The glimpses of the melody that unfurled when I held Georgina, now I saw them all. The fear of rejection by the Harlbert’s Prize committee had been dislodged by something more immediate and true: Georgie’s rejection of starting a life with me.
The pressure I’d placed on my creativity gave way to my ego. My heart being destroyed because my offer to be a loving husband, an honorable mate, was rejected was a crushing blow.
A song could be fashioned by this loss.
A life together should be a lasting choice.
Candlelight flickered at the door. My mother stood there in a gorgeous pink robe and paper curlers peeking out of her matching mobcap.
“Mark? That is you.”
“Yes, Mama, I was in the neighborhood.”
“At three o’clock in the morning? You were at some wretched neighbor’s dinner party and they didn’t invite me? How rude.” She chuckled. “You all right?”
“Yes. Quite fine.” I, the liar, opened the pianoforte and stared at the keys. From my portmanteau, I took out my bottle of ink and quill.
Papering the melody I heard in my head became easy. This new sonata was full and sweeping. It was everything, and it came from deep inside me.
When I finally looked up, I saw my mother still standing there, holding the candle, gawking.
“Mama, is something wrong?”
“No. I like watching you create, but I thought you were your father. When his little adventures go wrong, I find him here sulking, looking for someone to listen to his troubles, remind him that he’s not an old fool.”
Is that what she called my father’s affairs,adventures? How could she be so forgiving for such open betrayal?
He was an old fool and my mother still cared for him. I gazed at her and wanted to ask why.
But that was their marriage.
It was not the type of union I ever aspired to. I wondered if that was what Georgie thought I was asking.
“Mama, you can go on to bed. I’m just going to sit here and work on my sonata. I think it’s going to be good.”
“They say heartache is the best teacher.”
Well, then I should be a genius by morning.
She came inside the room and sat in the small chair by the window. Putting down her candle, she pulled her hands together. The Prahmn family jewel, a lovely ruby ring, glimmered on her finger next to a simple silver band, something her father gave her.
“Was it worth the ruby, Mama? Father’s a fool to keep hurting you.”
“You get numb to it. I’ve actually become a very strong woman. Yes, it takes a great deal of strength to walk into a room where half the people are gossiping about you and the father of your children. You have to learn to look serene, knowing there are women in your midst who take pleasure in your downfall.”
“Mama, if I asked someone to marry me, is that what she thinks I’m asking? Is it possible she believes marriage is a misery?”
For a moment, my mother looked very serious, more serious than I’d ever seen. She leaned back in the chair, touching her finger to her nose. She said, “Marriage can be wonderful. There are some memories which are the greatest joys in my life. I shared them with your father. Others I’ve shared with my children.”
She looked down at her ring. “Prahmn and I were not a love match, not on his part. I was wealthy, a little too carried away by his ardor, and a little too naïve about life. My father had a special license curried by the archbishop. We married. My family’s reputation remained spotless. I have a title and an often-empty bed.”
I’d never heard her say this so plainly, why she’d married my father. “I’m sorry, Mama.”
“Both people have to want the unity. There’s no comfort in being a wife who doesn’t have her husband’s favor. There’s no comfort for a husband who’s lost his wife’s respect.”
I banged the keys by accident. “What does it mean to lose respect if you keep forgiving him?”
She rubbed her arms as if a breeze fell upon her. “Can mean a lot of things. It means not caring about what’s important to him. Making sure he sees how his latest mistress snubs him. Encouraging the son who wishes to shape up to pursue his heart and the woman who has his.”
