“It doesn’t feel as if it is, but I didn’t open it.” Melanie’s presence grew closer, and she slipped her arm around Chaisley’s shoulders. “Working on that piece has worn you down—your emotionsand exhaustion are clear on your face. But let me assure you, this latest masterpiece of yours is perfect. It moved me to tears, Chais. This tour is going to be your best yet.”
The tour. Her temples began to throb. Melanie was only trying to be encouraging, but each time someone declared this concert or that tour or this appearance was going to be her best ... the headache emerged. She puffed out a breath. No. There was no sense in giving into the pressure. She had been touted for years as the world’s greatest pianist. This gift was from God, and she would use it to the best of her ability. All this anxiety was silly. Nerves were normal.
“Chais?” Melanie’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you all right?”
Chaisley nodded, pushing through the pain growing in her head. “I practiced too long today without a break. I think tea and a letter from Grandmother is just what I need to set myself to rights. Would you come get me in an hour if I’m not back down?”
“Of course.” Melanie’s response was hesitant. “It will be time for luncheon by then anyway, and if the other letter isn’t in braille, I’ll read it to you.”
“Thank you.” Before her friend could ask any other questions, Chaisley moved toward the door. No one could understand what a tour meant for her. Leaving the safety and comfort of her quiet and orderly home to enter the chaotic world full of people and noise was overwhelming, to say the least. The preparation she had to do for that wasn’t something a person with sight could understand.
As she counted her steps to the door and then to the stairs, the soft notes of C5, E5, and G5 met her ears. The treble C Major chord sounded happy and complete. Exactly what Melanie loved. Even though the G was a touch sharp.
She cringed. Perfect pitch often drove her batty. Every conductor she’d ever worked with had been mesmerized by her ability to hear when any instrument—especially the piano—was out of tune.
Moving up the stairs she listened to Melanie play the arpeggiated chord several times and then all the notes together. Then a C scale. Her friend loved to tinker on the piano. Over the years, Chaisley had offered to teach her, but Melanie always declined.
At the top of the stairs, Chaisley navigated her way down the long hallway to her wing—forty-five steps—then turned left and counted twenty-two steps to her rooms. The cool handle dipped down as she opened the door. Shutting it behind her, she leaned against it for a moment. The silence was a balm to her racing thoughts.
Ah... the scent of roses. It was Monday. A new bouquet of two dozen roses was always delivered on Monday from Dr. G. The man was so good to her. He’d picked up the tradition after Father and Mother passed ...
Her lips trembled, the memory washing over her. Dad loved to give her mum flowers every Monday. Not for any reason, just because. When Chaisley turned six, he brought her a bouquet as well. As soon as he found out that roses were her favorite, that’s all he brought her. Every week. She wiped away a tear and spoke to the empty room. “I wish you were here. Both of you.” Her voice cracked. Maybe a good cry would help. Some days the loss of her parents weighed heavier than others.
The clock on her dresser chimed the quarter hour and pulled her out of the melancholy. No time for a good cry. Melanie would check on her before she knew it, and there was still much to be done. Grandmother’s letter awaited. She swallowed her tears. Taking eleven steps forward and one to the right, she kept her hand at a forty-five degree angle out in front of her to find the back of the chair. Once she was seated, she opened her letter and laid the pages in order from left to right on her desk and put her fingers on the top of the first paper.
Her fingers flew over the dots on the page as she read the braille letter.
My dearest Chaisley,
All is well here, my dearest, other than the bitter cold of winter sending an ache through my bones. But that will be cured as soon as I am able to wrap my arms around you.
I must say thank you once again for agreeing to do the European tour and to spend time here in Holland with me. The world is a different place since the Great War. Hurt and suffering seem to envelop everyone. But you have the chance to spread hope and inspiration to all these people. In this time of great division and chaos, music can bring unity. I am certain of it.
I have been told that many of your concerts are already sold out of tickets. What wonderful news, although I am not surprised!
Don’t you worry about a thing, I have made sure that everything is set up exactly as you requested here at my home and all of my staff know not to move a piece of furniture or anything else. Not even an inch.
Chaisley lifted her chin and listened as the wind rattled the windows in the manor that had been home her entire life. Grandmother’s opening chitchat was exactly the perspective she needed. This European tour had been in the works for several years. Chaisley’s schedule was always booked out at least two years in advance. But this time was different. This was a special request from her grandmother to give the people of Europe something of beauty to look forward to.
When Grandmother was involved, everything became larger than life. And how could Chaisley deny any request of hers? Not when Grandmother had done so much for her—raised her, given her every opportunity to develop the natural talents God had given her.
“Remember these things when you’re tempted to get anxious about this tour,” she muttered, her fingers moving back to the letter. “You are making your grandmother happy. And proud.”
Reading the letter again, her fingers traced the wordshurtandsuffering. Just a few weeks ago, Dr. G had told her and Melanie of a story he’d read inThe Guardianabout Jews who were prisoners in concentration camps. What was the name... Her brow furrowed. Dachau. That was it. And numerous stories of Romanian Jews suffering persecution, driven from their homes without another place to go.
If the stories were true, there were many people who needed help. But how could she do anything? She was just a pianist.
The wordhoperushed into her mind on a simple melody of four notes. One for each letter, it played over and over.
Perhaps that was what God wanted from her with this tour. People needed hope. Joy. What better way to lift the spirits of those who were weary than a night of music?
As her fingers finished reading the letter, she leaned back in the chair. Life hadn’t been the same in England after Grandmother went back to Holland. To the land of her heritage and childhood. The Great War had devastated so much, it wasn’t unusual for people to long for their roots and home. For a simpler time before the world had erupted in war.
Since Chaisley spent so much time on the road traveling, she encouraged her grandmother to follow her heart. As hard as that was to say aloud, it had been the right thing.
Celestia Frappier had a new mission in life after that. When she’d gone back to Holland and her ancestral home, the memories she shared with Chaisley multiplied. She found journals and clothing and all sorts of items that fortified the history that she’d clung to all her life. The rejuvenation, healing, and wonder had leapt off the pages of each of her grandmother’s letters.
That wonder seemed to carry Grandmother in her new life in Holland. The woman was tireless. Each letter was filled with news about helping one charitable group or another. The memories of neighbor helping neighbor spurred her on to continue spreading and sharing her heritage. The tone was much like thisletter, cheery and happy. But there was always a tinge of sadness. Of worry.
