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- Herausgeber: Next Chapter
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
All four books in B. Roman's 'The Moon Singer', a series of fantasy novels, now available in one volume. This collection also includes the prequel novella, Before The Boy, as a bonus!
The Crystal Clipper: After young David Nickerson's mother dies in a car crash, David loses his hearing to a serious illness and his sister disappears. Desperate to find her, David experiments with sacred crystals and accidentally conjures the supernatural ship, Moon Singer, which takes him on a journey to an uncharted mystical island. The people David encounters all have a soul connection to him, their lives destined to intertwine. Strangely in this other world, David finds he can hear for the first time in years. This gift foretells his destiny: to explore the contrast between good and evil, and to save a life that means more than his own.
The War Chamber: As the captain of the Moon Singer, armed with sacred artifacts, David must confront his past, present, and future, fulfilling his destiny and protecting his loved ones. Boundaries blur, propelling David on an unforgettable journey where duty, magic, and love intertwine.
The Wind Rose: Can music wield the power to create and destroy life? David, still grappling with his deafness, must unlock music's potential to rescue the world from impending disaster. To achieve this, he must reunite the sacred artifacts - the Singer crystal, Rose Crystal pendant, and Wind Rose compass - and harness their Triune energy. Aboard the enigmatic Moon Singer ship, David's supernatural abilities can lead him to salvation, but only by comprehending the Power of Three to Become One. His quest will reveal the cryptic musical codes forged for sinister ends, allowing him to embrace his own soul's song and transform his disability into an extraordinary gift.
The Immortal Rose Wyndham: From 18th Century France to 20th Century San Francisco, 'The Immortal Rose Wyndham' weaves a tale of empowerment and enigma surrounding Grace Moreau and her daughter Rose. Battling for women's rights amidst prejudice and conspiracy, they defy societal norms and navigate a male-dominated world to forge their own paths. Amidst their struggles, they must resist romantic entanglements, as succumbing to love would render the Rose Crystal's power impotent and lead to their demise. This romantic adventure unfolds over 250 years, where the transcendent force of music and the belief in a higher purpose shape a narrative of mystery, magic, and miraculous encounters.
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THE MOON SINGER COLLECTION
THE COMPLETE SERIES
B. ROMAN
CONTENTS
Before The Boy
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
The Crystal Clipper
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
The War Chamber
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
The Wind Rose
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
Author Notes
The Immortal Rose Wyndham
Prologue
I. Grace Moreau
1. The Wager
2. The Promise
3. A Noble Calling
4. Arousal
5. Poisoned
6. Suppression
7. Sacrificed
8. Heartbreak
9. Envy
10. Conspiracy
11. Revenge
12. Temptation
13. Independence
14. Defiance
15. Tea Leaves
16. Mourning
17. The Alien
18. Trapped
19. Penance
20. Voyage
21. Serendipity
22. Revelation
23. Surrender
II. Rose Wyndham
24. Homecoming
25. Rivals
26. Confrontation
27. Butterfly
28. The Battle
29. Time Tunnel
30. Take a Chance
31. The Swindle
32. Overboard
33. Quake
34. Legacy
35. Kismet
III. The Descendants
36. Visions
37. Dreams to Come
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright (C) 2023 B. Roman
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter
Published 2023 by Next Chapter
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
BEFORE THE BOY
THE MOON SINGER PREQUEL NOVELLA
Even in death a mother guides her son through triumphs and tragedies to his true destiny.
PROLOGUE
PRESENT DAY
Billie Nickerson has three minutes to live. It won't be fast and it won't be painless to die. She knew this day would come, but not that it would be today or this way.
She has lived 100 lifetimes that she cannot remember and will live 100 more before she has paid her Karmic debts. But in moments, this life - her most pivotal incarnation, the one that makes every past life immaterial and every future life a stepping stone to eternity- will end.
Billie's daughter, Sally, who brings a sunshiny light into every room just by entering, sleeps peacefully in the back seat. Just a few days into her teen years now, she will be crippled, her legs mangled, an unintended consequence.
Sally's older brother, David, a music prodigy despite his deafness who is destined for a greatness that he cannot imagine at this moment, sits by her side, daydreaming about how he will execute a new music piece Billie has taught him. His life will be spared but he will hate his mother forever for dying.
Billie has just a few seconds left now to be with her cherished husband, Isaac, who deftly steers the car down the treacherous winding road home.
“Please buckle your seat belt, Billie,” Isaac admonishes. “I don't know what I'll encounter in this fog.”
“I will, Isaac. I just have to adjust it. It's too tight and I can't get it to expand far enough for comfort.”
“Can't it wait until we stop? Just put the damn thing back in the buckle for now. It's not like you to be careless.”
“It's not like you to be so adamant about driving in this fog for a bunch of papers.” It's the last time Billie will chastise Isaac for being so wed to his job.
“They're not just papers. They're important blueprints for the ship design that could set us on the road to financial independence.”
Isaac turns to look at Billie, not knowing it's the last time he will see her face unscarred, and fails to see the headlights in his rearview mirror. He slows down to find the freeway exit, but misses the turn.
The impact from behind is instant and powerful. The semi plows into the Nickerson car with such force it becomes an uncontrollable projectile. Isaac's air bag deploys and he is momentarily blinded then passes out from the shock of the crash. Billie is thrust forward almost through the windshield but is forced down between the dashboard and the front seat. The passenger side airbag fails to deploy, a convenient stroke of fate.
When Billie's pulmonary vein tears she feels the blood gushing through her chest with such force a huge wave of nausea overtakes her. In a suffocating blow her heart is thrust from left to right, rupturing blood vessels and threatening to dissect her aorta.
In an instinctive move, David reaches for his sister but is restrained by the lap and shoulder harness. He will feel the pain from a fractured sternum and neck lacerations later. But for now he is ensconced in a confused world of silence, seeing and feeling the carnage around him but unable to hear the blast of the semi's horn, the screeching of tires on the highway, the steel upon steel as the vehicles collide and tear the guardrails out of their foundations. Nor does he hear the sirens of the emergency responders as they arrive on the scene.
The semi hangs precariously over an embankment but the driver is pulled from the cab miraculously alive and alert. The Nickerson SUV has suffered the worst of the crash, and is almost unrecognizable as a car.
“Jesus. The engine is almost cut in two. Cut the damn horn,” one paramedic shouts. " I can't hear myself think!”
The other paramedic pulls futilely on the crumpled doors, desperate to assess if there are any survivors. “We need another bus,” he yells. “There are four of them.”
With blood oozing from her nose and mouth, Billie groans and thrashes her arms around, jerking out the drip the paramedic tries to insert into her arm while she is still trapped in the vehicle. Her utterings are incomprehensible and incoherent.
“What is she saying?”
His partner, trying to calculate how to free her from the wreck, just shakes his head. “I can't understand her. She's in shock. I don't see any visible head injury, just a big gash on her cheek. Blood seeping from her nostrils. Guarantee you there are some badass internal injuries.”
“Leave me alone!” Billie implores, willing to die. She knows this is her end and she accepts it as prophecy, as the only way to save her family and to allow David to receive the extraordinary intuitive gifts he was born to inherit.
“I've got to get her to accept some treatment.” The paramedic injects drugs to reduce her agitation and places an oxygen mask over her face. “See what you can do for the others.”
“Jaws of Life will need to pry them out. Here comes the crew.”
Like scissors cutting paper, the sharp blades on the Jaws pop open the twisted back doors. David and Sally are pulled out and they are placed on gurneys. Isaac is removed from the mangled vehicle after being disentangled from the deployed air bag. With sirens blaring, the first ambulance transports the three of them to the hospital trauma unit as the emergency responders work feverishly on getting Billie removed without injuring her further.
Billie's heart stops for the first time as she is taken out of the wreck of the SUV. Immediate cardiac massage is applied and her heart restarted. Sirens blare and lights flash from the rig as the driver races against time, but Billie's condition deteriorates again. By the time she arrives at the ER, trauma staff are on hand ready for a worst-case scenario. Surgeons slice open her chest and work feverishly to repair the tears and ruptures. But the loss of blood is too great and they hold out little hope.
“She's going down!”
Don't fight it Billie. I am here with you. Just let go.”
“Stop compressions…check pulse…” There is none.
That's it, dear. Just a few more seconds now and we can walk your path together.
“Charge paddles to 300…clear!” Repeated electric shocks fail to revive Billie and she flatlines. Reluctantly, the doctors accept they can do no more to save her life.
“Want to call it?”
“Time of death 17:40.”
God. Am I really dead? I'm floating but my body is lying flat in the hospital bed. Everyone thinks I'm dead, but I'm not. I want to shout that I'm alive. Don't pull that sheet over my face.
“Wait, wait!” The pulse on the monitor is weak but measurable. One doctor checks her eye response while the other checks Billie's respiration.
“No response in the pupils. No brain activity.”
“ No breath sounds. Yet the monitor shows a pulse.”
The doctor places his stethoscope on Billie's chest. “It's erratic and faint. It's not possible. But let's intubate and maybe…”
Don't hesitate, Billie. Your time on this Earth is done.
No. Wait. I'm afraid. I don't want to leave yet.
I know. But remember this is what you wanted. And it's my task to make your transition easy, to take you where you are meant to reside for eternity. Soon you will have no memory of the pain of Earth, your death, or your family's grief.
Isaac sits on an ER gurney just steps away from Billie's treatment room. Suffering only facial contusions and burns on his hands from the deployed air bag, he is devastated and guilt ridden. How could Billie's air bag not deploy? Was there a recall notice? Did I forget to have it checked? Isaac ruminates painfully over every memory leading up to the crash. “I've killer her,” he sobs. “I've killed my wife!”
Immobile in her ICU bed, Sally is sedated to keep her spine as still as possible, but will awaken to find she is paralyzed from the waist down. Her spinal injury might not have been as severe had she been sitting upright in the back seat instead of sleeping in a fetal position. The impact threw her forward into the driver's seatback and stretched her seat belt to its failure point. The impact from the semi hitting the rear of the car shoved the seat into Sally's back, sealing her fate.
David refuses pain medication for his amazingly minor injuries, though he is stunned and shocked from the ordeal. Unable to stand without wobbling, he signs frantically to the nurse that he needs a wheel chair to go see his mother. Not knowing sign language, the nurse is bewildered. David shores up his strength and yells, in his near-perfect speech, “I want to see my mother!”
Rushing into the ER and frantic with worry, Dorothy Nickerson arrives and informs the staff she is Isaac's sister. Older than Isaac by about 15 years she is nonetheless spry and athletic from years of sailing and hiking through exotic archeological sites.
“Where is my family?” she demands. “I want to see them. Please tell me what happened.”
After being briefed on everyone's condition, Dorothy insists she be able to accompany David to see his mother. With foreboding she maneuvers his wheel chair to the trauma room. At the sight of Billie's lifeless body on the gurney, violated by invasive tubes and intravenous lines, Dorothy is overtaken with grief. The hopeless rhythm of the ventilator makes her stomach turn and she is glad David cannot hear it.
Through the night and into the next day, Billie hovers between a machine-supported life and an irreversible death that will come when the machine is turned off. Despite the admonitions of the medical staff, that there is no brain activity, no hope of survival, Isaac cannot bear to remove life support.
“Not yet,” he refuses. “We're not ready yet.”
Vigilant through the interminable hours, David sits by his mother's side and demands that she live, that she not give up, that somehow, miraculously, she can will herself to return. He rises to his feet to move closer to her.
“Mom,” he whispers. “I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Come back to us. Just try harder. I know you can do it. You taught me everything I know - music, sign language - you taught me to never give up no matter what. Please, please. Don't give up now.”
“Oh, David, don't.”
“No, Aunt Dorothy. I won't stop. Mom can't stop trying. Tell her,” he implores.
“It's too late. She's gone, David. She's gone.”
The scream of the heart monitor pierces the air but it's the green flat line signifying his mother's death that pierces David's heart. He grabs his mother's hand desperately.
“No! Mom, if you die I'll hate you forever! I'll never forgive you for leaving me!”
“Please, David. You don't mean that,” Dorothy sobs. “You can't say goodbye when you're so angry.”
Dorothy and an orderly force David back to his wheelchair and remove him from the room as he pounds furiously on the arm of the chair.
You didn't tell me he would hate me! Please bring me back so I can explain!
It's too late, Billie. We can't bring you back. This was the deal. Your life for David's soul, for his gifts to the world.
There must be a way…
No, dear. Come now. There are important things for you to do. You'll see. It was meant to be. You cannot hesitate or there will be consequences for all of you.
Outside, the fog has lifted to reveal twilight, Billie's favorite time of day, when the setting sun tints the sky with red and purple ribbons that melt into an indigo curtain.
When her respirator is turned off, the blackness of unconsciousness dissolves into blue, white and golden light. Billie Nickerson stands on the threshold of a world where there is no pain, no sorrow, no regret, where the burdens of jealousy, pride and judgment are as light as air and lifted away into the ether.
Still, there are memories that float by swiftly like flotsam - early days as a happy child, adolescent insecurity, abandonment, love, loss - her conscious mind clearing the debris that would hold her back on her soul's journey. The annoying drone of a complex earthly existence segues into an echo of bells, soft bells like wind chimes, as she moves through the loosely-bound arms of a galactic cloud.
How peaceful, she thinks. How loving. Is this where I belong?
Unexpectedly, invisible hands pull her back trying to keep her earthbound. Her husband, son and daughter entice and plead with an energy so strong it is almost palpable. But a force much stronger attracts her and she is once again tranquil, bodiless, in a space beyond space. Welcoming souls who will initiate Billie and guide her to the hereafter appear. It seems as if they are all swimming, being carried along by a current they can't control, under the direction of someone or some thing indescribable.
Billie is caught in the flow, but she is compelled to turn back, to look one last time at her family, at their sorrow and anguish, and she vows to return, not realizing it could mean an eternity in limbo.
ONE
20 Years ago - The Love Story
The Port Avalon University courtyard is alive with pop music on a bright June day. Job applicants chatter with anticipation at being interviewed by the town's most prestigious companies looking for the best and brightest graduate students. With commencement only two weeks away there is no time to waste for securing one's future, and every booth in the row of enticingly-designed exhibits has a line of students waiting their turn.
Isaac Nickerson, a Navy officer, stands in front of a recruiting booth at the far end of the row, speaking with pride and encouragement to the young men and women who show an interest in serving their country before going into the private sector.
A poster of an aircraft carrier navigating its way powerfully through the ocean adorns the booth emblazoned with the words: “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of All who Threaten it.”
“The education you have already received here at Port Avalon U will help you advance to officer status much quicker than if you enlisted with only a high school diploma,” Isaac informs. “Unparalleled career opportunities, experiences, and challenges draw some of the brightest and most skilled people into the Navy – while helping others realize potential they may not even know they have. From the high-tech to the awe-inspiring, America's Navy offers careers and jobs that fit all backgrounds and interests. There are literally hundreds of distinct professional roles in dozens of exciting fields. And however you serve – as Enlisted or Officer, full-time or part-time – you'll find unrivaled training, support and experience in a career unlike any other.”
Isaac continues full throttle to several intrigued students while some others peel away. “The most valuable asset to America's Navy is its people. Sailors represent the best and brightest that America has to offer. And the Navy's commitment to their well-being is reflected in their benefits package, training opportunities, and life-changing world travel.”
An obtrusive chant of “No more war! No more war!” grows louder and closer. A group of demonstrators carrying signs enters the courtyard and stops right in front of Isaac's station.
The signs are colorful but ominous: “We can bomb the world to pieces, but we can't bomb it to Peace” and “When the Rich wage WAR, it's the Poor who DIE.”
At the front of the line is a girl who takes Isaac's breath away. Billie Donovan - he will soon learn is her name, with an unruly flowing mane of golden hair, a passionate demeanor and sonorous voice - stands out from the throng. With just one glance, his heart takes an unexpected turn from a firm allegiance to the military to be willing to die for this woman, the goddess Eirene come to earth, the personification of Peace.
Jesus, Isaac chastises himself. Control yourself, man. She is mortal and you are a Navy Captain! And she's stealing your thunder.
Excusing himself from the potential recruits, Isaac approaches the group and stands face to face with Billie. He raises his hands in an effort to quiet them down. Oddly enough they comply, but not without some complaining.
“Hey Dough Boy,” one of them snickers. “Better stand down. We mean business and we have a right…”
Isaac exerts his formidable six-foot-two height. “Yes, you have a right. But first of all I'm not a doughboy. That's an infantryman from WWI. I'm a Navy Captain.”
“With four stripes and a bar on your shoulder, no less,” this feline-like vision needles him.
“And on my sleeve, as well,” he parries, musing to himself that it should be his heart.
“Not to mention the Eagle on your collar.” Billie Donovan patronizes Isaac with a devilish twinkle in her eyes that raises the hair on his neck. “They certainly stand out on your dress khakis.”
“You seem to know a lot about uniforms for an antiwar girl.” His probing dark eyes do not intimidate Billie.
“Well, I've seen my share of uniforms walking around downtown when a ship is in port. And I must say you cut an imposing figure, even if you are a war hawk.”
Isaac finds it amusing that she is swathed in the uniform of the iconic flower child: peasant skirt and blouse, soft moccasins, an Indian headband forming a halo around her shoulder length hair. Appropriately, her right hand is raised in the two-finger sign of Peace. So young to be an anachronism.
“Hey, Billie. Quit the playing around with the enemy here. We've got a protest to continue.” Impatient, the band of demonstrators starts to move on without her.
“Don't worry. I'm coming. Let's move to the administration office,” Billie commands, and the group moves on, flashing signs and chanting, “No more war, No more war.”
For one fleeting moment, Billie turns back to see Isaac's curious eyes still following her.
Later that afternoon, Isaac packs up the booth and recruiting documents, loads everything into his jeep and drives down to the university campus pub. He needs a cold one. Inside, the pub is buzzing with animated conversations of every stripe. He sits at the bar and heaves a weary sigh. It has been a long, hot day and the recruiting soliloquy became tiresome.
“I'll have whatever's on tap.”
“Sure thing.” The bartender lays the obligatory cocktail napkin on the bar along with a basket of mixed nuts.
“How about something to eat, like some crow?”
In the mirror behind the bar, Isaac sees that same head of unruly hair. He spins the stool around to face Billie Donovan head on. “Well, look who's here? The leader of the pack.”
“Buy a peacenik a drink?” She invites herself to sit next to him.
“Shirley Temple?”
“Anything with rum in it.”
“Are you even old enough to drink?”
“Seventeen for the next two hours, then I'm legal. But you're the first to question my age. The bartender doesn't care.”
Isaac motions the bartender over and a drink for the lady is decided on.
“So how is it at 17, almost 18, that you are at the University already?”
“I'm a savant,” she laughs. “Actually I graduated high school a year early and received a music scholarship.” Billie sips her drink, a Mai Tai.
“Rum is a drink for old salts,” Isaac says. “Are you a sea faring lass?”
“Who me? Not me. Haven't been on a boat since I was a kid. But I like to find creative ways to get my vitamin C. Cheers.”
They clink glasses in Salute and both take a satisfying swallow.
“So, Navy man, what are you doing recruiting? Shouldn't you be at sea or something, off to the next combat mission?”
“Not me. I'm a nautical design engineer.”
“Well, that's a bright light in the darkness here. Someone who creates instead of destroys. So why are you still in the Navy?”
“It's in my DNA. I come from generations of shipbuilders and seafarers. I wanted to learn the most modern technological advances in designing faster and more efficient ships, and the Navy offered the best opportunity.”
“That's hard to believe, but if you say so.”
“You're a snippy one, aren't you? And what are you all about? Besides disrupting the status quo?”
“Well, that's a story for another time. For now, I just want to kick back, erase the day from my mind, and enjoy some good company.”
“Well, I'll drink to that.” Isaac takes a solid swig.
“Hey, Billie, how about a tune?” someone yells across the bar.
“Yeah, tickle those ivories for us, Billie,” another chimes in.
Soon the chant rises up, “Billie, Billie, Billie…”
“Okay, okay,” Billie raises her arms to yield.
Isaac is intrigued. “You play piano?”
“Yeah, a little.”
Billie sits herself down at the upright piano, and plinks on it a bit. “A little out of tune, but here goes. Any requests?”
“How about some Elton John?” The crowd laughs, enjoying the joke.
Attacking the keys with exuberance, Billie plays the opening bars of “Crocodile Rock,” then finishes with a flourishing glissando. Instead of the applause one would normally hear at the end of a flamboyant performance, there is an anticipated silence. Everyone knows what is about to happen.
Deftly, gently, Billie segues from the rock and roll groove to a demonstration of musical “moonlight,” Claude Debussy's Claire de lune, one of his most famous and recognizable compositions. Being one of the rare pieces in classical music to find its way numerous times into pop culture, it is also one of the most demanding for performers, requiring a sensitivity of touch that would not shatter the delicate and subtle colors of Debussy's writing.
The shimmering melody, marked con sordina - a soft muted approach - then grows in brilliance as it proceeds, with an octave passage in rubato tempo, leading to a new melody which Billie executes with even greater sublimity.
Familiar with Billie's stunning piano skills, the pub crowd listens with rapt attention and respect. For Isaac, there is something he has never felt before in his life. Something like love, but more than love. More like an out of body experience, not that he's ever had one. But there is this subconscious recognition that if angels could dance on the keyboard they would do so when Billie Donovan plays.
Cheers and Bravos follow Billie back to her seat at the bar. A fresh Mai Tai is waiting for her.
Isaac is speechless. All he can do is stare at this amazing young woman sitting next to him who is at once naive and knowing, and a cultured musician to boot.
“Well, say something,” she challenges in that teasingly sardonic tone of hers. “Never heard anyone play the piano before?”
“Not like that. Never like that.”
A few drinks later, Isaac and Billie walk back to her dorm. The sexual tension is palpable, like that of a movie romance where the heat emanates from the screen without so much as a touch between the two leads. Gentleman that he is, Isaac restrains himself from taking her in his arms right there on the courtyard. In turn, Billie moves away coyly then drifts closer to him. In a dance of courting, they never say a word, but every time their eyes lock, the message is clear.
“Well, here I am,” Billie announces when they arrive. “Will I see you again, before you are deployed, or something?”
He smiles at the idea. “I don't get deployed. But I do leave tomorrow for an assignment in D.C.”
“Oh. Well, I guess this is it then. It was nice to meet you and get a little drunk with you.”
“Drunk with fascination, I think. Yes. But if it's okay, I'll call you when I get back. Now that you're legal.”
“How long?”
“About a month or two, I think.”
“I'd like that…if you remember me by then.”
“Believe me, Billie Donovan, I could not forget you.”
“In that case, Captain Nickerson, you may call.”
Billie hands him her personal card and he slips it into his shirt pocket. Isaac watches her enter the dorm then turns to walk away, unfulfilled desire overtaking his senses. But moments later, he hears his name being called from a third story window. He turns his eyes upward to see Billie standing there in the window, beckoning him to come up.
TWO
“Get a move on, Billie! We're going to be late.” Austin nudges her along as he invites himself into her dorm room.
“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Billie assures him. She stuffs her music sheets into an already overstuffed carry bag. “We have plenty of time before rehearsal begins.”
They arrive at the auditorium green room to find the other orchestra members commandeering their spaces. “Don't worry,” one of them informs, “rehearsal has been pushed up to 6 o'clock. The conductor is still en route.”
Billie and Austin find an empty cubby in the wall case and put their music and belongings in.
“In that case, I'm going to stroll through the festival for awhile,” Billy decides. “Want to come?”
Austin shakes his head, “No. I've got to go over this one part in the music that I can't seem to master.”
“Okay. I'll be back soon. You'll be great tonight. Don't worry.”
Outside the concert hall, several aisles of exhibits and booths color the campus courtyard adding to the ambience of the Port Avalon U Arts Festival. Billie grabs a quick sandwich and a drink from one of the food kiosks and munches while she strolls. One tent catches her eye.
“Tarot Card Readings by Dorinda” the sign reads, “Truth Seekers Welcome.”
“Hmm. Why not. I've got a few bucks to splurge.”
Billie pulls the faux velvet curtain back on the tent and walks inside. The music of flute, wind chimes and celeste infuse the air with an ethereal lightness. A small square table is covered with a ruby red cloth, several decks of cards, and an intriguing crystal ball that seems to glow with life.
“Hello? Is anyone here?” Billie wonders where the gypsy, or whatever she is, could be. The tent is as small as a closet.
As though an apparition, she appears, dressed in a beautiful blue kaftan and a gorgeous gold and red head wrap that accentuates her startling green eyes.
“I'm Dorinda. Welcome. Please have a seat.”
Billie obliges.
“What can I do for you today?” Dorinda's voice is melodic and lilting.
“Uh - I just thought a general 'how's my life' kind of reading for now.”
“Do you have a special problem or issue you would like clarified for you?”
As fascinated as Billie is with the paranormal she knows that some mediums are fakes and try to extract information from their marks by asking what seem to be benign questions but are quite revealing. So, she hedges.
“Maybe you can see something that I can't.”
“Well, we'll start with that and perhaps other deeper issues will come to light.”
Dorinda places three decks of cards on the table, each with distinct and beautiful art designs denoting their themes: Mystical Oracle cards inspired by Gods, Goddesses, Angels and Spirit Guides; Vibrational Energy cards denoting positive and healing energies through impressionistic art; and the Rider-Waite Tarot with brilliant drawings of Major and Minor Arcana figures and symbols.
“Take each deck separately and shuffle them, then place the decks face down on the table side by side.”
Billie does as asked.
Dorinda sets two decks aside and fans the first deck across the table.
“Take a deep breath and without any forethought choose the first three cards from anywhere in the deck, and lay them face down.”
Again, Billie does as asked.
The ritual is repeated with the other two decks until nine cards are laid across the table, three in a row.
“This is a lot of shuffling,” Billie jokes.
“We do this so it is your energy in the cards and not mine. I will now pick one card from each row to give you an idea of who you are and what is happening in your life.”
Dorinda turns over Card 1.
“The Judgement card. You are a person of good intentions, quite motivated and believe you can do anything you set your mind to.”
“Oh, that's good. Isn't it?”
Dorinda smiles at Billie's uncertainty.
“I see by the second card, The Moon, that you have an impulsive spirit and are quite independent.”
“Isn't every woman these days?”
“Not every,” Dorinda remarks. “But you are also fickle and sometimes very difficult to know. On the other hand you are mysterious which adds to your charm. This can be beneficial as you have recently had a romantic liaison with a new man. Or, it could be the ruination of a relationship.”
One of Billie's eyebrows raises, her antennae now up.
“You are polar opposites,” Dorinda continues. “He is a bit older than you, quite disciplined and serves his country, while you are respectful of him but totally antiwar.”
Billie's jaw drops open. “How did you - ?”
“Correct?”
“Yes, I have to admit you're correct.”
“Now, the Hermit card shows you are separated right now by distance but not for long. He will return and you will renew your friendship. It will grow quite strong very soon. But I see some obstacles, some very powerful forces against this union that you must fight.”
“Fight who? How?” Billie surprisingly feels a trust building up for this woman who could possibly determine her future.
“Let us look.” Turning to her crystal ball Dorinda moves her hands lightly and elegantly over the orb, absorbing its ethereal energy.
Finally, she pronounces, “Time will resolve all things.”
“That's it?” Billie snaps. “Time will resolve all things? I've got this supposedly great relationship with a man who, if he had any sense would avoid me, and there are very powerful forces standing in the way. How will it be resolved? When?”
“I see patience is not one of your virtues,” Dorinda replies, patiently. “Fate has its own time table. Well, my time with you is up, my dear.”
“But I have so many questions. You can't stop now. I want to see you again. How long will you be here?”
Dorinda stands to signal the end of the reading, and takes Billie's hand in hers. “As long as you need me, I will be here.”
The warmth and strength of Dorinda's hand pulsates through Billie's body, startling her with its power.
Billie exits the tent but the sensation of Dorinda's essence still lingers, even as Dorinda the Mysterious dematerializes into the crystal ball.
THREE
Billie counts the days on the calendar. When she surpasses 45 she panics.
“Oh, crud. Oh, bloody crud,” she groans. “No, no, no. I can't be.”
Pregnancy is not in her schedule at this point in her life. And no way to begin a relationship with a man so conventional as Isaac Nickerson, especially since she and Isaac never even slept together that magical night.
Feeling irritated and rejected by a man she had only spent a few hours with, who had resisted her self-indulgent seduction, she foolishly succumbed to a drunken fling with the pub's bartender who must have put some kind of aphrodisiac in her drink. She can never tell Isaac what an idiot she was.
What am I thinking? she admonishes herself. It's been almost six weeks and Isaac still hasn't returned from D.C. He has called only once and all he left was a vague voice mail message. Maybe he won't come back at all. Then he will never know. I won't have to tell him. I can handle this alone if I have to. Yes. I'll do it alone.
* * *
The Port Avalon summer concert series under the stars has attracted a standing-room only crowd. The most talented and gifted local musicians are featured, with Billie as the star performer. Thundering applause greets her as she takes the stage and sits at the gleaming white Steinway.
Billie knows better than to let her emotions cloud her focus for the music. All attention, all energy must be centered on the keyboard, on the page, on the divine meaning of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.
Legend tells it that by the time Beethoven played the Sonata in public his loss of hearing was well into its advanced stages, so he was known to play it louder than one typically would. Not so the pianists who followed him and made Moonlight Sonata a timeless romantic classic.
Including Billie. She learned early in her studies that to be an artistic pianist is to feel that a breeze just came through a window to speak to your music and sets lightly on your fingers as you play. To develop a laser focus on a composition is to know a loneliness that is crowded with the beautiful. To believe that each interpretation represents a new song to the universe - the harmony of the angels, that can alter the celestial consciousness.
Standing on a hill out of her range of sight is Isaac, who listens with his entire being, tears streaming silently down his face at the splendor of her performance. He knows then that Billie was meant to be a part of his life, his one and only love, his reason for being. She is his song. But could he ever be hers? Is he worthy? Could he ever give her anything close to what her music gives her? Was that first night that they met just a dream, a fantasy? Should he have taken advantage of the obvious sexual heat between them and, once invited to her dorm room, taken advantage of her uninhibited playfulness?
Isaac's Washington, D.C. assignment had sent him unexpectedly to battle-torn countries to retrieve injured victims, mostly children, and bring them back to the ship to receive medical treatment. Witnessing the horrors of war once again impacted him more than ever, and Billie's words kept resounding in his head. As proud as he was of serving his country Isaac realized he could no longer be part of the problem; he wanted to be part of the solution, to find another way to serve. And he wanted Billie by his side, to be his moral compass. But he had been gone six weeks and had called her only once in all that time.
Maybe she won't even want to see me. He is discouraged by the thought. Maybe she has found someone else.
Nevertheless, he is bound and determined to reconnect and to win her heart. Courting Billie Nickerson will be tricky. She is not one to be manhandled. He will take it slow, introduce her to the things he loves, open himself completely to her and take the risk that she can see in him a man who will devote his life to her but will also let her march to her own drummer.
* * *
Billie answers the phone in an agitated voice. She hopes it's not that bartender who keeps trying for a replay of their besotted one-night stand. Surprised to hear his voice, Isaac's voice, she stutters, “Oh - oh, it's you. I hadn't expected to hear from you again.” No, I was dying to hear from you again, you typical male who says he'll call and then doesn't!
“I'm so sorry, Billie. I was on an assignment that didn't allow for personal phone calls. But I did think about you all the while I was gone. Will you forgive me enough to see me, maybe for coffee or a drink?
“Well…” She wants to play hard to get but easy to forgive. “I'm pretty busy these days with rehearsals and such. But I think I can find some time to get together. Just for coffee, mind you.”
Billie hangs up the phone thanking her lucky stars that she is not pregnant. Just a late period. It's not the first time nature disrupted her body's rhythm which, for a girl whose life revolves around time and tempo, seems an illogical physical flaw. But if the unthinkable had happened, terminating the pregnancy would be her only option.
Dorinda's cryptic premonitions about the obstacles to her relationship with Isaac caused her to ruminate about her fate if she had an abortion. Would she have to keep it a secret forever? Could she? Or would she break under the pressure and confess it to Isaac in the spirit of full disclosure, thus giving impetus to the powerful forces Dorinda warned of that would tear them apart?
No, she decided, the gods had not meant her to bear a philandering bartender's baby conceived in a moment of irresponsible lust. So she had made an appointment with a clinic. Thankfully, she did not have to keep it.
* * *
Through the ensuing months, Billie and Isaac enjoy easy dates and movies and intellectual conversations. But they fight and debate constantly. She is hesitant to get serious about a man who devotes his life to the military even if it's just to build ships, and He can't understand her relentless acrimony toward the military, against men and women who sacrifice so much for home and country. Until one day Billie explodes with repressed rage over an excruciating personal loss.
“She was just an impressionable, idealistic kid then. What did she really know about any of it. My own sister, shot to death by armed guards firing on student anti-war protesters,” Billie rants. “Violent anarchists infiltrated the peaceful group and she was caught in the fray and got killed for it.”
So that's it. The root of her angst. Isaac empathizes with her pain, for he lost his own brother to a land mine in a Godforsaken corner of the earth. What did he know about war? He was just a kid…
Her sister's death inspired Billie to pacifism. It was Isaac's brother's death that affirmed his pledge to the Navy. Now things seem tinged with gray, no longer black and white. But he and the woman he was falling in love with were still worlds apart on this issue.
“Billie, if this relationship is going to work we have to agree to disagree about some things. Let's build on the things we agree on.”
“You're right, Isaac. We'll move forward and never look back. I want a whole new life with you, new experiences, new memories.”
“I know the perfect place to start.”
FOUR
Billie's first sailing experience on Isaac's sleek sailboat thrills her. She hasn't been on the water since she was a child, and never on such an exquisite vessel. The wind on her face, the invigorating mist of salt water are luxurious sensations breathing new life into her soul. Something mysterious and grand is happening to her and all her rigid ideas about life and politics and class identity drift away with the breeze.
Second to the thrill of sailing with Isaac is the feeling of veneration when she visits the Nickerson home. The structure itself - a towering Victorian, all white with a bright red roof and shutters - is a home Billie could only dream of as a child. Climbing the steps to the front door fills her with anticipation and not a little dread. She, too, comes from a family of seafarers, but none so esteemed as the Nickerson clan.
Scanning the parlor, Billie can truly see the home's history. It is filled with functional antiques, sturdy furnishings handed down from generation to generation and still used proudly. Artistic memorabilia and artifacts, collected by the Nickerson family during centuries in the business of designing sailing ships, line the shelves of the oak wood breakfront and mahogany table tops.
An impressive Nickerson Coat of Arms hangs proudly over the fireplace. The crest is blue, with two ermine bars; and on a silver chief there are three gold suns.
“The family motto, Per Castra ad astra, means Through the Camp to the Stars,” Isaac tells her.
“I am in awe,” Billie says. “Humbled, actually, by you and your family.”
Sounding now like a museum curator, Isaac continues with, “The name Nickerson is an ancient Anglo-Saxon surname that came from the personal name Nicholas. The Latin form of this name was Nicolaus, and it was derived from the Greek name Nikolaos, which is derived from the words nikan, meaning”to conquer," and laos, which means 'people.' However, the name is best remembered by an American corruption of this name: Santa Claus.”
Billie can't help but laugh at his uncommon humor. “Oh, Isaac. Thank you for trying to make me feel comfortable. I love Santa Claus. I mean, you know, the symbolism -”
Yes, she is falling in love with him, she admits to herself - his solid strength, his pragmatic demeanor, a tall, dark and handsome knight on a white horse, the total opposite of her will-o'-the-wisp personality.
They walk through the house and Billie feels both warmth and cool breezes. Eerie. Isaac says it's just the changing sea air but the spooky feeling follows her like a shadow.
From a second floor veranda at the back of the house, Billie can see the family cemetery. A century of generations is buried there just steps away from a cliff jutting out proudly into the ocean. Nearby, a large expanse of ground lies yet untouched, waiting patiently for the remaining Nickersons to come. Over the white picket fence that neatly edges the cemetery, the ocean surf below swirls and splashes against the sea wall, a whirlpool of conflicting emotions.
Billie is enchanted with the house and its proximity to the ocean. Her grandfather and father had labored on the fishing wharfs and boatyards by an upstate river, while she existed in a neighborhood of wall to wall cement and blacktop freeways, with barely a tree-filled park let alone the open sea. Being able to come to Port Avalon to study music in earnest at the conservatory was a breath of fresh air, sea air, and it enlivened her. And now, this house, this man, this fantasy life is within her grasp.
“Continuing my family heritage is one of the reasons I want to be a ship designer,” Isaac explains, bringing Billie back to reality, “to bring all of their historic innovations into the modern era.”
“I can understand that now that I've seen this wonderful house, so alive with memories and the riches of the past.”
“This can be your house, too,” Isaac suggests. “It needs a modern woman's touch, as well as her breathtaking music.”
“What are you saying, Isaac?”
“I'm asking you to marry me, Blanche Donovan. To be Blanche Nickerson.”
Blanche Donovan. She cringed whenever anyone called her that.
“When I was a little girl, I was constantly teased about my name. Blanche. It's something you do to a pot of vegetables until their skins fall off.”
“But Blanche also means white and shining – like a pure light of inspiration,” Isaac sermonizes.
“I'm not an angel yet.” Her broad smile reveals slightly imperfect teeth and childlike dimples. “Billie is more like me. Good old down to earth Billie Donovan.”
“Then marry me Billie Donovan.”
“But you're still in the Navy. What if you are assigned to some other city or another country? Then what?”
“Actually, my term of service is up in a few months. I'll be back in Port Avalon permanently, and this house will always be my home. I want you to share it with me. What do you say?”
Flustered and taken off guard all Billie can say is, “I - I don't know…”
“We've been dating almost a year now, Billie. What's wrong? Do you have reservations about me? Is there something you want to know? Or is there something you're not telling me?”
Yes, I had a fling with a bartender while you were gone, and thought I was pregnant, wanted to have an abortion, but thank God I didn't have to. That little bit of information will forever remain unsaid.
And what about those frightening dreams and visions about a child who follows her like a shadow that have come out of nowhere and are with her constantly? Are they just the product of her guilt? And why should she feel guilty about something she only thought about? How can she possibly share this bizarre behavior with Isaac and still have him think she is sane?
“Reservations about you, no, but about me. I'm not sure what I could offer this marriage, if I am mature enough or worthy enough to have all of this and you, too. I think - oh, gosh. I have to consult my psychic.” Billie breaks the seriousness with a nervous laugh.
“Consult your - psychic? Uh - you're joking. That wit of yours always throws me.”
“Would you take back your proposal if I told you I believe in psychics and Tarot cards and such?”
“You mean fortune tellers?”
“Well, kind of. I mean no one can really predict the future, but maybe they can tell us what kind of luck or providence we will experience. It kind of gives us some insight and a little hope.”
“The only hope we have is hard work and accepting our lot in life. There are no amulets to protect us from harm, and no talismans to bring us good luck. But if, and I mean if there are such things then you are my good luck charm. And I need you.”
She nestles deeply into his arms, feeling safe and secure. Yet something unsettling still quivers within her. Dorinda's warnings, the ghostly feeling that follows her through every room, the fear that some ominous power will tear them apart, makes her hesitate.
Holding Isaac off with, “I need a little more time,” Billie decides she must have another card reading.
* * *
In haste as on a mission, Billie finds her way back to the tent where Dorinda first read her cards. She is frantic to find, however, that Dorinda is not there. A different card reader sits quietly at the table with decks of cards and the crystal ball at her reach.
“Where's Dorinda? I really need to see her. She knows me.”
“It's all right, my dear. We are all interconnected here. Whatever you gleaned from Dorinda's readings will be evident in my reading today.”
Hesitant, but also desperate for clarity, Billie agrees. “I'm having strange dreams, visions, too. And they frighten me.”
“Well, then, let us use some healing crystals first to calm you so we have a clear channel.” The nameless woman with a kind face and sunny demeanor presents some large crystals and surrounds the Tarot cards with them. There are deep blue, rose, white and green stones of unique shapes and sizes, all meant to bring a meditative quietness to Billie's mood.
Nameless chooses a deck of cards and shuffles them, lays out a few before Billie, then turns them over one by one.
“The Archangel Gabriel. He is the Angel of Communication and the Arts, inspiring you into creative pursuits. I understand you are a gifted pianist.”
“I - yes, I am,” Billie replies with humility. Her eyes open wide involuntarily. “How did you know that?”
“It's all in the cards, my dear. Your cards.”
“Oh. Right.”
“This talent will serve you well in the future.”
“I hope so. I want to play professionally, in a symphony one day.”
“Perhaps. But it seems to turn in a different direction than you aspire to.”
“I'm not sure I like that,” Billie pouts.
“The Archangel Gabriel also guides hopeful parents in fertility and child conception.”
“Billie gasps. “Yes! The visions are about a child…but they are unclear. I don't know what the dreams mean. They just frighten me.”
“Your musical talent will serve you well here. And your child, when it comes, will also be so inclined, for you will teach it to this new soul. It is vital that you do so. Even from outside the womb music vibrations nurture. Gabriel will be there to guide you as to what to do.”
“God, I hope so. I'll need all the help I can get.”
“Ah, Caution,” the woman reveals the next card. “You are sometimes impulsive and quick to act or react.”
Yeah, like that fling I'm trying to forget. Billie shivers at the thought.
“But now, you feel hesitant to move forward with a decision, a very serious one, it seems.”
“Yes. The man I am seeing wants to marry me. And I so want to marry him. But these dreams make me apprehensive, as though something will ruin it.”
“Just breathe into it and when you make your decision everyone concerned will flourish.”
“Ha. Just like that.” Billie snaps her fingers. “Sorry,” she apologizes for being cheeky. “But it can't be that simple.”
“Take time to fully consider the situation, take small steps and you will soon find things falling into place.”
“Yes, I did tell him I needed more time.”
“Then use the time wisely.”
Billie is stumped. “How will I do that?”
“This card, the Knowing card, tells you to listen to what you hear and act upon the messages you receive. They will guide you on the journey you are destined for.”
Billie huffs in exasperation. “This is all so cryptic. I'm just not that evolved on metaphysical things. If I'm to have all this help, all these guides, why do I feel so afraid, so panic-stricken?”
“Let us pull a card from a different deck.”
Billie cries out when the Death card is turned over. “Oh, my God. What does that mean? Am I going to die? Is my child going to die?”
“Soon you will have a dream, or perhaps a visitation, in which someone or something threatens to harm you, even kill you. You will try to escape or fight back.”
“Kill me! Why? What have I done?”
The reader is quiet now, weighing her words carefully. “Both you and your child are in danger. It is not imminent but it hovers like a black cloud.”
“Danger? What kind of danger?” Billie is hyperventilating now, despite being surrounded by healing music and crystals. “Pick another card. Please!”
“Your final card, The Chariot. Your child will face great peril but his life will also be heroic. He -”
“What are you talking about? It's not even real. I can't tell in my visions if it's a girl or boy - it's a he?”
“Yes.”
Billie is elated to know she could one day have a son, Isaac's son. He will be strong and wise just like his father. But then she remembers the danger part and her emotions burst forth begging for clarification.
“Your boy will possess something that others covet and are willing to die for, and kill for.”
Through her tears Billie pleads, “What could he possibly possess - what will he possess that is so ominous? A - a golden rattle for heaven sake?!”
“I'm not yet clear on the prophecy. This is some time in the distant future, but I feel it will be something of great importance to him, your family, and perhaps the world.”
Overwhelmed, Billie tries to disavow the premonition and rises to leave in haste. But as a parting warning, Nameless implores Billie to heed her words, to take the Tarot seriously.
After the curtain closes behind Billie, Nameless turns to the crystal ball wherein Dorinda's hologram resides and talks to her.
“Are we certain this girl is up to the challenges she will face, Dorinda?”
“She will struggle and resist,” Dorinda concedes, “and the dark spirits will push her to her limit. But if she focuses on the end result - the destiny of her child - she will prevail. She has one personal trait that she can pass on to her son, one that they will share through many lifetimes: her divine musical gift and its unbounded capacity to raise and change the consciousness of mankind.”
“But not just any music, I assume.”
“No. Not just any.” Dorinda is emphatic on this point. “The music of the soul. Few can hear it, but her son will. He must.”
“This is crazy,” Billie tells herself as she tries to come to terms with the nameless Tarot card reader's forewarning about a son yet to be conceived and about the ominous fate that lies ahead for him.
“I just have to shift my thinking to something rational. Maybe in loving Isaac I'll adopt his sane way of looking at life. Maybe that's what I need. Someone rational. Someone who can talk me out of all this premonition nonsense.”
FIVE
As a wedding present and as a way to give her own personal touch to the Nickerson house, Billie gifts Isaac with a mariner's bell, a symbol of the blending of their two families. The bell had come from a vessel her father and grandfather helped build. “What an incredible coincidence that your family was in the ship building business,” Isaac remarks, admiring the vintage treasure.
“Yes, they were. But not as prosperous as your family. Fishing boats were their specialty, but they were quite sea worthy and sailed to many exotic ports.”
As Billie polishes the brass bell to a gleaming finish, she reminisces about all the exciting adventures her father spoke of. She can pretend he is still alive, rocking in his favorite chair by the crackling glow of the fireplace with her devoted mother sitting nearby. And she can pretend he hadn't lost his business to an arsonist who burned his boatyard to the ground, and her parents with it.
* * *
On the eve of their wedding, Billie is in a beautiful suite of rooms on the third floor getting dressed for the rehearsal dinner. She wanted to design and sew the dress herself but, being a failure as a dressmaker, shopping was her only option and a lot more fun. She smoothes the turquoise blue dress down over her slim hips, feeling like a beauty from a bygone era. The antique design has a lace-paneled bodice bursting with beautiful deco beads, atop an ornate skirt that swirls and slinks to knee length. Wide, beaded tank straps hug Billie's smooth shoulders. It's no wonder she feels ready to dance the night away.
Admiring her image Billie twirls to imaginary music, humming a favorite waltz. Shockingly, an image appears behind her in the mirror - ghostly, not man or woman - and the phantasm causes Billie to stop mid-turn. Terrified, she backs away hastily and nearly trips over the ottoman at the foot of her bed. She grabs onto the bedpost and tries to hide behind it. Her scream is just a lump in her throat gagging her to silence.
“There is grave danger if you marry Isaac Nickerson.” The voice seems to come from nowhere, certainly not from the unidentifiable apparition that hovers before her. Now it's above her, below her, and even inside her head.
“That's it,” she tells herself. “I'm just hearing a voice in my head. That's it. No one is here. No one is here. Go away!” she commands the spirit. “You are not here. You don't belong here.“ The image disappears at her firm command, as though a light switch has suddenly turned it off.
Billie is shaken to her core. Her hands and forehead are sweaty with fear. Her heart races violently and she feels the dankness build up inside her beautiful dress. She runs to the bathroom, slips the shoulder straps down and douses her chest and underarms with cool water. Delicately, to not disturb her makeup, she blots the perspiration from her face and hairline. Resolutely she slows down her breathing to normal.
“Get a grip, Billie. Guests are arriving. You don't want them to think you're certifiable.”
The festive music of violin, cello and flute performed by Billie's music colleagues emanates throughout the house, complementing the celebratory nature of the impending wedding of Billie Donovan and Isaac Nickerson.
Joyful and friendly hugs and kisses greet her as she descends the stairs, and Billie feels herself calming down to appreciate the moment. Spotting an intriguing woman across the room, Billie approaches her and introduces herself.
“Oh, yes. I know who you are,” Dorothy says with an amiable smile. “Isaac has sent me some photos of the two of you.”
