the most spectacular things with oysters.” The three of them went together across town to the little restaurant overlooking the water. They shared a platter of oysters baked on the half shell, nestled around a bed of savory Cajun rice. Seated at a private table near a huge window, Stani ate and talked and even laughed, giving the impression that he had nothing to do but enjoy the beautiful spring day with his two good friends.

  When they were preparing to leave, John said he believed, if they didn't mind returning without him, he would take advantage of the day and see a bit of New York. He'd been otherwise occupied for the past couple of months, he reminded Stani with a wink.

  They drove through the park, making the trip to Peg's townhouse as leisurely as possible. Once there, she showed Stani several pieces of art she'd recently acquired, sent over from a dealer in Ireland. They strolled in the garden at the rear of the house, sitting finally in the chairs beside the little fountain, chatting as if they had just met after being apart for a time, ignoring the three months they had spent engaged in the battle for his recovery. As the sun began to set, she led him to her bedroom and made love to him.

  When John left the restaurant and began to wander aimlessly, he knew he was going against orders. Stani was never to leave his sight outside the apartment. But he felt certain the boy would be safe with Peg Shannon, at least safe from everyone but Peg herself. At first he'd wondered about this woman, so patrician and yet so down to earth. By the time John had returned from Virginia with the little information he could gather for Milo, Peg was already established in Stani's hospital room. He understood that the two had been friends since before Stani's first tour, that she had in fact raised the money to launch his solo career. But John suspected there was much more to the story, and he had watched her closely those first few days.

  Peg, more so than Jana, was insistent on providing Stani with hands-on care. While Jana seemed intimidated by his condition, almost afraid to touch him, Peg was eager to help the nurses care for him while he remained unconscious. She assisted them with turning and bathing him, helped to change his bedding. She kept a constant watch on the various tubes that fed him and carried the bloody drainage from his shoulder.

  John had been at his post in the hallway outside Stani's room that night, had heard the chilling scream, and rushed in to find Peg attempting to reassure the boy as he stared in horror at his bandaged shoulder. Together, he and Peg had held Stani until the sedative could take effect. Though clearly shaken, Peg had returned to her chair next to the bed, her hand resting comfortingly on Stani's arm as he drifted back into unconsciousness.

  Once Stani had returned to the apartment, John had left his hotel to take up permanent residence in the guest room there. Peg came every day, ostensibly to help Jana, but in fact working alongside the therapists, encouraging Stani as he struggled to regain the use of his arm and hand. As John helped Stani bathe, shave and dress, Peg was ever-present, choosing his clothes and brushing his hair. She was possessive of Stani, John recognized, unwilling to leave him to anyone else's care for very long.

  Gradually, Jana began to go out more, resuming her life, content to let Stani remain with Peg. John sensed that the lad was uncomfortable with so many hovering over him and took to retiring to his room after lunch, leaving Peg to sit with Stani, reading to him or merely watching the boy as he retreated to whatever dark place he so often seemed to go.

  The afternoon he woke from his doze to hear music coming from the stereo, he had almost rushed in to interrupt. Milo had stated clearly that music was to be avoided until Stani himself asked for it. John had stood in his partially open doorway and watched as Stani listened to his own recording. He heard him explain to Peg how he needed to hear what he was working so hard to recapture. For the first time John had acknowledged his own fears for the boy. If indeed the injury should end his career, what kind of life did he have to look forward to?

  But Stani had worked harder and begun to make progress after that day. He seemed to take charge of his therapy, finding the methods that best suited his temperament. He insisted on taking long walks, though he still had difficulty maintaining his balance. John walked with him, arm in arm, and Stani even joked that he could have used John around many nights when he'd enjoyed too much fine Scotch. They had laughed at the shared knowledge of the effects of good aged whisky.

  John had gotten a pretty clear picture from his investigation of the kind of crowd Stani had been running with at the time of the accident. It seemed to him that Stani was out of his depth with the likes of Mark Stevenson. He'd noted that while the hospital room was filled with flowers and cards, and there were visits from older friends, conductors and musicians who had known Stani since his youth, virtually no one of his own generation came to see him. There might have been hangers-on, people who sought his company for the sake of publicity; but John suspected there had been few if any real friendships. Now Stani was once again almost exclusively in the company of Milo and Jana, as he had been when John had first known him all those years ago in London. It wasn't normal, he knew, for a young man to be so isolated, but perhaps it was best for someone like Stani. Besides, now Stani had Peg Shannon as his friend and champion.

  As he wandered through the park, enjoying the warm April afternoon, John thought he might like to stay on in New York. Of course, his work with Stani was far from over. It would be months yet before the lad was ready to go out on his own. But maybe he could find other work here. At forty-eight, he was still young enough to chafe at the idea of permanent retirement. The work in London had been a bit thin in recent years. New York was full of possibilities. He filed away the idea for a time when Milo might no longer want someone to watch over Stani's every move.

  John smiled to himself as he thought of Peg Shannon, the way she had spirited Stani away from the restaurant. He had a pretty good idea of the nature of their relationship, though he couldn't be sure of course. But if things were as he suspected between the two of them, he was almost envious of Stani. A woman like Peg Shannon was most probably a formidable partner. He shook his head at the memory of that little red-haired boy he'd first come to know. Young Stani had indeed done well for himself in winning the affection of such a force as Peg Shannon.

  Stani told her that their lovemaking had been something like rebirth for him. He felt, at least in part, like himself again. He accepted the fact that he had months of hard work ahead before he could be sure he would play again. But he now knew he would not stop trying until all efforts had been exhausted. He had worked hard all those years growing up, intent on achieving success. He was not about to let it all go without giving it the fight of his life.

  Gradually, as his recovery progressed, Peg realized that something had changed between them; something subtle, but there was a difference in Stani. He was still warm and polite, but he never seemed to find time to be alone with her, to come to her as he had in the past. She attributed it to the intense focus he had placed on his recovery, his fierce pursuit of regaining his former skill. He spent hours now with Jana, practicing with his violin. He worked his body hard, not just in therapy, but running in the park and lifting weights, almost to the point of punishing himself. He was somehow putting a space between them, changing himself into someone she didn't quite recognize.

  At the same time, she knew she loved him even more, admired his new strength and maturity. She would wait until he had healed and found his way back into his career. Then she was sure they could resume their old comfortable relationship. She had almost lost him after he'd returned from touring. The accident had ironically brought them together again. He would come back, she was ce
rtain. Why wouldn't he? He knew there was no obligation, only the special kind of pleasure they had always shared. She knew him so well, understood him in ways no one else did. He would be back once he knew his career was no longer in jeopardy, and she would be there. For Stani, she could wait.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  At the end of the spring term, Emily packed to go back to the valley for good. She would have the summer to relax and enjoy just being at home before the next phase of her education began. She needed that time to sort her life and lay her plans before the two full years of nurses' training ahead.

  The prospect of separation from Penny was troublesome. Her friend was still struggling with her loss, trying to adjust to a future so different from that she had dreamed of. It was hardest, Penny said, to just get used to the idea that Frankie was never coming back, that they would never stand up in church together, or furnish their first home as they had planned. For Emily, the changes in Penny—the absence of that spark so often turned to fire and the laugh that had echoed in their tiny room—were much like the death of a loved one. She grieved silently, even as she tried to support this new Penny in their final weeks together.

  They promised to write often and see each other whenever possible in spite of their very different and busy schedules. They would still need each other’s encouragement, no matter the distance.

  “I know you'll make a fabulous nurse. You've already saved at least one life. And even if we don't see each other often, I know we'll always be long-distance best friends.” There seemed to be tears in Penny eyes so frequently now, but at their final good-bye they had both wept unashamedly.

  Before Emily had time to unpack her things, the call came from the nursing home. Her father had suffered another stroke and was in a coma. Jack drove her through a rain-drenched night, and he and Angela stayed with her until her father died two days later.

  Emily had tried to tell him about the plans she’d made for her future. She liked to think he had understood and given her his blessing. She took comfort in knowing that he was no longer held captive so far from everything he'd loved and she often thought she sensed his presence as she worked around the farm that summer. More than ever, she believed she had done the right thing, the thing he had encouraged her to do. There had been signs, even miracles, all pointing clearly to the future she knew her parents would have wanted for her, the future she now wanted more than anything for herself.

  With the passing of J.D. Haynes and Emily's return to the farm, the little community in the valley came out in force to welcome and support her in ways she could never have anticipated. Like most children, she had considered the adults in the neighborhood to be her parents' friends. Her own friends, mostly her classmates from school, were away now getting their educations or beginning careers, some already married. But to her amazement everyone, from the shopkeepers in town to the neighboring farmers around the valley, made certain she knew that she was one of them. Just as they had little more than twenty years before when J.D. and Lilianne had moved in, they came to visit, bringing food or offers of help with the farm. While Jack and the McConnells were the closest thing she had to family and she had always known she could count on their support, she now realized she need never have felt so alone. She was part of a tightly knit community where everyone watched out for the young and the old, as they did their own families.

  Emily spent much of the summer making subtle changes to the house, in hopes that it would cease to be such a profound reminder of her parents' absence. Not wanting to spend money on new furnishings, she rearranged the bedrooms, moving pieces from one to the other. Her own room she furnished with things from all over the house, creating a retreat where she could read and relax while looking out the big dormers at the trees and fields beyond. She dragged her father's worn leather easy chair up the stairs and placed it by the window overlooking the barn. The desk from his little office she tucked in the front dormer where she could gaze through the branches of the oaks to the view of the hills beyond the gate. She exchanged her white spindle bed for her parents' cherry four-poster and placed a steamer trunk from the landing at one side to act as a night table. By replacing her pastel-checked curtains and bedding with the dark blue taffeta drapes from her parents' room and spreading a brilliantly hued velvet quilt on her bed, she forever banished the “lollipop shop” her father had teasingly named her childhood space.

  Hard work, as always, proved to be a tonic for Emily, yet another gift her father had given her, she realized, the satisfaction of a job well done. Most days, she was busy from early morning until nightfall, taking the occasional afternoon trip into town as her only form of recreation. She invited Jack to dinner every Friday night, and they went to church together each Sunday. She kept a regular weekly lunch date with Sara McConnell and spent time with Pastor Mike doing little jobs in the church office for him. For the week of Vacation Bible School, she was surprised to find that Sara had put her in charge of the children's music, explaining that after her experience in high-school and youth choirs, she was the perfect person to teach the little ones to sing.

  “But I can't play, not well enough to accompany them,” she had protested.

  “Nonsense, dear. They're just simple tunes, ones you already know, for the most part. You'll do fine.” Sara, already fully engaged with the business of this annual event, was not to be swayed by Emily's stage fright.

  She had opened up her mother's piano, trying to tell herself that what she'd been taught would come back to her. After a moment of tearful prayer over the keyboard, she had begun in earnest, practicing for hours and to her surprise discovering that she could indeed provide at least adequate if not exactly inspired accompaniment for her young charges.

  Following the Sunday morning program, when the children demonstrated all they had learned during the week, she was proud of their performance. And to her amazement, she found she had not been at all afraid to sit down at the piano and play and sing with them. No one seemed in the least surprised by her newly revealed talent, and Pastor Mike commented that she might consider relieving the regular organist occasionally. She assured him in no uncertain terms that that was not even a remote possibility.

  Still, she admitted to a sense of accomplishment and hoped somehow her mother knew. Her lack of musical talent had been a disappointment to her gifted parents, and her mother in particular had been frustrated by Emily's lack of interest in what was the driving passion of her own life. While she would never consider herself a musician, she could at least contribute in some small way by teaching the children to “make a joyful noise.”

  Her days were full and never lonely. Neighbors stopped by unannounced, just to visit or bring something from their kitchens or gardens. She knew they were checking on her, making sure she was not too much alone. It touched her to know they were concerned, and at the same time she believed they respected her independence.

  Emily was content to work around the house and the yard, knowing that in the next two years she would rarely have more than a day or two at a time to spend at home. She replanted the flower beds around the yard, giving her mother's prized roses special attention. She took long walks over the fields she hoped one day to return to productivity. Tramping up and down the worn furrows of her father's garden, she made her plans, determined to be as successful as he had been. Jack teased her that she would soon turn into a weathered old maid in patched overalls. But she was not to be discouraged. This little plot of land was hers she told him firmly, and she intended to make it earn its keep. The rhythm of life in this quiet place made sense to her, kept her grounded and calm, in spite of her sometimes turbulent moods. They were a perfect pairing, she decided, the constancy of nature and the ebb and flow of her emotions. They would have a fine life together, she and her farm.

  For all the changes she made to her home that summer, for all the careful plans she laid for her future, she had to accept that she had not yet been able to alter her feelings around her encounter with Stani
Moss. Try as she might to think otherwise, she continued to feel that they were somehow bound together by those few shared hours. She considered the days of her homecoming a time of miracles. First her own realization that she could return home and then the miracle of Stani's survival seemed to set those days apart. She had experienced a tidal wave of emotions, from ecstasy to despair, and ended in a place of such peace and confidence. It had been an intensely spiritual time for her, and Stani Moss would forever be present in that time.

  It didn't help matters that he was such a public figure. Even if she had been able to forget him lying in the snow or by the fireside, his name and face were forever being thrust into her consciousness. They lived in the same world, she told herself, and he was a celebrity. She could not hope to avoid him. She would have to learn to guard her emotions. The fact that the mention of his name still caused an odd, unfamiliar warmth to rise within her would have to remain her secret. She schooled herself to ignore the all too vivid image of his face when his recordings sounded over the radio in the kitchen, knowing only too well that she had failed miserably.

  Late in the summer, when Jack arrived for dinner bearing a copy of one of the big, glossy pictorial magazines, she found herself put to the ultimate test. He had held up the cover for her to see, just as she was setting a platter of steaming pasta on the kitchen table. There, in full color, was the gently smiling face, nestled against the glowing wood of a violin, the brown eyes gazing intently into the camera lens. The caption across his dark sweater read, “Stani's Miraculous Return.”