her own fears, not just of singing but
of love, of living life to its fullest. Would she ever fly free?
Then,
as if her bittersweet thoughts had summoned him, she saw him again, saw Jacques
LeFevre standing at the edge of the stage, extending his hand, his dark eyes
beautifully intense. Excitement quickened her heartbeat and stirred her
breathing. Could anyone else see him? She glanced at Litchfield and Daly, and
saw not a spark of shock or recognition on either man's face. No, Jacques's
ghost was there for her alone! Her rapt gaze swung back to him—
“Sing
for me, Bella,” he commanded quietly. “Come to me, ma chère .
. .”
His
words were hypnotic and very sexy. Never had Bella felt such excruciating
yearning. She swung back and forth, a bird in a gilded cage, longing to be
released, to soar into his arms. Had it not been for the bars of her cage, she
might have flown to him. Then, as quickly as Jacques had appeared, he was gone,
leaving her suffused with unassuaged longing.
Chapter Six
Back
to Contents
Bella
awakened to the scent of roses.
On
the day of the dress rehearsal of Kaleidoscope, a day that also happened
to be Bella's twenty-fifth birthday, the tantalizingly sweet scent awakened her
early. She sat up in bed and gazed at the night table, where she spotted a
dozen perfect red blooms in a crystal vase bedecked with ribbons.
Poignant
emotion gripped Bella's heart. She plucked the card and opened it, reading: “To
our darling daughter, Bella. Happy twenty-fifth birthday. Love, Mama and Papa.”
Tears
filling her eyes, Bella leaned over to smell the heavenly blooms. So Gran had
done it again—she was such a sweetheart. Sometimes Bella could hardly believe
her parents had been gone for over six years, but on every one of her birthdays
since their deaths, she had received the dozen roses and a card—ostensibly sent
by her deceased mother and father.
Of
course, Bella had realized long ago that her parents had hardly reached out to
her from the grave; Gran had done it for them, bless her heart.
Bella
put on her robe and slippers and headed for Gran's room. Finding it vacant, the
bed made, she went downstairs. She was pleased to see Gran sitting at the
kitchen table in her wheelchair. Wearing a pale gray silk dress, she was
sipping juice and eating one of her beloved beignets . Bella noted that
the old woman's color appeared somewhat better this morning, though she
remained much too fragile, her features almost skeletal.
“Well,
look who's up,” Bella said.
Isabella
smiled at her granddaughter and waved a frail hand. “Good morning, darling,”
she said in her raspy voice. “Happy birthday.”
Bella
leaned over to peck her cheek. “Thanks, Gran. I guess at twenty five, I
officially qualify as an old maid.”
“Phooey!”
scoffed Gran. “You young people keep waiting longer and longer to get married.”
Bella
moved to the counter and poured herself a cup of cafe au lait . “It's
such a pleasure to see you downstairs.”
“I
could hardly wait for Yetta to bring me down this morning,” said Gran happily.
“I'm having a good day. How could I not on your birthday?”
Bella
sat down across from her grandmother and slanted her an admonishing look. “I
also owe you thanks. You sent me flowers from Mama and Papa again, didn't you?”
“Me?”
Isabella feigned incredulity, but laughter shone in her eyes. “I've told you a
thousand times, I have nothing to do with the flowers that arrive each year on
your birthday.”
“And
I've told you a thousand times that I don't believe you.”
Isabella
chuckled. “Do you have butterflies in your stomach about tonight, dear?”
Bella
took a sip. “Not really. It's only dress rehearsal, and I'm in the chorus,
pretty much anonymous. There are numbers where I pose as a bird or a Valkyrie,
but at least I don't have to sing a solo.”
“You
should be singing a principal role,” protested Isabella.
“We're
staging Don Carlos next,” said
of love, of living life to its fullest. Would she ever fly free?
Then,
as if her bittersweet thoughts had summoned him, she saw him again, saw Jacques
LeFevre standing at the edge of the stage, extending his hand, his dark eyes
beautifully intense. Excitement quickened her heartbeat and stirred her
breathing. Could anyone else see him? She glanced at Litchfield and Daly, and
saw not a spark of shock or recognition on either man's face. No, Jacques's
ghost was there for her alone! Her rapt gaze swung back to him—
“Sing
for me, Bella,” he commanded quietly. “Come to me, ma chère .
. .”
His
words were hypnotic and very sexy. Never had Bella felt such excruciating
yearning. She swung back and forth, a bird in a gilded cage, longing to be
released, to soar into his arms. Had it not been for the bars of her cage, she
might have flown to him. Then, as quickly as Jacques had appeared, he was gone,
leaving her suffused with unassuaged longing.
Chapter Six
Back
to Contents
Bella
awakened to the scent of roses.
On
the day of the dress rehearsal of Kaleidoscope, a day that also happened
to be Bella's twenty-fifth birthday, the tantalizingly sweet scent awakened her
early. She sat up in bed and gazed at the night table, where she spotted a
dozen perfect red blooms in a crystal vase bedecked with ribbons.
Poignant
emotion gripped Bella's heart. She plucked the card and opened it, reading: “To
our darling daughter, Bella. Happy twenty-fifth birthday. Love, Mama and Papa.”
Tears
filling her eyes, Bella leaned over to smell the heavenly blooms. So Gran had
done it again—she was such a sweetheart. Sometimes Bella could hardly believe
her parents had been gone for over six years, but on every one of her birthdays
since their deaths, she had received the dozen roses and a card—ostensibly sent
by her deceased mother and father.
Of
course, Bella had realized long ago that her parents had hardly reached out to
her from the grave; Gran had done it for them, bless her heart.
Bella
put on her robe and slippers and headed for Gran's room. Finding it vacant, the
bed made, she went downstairs. She was pleased to see Gran sitting at the
kitchen table in her wheelchair. Wearing a pale gray silk dress, she was
sipping juice and eating one of her beloved beignets . Bella noted that
the old woman's color appeared somewhat better this morning, though she
remained much too fragile, her features almost skeletal.
“Well,
look who's up,” Bella said.
Isabella
smiled at her granddaughter and waved a frail hand. “Good morning, darling,”
she said in her raspy voice. “Happy birthday.”
Bella
leaned over to peck her cheek. “Thanks, Gran. I guess at twenty five, I
officially qualify as an old maid.”
“Phooey!”
scoffed Gran. “You young people keep waiting longer and longer to get married.”
Bella
moved to the counter and poured herself a cup of cafe au lait . “It's
such a pleasure to see you downstairs.”
“I
could hardly wait for Yetta to bring me down this morning,” said Gran happily.
“I'm having a good day. How could I not on your birthday?”
Bella
sat down across from her grandmother and slanted her an admonishing look. “I
also owe you thanks. You sent me flowers from Mama and Papa again, didn't you?”
“Me?”
Isabella feigned incredulity, but laughter shone in her eyes. “I've told you a
thousand times, I have nothing to do with the flowers that arrive each year on
your birthday.”
“And
I've told you a thousand times that I don't believe you.”
Isabella
chuckled. “Do you have butterflies in your stomach about tonight, dear?”
Bella
took a sip. “Not really. It's only dress rehearsal, and I'm in the chorus,
pretty much anonymous. There are numbers where I pose as a bird or a Valkyrie,
but at least I don't have to sing a solo.”
“You
should be singing a principal role,” protested Isabella.
“We're
staging Don Carlos next,” said
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