Nurse Ingram pointed a finger at the nearby desk, already prepared with pen, ink, and paper for Constanza’s required daily ritual of denying who she was.
The male attendant waited to intervene.There was no point in resisting.Not if she wished to sleep in her own bed with the other women of the ward and eat a tepid meal that might or might not pass as palatable.She dropped into the chair, as cold and hard as her arrival to America during a New York blizzard.
“You are to copy those lines until you believe them.Am I understood?”
Two lines marched across the top of a blank page.I am not Constanza Brisbane, the opera singer.I am Josephine Davis, wife of Mark Davis, an accountant.
Two of her lives written plainly before her.One believed to be a lie and the other truth, but neither were true.Not really.She was one woman with three distinct lives and three distinct personalities.The one created by her husband: Josephine Davis, the meek, fearful, and unstable.The one she loved most: Constanza Brisbane, the bold, vibrant, and fearless singer.And then there was the one she was most ashamed of.The one whose past she’d foolishly thought she’d locked in a trunk and buried.
She should have known guilt never stayed buried.Nothing could contain it.Guilt was an apparition that endlessly haunted one with the clinking chains of shame, fear, disgust, and isolation.She didn’t need Winston’s or Ursula’s continued machinations to suffer.The memories of what she’d done, who she’d been, and her lack of strength to do what she ought punished sufficiently well.Although the knowledge that Winston and Ursula continued to seek their revenge did add significantly to her troubles.
A second slap ensured a bruise would form.“Do you understand what I said?”
“Yes.”The sting lingered, but Constanza would not give Nurse Ingram the satisfaction of rubbing it away.
Nurse Ingram nodded and strode to the next victim of her authority.
Constanza picked up the pen and rolled it between her fingers.She’d heard confession was supposed to free one of their guilt, but telling the police everything and then being acquitted hadn’t worked.Oddly, it made her feel guiltier.She deserved punishment, and apparently God concurred.Why else would her family be so ruthlessly hunted?In a way, her agreeing with Marcellus to come here had partially been in hopes of satisfying God and saving her family from her choices.
But she hadn’t come here as Constanza.She’d come here as Josephine Davis.No one here knew her full past.Even the ones who believed she was Constanza Brisbane.Cincinnati might have a reputation of bringing the arts to the masses, but opera was still beyond the reach or interest of the common laborer.Longview’s staff wouldn’t know the scandal tied to her.Perhaps that was part of her problem.God would not be satisfied until she confessed her past to those here.Maybe then He’d protect her family and truly free her of guilt.
It couldn’t hurt to try.With a prayer that it would bring God’s forgiveness, she plied her pen to paper.
I am Josephine Davis, wife of Marcellus Brisbane Davis, an accountant and my former manager.I am also the famous American coloratura soprano, Constanza Brisbane.And I am Katherine Yates, the English soprano and thief.
Chapter Five
HOW HADNORA ENDED UPin a hackalonewith a man whose charm clanged warning bells for her to run as far away as possible?Which, at the moment, was a mere six inches from her hip to his, and of course that hiphadto be the one containing her knitting needles pocket.She kept her hand on the edge of the basket’s cover so she could covertly retrieve the unlikely weapons the first moment she didn’t feel Mr.Beaumont’s eyes on her.But ten minutes into the ride, the feeling of being watched hadn’t abated.
Don’t be silly.He probably took your not-so-subtle hint and is looking out his window.
She chanced a peek and found his striking gray-blue eyes upon her.Whether that unsettled her or relieved her, she couldn’t be certain.Maybe both.She didn’t want to end up like Mum, consumed by paranoia and fear, but previous experiences with men had taught her to be wary.Two men had gone so far as to corner her and steal a kiss while pressing for more.At least then she’d been standing.They had left those encounters questioning if they would ever be able to procreate.Sitting in the hack put her at a tactical disadvantage, and Mr.Beaumont’s Don Giovanni antics unnerved her.As much as his attention flattered, it would be naive to believe it was without guile.
“It’s a long ride.”Mr.Beaumont didn’t waste the chance to claim her attention.“Surely you don’t intend for us to sit in silence forthe whole of it.I don’t know about you, but it’s not often I speak with someone who understands the struggles of having a parent at Longview.It might be nice to know we’re not alone.”
So much for sticking to the shallows of inane topics.The man dove off the cliff into depths she didn’t even allow her closest friends to tread above.Best to end this conversation before she revealed something she shouldn’t.“The Lord is always with me and able to bear me through my struggles.There is no need to share them with someone else.”
“The Lord is always with us, but isn’t this silence bothering you?”Given the man found some reason to talk at any lull, silence bothered him worse than an infected splinter.“I’m quite comfortable with silence.It’s amazing how much you can learn when you listen instead of speak.”
“And what is the clopping of horse hooves and the patter of rain telling you?”
“We’re moving closer to home, and a puddle that needs swept away before leaking inside will be knocking against my kitchen door.”
“It sounds like you need to fix the entrance so the water drains away from the house.”
“I’ll do it eventually.”
Concern bled into his voice.“Do you not have a father or brother at home to see to those things?”
Oh dear.There went not revealing more than she intended.She didn’t want to imply she was alone and vulnerable, even if she was more than capable of defending herself and their maid of all work.“My father is an accountant at a large business firm and doesn’t always have the time for repairs.But have no fear, I’m quite adept with a hammer and nails.I’ll do it when the weather turns.”
By the firm set to his mouth, he didn’t like her answer.“I don’t work on Sundays.I could come this weekend and fix it if the weather clears.”
“Sunday is the Lord’s Day.No one should work.”
“And yet the Lord healed on the Sabbath.Can I not help a lady in need?”That cheeky grin spread wide.
“Are you still attempting to charm me?”
