PHANTOM IN TIME (7 page)

“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 Bella. “I thought—well, I might try out
for the role of the Heavenly Voice.”

“So
you can be anonymous again and sing from the wings?” asked Gran. “You should
sing the lead role of Elizabeth.”

Bella
regarded Gran beseechingly. “But I have to build my confidence slowly. After
all, the Voice is a solo role.”

“I suppose,
dear,” Gran said, disappointment clearly in her tone. “Only don't take too
long.”

Bella
felt a chill. “But—you said you're having a good day.”

Isabella
reached across the table to grasp Bella's hand and regarded her tenderly. “I'm
not suggesting you call a priest yet, darling. But sometimes I think God is
only keeping me alive so I can hear you perform as a diva.”

“Gran,
I'm sure you're going to be with us for a long time,” said Bella with forced
vehemence, despite a heart thudding with anxiety. “Will you attend the
rehearsal tonight?”

“No,
I prefer to wait for the premiere tomorrow.”  

“Lesley
Litchfield is a nervous wreck, since most of the local media will be present.”

“Oh,
I'm sure you'll all do fine.” Isabella reached into her pocket, pulled out a
small velvet box, and slid it across the table. “Speaking of the premiere,
here's something to wear for good luck. Sorry I didn't have time to wrap it.
There will be birthday presents and a cake for you tonight at supper.”

Bella
fingered the box. “You're going to too much trouble.”

Gran
waved her off. “Yetta's doing most of it. Open your gift.”

Bella
flipped open the lid and gasped as she viewed a beautiful, ornate golden brooch
with a medallion carved with images of Cupid and Psyche, and surrounded by mother-of-pearl.
She turned the medallion over and read the inscription: “To Bella, Love, Gran,
July 3, 1996.”

“Gran,
it's exquisite!” she cried, deeply touched. “But it's yours, isn't it? I mean,
I seem to remember you wearing it when I was a child.”

Isabella
nodded, her expression wistful. “My mother gave it to me when I was only
seventeen. I'll never forget her words: 'Isabella, I'm giving you this brooch
of Cupid because I sense love is about to come into your life.'“ Isabella
beamed. “And she was right. Within a year, I met my Antonio.”

“What
a sweet story,” Bella breathed. “But I don't want you to give this up for me—”

“Nonsense,”
Gran cut in. “I always intended the piece for you. I haven't worn it since
Antonio died . . . it just wouldn't be the same.”

Hearing
the bittersweet emotion in Gran's voice, Bella nodded. She fingered the brooch.
“So you're hoping for some great-grandchildren, are you, Gran?”

Isabella
chuckled. “Once you become established in your career, I'm sure your thoughts
will turn to romance and children.”

Bella
repressed a smile. Her thoughts were already turning to romance—in a very
strange way—but she felt as conflicted as ever over her “career.”

“I'll
wear the medallion tonight,” she told Gran proudly. “During my 'Bird in a
Gilded Cage' number, I'm supposed to wear a cameo brooch, but I think this
piece will be perfect. I'll wear it and hold one of those beautiful roses you
sent.”

“The
roses your parents sent,” corrected Gran firmly.

Bella
snickered, but decided not to argue further. “Thank you, Gran. I'll cherish
this always.”

“You're
welcome, darling.” Isabella snapped her fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot. That
nice young man, John Randolph, called again early this morning. He wanted to
wish you a happy birthday, but I told him you were still sleeping.”

“Aha!”
cried Bella. “So here's the real reason I've been given the brooch.”

“I
thought it couldn't hurt, dear,” Gran admitted sheepishly.

“I
wish John would stop calling me all the time.”

“But
why? He seems perfectly charming.”

“He
wants a summer fling.”

Isabella
winked at Bella. “Perhaps it would do you good, no?”

“Gran!”
Bella feigned a scandalized look.

Isabella
laughed heartily. “Why is it every young person thinks anyone past the age of sixty
has achieved canonization? Do you think we've forgotten what it's like to be
young and in love?”

“No,
I'm sure you'll never forget,” said Bella with the utmost sincerity. “But
sometimes I think men in this day and age have forgotten what romance is about.
They reduce everything to sex. I think that's why John doesn't interest me—no
finesse.” She shrugged. “Besides, I keep sensing my life is going to take a
different direction.”

“A
turn inspired by the ghost of a certain amorous tenor?”

Bella
laughed. “Gran, you are incorrigible. But yes, I suppose Jacques LeFevre's
ghost does intrigue me. Yesterday I heard him singing 'Love's Old Sweet Song'
again. I searched throughout the wings of the theater, but couldn't find him.”

“Are
you certain it was LeFevre?”

Bella
nodded. “Oh, yes. His voice is . . . Not to put down Papa or Grandfather, but
it's like nothing I've ever heard.”

“I
just know he wants to take you away with him,” Gran teased, winking at Bella.
“But you cannot run away with that rascal unless you first sing for me.”

Bella
spoke drolly. “Gran, if Jacques LeFevre ever snatches me away, I promise I'll
still find a way to sing for you.”

***

That
night at dress rehearsal, the new, royal blue velvet curtains parted at the St.
Charles Opera House to the sound of scattered applause. Bella stood toward the
back of the stage along with other members of the chorus; behind them rose a
painted backdrop of a Victorian park in the moonlight. Beyond the proscenium,
the refurbished auditorium gleamed with its fresh paint and new seats covered
with posh blue velvet upholstery.

At
center stage, Victor Daly and Anna Maria Bernard embraced standing inside a
small, ornate gazebo. Both were bedecked in Gay Nineties attire—a stunning red
gown for Anna Maria, a striped sack coat, straw hat, and spats for Victor. Once
the clapping subsided, the conductor led the orchestra in a spirited refrain,
and the couple began their lilting duet of “After the Ball.”

Bella
felt her spirits soar at the sound of the lovely old waltz. The dreamy music so
roused her spirits that she almost felt swept away to another time. She was
certainly dressed for the adventure. Wearing a frilly white Victorian blouse
and a long lavender skirt, with Gran's brooch pinned at her throat and one of
her birthday roses in her hand, she was fully costumed for her “Bird in a
Gilded Cage” number, which would be performed next. Although the auditorium was
only sparsely occupied with members of the press, opera patrons and local
dignitaries, the spectators did appear enthralled, Bella noted with
satisfaction.

On
cue, she launched into the buoyant chorus with the others. At the conclusion of
the number, the spectators clapped and cheered, and the soprano and tenor took
their bows.

So
far, so good,
thought Bella.
Now if I can just make it through the
kaleidoscope without freaking out completely!

Hearing
the familiar, spooky strains of “Love's Old Sweet Song” and watching the lights
go down, Bella braced herself, preparing to take her place in her cage. She
hated crossing the stage during scene changes, for the kaleidoscope effect
invariably wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. She had hoped practice would
help her overcome her vertigo, but instead, her confusion seemed to increase
every time the shower of light began.

Bella's
stomach clenched as she heard the chandelier crank into motion. She watched the
colored spotlights bounce off its many prisms. Eruptions of light battered her
like a sudden hailstorm. For a moment she stood transfixed, swept by dizziness,
struggling to regain her balance, her bearings.

As
the rest of the company dispersed, Bella watched her cage swing out toward
center stage, heard the squeaking and creaking of the ropes and pulleys. She
wasn't relishing the prospect of climbing into it amid what appeared to be a
meteor shower. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she started forward—

All
at once Bella heard Jacques singing in his glorious tenor voice, beckoning to
her . . . She whirled around, frantically searching for him, becoming more
giddy and befuddled by the second. She felt as if she had become a shard of
light herself and was spinning out of control, lost in the kaleidoscope.
Overwhelmed, she clutched her head and blinked back tears of helpless
confusion—

Then,
miraculously, the dazzling motion, the whirring lights, stopped. Suddenly Bella
found herself standing at the edge of a stage, but a different stage. She was
staring transfixed at an audience of men and women in Victorian costumes. Her
horrified eyes drank in a montage of men with pomaded hair, wearing striped
sack coats and bow ties, women in high-necked frocks, with quaint hats
garnished with flowers. In the orchestra pit, the conductor—a scowling stranger
with mutton chop whiskers—was holding aloft his baton, obviously waiting for
her signal to begin.

Begin
what?
As chuckles erupted from the spectators, Bella was mortified, her
heart thundering in panic. She realized she was standing in the midst of a
scene from one of her own nightmares. She was supposed to sing a solo—but she
didn't know what her song was or where
she
was!

Then
she heard Jacques's sexy voice whisper, “Sing for me, Bella . . .”

She
whirled, desperately trying to find him, and caught a glimpse of him in a
toreador costume. She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. Then she was staggered
by dizziness and felt herself spinning away again . . .

“Bella!”

Someone
grabbed her arm, and she jerked around to find herself facing Hank, one of the
stagehands, amid the same crazy, dancing light that had thrust her into another
dimension only seconds before. Dumbfounded, she gaped at the young man.

“Bella,
don't just stand there like a statue, come get in your cage,” he whispered
urgently. “And watch where you're going, for heaven's sake.”

Bella
spotted her cage at center stage and started toward it. She stumbled, and at
once Hank steadied her arm.

“You
okay?” he asked.

She
nodded. “It's just the lights are making me dizzy.”

“Tell
me about it.”

Grabbing
Bella by the waist, Hank hoisted her inside the cage, shut its door, and secured
the latch. As the cage was lifted on its cable and the lights went back up,
Bella held up her rose and smiled tremulously at Victor Daly, who was still
costumed in his striped coat, straw hat, and spats. A chill washed over her—for
Daly looked just like one of the old-time gentlemen she had just spotted in
that
other
audience!

What
other audience? As Victor began to sing and Bella's cage began to gently sway,
she reeled at what had just happened to her. For just a few seconds, she could
have sworn she'd been transported to another time. She'd even caught a glimpse
of a possibly living Jacques in a toreador costume . . .

Oh,
mercy! she thought, thunderstruck. Hadn't the article she'd read stated that
the historical troupe had staged
Carmen
immediately prior to
Kaleidoscope?

She
shuddered violently. Had she truly traveled through time—and found herself
facing an audience from another era? But how could this be? Surely she was just
letting the atmosphere of the spooky old theater get the better of her. Perhaps
the experience had been only a brief dream, or the product of an overly active
imagination—and the dizziness she had felt when the chandelier revolved.

Chapter Seven

Back
to Contents

“You
look very far away, my dear.”

Late
the following afternoon, Bella sat with Gran in the bay window of her room.
Gran had been dozing in her rocker, Bella sitting on the footstool, gazing out
the window at a cardinal perched on a branch of a huge old crepe myrtle,
singing a plaintive song.

Bella
flashed Gran a smile. “You were far away, too. I thought you were going to take
a nice long nap.”

Isabella
yawned. “I want to take full advantage of whatever time I have left.”

Bella
touched Gran's hand. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes,
under the circumstances. I'm certainly well enough to attend your premiere.” A
tender smile softened Isabella's lined face. “Are you afraid I'll leave you
soon?”

“I
don't want to lose you,” said Bella in a small voice.

“Of
course not, after losing your mother and father.”

Bella
bit her lip. “Not to sound disrespectful toward their memory, but I think our
relationship has always been more special.”

Gran
nodded. “Although I pushed you just as Carmita and Mario did. Sometimes I wonder
if I was wrong . . . But hearing you sing, how could I doubt that opera will be
your destiny?”