Hearts Unfold

by Karen Welch

  As long as they could come together here from time to time, she could be content she told herself. But would he? Or would he grow tired of the distance? Would he want more and reach out to someone closer for what he needed? It was a risk she would take.

  That night before she went up to her bed, she stood in front of the mirror and read the words her mother had relied on. Peace that passed all understanding. Emily had known that kind of peace, and was sure she would again. But it might take some time to be truly thankful for the challenge of loving Stani Moss and watching him leave again and again.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Dear, darling Stani,

  I'm so thankful for all the things I have to do this month. If I were not so busy, and the work were not so enjoyable, I'm sure I would be completely miserable. Desolate. Inconsolable. Seeing your car pulling out of the gate, still feeling your arms around me and tasting your kisses, was one of the most traumatic moments I've ever known. But as Jack always reminds me, I do bounce back quickly. I am now more or less content to look forward to another such life-altering day with you, in the not too distant future.

  Imagine the look on my face when I discovered your gift in the Christmas Family folder. I don't know how you managed to put it there without my knowing. One hundred dollars! Do you realize how many toys that will buy? No, of course you don't, because you have most likely never shopped for a toy in your life. Thank you, a thousand kisses, thank you!

  Please don't begin to consider me any sort of musician. I am only good enough to pick out the notes for my little cherubs to learn their songs. Since our current church organist lives miles away, his time is too valuable to spend on such a task, but at the Christmas Eve Lessons and Carols service, my little ones will have proper accompaniment. My only responsibility will be to keep them still and quiet while they wait their turn to sing. They look so sweet, sitting around the crèche during the service, but they have been known to do the most inappropriate things and I'm expected to keep them from embarrassing their proud parents. Wish me luck! This year there are seven, between the ages of three and six. I am sadly outnumbered! The youngest, a beautiful little girl of three, with golden curls and the biggest blue eyes, has attached herself to me already. She constantly demands to be held or carried, which leaves me with only one hand to control the other six. I foresee a memorable Christmas Eve!

  Jack and I had a very long talk over lunch after church. He was worried that I had done something rash or at least ill advised. I assured him that you were only tired and in need of a nap, and that we were only friends. Then I had to tell him, because I’m hopelessly bad at lying, that we are no longer technically friends, that I am totally and shamelessly in love with you and that you are fond of me as well. He will continue to worry, I'm sure. But he’s happy for me, I can see. He's always told me that a house and land would not substitute for someone to share my life with.

  I'm still high on the memory of all we shared during those few short hours. Do you feel the same, or was it just that I've never known anything to compare with the feelings you aroused in me? I was so completely swept away; and the amazing thing is, I can still conjure up those feelings, just by remembering each touch, each kiss, even the look in your eyes. It is at the same time ecstatic and devastating. I expect it's just my inexperience, and once I've become accustomed to such behavior, the shock to my senses will wear off. (I admit that I almost hope it doesn't. It's a very pleasant shock!)

  Stani, I have a confession to make. In the time since you were first here, I have never listened to your recordings. My mother had a copy of one of your early records, the collection of sonatas. I even remember when she bought it. She said you were just a little older than me, but you were already making a name for yourself. I never played it because it seemed too much like inviting a ghost into the room. Now I've listened to it, since you are no longer a ghost, but very much flesh and blood and the man I first kissed. Oh, how very talented you were! Of course, I’ve heard you on the radio numerous times, but I admit I tried to pretend it was just some other violinist and not the one I dragged in from the storm. And I’ve heard the Bruch, although the pounding in my ears was a little bit distracting at the time. Anyway, I wanted you to know that you overcame my promise never to listen to your music here. Now I play it for hours on end, imagining you, in your elegant tailcoat, making that beautiful music. But imagining is not quite the same as sitting in the audience watching and listening. Someday. Maybe.

  Did you give my instructions to John? I hope he won't have trouble finding that liniment. I know you will hate the smell, but trust me, it works. The athletic department at UVA couldn't survive without it. Just be sure you and John keep it away from your eyes! I don't know if he is skilled at massage, but he can't hurt you by trying.

  You do understand you have turned my world upside down and all my former priorities take second place to thoughts of you, fantasies of you, dreams of you and hopes of actually being with you?

  Yours in all things,

  Emily

  Dearest mine,

  Fond of you? Is that how you see it? Did I so fail to make my feelings clear? I could have sworn I told you I love you, every part of you. And I'm certain I told you I want you, all of you, forever. But I can see I shall have to go on explaining myself until you at least give me credit for being as much in love with you as you fancy yourself with me. It will most likely be a tedious task, but I think I'm man enough to take it on. It will involve a lot of passionate embraces and breathtaking kisses, won't it? Otherwise, I doubt I'll be able to make much of an impression, since words alone don't seem to express what I feel for you. Fond of you? Really, Emily, you know better.

  You're welcome. No, I've never bought a toy in my life. Kisses returned, tenfold.

  Your cherubs are the most fortunate children in the world to have your undivided attention. I'm sure it will be a memorable Christmas Eve, in every way.

  Please try to reassure Jack that my intentions are honorable. I certainly want him on my side, and I fear I made a poor first impression. No man likes to be caught with his boots off, you know.

  Emily (have you noticed that I love saying your name? And I’m afraid I must refuse to ever, ever call you ‘Em’!), I can only hope that no matter how many life-altering days we spend together, you never become accustomed to the thrill of sharing yourself with me. I told you I've long wondered what it would be like to be in love, to make love to a woman whose mind and spirit were as engaging as her body. Beside the brutal, unholy encounters of the past, loving you and feeling your response is an intensely spiritual experience I could never have dreamed possible.

  I have so much to think about now, I find it hard to concentrate on anything but you and the possibilities you have introduced to my future. Like you, my former priorities seem unimportant beside the vision of life with such a single-mindedly mercurial, utterly desirable, maddeningly unpredictable, devastatingly beautiful woman. Never in my nebulous plans for my life did I have any expectation of finding a partner who so easily anticipates me, meets me in mid-air, and carries me outside myself to an infinitely better place. The possibilities are endless. Now if I can only focus on that which could most quickly bring us together for more than a few hours.

  Yes, John is making a commendable attempt to follow your instructions. Your warning comes a bit late. We shared some tears over the first experiment with the liniment. But you're right, it does work and I'm less stiff the day after a performance. As to John's skill, compared to your beautiful, talented fingers, he has the hands of a lumberjack. But I wouldn't want to make him feel unappreciated, so I endure his efforts in silence. Thank you for realizing I needed help when I myself wouldn't have known to ask.

  Now to your shocking confession, my darling. While I was at first surprised to know you’ve never listened to my work, I am now amazed at how happy that makes me. I am the boy who won approval and affection by playing my violin. It was my way into the hearts of everyone, from Milo and Jana
to my teachers, to conductors and audiences. Other than John, who says he doesn't have much of an ear, no one has come to me for me, or at least not until they had first heard me play. But you, Emily, you have cared for me without knowing my music. I have no idea what you love about me, but that it did not first involve my violin gives me great joy. I want to share my music with you, don't doubt that. But I would like to think you might love me for the man I am trying to become, not just for the musician I have been. You, my love, are a constant source of encouragement and inspiration.

  Emily, dearest Emily, please wait for me to find my way back to you. I promise, there will be a way, and not in some dim future, but soon. You cannot know how I look forward to being there with you, to sit by the fire and talk to you, to hold you in my arms and gaze into those smoky eyes. And to eat breakfast with you again. You were right, I underestimated you, darling. A man and a woman, even the most desirable of women, can sit down to breakfast together. You make me smile (or grin foolishly) every time I think of that tray and your profound kiss. I will never look at bacon the same way again!

  I am bound for Minneapolis, where I hear the temperature is below zero this morning. Why didn't I schedule some gigs in the Bahamas this month? Keep me warmly in your thoughts.

  Equally yours,

  Stani

  Chapter Forty

  As Emily drove the two hours to Charlottesville, planning to meet Angela at the restaurant and shop for toys, she rehearsed what she would say, how she would gently turn the conversation to the subject of Stani. She had asked Jack not to tell Angela, knowing full well he would have been tempted to call her the moment he'd found Stani at the farm that morning. When he assured her that her secret was safe, she laughed.

  “My secrets are never safe with you two. But I do want to tell her in my own way. It seems unfair to Stani for you to report that you caught him sleeping on my couch. I want Angela to hear a slightly more romantic version of our day together.”

  Jack grimaced. “Romantic, huh? Was it the hair or the accent that won you over?”

  “Oh, a little of both. I thought you told me more than once that love has nothing to do with logic and that no one is immune. I admit it, Jack. You were right.”

  “Why is it I almost wish I hadn't been? He'll take you away, you know? Next thing, you'll be following him all over the world and the farm will be just a distant memory.”

  “Oh, please, Jack. That's never going to happen. At best, we'll have a long-distance relationship with a few pleasant interludes now and then.” Wishing for once she could hide her feelings from him, she knew he would see her doubts. “I have to be realistic, and I will be. But I'm happy, Jack.”

  “As long as you're happy, we'll deal with the rest.” Whatever he believed “the rest” to include, she had been keenly aware of the grim look that darkened his eyes. But Jack wouldn’t try to argue the case; he would just be waiting to support her if and when she needed it. Angela, on the other hand, might well react emotionally, which could mean any number of things.

  As they settled in the booth by the sunny street side window, her heart began to race uncomfortably. While she listened to Angela explaining that Lil had started looking for a position with some of the regional orchestras, setting up auditions for the spring, Emily was sure she felt herself beginning to blush. The hands that unwrapped her silverware from the linen napkin were actually trembling.

  Angela paused in her account of the effort Lil was pouring into her plans, closed her lips as if to put a period to that topic, and smiled. “Emily, my dear, you look remarkably like the cat.”

  Blinking, she wondered what she’d missed. “The cat?”

  “The one that ate the canary. Or is it the one that tipped over the cream? I can never remember.” Black eyes gleaming, Angela smiled expectantly. “What is it you're dying to tell me?”

  “Oh, Angela, I'm in love!” She was sure someone else had blurted out those words.

  Angela's usually mobile face was completely expressionless. “I see. And do we know this person with whom you're in love? I wasn't aware you were seeing anyone.” Something in her voice, some irony, made Emily suspicious. Had Jack broken his promise? Or was Angela psychic, as she'd sometimes suspected?

  Taking a deep breath, hoping to salvage some shred of composure, she started again. “I'm in love with Stani Moss. I knew when I was here last week but I wasn't quite sure and I didn't want to say anything until I knew. But we were together on Saturday and it's so impossibly wonderful and I just wanted to you to know how happy I am.” The words tumbled out in one long, breathless gasp. Was she never to have any control over her emotions again, she wondered, as she watched Angela's expression shift from incredulity to astonishment. For just an instant, Emily was afraid her silence preceded a lecture, and then with a gasp of her own, Angela laughed.

  “Oh, my dear! I have no idea how this happened, but when you say it like that, I have to believe it was meant to be. Now slow down and tell me. Everything.” Emily blushed a deeper red. “All right, maybe not everything. But tell me how he ever found you. I was so sure you were never going to let him know what you did for him.”

  As slowly and coherently as she could, Emily told her the story, beginning with Stani's first letter, his search for memories, and his request to meet her. She talked of her certainty that they would never see one another again, in spite of his desire to stay in touch. But his letters had changed that, convincing her they might have more of a future than she had been willing to hope for. As she talked about him, describing him in glowing detail, he seemed to be there, smiling indulgently.

  “Oh, Angela, he's so amazingly real. Even though he says he missed out on learning how to live in the world, with all the focus on his talent, he has such a good heart and a really sweet sense of humor. He's just wonderful in every way, I guess. Does every girl in love think that? That hers is the finest man alive?”

  “Probably, but that's what love does. It turns ordinary people into the best they can be. Is he fully recovered from the accident now?”

  “I think so. He's trying hard to take control of his career and he's probably working too hard. I have no idea how we'll ever see much of each other, the way he’s traveling.”

  Angela reached across the table and took Emily's hand. “Are you content to be patient, dear? It's one thing to be in love, it's another to be happy.”

  Past the sudden lump in her throat, she said, “I'm finding that out.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Dearest Stani,

  I guess we are officially “out” now. I told Angela about your visits, our letters, and a lot of other glowing details concerning what an amazing thing you have become in my life. I don't think she was quite as surprised as she should have been. Angela is a very wise woman, and she may have expected something like this would happen all along. At any rate, she's happy for us. The alternative, that she might have raised questions as to my sanity, was too terrifying to consider!

  It's almost as cold here as in Minnesota, and they’re predicting snow for Christmas. Not a blizzard, please! We’re getting the Christmas Family boxes ready to deliver, and good weather would be very welcome. Some of these families live in remote areas of the valley, where the roads are rough at best. Jack always finds a way to get to everyone, but a few deliveries have been made on county snow plows. The list is long, and it will take days to make the rounds. Hopefully, if snow comes, it will wait until Christmas Eve.

  You write that you are going to be in New York for Christmas. Please try to get some rest, Stani. What sort of schedule will you have after the holidays? Don't you think you've earned some time off?

  I'm hoping for work in January. This month at home has been wonderful and I've kept busy, but I haven't earned any money. If I can work this winter, when it's time to plant I'll have cash to pay for the garden. I want the farm to eventually earn its keep, but I hope to at least get it started without dipping into my principal. We'll see if I'm really my father's d
aughter, when I have to work each day at making my garden grow.

  Jack will be here soon to pick up more toys. My dining room is wall-to-wall with Christmas wrap. I feel like Santa's elf, and it's been great fun. I only wish there weren't so much need. Last summer was terribly dry and it took a toll on all the farms. The tenant farm families, who barely make it in the best of years, were hit the hardest. So many have too many children and not enough education to make more than a bare-bones living. These boxes will ease their situations for a week or two, but there is no good solution for them long term. We are so blessed, those of us with warm houses and plenty to eat. Not to mention the means to earn a decent living. While it's gratifying to know we can do something at the holidays to share our blessings, it makes me sad to see that much of the year we seem to forget the needs of others. Jack has made a mission of helping as much as he can, and he does it so quietly most people have no idea how much he accomplishes. He inspires me to look for ways to help where I can.

  Got to go! There's a police car at my gate! I love you madly, passionately, longingly and most importantly, with all my heart.

  Yours completely,

  Emily

  Emily wrapped and mailed Stani's Christmas present, worried that he might not receive it in time as he traveled back toward New York. At a men's shop in Charlottesville, whose window display suggested only the finest goods would be found within, she had purchased a Black Watch tartan scarf. Attracted by the label which read “Made in Scotland” and the softness of the fine wool, she decided it would go well with his black overcoat, but the deep blue and green in the plaid would perfectly complement his hair. The idea of a scarf that would encircle his neck and cross his heart satisfied her need to give him a meaningful but not extravagant gift. On the outside of the package she had written in red “Not to be opened before Christmas!”