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He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I remember everything I did, everything I said. I meant every word.”
“Zane—”
“Oh, God, Winifred, don’t stop me or I’ll never get this said. I—I care about you.”
“Of course. I know you do. I am Celeste’s sister.”
“No, dammit, that’s not what I mean.” He curled his hands about her upper arms. “That’s not all of it.”
She looked up into a face tense with unspoken feeling. “What, then?”
“I—”
The locomotive whistle obliterated his words. The train slid past until the passenger car rolled to the platform, and Winifred moved forward.
Zane stepped ahead of her, swung her valise onto the iron boarding step and then turned back to her. He didn’t speak, just gripped her shoulders, pulled her into his arms and caught her mouth under his.
His kiss shattered her equilibrium, left her dazed and trembling and suddenly unsure of where she was or what she was doing. If his lips had moved over hers for one more second, she would never have boarded the train.
He turned her away from him and propelled her onto the iron step.
He mouthed his last words: “Come back.”
January 9th
Dear Zane,
My concert is over. I did not play brilliantly, as I would have preferred, but Pierre de Fulet, the orchestra conductor, gave me a solo curtain call and afterwards I found bouquets of beautiful flowers heaped in my dressing room.
Poor Millicent is having a difficult time with her broken wrist. It is not healing well, and I am taking all her piano students for the new term. I am also filling in for her on two more concert engagements. Heavens, I am feeling tired already.
The snow has not let up for a single day since my return. My students arrive half-frozen and only after massive doses of hot chocolate do their fingers thaw enough to play a decent scale. Unfortunately, my upcoming performances are at least one day’s journey farther east, and the trains are abominably heated. If you are fortunate enough to sit near the stove, you won’t freeze, but otherwise the weather is miserable.
My father is not well. He is eighty-seven now, and the doctors say his heart is weakening. I try to spend as many evenings with him as I can, but with all the concerts I am playing that is not nearly often enough. It is amazing to me that he has lasted these many years since Mama died, and for a good many of those he had two rambunctious girls underfoot. Papa was forty-seven when he married Mama, and he was almost sixty when I was born.
I must close now and do some much-needed practicing of my Beethoven. His concertos are the most demanding in my repertoire.
Winifred
February 13th
Dear Winifred,
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and the Jensens are holding another barn dance. At least it will be warmer than the last one, at Christmas. I recall wishing I had a muff such as you ladies wear!
Sam’s kitten has grown into a sleek, overfed, much-petted creature that is absolutely terrified of mice. The best-laid plans, etc. etc. Rosemarie has taken a great liking to the worthless puss and pets her for hours and sings songs to her.
Yan Li is rapidly learning English. Not only is she a fine cook, she is very intelligent and good-natured. No matter how many of my patients track mud into the entry hall, Yan Li never frowns. Sam worships her.
My nurse, Elvira Sorensen, is recuperating slowly but has made me promise not to replace her. She insists she will work at the hospital until her dying day. Her husband has been sent to the federal prison in Boise. Seems he was wanted for a murder in Idaho. Elvira certainly deserved better.
I suspect Rosemarie has a gift for music, as she hums and chatters songs of her own making with words that are unintelligible to all but the cat, who meows along with her and purrs when she stops. She will be walking when you return in June!
You are coming in June, are you not? Sarah Rose and Rooney Cloudman are expecting you at their wedding.
Yours, Zane
April 17th.
Dear Zane,
I have been so tired of late I cannot recall if I mailed a letter to you in March. I am more in demand for concerts and recitals than ever before, even when Cissy and I were a piano duo team. I have seven concerts between the end of this month and the end of May—three with full orchestra.
Millicent is able to teach again, but our combined students total twice as many as last year at this time. I wonder where all these young pianists are coming from?
My father is worse. I have hired a full-time nurse, and while he is in good spirits—at least he claims he is—he grows weaker by the day. It breaks my heart to see him this way, so worn and thin. I never want to grow old. Never!
