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Yes, he was still grieving for Celeste. Yes, he was lonely. He’d thought he was so numb with grief he was dead inside.
But he’d miss Winifred.
On the other hand, he couldn’t be around her. Shouldn’t be around her. He was glad she was leaving.
The train was late and every minute they waited was awkward. Zane walked the length of the platform, stopped where Winifred stood waiting, her valise beside her, then walked another length. When he returned to her side she did not look at him.
Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Winifred?”
She looked up at his voice. “Yes, Zane?”
“I’m glad you came. I dreaded it. Dreaded meeting you, at first, but...”
“But you’re glad I am leaving.” She gave him a wobbly smile.
“Yes. And no.”
She held up her hand. “Don’t explain. Please don’t.”
He nodded. He couldn’t explain even if he wanted to.
Suddenly she pivoted away from him. “There’s the train. I hear the whistle.” She moved toward the tracks. He grabbed up her valise and followed.
The locomotive engine whooshed past, slowing to position the passenger car in front of the loading platform. Winifred kept her back to him until she reached the iron boarding step, then turned to face him. With one hand she reached for the valise he carried, and with the other she reached for him.
He enveloped her hand in both of his, opened his mouth to say goodbye and found he had no voice.
She smiled at him again. “You don’t have to say anything, Zane.”
He cleared his throat. “Come back,” he said.
She pressed her lips together and inclined her head. Tears shone in her eyes.
September 20th
Dear Zane,
My concert on the seventeenth went well—actually better than I expected. I didn’t have a speck of stage fright, as I usually do. Cissy never had qualms about performing; I was always the one with shaking hands and a fluttery heart. I played some of her favorites—Brahms waltzes and a Beethoven sonata or two. No Chopin.
My teaching load at the conservatory will increase with the new term beginning in January. I have plenty of students already—more than the other professors—and one or two intermediates show considerable promise. Often I look at them and wonder if I was ever that young. They are so serious, so disciplined, so full of hope.
Next month I will play in Chicago with an orchestra, and after that in New York City and then Boston. My career in music—the life both Cissy and I dreamed of since we were in pinafores—is terribly important to me. Even more, now that Cissy is gone, and that is strange in a way because I could never have imagined doing this without her. But it is everything to me now, perhaps because... Oh, I don’t know, really.
I am working very hard, harder than last term, with many more concert engagements. By November I will surely need a rest.
One of my fellow faculty members, Millicent Erhard, has invited me to her home in Rochester for two weeks; she promises lots of music “for fun.” That will be a relief.
Kiss Rosemarie for me.
Winifred
October 3rd
Dear Winifred,
Rosemarie thrives, though half the county is down with influenza. I have been at the hospital day and night as our permanent nurse, Elvira Sorensen—did you meet her?—came down with it last week and I am training another woman who is not nearly as conscientious. Good nurses are hard to find.
You will not believe this next: Sam is getting married! He has been saving the salary I pay him, and adding his winnings at fan-tan, which he plays with Uncle Charlie—the baker, remember? Three months ago he sent to his family in China for a “respectable girl with not a loud voice.” He included money for her fare to Portland, and she should arrive before Christmas. I am enlarging Sam’s room off the kitchen and installing a small bathroom for them as well.
I would like to give him a wedding gift, but do not know what would be appropriate. Perhaps you will have some ideas.
One of my patients, a farmer by the name of Peter Jensen, is holding a winter dance in his barn on Saturday. He wants me to come in case a fight breaks out. Why not the sheriff, I wonder? But Sam is urging me to “get out of house.” The weather will be crisp. I have given up brandy so must make do with hot cider.
I wonder what you will think of New York City, and Rochester. It should be snowing by then. I also wonder if you can ice-skate. It was my greatest pleasure in the winter when I was growing up, and it cost little so it was no strain on Mother’s finances.
