When the Music Ends (The Winter Rose Chronicles) (28 page)

            "Good.
Save that hot stuff for when we’re together."

            "I
won’t be able to wear it. I’m too fat."

            "You’re
not fat, you’re pregnant. You’re still hot though."

            "Thanks
Sean."

            "Hey
listen, I’ve been thinking. You’re going to need maternity clothes,
aren’t you?"

            "No."

            "Yes
you are. Don’t be silly. I’m going to send you a credit card and I
want you to buy yourself some comfortable things and wear them. No more
squeezing into regular jeans, okay?"

            "You
don’t need to do that."

            "Yes
I do. You’re my wife. I love you. You’re also carrying my baby. The
least I can do is make sure you’ve got something to wear."

            "Well
that’s very generous. I’ll try not to spend too much."

            "Spend
as much as you want baby. I can afford it."

            "Famous
last words."

            "I
doubt it. Good night Erin. I love you."

            "I
love you. Talk to you tomorrow. Bye."

            Three
days later, the promised credit card arrived in the mail, addressed to
Sheridan, who made her friend put her oboe away and go to the mall.

            The
maternity wear store was rather busy when the girls arrived, so they just
browsed for a while.

            "What
do you need? Sheridan said, "And be sure you don’t cheap out or
I’ll have my brother come up and shop with you."

            "That’s
cheating," Erin laughed.

            "Here,
look at this," Sheridan held up a lovely long sweater in a raspberry
color.

            "That’s
really pretty," Erin said, "But I’m mostly going to be
pregnant in the summer. Do I really need something that warm?"

            "Yes.
It won’t heat up until May. That’s a long time to be cold. Besides,
it’s on sale. At least try it on."

            In
the end, Sheridan bullied her friend into trying on a huge number of clothes,
including jeans and sweaters for everyday use, Sunday dresses, shorts (last
summer’s on clearance) tee shirts and tank tops, and some lovely flowing
black trousers that could go with anything, but particularly with a ruched and
stretchy black lace top. Those two pieces would work very well for the concert.

The first time Erin stepped into a pair of wide legged jeans with a
soft blue elastic waistband she sighed with relief. They felt so good. No
pressure on her little bump. She pulled the sweater over her head and looked in
the mirror. Funny how maternity clothes made a person both look and feel more
pregnant. Sheridan walked up beside her and looked her over.

            "Isn’t
that better?"

            "Yes.
It’s better. I think I’ll get both pieces."

            "I
think you’ll get the lot."

            "That’s
too much money."

            "Don’t
worry, Erin, Sean can afford it. He wants you to be as comfortable as
possible." She scooped up the clothes and laid them on the counter.

            "Ma’am,"
the clerk said to Erin, "I wonder if you would be interested in
these?" She handed her a couple of bras in rather strange colors.

            "What
are they?" Erin wanted to know.

            "Nursing
bras. Are you planning to breastfeed your baby?"

            "Of
course."

            "Well
nursing bras can be expensive, and I know you’re trying to keep the cost
down. These are on clearance because no one liked the colors, but the design is
really good. They’re quality pieces."

            It
made sense, but the expense was getting ridiculous. On the other hand, they
were very practical. The clerk rang up the sale and told Erin the total. She
gasped.

            "Oh,
I can’t spend that much. I have to put something back." She looked
through the pile.

            "Erin,
no. Don’t put anything back. There’s nothing extravagant here.
You’ve really been very conservative. With these pieces, you’ll be
all set for the rest of your pregnancy. Come on."

            "It’s
too much Danny."

            "It
isn’t."

Erin looked at her stubbornly. This was going nowhere. What could
Sheridan do?

"I know." She pulled out her cell phone.

            "Murphy
Construction and Renovation."

            "Sean,
it’s Sheridan. I’m at the store with your wife. She’s balking
at paying for these clothes. Talk to her."

            She
handed Erin the phone.

            "What’s
wrong baby?"

            "I
have too much."

            "I
doubt it."

            "There’s
no way I can spend this much of your money."

            "How
much?"

            "Almost
$500.00"

            "Is
that all? I thought you would get stuff for the whole pregnancy, not just the
rest of winter."

            "I
did."

            "Sounds
like you did well then."

            "Sean…"

            "Erin, pay the bill. Just hand the nice cashier the credit card."

            She
did.

            "Now
listen. I’m not broke. If you need something, just get it okay? Promise
me."

            "I’ll
try."

            "Okay.
I have to go. I love you."

            "Love
you too."

            She
gathered up her bags and the girls went to the food court for some lunch.

As is always the case when one would really like to slow down and do
something well, the time before Erin’s recital flew by. She
couldn’t hang onto the minutes, and her progress on her music was
painfully slow. She doubted all of it would be ready in time.

And then, suddenly, it was the afternoon of the recital. All the
performers were behind the big black curtain waiting for the show to start. Erin had already warmed up her oboe. It was sitting waiting for her on a little stand on
the stage of the recital hall. Her accompanist was Tory, who was a keyboard
major and played harpsichord and piano when her woodwind ensemble needed it. In
fact, the whole group would be performing with her on one of the pieces. Tory
had played her recital in the fall, as had Justin and Marisol. Ilona’s
was next weekend, and she was making herself sick worrying about how her flute
was going to sound when the time came. They were such good friends, and Erin was grateful to have known them, but after this semester they would scatter. At least
she now knew where she would be going.

She nervously rubbed her little belly. Next week, during spring break,
she would have an ultrasound. She couldn’t wait. But first she had to get
through today. Her fingers were trembling with nerves, and she thought she
might just throw up.

Warm arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back against a
powerful chest. She jumped. A familiar voice murmured in her ear, "Hi
baby."

"Sean!" She squeaked a little louder than was really
appropriate for backstage right before a performance and whirled around hugging
him tight, leaning her cheek against his chest. "You’re here! Why
are you here?"

"It’s your big day. Where else would I be? Of course I
would be here to support my wife." He leaned down and kissed her tenderly
on the mouth.

"Erin," Tory whispered, "is this your
husband?"

"Yes, this is Sean Murphy. Sean, this is my woodwind group.
This is Tory, Ilona, Marisol, Justin and Marcus. They’re my closest
friends in the music department."
            "Pleased
to meet you guys," he said, still holding Erin close, his big hand
circling soothingly on her back.

They returned the greeting softly and wandered back to their own
corners, glad that Erin had something to take her mind off her nerves.

"What’s this?" Sean whispered in her ear, cupping
the little curve of her belly.

"Your baby, silly."

"Our baby, Erin. The baby we made together."

"Yes."

There was a small fluttering movement under his hand and Sean drew
in a startled breath.

"Did I just feel that?"

"Yes. It’s not butterflies."

"Wow."

"Erin, it’s time." Dr. Johnson told her from the
doorway.

Erin
nodded.

"Go find a seat honey."

"You’ll be great." He kissed her once more and was
gone.

Much strengthened by her husband’s support, Erin took a deep
breath and walked out onto the stage. The lights were blinding. She
couldn’t see the audience at all, only her music stand, the oboe, and the
piano, sitting on the pale pine floor. The back of the stage was flanked with a
semi-circle of plastic chairs and other music stands. For now, she was alone.

"Good afternoon. My name is Erin James Murphy. I would like to
thank you all for coming to my recital. I hope you enjoy the music I have
prepared. My first piece is the Sonata for Solo Oboe by Carl Phillip Emmanuel
Bach.

She lifted the oboe into her hands, wet the reed and began to play.
As always, once Erin began working her instrument, all her nerves melted away
and she was gone, deep within herself to the place where pure music dwelt. All
the hours of preparation meant that she played largely from memory, relying on
her familiarity with the notes to keep her fingers moving while emotion,
instinct, and passion expressed themselves in the tempo and volume.

From his seat, between his parents, Sean was in awe. He had heard
his wife play many times, but he had never heard anything like this. It was
technical perfection. Her fingers flew over the little silver keys
effortlessly, stroking the instrument and making it weep. The piece was sad and
mournful sounding, but threading through it were little ribbons of hope. It was
amazing. Long too. For ten minutes she and her instrument worked together to
make the most beautiful, most moving sounds he had ever heard. At last, she
lowered the oboe from her mouth and took a deep breath. The audience applauded
enthusiastically.

"For my next piece, I would like to play the Oboe Concerto by
Ralph Vaughn Williams. My accompanist for this piece is Victoria Alonzo. This
arrangement for Oboe and Piano was prepared by Dr. Keith Johnson.

            And
it began again. This piece was very different from the previous one. Much more
modern, it had strange intervals, and didn’t really make much sense to
Sean, but that didn’t matter. It was flawless. Her fingers hit each note unerringly.
He could tell she didn’t have as much affection for this work, but
because of its difficulty, it was important for her to include it.

The third piece was different again. After a brief pause as the
other musicians came out from behind the curtain and settled themselves in the
chairs, she introduced her woodwind ensemble, whom she called the Young
Bohemians, making the audience chuckle. This time, the piece was the Concerto
for Two Oboes in F Major, by Tomaso Albinoni. Sean knew from an earlier
conversation that her friend Marcus would be playing the oboe, even though
bassoon was his preferred instrument. She had been touched by his willingness
to do that for her. Now this was music Sean could understand. Pretty, rich and
deep, it flowed over the audience, making them smile.

            On
and on it went, for the next thirty minutes. One piece after another, some
technical and strange, others lovely and haunting, some with accompaniment,
others without. It was such a broad range. Sean had never dreamed that his wife
was this talented, and he felt another surge of guilt over the narrow life they
would be sharing after she graduated. It was what she wanted, but was it really
best, when she had all this inside her?

            But
that music wasn’t all she had inside her. As she set up for her last
number, getting out a fresh reed, he saw her rub the side of her belly
discreetly with her free hand. He wondered if the baby was tickling her. She
smiled, a private smile, and he understood at last what she had tried to tell
him all along; that while she was a superior musician, she was also a woman, a
friend, a wife, soon to be a mother. She had to be all of them to be whole. She
would never be satisfied with the self-centered life of a dedicated artist.

            "Let
me thank you again all for coming to my recital. I hope you have enjoyed the
music. My last piece is based on the pop song "I Swear," written by
Gary Baker and Frank J. Myers, as performed by the singing group
All for One
.
It was arranged by me for oboe and piano in honor of my wonderful husband, Sean
Murphy."