Firebird (The Flint Hills Novels) (16 page)

"This is a regional train, madame."

She hesitated. "You said it stops at Lausanne?"

"
Oui,
madame." Politeness sharp as a beak.

"Lausanne will be fine." She smiled and added, "Thank you."

When she had paid, he tore off her printed receipt and gave it to her. It slipped from her hand and floated to the floor, landing at the feet of the young man opposite her. He picked it up and returned it to her with an amused half-smile.

Annette turned toward the window, intent on enjoying the scenic beauty, but the young man's reflection in the glass drew her attention. He was resting his chin on his hand, his deep brown eyes fixed intently on the passing landscape, his long, slender fingers absentmindedly tapping his lips. He wore a leather jacket over a crisp blue shirt and there was an air of elegance and good manners in his gestures; he was young, she thought, perhaps twenty. On the seat beside him lay a copy of
The Economist
.

As the train sped along the lakeshore, she found her imagination dwelling on him. It became a momentary obsession, an amusement; wondering about him, imagining herself with him. The idea tickled her and made her smile to herself. When he got up to put away his magazine, she stole a glance at him. Neither of them pursued conversation.

As the train was pulling into Lausanne, the young man took an umbrella and a small leather bag from the overhead rack and made his way down the aisle. Annette waited in her seat, and she caught him glancing back at her just before he passed through the door. When she got off the train she looked around for him, but he had disappeared into the crowd.

She made her way to the exit. The air was damp with the threat of rain, and she stopped beneath the canopy and looked across the Place de la Gare to the fountain and a block of boring modern buildings with windows the color of the overcast sky. She was hungry and she didn't even have an umbrella, and she didn't have the faintest idea where to dine or what there was to do. She felt suddenly very lonely and a little frightened. How silly. Taking off on a lark. Gloom clouded her thoughts and she longed to be back in her hotel curled up with a book. She thought perhaps she might eat something in the station and then take the next train back to Montreux.

Suddenly he appeared beside her.

"Excuse me," he said in English, a little shyly and very respectfully. "Can I help you?"

She gave him a smile of delight. "Hello," she said.

Her warmth put him at ease. "Hello," he replied. "I was sitting opposite you..."

"Yes, I remember."

"I thought perhaps you might need a recommendation for a hotel." He seemed a little embarrassed. "But now I see you don't have a bag."

His eyes were very dark and very bright. A lock of wavy brown hair fell over his forehead and he swung it back with a toss of his head.

"Thank you," she answered. "I would."

"I can direct you to the hotel where our family stays when we're in town. It's quiet and well managed."

"I'm sure it will be fine."

"It's not far, just up the street. Do you mind walking?"

"Not at all."

He was an engineering student and he had come to Lausanne to meet his mother, who would be arriving the next day from St. Moritz. Annette gave him her maiden name and told him she was on vacation.

She didn't see him again until that evening when they both dined at the hotel, and he sent the waiter to invite her to his table for coffee. She found him to be mature, very well bred, intelligent and gracious in his conversation. Over cognac they energetically argued politics, and they were the last ones to leave the dining room. On the way up the stairs he slipped his hand into hers. She found his decisiveness reassuring, and she didn't hesitate when he drew her into his room.

She never saw him again after that night. He asked for her address in Paris but she wouldn't give it to him. He seemed hurt. She was surprised to find herself crying as she took the early train back to Montreux the next morning.

Three weeks later she learned she was pregnant. She didn't react with elation as she had with her previous pregnancy. Instead, a wonderful serenity settled over her. She named the baby Eliana, which in Hebrew means, "God has answered me."

* * *

When she had finished talking, they sat quietly for a long while. Ethan didn't know what to say. And she looked so tired.

He leaned forward and kissed her. A light came into her eyes.

Chapter 17

Annette was holding on the line for Ethan when he walked in the front door of the Salmon P. Chase House the next morning. He plodded leisurely up the steps with feigned casualness, ignoring Bonnie's look. He closed the door to his office and picked up the telephone.

"Ethan?" Her voice was bright.

"Mornin'," he answered. His heart beat rapidly.

"Ethan, can I still get in that house? My mother's old house?"

"Sure. I haven't done a thing to it."

"Would you mind terribly if I... if I went out there sometimes?"

"Not at all. I keep it locked, though. There's still some stuff up in the attic. There's not anything your mother cared much about. Things for a garage sale, she said. She didn't want to bother moving it. But I always kept it locked anyway."

"Could I come by and get the key?"

"Anytime. I'm here."

* * *

She entered his office dressed in jeans and wearing her sable-collared coat. Ethan thought she looked like a movie star but all he said was, "Lady, you could use a good old sheepskin-lined parka."

"You're such a cowboy," she teased.

"So what's all the excitement?" he asked.

"I can't tell you. If I do, it might go away."

"Come on now, you're not superstitious."

"No. But I get very nervous when good things happen."

She smiled and took the key he held out to her.

* * *

Annette enjoyed the drive to the old house. Even the bleakness of the winter landscape didn't seem to oppress her, and as she slid the key into the lock and opened the front door of her mother's family home, it struck her that she was falling in love with Ethan Brown. She hurried inside to get away from the cold February wind blowing at her back. A wind that shrieked around the corners of the house. It was a terrifying sound. The wind never sounded this way out on the open plains, only when it was confronted with an obstacle of some sort, a dwelling, a shelter, something built up in the midst of the vast emptiness.

She closed the door behind her and laid her violin case on the dusty table, then she carefully removed the instrument. As she tuned it and tightened the bow, thoughts of Ethan crowded her mind. She marveled at how a man like him could be fulfilled in a place like this. And yet she could imagine him nowhere else. He could have been a partner in a prestigious law firm or taken his place among the academics at Harvard and Yale. Instead, he collected books and read them late into the night, when his pretty girlfriend was asleep, enjoying communion with minds like his own in silence and solitude.

She began to play, and gradually the wind ceased its roar. The demons withdrew into silence, and music calmed the land.

* * *

Just that week Ethan had hired a couple of guys to help him tear down the fences that bordered Emma Ferguson's property. It was a long, slow process, and stray wire was always a potential hazard to the animals. Ethan thought it was about time to check on it, so the next day he rode out to visit the property. He finished a little before noon, and he thought he just might ride over to see if Annette Zeldin was at the farmhouse.

He reined in his mare at the top of Jacob's Mound and looked down at the old Reilly house. How many times had he ridden by the place over the years, glancing at it without so much as a passing thought for its past or its future? He saw only the land and its place in his scheme of things. When old man Norton died and his ranch went up for sale, Ethan saw a chance to realize his wildest dreams. He bought the Norton place, knowing that all the Mackey land would go to Katie Anne, and if he could ever get his hands on Mrs. Ferguson's little strip of prairie that cut like a ribbon between the Mackey land and his own, then his cattle would have access to the richest and biggest holding of bluestem in the state of Kansas.

Now this strip of land was his and Katie Anne would soon be his wife. He had what he'd always wanted. But as he looked down at the weathered old house, he realized his dream had shifted on him.

He pressed his heels into the horse's flanks and rode at full gallop down the hill.

When Annette heard the sound of his boots on the porch she stopped playing and lowered her violin. She waited for him to knock, and when he didn't she called for him to come in. Ethan opened the door hesitantly and removed his hat. She was smiling at him and he thought her eyes looked different, happier maybe, but he wasn't sure.

"Don't stop," he said quietly, a shade embarrassed. He sat down at the table and set his hat next to the violin case.

She began to play again. He listened and gave himself up to the sweet sound.

When she had finished, he sat motionless with his hands folded between his knees and watched her place the instrument back in its case.

"Wow," he said, awestruck.

"I'm out of practice."

"Could have fooled me."

"I have some hot coffee in a thermos. You want some?" she asked.

"Sure."

"I've only got this one cup."

"No problem."

She poured some coffee and passed it to him. As he took the cup he commented on her gloves.

"I thought those things went out with Charles Dickens."

"We wore them quite a lot in Europe. Places like Prague and Budapest. The concert halls were never heated."

He reached for her hand and turned it over, examining the glove. He grazed the tips of her naked fingers with his thumb and desire swept through her.

"Are you going to make a habit of this?" he asked.

"Of what?"

"Coming out here in the cold and serenading my cows."

She replied brightly, "I'm planning on it."

"Then I guess I'd better call the electric company and have them turn on the juice."

"You don't need to do that. I've rehearsed under worse conditions."

"I'm not competing for first place with the worst. I'll call them this afternoon."

He was still holding her hand.

"You said you were rehearsing," he said.

"Yes."

"That means you're going to start performing again."

She smiled.

"Was that your secret?"

"Yes."

"Headed back to the big time?"

"I hope so."

"The good old talking cure. Maybe Freud was on to something after all."

"I don't know if it's as simple as all that."

"I know it's not."

Her hand had settled in his, comfortably, without restraint.

"But you're right," she continued. "It did change things. This morning I called my old booking agent in London. I didn't know if I was still worth anything. She seems to think I am. She's going to line up some engagements for next winter. I told her I wanted to stay in Europe. I don't want to travel far. Places I can do in a day or two. I can take Eliana with me."

As she spoke her face came alive, and it struck him how emotions danced across it like cloud shadows across the plains.

She added in a low voice, "Thank you, Ethan."

"For what?"

"For listening."

"Anytime." He paused and then said, "What was that you were playing?"

"Beethoven's violin concerto."

"I wish I could've heard you in concert."

"Maybe you will, one day."

He laughed. "You won't get me across that ocean."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm not sure of much, but of that I'm sure." He shook his head slowly. "It's a pity, though. I would've liked to have been there in the audience, applauding like mad. You're a pretty amazing woman."