Though she’d tried to sound strong to her grandmother, the sobs that stole her breath and choked through her now that she was alone were anything but strong. Despair threatened as each minute passed. Sleep did not come for many hours. She lay in the dark, trying to accept that if something rather miraculous didn’t occur, she might soon be marrying a man she’d never even met before. How could that be? She supposed she had known it was coming. But she had held out hope.
Could she still play for Prince Edward? Undoubtedly. Even her father wouldn’t dare argue with that. If the royal house summoned her, she would no doubt go.
She had curled into a ball, and yet sleep had still not come hours later while she fought off despair. But even as the early hours of the morning turned from a hazy glow into the bright sun at the horizon, she could see little reason to resist the dark tugs at her heart, the inclination to never leave her bed.
But she must resist, or she might regret missing the concert and ball for the rest of her life, especially if they were to be her last moments with an orchestra. By force of will, she arose early, rang for her maid, and dressed. While watching the maid work on her hair, she decided to get out, to move one foot in front of the other. “Could someone accompany me to the exposition?”
The maid curtseyed. “Certainly. I’ll send a footman to the front door.”
“Thank you. And ask for the car?”
“Yes, miss.”
Freya hadn’t spoken with her grandmother of today’s plans but left her a note and hoped she would understand Freya’s liberties. If Freya were to spend an entire day in Paris, defying her father before boarding the train back to Salzburg, she would need some distraction, without the demands of conversation. Already her heart was pounding at the thought that her father was expecting her to board a train in just a few hours and return home to London. What would he do when she never stepped off the arriving train?
The car stopped in front of a long walk of the different pavilions of nations. “I’d like to get out here.”
The footman opened her door and then walked behind her. She was happy to see he was almost not with her at all. She needed time to think. Time to accept her new life. The pain of her father’s demands, an unknown future rolling out in front of her, was almost so distracting that she couldn’t see the amazing sights around her.
Excited, happy faces surrounded her, and their energy lifted her spirits somewhat. People jostled her right and left. The whole surrounding was much more crowded than last time. Then a woman ran into a man, dumping all the contents of her cup full of lemonade ice. They talked excitedly together for a moment, and Freya enjoyed their energy.
Freya laughed and turned away so as not to add embarrassment to the scene. She walked toward the Grand Palais. Good artwork by talented artists always lifted her spirits. The artwork was impressive, and every piece was well done, she supposed, but she was not as yet touched until she passed by a painting of a woman surrounded by lilies on the edge of water. She paused a moment. Luc Paquet. Her grandmother would love this painting, and Freya wished to lose herself in the peaceful scene. But she moved on. How strange to defy one’s parents. Was she alone in the world? Left to fend for herself? Surely not . . . not yet. If things didn’t change, she would return, cater to her father’s wishes. Her feet dragged slower as she left the Grand Palais.
She stepped up to a smaller pavilion, a white building with a dome. It looked like it might be from Greece, but as she entered, a large flag of the United States of America at the front welcomed her. Mild curiosity about the United States nudged her inside to investigate further. She hardly saw even the railway and oil exhibits as she wandered through. Too distracted to become interested, she was about to leave when her attention was caught by a statuette in the back corner. A plaque read, “The Exhibit of American Negroes.” A tall man in the statue looked distinguished, determined. She stepped closer. Frederick Douglas. She knew nothing about him. Freed slave.
Goodness.
She ran her fingers along his clothes, his face. The statue didn’t show the color of his skin. She imagined his to be of the deepest brown. She kept walking and immediately became lost to the stories being told. The purpose of the exhibit was to honor the lives of the Black Americans and their successes. She studied a glass case that featured four thick volumes of patents owned by Black Americans. Their stories were fascinating. They had been slaves or their parents were slaves or their grandparents. To rise from such a beginning . . . and they were making lives for themselves, leading universities in research.
She entered a section of photographs. Five hundred images stretched before her on the wall. A family in one, standing in front of their homestead, acres of plantation behind, now owners of it all. A man in the next holding a diploma. A church in Philadelphia, the first church to be owned by a Black American. On and on the pictures went. She looked at each one. Their lives were celebrated, some with very public success, some private, some simple and others outstanding, but each one noteworthy. What a transformation in each soul. She tried to imagine if she had been a slave, to imagine if her parents were slaves, if she remembered the life of a slave in her own lifetime, how would that change things? And then to think, to rise from those situations to become successful. Was the climate in America even friendly for them now? How would it be to overcome that kind of societal thinking? She knew her own situation held only the tiniest challenges in comparison to the people featured in the exhibit. A measure of grim determination began to settle inside. Each story seemed to call out to her, “You can.” The man who stood, clutching a wife at his side, grinning broadly for the camera whispered, “You can.” She turned in a circle hearing two words from every situation. “You. Can.”
By the time she’d finished, Freya felt changed. The wise and oldest teacher, perspective, had left its mark on her heart, and she wanted to salute Frederick Douglas on her way out. When she stepped back out onto the walkway, she knew she was finished touring for the day. She’d made the right choice to go to Salzburg instead of to return home. Beyond performing, she hoped the way would light itself because she had no new ideas. Nothing had changed in her situation to merit any hope. Only one very clear idea still sounded in her heart. There might as yet be a way. You can.
She said little to her grandmother the rest of the afternoon, and when it came time to once again board the train Sunday morning, she kissed her cheek. “Will you be coming to watch my performances?”
“Yes, of course. But I wouldn’t expect your parents.”
She shook her head. “I know. Thank you, Grandmother.”
“Are you . . . well?”
“I am well.” Freya stepped outside the door, climbed back in the car, and waved over her shoulder until she could no longer see her stout yet stately grandmother waving from her front doorway. The next time she would see her, Freya would be wearing concert attire in the great hall filled with all the monarchs of Europe.
Soon the car dropped her off and she walked up the steps and into the train station. Erich was once again on the platform to meet her. He was not carrying a bag, and his eyes looked more tired than she’d seen them before.
“Hello!” She approached with a smile and embraced him. For a moment, she imagined they were together, officially, and he would swing her around and kiss her for all to see.
Then he pulled a hand from behind his back, holding flowers. “For you.”
“Edelweiss.” She lifted the small bouquet of white from his hands. Her heart tore at the symbolism, at the message that sacrifice was required. “Did you climb the mountain peaks to get these for me?” Would she soon be telling him that she was to be married to another? That she herself had made no climb for edelweiss? In answer to her rising despair, the words you can repeated.
He laughed. “In a way, yes.” The flash of grim determination in his own eyes matched her feelings from earlier, and she looked twice before it passed. Then he bowed over her hand. “Might I escort you inside?”
“Certainly.” Some of the tightness in her chest lessened. His hair fell into his face for a moment. His boyish dishevel brought a growing grin. “Seeing you is just what I need right now.”
“And seeing you is always what I need.” He led her inside the train and to the nearest car with group seating. He sat next to her. “Now you must tell me all about Paris this weekend.”
“Did you not see it yourself?”
“Unfortunately, I did not.”
“What do you do on these trips you make so often?”
He dipped his head. “I usually come to play for my patrons.”
“And this time?”
“This time.” He looked away and seemed reluctant to speak. When she peered closer at him, a slight pink to his cheeks made her smile. He reached for her hand. “When I came from Salzburg this last time, I came only for you.”
She widened her eyes. “You did?” She could not even stop the pleased smile that spread across her face. “You left Salzburg and traveled . . . for me? All the way to Paris?”
“Yes, I did. And today I am here because someone had to bring you the edelweiss.”
She lifted it again to peer at the soft white flowers. “I have always loved edelweiss.” She leaned back in her chair. “Paris was not as enjoyable.”
“Not quite the same as riding the Grande Roue de Paris?”
“Nothing like being with you.” She opened her mouth to tell him her terrible news, but no words would form. She couldn’t think of how she would tell him that her hand had been promised to another. She would force the words to leave her lips before their arrival in Salzburg. Even though she was determined to find another solution, it was only right to tell him of the situation. But until then, she’d live in happiness for a few hours longer.
She ran a hand down her arm. “Do you want to go in one of our compartments? I think it would be warmer.”
He turned to peer out the window, and she followed his gaze. “Is that snow?” he asked, incredulous. Flurries fell, barely visible as they sped past.
“I had so hoped that we might be ready for spring.”
“Happily, the steam warms the cars as well as cooks our food. If not, we’d have a real danger of freezing in here, like those cold ice-block cars.”
She didn’t like the sound of any idea that would make her colder, and she stood. “Mine is just down that passageway, so it must be the closest.”
As soon as they stepped inside her compartment, she felt much warmer. “Oh, this is just the thing.” She sat on a bench next to the window. The compartment had two benches facing opposite one another with a window at their side. The snow was falling much faster now, and the flakes looked large. “I would say that is a magical sight if I didn’t know how cold it was outside.”
Erich reached for two blankets above them and sat close at her side. “And now we have the entire journey to be together.”
As she sat shoulder to shoulder with this wonderful but mysterious man, she wanted nothing more than to be with him forever, but for now, she’d settle to learn more about him. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”
He hummed. “I’ve already said so many things to you I’ve never said to anyone else. But let’s see.”
The snow fell faster and thicker, and the area outside became covered in a white blanket the closer they moved to Salzburg.
“I’ve always wondered if I might become more than a musician someday.” His voice was quiet, determined.
“I don’t understand.”
“Like your father, for example. I admire what he does. I’ve always wondered if I might have what it takes to do something like he’s done.”
Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. It pounded so quickly for a moment. “Father has built a successful business, but he has no time for anything else.” She knew it would physically hurt Erich not to play, not to perform. She knew because it was physically hurting her to even think about being prevented from performing.
He nodded. “He might not have wished to, up to this point. I don’t know, but I would presume if he wished to do more, he would have. From what I’ve seen of business, there are different levels of involvement possible. But what about you? What’s something you’ve never told anyone else?”
“I’m afraid of high places.”
He turned to her. “What? But the Grande Roue!”
Amazingly, she’d been fine. “Yes. I thought I would be petrified. But the other thing I’ve never told anyone is that I have a cure for whatever ails me.”
“You do?”
“Yes.” Then she lost her courage. Shyness overtaking her words for a moment, she stared out at the falling snow.
“What is your cure?” His gentle voice drew her eyes to his.
She swallowed twice before braving her admission. “You. You’re my cure. When we are together, nothing else in the world could possibly go wrong.”
He reached over and unpinned her hat. Then he placed it on the bench across from them.
She didn’t even care that her hair must look a sight, because she forgot everything but him as he ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. His eyes filled her with the love she saw in them. Then slowly, carefully, he placed his lips over hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She nodded in the unrealistic hope that he could actually make such a promise. She pushed away all thoughts that attempted to interrupt her happiness and just drank in his confident declaration. Perhaps. Perhaps if she just stayed with him, everything else in her life really would work out.
She laced their fingers together. “Tell me three things that make you unimaginably happy.”
His grin grew so large she had to laugh in pure delight. “Do you know you have the best smile?”
She couldn’t even feel shy at so bold a statement.
“And that is what I most admired about you that first day on the train.” He grinned. “But the very first thing I noticed about you was this gentle, focused concentration and the slight pucker to your lips while you stared at the train as though you might not ever board.”
“I forgot you notice I pucker my lips.” The thought was pleasant, that he was looking, and she didn’t try to stop the gentle warmth to her face.
“You mean for things other than kissing?”
She gave his arm a gentle push. “Oh you. Stop. Yes. For other things.”
“Another thing that makes me happy is hearing you play the violin. When you play, I quite forget myself.”
Her eyes widened.
“You are the most beautiful when you play.” His expression turned almost wistful. “You have this exquisite concentration, this look of supreme happiness as though . . .” He paused for a moment. “As though you are about to discover a long-awaited dream.” He turned to her. “You are meant to play, as if your very soul longs for your violin.”
“It does.” A tear dropped from her eyes. She hadn’t even known she was welling up. His handkerchief was in her hand before she could reach for one. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry to cause distress.”
“You haven’t. No. You are the one to make my distress disappear. I dread the moment I must once again leave this train. Oh, that we could be stuck here forever.”
“I would never complain of such a thing.” He tapped her on the nose.
The compartment filled with the smell of peppermint. She immediately looked around.
He sat up. “Are you looking for Nicholas?”
“Yes. I am smelling his pipe.”
“Rosemary and oregano?”
“No, peppermint.”
He shook his head. “Uncanny.”
A shadow moved past their door, but neither jumped up to see if it really was Nicholas. Freya was too warm and happy. “Now, what else makes you happy?”
“Easy. You. You. You.”
She shook her head. “I love hearing that. What else?”
“The perfect vibrations when my bow sits just right on a string.”
“Mmm. Yes.” How could she have met such a man? “What else?”
“When a student will begin to understand what I’m trying to show them about their playing, and they start to sound like a maestro.” He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Like you.”
At mention of the word maestro, she remembered how badly she had wanted the Maestro to choose her. What did it matter now? “We should play.”
“Yes. That’s the next thing that makes me . . . how did you say it? Unimaginably happy?”
“Yes.”
“Creating music with you makes me unimaginably happy. I imagine all pursuits with you would do the same.” He lifted her fingers in his hand. “Have you given much thought to the miracle of our meeting?”
“Every day. Is it real or just some imagined moments on a train?” She shrugged.
“What we have is the most real I’ve ever felt.” He stood and reached for her hand, pulling her to her feet. His arms went around her back, and he held her close as if the two of them were the center of everything important. His face was warm, his eyes full of too many emotions to count. Then he dipped his head, his soft lips finding her ready ones, capturing them, as he pressed his mouth to hers, asking, pleading, pulling all her resistance away. “I love you,” he mumbled against her lips.
She smiled. “I love you too.”
A loud screeching interrupted them, and a jerking pressure threw them back on their bench. She clutched at his arm as a long, stopping motion pressed her against the seat back. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. Looks like an emergency stop.” They peered out the window to a receding terrain.
“We’re up high.” She swallowed and looked away. “I never notice how high usually.”
“Nor I. There’s a different feeling about the height when screeching to a halt.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “We are on time so far, set to arrive as usual.”
A nervous flutter began in her stomach, the slightest hint of worry that she tried to tamp out. “I have our largest concert and event tomorrow, the whole purpose of me attending.”
He checked something out the window. She refused to look again. It brought on an ache to her bones and her usual fear of heights.
Erich pointed out the window. “The snow is deep, and it keeps falling.”
The train continued its long, halting motion. It was much slower now but still moving, and then they were both thrown back against their seat again. The train stopped.
“What could have happened?” Freya rested a hand on his arm.
“I think we hit snow.”