The Musician (Emerson Pass Historicals 5) - Page 5

“Sorry,” Phillip said.

I closed the other eye and leaned my head against the side of the car. There had been a few times in my life when an unwanted truth had come to me, swept in like an unexpected snowstorm. Once had been when I was in Chicago after an audition for the symphony. I’d known it as I tucked my bow into my violin case. They would not offer me a position. Not because I wasn’t as good as the others. Or even better. The color of my skin and the shape of my eyes made sure of that.

And as we pulled down the driveway to my newly finished cottage on the Barneses’ property, another truth came to me. One that left me breathless and sick. I could not have Fiona. She would be in danger next to me. Her life of laughter and love would be extinguished if she was married to me. She’d have to live in fear and worry. Our children would be shunned. That was not the life I wanted for her. Not Fiona, so pure of heart. A woman who loved the Lord and her family and the flowers that peppered the meadows in spring and making music. She was safe and well taken care of. She would not be with me. All the efforts I’d made to make it so were a joke.

We pulled up to my house, and Phillip turned off the car. “We’ll help you inside and make sure you’re all right before we go.”

“I’m fine.” I opened my door and set one foot into the snow before looking back at my friends. “Grandmother’s here if I need anything. She’ll be forcing one of her teas on me by morning.”

They helped me to the door, and Flynn gave me another pull from his flask. “Try to get some sleep,” Flynn said. “This’ll help.”

“Listen to me, brother,” Phillip said. “We’ll figure out who they were, and they’ll be sorry they ever came to Emerson Pass.”

“There will always be more,” I said.

“And we’ll run them out too,” Flynn said. “You’re ours, you know. Family. Same with your grandmother and Fai.”

We weren’t family. In fact, my grandmother had worked in the Barnes kitchen with the family cook for most of my life. Lord Barnes had taken us in, having found us living in the old office down at the abandoned gold mine. They’d sent Fai and me to school with the rest of the Barneses. Lord Barnes had arranged for me to go to university in Chicago to study music. He’d not expected me to come home. It had nearly killed me to disappoint him, but when I explained how things were, that no one would hire me, he understood. “You’re home now, and we need music as much as the chaps in the city,” he’d said in his British accent.

Now I thanked the boys and went into the house, careful to close and lock the door behind me. Stifling moans of pain, I walked down the short hallway to my bedroom. Grandmother’s soft snores told me I hadn’t awakened her. Fai was away at school, thank God. She would have a fit if she saw me right now.

I lay on my bed with my clothes still on, too shocked and hurt to think about taking off my suit. I’d be better in the morning. Grandmother would help me.

Gingerly I put my head on the pillow and prayed for sleep. The letter I’d written to Fiona lay against my chest, tucked away inside the pocket of my jacket. I’d written it to her that morning but had not had the courage to give it to her tonight as I’d promised myself.

It had become unbearable not to tell her my feelings. My love for her had only deepened over time. She was now twenty, not quite old enough to marry but close enough. By this time next year, I hoped she’d be my wife. If my suspicions were correct. I’d carried my secret around for months, never allowing myself any leniency. It must stay hidden. But then, tonight, I’d glanced over after a song and met her eyes. Love. That’s what I’d seen shining back at me from those deep blue pools of light.

Given my differences from all the other men in Emerson Pass, I wanted to tell her first before asking her father for his permission to officially court her. We were together all the time anyway, but this would be different. Lord Barnes trusted me to look after his daughter but sharing my intentions with her was quite another story.

I’d carried the first version of my letter around in my pocket for days, thinking that at any moment, I’d give it to her. But my reticent and careful nature held me back from making a move. What would Lord Barnes and his wife think of my request? Would they grant permission for a Chinese immigrant to court and subsequently marry their precious Fiona? Only time would tell. However, I wanted her to know my intentions first. If I were wrong and I was the only one of the two of us in love, then I would not bother Lord Barnes.

The letter rested in the inside pocket of my wool coat. It was still the deep midwinter here in the mountains of Colorado. I would give it to her after tomorrow’s show. Otherwise, it would truly burn a hole through my jacket.

Dear Fiona,

I will attempt to put it simply in a letter, these feelings that are strong and complicated, but feel I will fail in my attempt. How does one tell someone the contents of their heart? So many times I’ve wanted to broach the subject but my cautious nature has made it impossible without knowing your feelings. Since I returned a few years ago from my time at university, my feelings for you have changed from a sense of friendship and protection to something much deeper.

I’ve not wanted to tell you until you were old enough to give me a chance. I know I have a lot against me, many reasons why you wouldn’t consider me. However, I have to try. If being around your family has taught me anything it is to pursue dreams, no matter how outlandish they may seem to others.

So, that’s it, dear Fiona. I have loved you for at least a year now and can no longer hold it in. I’d like to ask your father for permission to court you, but only if you wish it to be so. If you do not have the same feelings for me or if you think everyone, including your family, would be against us, I’ll never mention it again. But if there’s even a small chance that you could love me, please let me know.

Yours forever,

Li

Tags: Tess Thompson Emerson Pass Historicals Historical
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