Christmas Music (Champagne Challenge #133) -- PG-13
Posted: Wed Dec 07, 2011 5:45 am
This story was written as a response to Champagne Challenge #133, and also as a musical Christmas card to my dear friend Lilly. She loves Josef and Sarah, and well, so do I. In addition, I’d like to give big holiday hugs to the lovely and talented Allegrita who beta’d this to such an extent she really deserves a co-author credit. Her suggestions and additions made a world of difference to this piece. Really. And lest anyone is in doubt, let me reiterate, I don’t own Josef, or Sarah. If I did, their story would have gone a little differently.
Christmas Music
Despite the crowd, the auditorium was chilly. It seemed strange, since the weather outside was unseasonably mild, the predicted snow having turned early in the evening to rain. Sarah reached up to adjust her new mink wrap, but Charles was there ahead of her, his long fingers gentle in the dark fur as he moved the stole more snugly around her shoulders. She loved his hands, so strong, so capable. So very loving in every touch. She smiled her thanks to him.
The fur was an early Christmas present from her father, and even though she knew he’d bought it to impress on her that he could take better care of her than any young upstart—like the man beside her—she couldn’t resist wearing it, knowing the tones of it set off her pale complexion and red hair admirably. "Daddy's just going to have to get used to the fact that there's another man in my life, that’s all," she thought to herself.
They had perfect seats for the performance, about halfway back in the auditorium, near the center of their row. Sarah always enjoyed watching the symphony conductor, and seeing the faces of the musicians as they played. Tonight was a combined performance with a chorus, so the pleasure was doubled.
The first soloist, a harpist, walked onto the stage, and took her seat at her instrument, leaning the great harp back against her shoulder with a gleam of gold against the black velvet of her dress. She bowed her head briefly, and the audience almost held its collective breath, waiting for the first notes of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” to shimmer into the hush.
The tickets to the concert had been a surprise. Charles loved to surprise her with outings; she never knew what he’d think of next. An afternoon visit to the zoo, an evening in a little off-Broadway theatre seeing an experimental drama, a drive out of the city to see the autumn foliage. Yesterday, he’d said, “I’ll pick you up at seven sharp. Dress up, baby.” She’d chided him a few times, for taking so much time away from business for her, but he only laughed. “I have all the time in the world for business, sweetheart,” he’d told her. “I want to spend every minute I can, with you.” He made her feel so special, she thought. And when he looked into her eyes, she felt like they were the only people in the world.
He slid an arm around her shoulders; she could feel the light pressure of it and snuggled closer to him. Her father might think Charles was a, a—how had he put it? A wastrel. But she knew better. He was different, and she didn’t care if her father didn’t understand that.
The harpist had finished her solo, and the orchestra was playing a medley of traditional Christmas carols. Sarah let her mind float along with the music, thinking of Christmases past. She’d always loved the holidays. Her parents’ home, so lavishly decorated, with brightly wrapped packages piled in heaps under the trees. And the music, she’d always loved the music.
But it was even better, with Charles sitting here beside her. Impulsively, she laid a gloved hand on his knee, and he covered it with his. She turned her head to look at him, and found him already focusing on her, the intensity of his warm brown eyes carrying her away. He’d mentioned something the other day, about how he’d spent so many Christmases alone. The thought of Charles alone at this happy time of year had moved her deeply, and she was so glad they could be together this evening. In fact, as far as she was concerned, she and Charles should be together every evening for the rest of their lives, Daddy or no Daddy.
He lifted his hand from hers, to tilt her chin up, then laid a brief, chaste kiss on her lips. When he pulled back, she started to whisper to him, but he shook his head with a smile, and looked away, back to the stage. The musicians were beginning “The Carol of the Bells,” and the insistent beat of the music seemed to match the racing of her heart.
His hand was on hers again, and not for the first time, she worried about how cool it had felt against the skin of her face. He might laugh it off with a shrug and an assertion that it only proved the warmth of his heart, but she worried a little about him. He seemed healthy, but she was greedy. She wanted him to be around, to be hers, for a long, long time. She laced her fingers through his, trying to be as close to him as possible. She knew nice girls weren’t supposed to think of such things, but she had a sudden image of the two of them, together, with nothing between. Her body warming his. She knew she was blushing, and was glad he couldn’t see it in the dark. What in the world would he think, if he knew she was so forward?
The last selection before intermission was a soprano solo of “O Holy Night,” one of her favorites. The soaring, dramatic vocals never failed to move her. Charles was so different from the boys she’d known in college, with their fumbling attempts to seduce her. She’d never really wanted to be seduced. Until now. She felt her cheeks warming again, and Charles leaned over and kissed her hair. Sometimes it almost seemed like he could read her mind, but she never found it an intrusion. She had to wonder—somehow it seemed like he was hiding something from her, some huge secret, that he didn’t quite have enough faith in her, in them, to reveal. Her mother would say she was being fanciful, and romantic, but she knew better. She’d seen the secret sorrow in his eyes, when he thought she wasn’t looking. Maybe she should just come out and ask him. Maybe…
The song swept to its ending, and the crowd applauded vigorously as the soloist curtsied, and the house lights came up for intermission. A wave of movement and chatter filled the space, as people rose, heading for the lobby and a drink, or a quick smoke.
Sarah sat still, and Charles raised his eyebrows at her. “Need anything, sweetheart?” he asked.
“I think I’d rather just stay here with you. If you don’t mind.”
“Suits me.” He looked around, gauging the crowd. “So, what are you reading this week?”
“Re-reading, actually. An old favorite. Jane Eyre.”
“Now, that’s not very Christmas-y.”
“No, but I like it.” Sarah leaned back a bit, adjusting her stole. “Although, this time through, I can’t help but think Jane’s a bit flighty.”
“Oh?” Charles looked amused. “How so?”
“Well, this whole business about her running away, after the wedding scene. I mean, if she loved Rochester, really loved him, she wouldn’t run away no matter what his secret was, would she?”
His smile seemed a little tight. “You never know what sort of secret is going to drive a woman away.”
“Charlie, you’re not trying to tell me you have a mad wife locked in the attic of your townhouse, are you?” Sarah asked in mock dismay. “I guess, if you do, we’ll work things out, but still. I’d think you’d have told me by now.”
He made an exaggerated thoughtful face, biting his lip and casting his eyes up into the distance. “Attic. Attic. Let’s see. There’s…old furniture. Several boxes of books, and half a dozen trunks of wildly out of fashion clothing my uncle left behind. But the last time I checked, no mad wife. Not even a mad aunt.”
Sarah laughed, and laid a hand on his arm. “I must say, that’s a relief. But you have to show me the furniture some time. I love antiques.”
In answer, he kissed her, briefly but firmly, his closed lips pressing against hers. It wouldn’t be proper, to do more. Not here at the concert, anyway.
“Charlie?” Sarah asked when they broke apart.
“Yes?” His eyes were moving, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of her face, her hair, her lips.
“Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He gave her that impish grin she loved so well. “I plan on spending the evening with the most ravishing redhead in New York, and at midnight, I plan on kissing her. Thoroughly.”
Sarah laughed, her eyes sparkling, and frowned fiercely. “That redhead had better be me, buster.”
Charles thought she looked delicious. His arm tightened around her shoulders. “Would you care for a preview of that kiss?”
“Right here in public?” The frown was replaced by a mischievous grin. “You’re on.”
But as his lips drew close to hers, the lights dimmed and brightened again, and they had to make way for people returning to their seats.
“Later,” he breathed to her, before the lights went down again, and the curtain rose once more.
The second half of the program began with a new piece, something called “The Little Drummer Boy.” This time, the soloist was a young boy, perhaps ten, who stood at the front with a brightly colored snare drum, providing the repeated “rum pa pum pums” as the chorus told the sentimental story. Charles thought he caught a sparkle of tears in Sarah’s eyes as she listened, and her hand held his in a tight clutch. So mercurial, his beautiful love.
He couldn’t help but wonder again, what he was doing. The more he knew her, the deeper he was ensnared. It was wrong, wrong for both of them, but he couldn’t walk away. Even knowing that one day, he’d have to hurt her, he just couldn’t force himself to leave. As the orchestra began to play the next piece, he almost laughed out loud. How apropos: “The Holly and the Ivy.” It was such an old song, and yet it described him and Sarah perfectly. Vampire and human, death and life, winter and summer. The holly berries, red as blood, the thorns sharp as fangs. He shook his head to banish those thoughts, and Sarah looked up at him questioningly.
"What is it?" she whispered, concerned enough to break etiquette.
Charles smiled reassuringly. "Nothing important. Just a bad joke I remembered." He put his arm back around her shoulders and turned to watch the performance, but he could feel her looking at his profile for a few moments before she sighed and settled back in her seat.
He found himself idly stroking the mink she wore, and suppressed a frown. He thought she’d look much better in fox, red to match her hair. She’d look like a living flame, then. Or possibly Russian sable, the black an elegant contrast to her coloring. And not some useless stole, either. He’d cover her with full-length coats of the most expensive furs on the planet, someday. But not yet. Now wasn’t the time to start one-upping her father. He still had a chance to win the old man over; and besides, there was no reason to make Sarah a pawn in some power struggle. She deserved better than that.
More Renaissance music—a tenor solo this time, on “What Child is This?” He’d always loved that melody, had known it all his long life, sung with a variety of lyrics. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back to Christmases long ago, remembering other halls, other musicians and companions, all long dead. He tightened his arm briefly around Sarah's shoulders. None of them compared to her.
Back to the present, with another instrumental, “Sleigh Ride.” He had to smile wryly at that one. In his experience, sleighs were cold, uncomfortable, and prone to getting stuck in every thin spot in the snow. On occasion, he missed horse-drawn vehicles, but on the whole, he was happy with automobiles. The ride home in the rain tonight was going to be a lot drier in a Yellow Cab than in even the finest horse-drawn carriage.
Sarah turned to him as the audience broke into applause. "Charlie, would you take me for a sleigh ride sometime?"
Charles smiled at her excited face. "Sure, doll, any time you like."
She leaned closer to him, letting her head drift down to rest on his shoulder. She wasn’t sleepy, he could tell, and the simple act of trust moved him again. He thought that if the concert never ended, he would be fine with that. They could sit here together, forever. He couldn’t remember being happier.
All too soon, the program drew towards a close, and the audience stood for the final number, a spirited rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus. Charles held Sarah close, through the triumphant swelling of the chorus, the thrilling repetition of “Hallelujah, hallelujah!” making her shiver with happiness. She’d never had a more perfect evening, she thought, never felt so cherished as when Charles looked at her and held her in his arms.
As the last, drawn out tones of the final “Hal-le-lu-jahhhhhh…” rang through the auditorium, Charles bent to kiss Sarah, and she slipped her arms around his neck, holding him as they fell through a crack in time. As long as their lips were joined, they were somewhere in between. No past, no future, no problems, no pain.
In the storm of applause, though, they came back to earth, and Sarah pulled back to whisper, “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”
Charles smiled down into her shining eyes. “Merry Christmas, Sarah.”
Christmas Music
Despite the crowd, the auditorium was chilly. It seemed strange, since the weather outside was unseasonably mild, the predicted snow having turned early in the evening to rain. Sarah reached up to adjust her new mink wrap, but Charles was there ahead of her, his long fingers gentle in the dark fur as he moved the stole more snugly around her shoulders. She loved his hands, so strong, so capable. So very loving in every touch. She smiled her thanks to him.
The fur was an early Christmas present from her father, and even though she knew he’d bought it to impress on her that he could take better care of her than any young upstart—like the man beside her—she couldn’t resist wearing it, knowing the tones of it set off her pale complexion and red hair admirably. "Daddy's just going to have to get used to the fact that there's another man in my life, that’s all," she thought to herself.
They had perfect seats for the performance, about halfway back in the auditorium, near the center of their row. Sarah always enjoyed watching the symphony conductor, and seeing the faces of the musicians as they played. Tonight was a combined performance with a chorus, so the pleasure was doubled.
The first soloist, a harpist, walked onto the stage, and took her seat at her instrument, leaning the great harp back against her shoulder with a gleam of gold against the black velvet of her dress. She bowed her head briefly, and the audience almost held its collective breath, waiting for the first notes of “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” to shimmer into the hush.
The tickets to the concert had been a surprise. Charles loved to surprise her with outings; she never knew what he’d think of next. An afternoon visit to the zoo, an evening in a little off-Broadway theatre seeing an experimental drama, a drive out of the city to see the autumn foliage. Yesterday, he’d said, “I’ll pick you up at seven sharp. Dress up, baby.” She’d chided him a few times, for taking so much time away from business for her, but he only laughed. “I have all the time in the world for business, sweetheart,” he’d told her. “I want to spend every minute I can, with you.” He made her feel so special, she thought. And when he looked into her eyes, she felt like they were the only people in the world.
He slid an arm around her shoulders; she could feel the light pressure of it and snuggled closer to him. Her father might think Charles was a, a—how had he put it? A wastrel. But she knew better. He was different, and she didn’t care if her father didn’t understand that.
The harpist had finished her solo, and the orchestra was playing a medley of traditional Christmas carols. Sarah let her mind float along with the music, thinking of Christmases past. She’d always loved the holidays. Her parents’ home, so lavishly decorated, with brightly wrapped packages piled in heaps under the trees. And the music, she’d always loved the music.
But it was even better, with Charles sitting here beside her. Impulsively, she laid a gloved hand on his knee, and he covered it with his. She turned her head to look at him, and found him already focusing on her, the intensity of his warm brown eyes carrying her away. He’d mentioned something the other day, about how he’d spent so many Christmases alone. The thought of Charles alone at this happy time of year had moved her deeply, and she was so glad they could be together this evening. In fact, as far as she was concerned, she and Charles should be together every evening for the rest of their lives, Daddy or no Daddy.
He lifted his hand from hers, to tilt her chin up, then laid a brief, chaste kiss on her lips. When he pulled back, she started to whisper to him, but he shook his head with a smile, and looked away, back to the stage. The musicians were beginning “The Carol of the Bells,” and the insistent beat of the music seemed to match the racing of her heart.
His hand was on hers again, and not for the first time, she worried about how cool it had felt against the skin of her face. He might laugh it off with a shrug and an assertion that it only proved the warmth of his heart, but she worried a little about him. He seemed healthy, but she was greedy. She wanted him to be around, to be hers, for a long, long time. She laced her fingers through his, trying to be as close to him as possible. She knew nice girls weren’t supposed to think of such things, but she had a sudden image of the two of them, together, with nothing between. Her body warming his. She knew she was blushing, and was glad he couldn’t see it in the dark. What in the world would he think, if he knew she was so forward?
The last selection before intermission was a soprano solo of “O Holy Night,” one of her favorites. The soaring, dramatic vocals never failed to move her. Charles was so different from the boys she’d known in college, with their fumbling attempts to seduce her. She’d never really wanted to be seduced. Until now. She felt her cheeks warming again, and Charles leaned over and kissed her hair. Sometimes it almost seemed like he could read her mind, but she never found it an intrusion. She had to wonder—somehow it seemed like he was hiding something from her, some huge secret, that he didn’t quite have enough faith in her, in them, to reveal. Her mother would say she was being fanciful, and romantic, but she knew better. She’d seen the secret sorrow in his eyes, when he thought she wasn’t looking. Maybe she should just come out and ask him. Maybe…
The song swept to its ending, and the crowd applauded vigorously as the soloist curtsied, and the house lights came up for intermission. A wave of movement and chatter filled the space, as people rose, heading for the lobby and a drink, or a quick smoke.
Sarah sat still, and Charles raised his eyebrows at her. “Need anything, sweetheart?” he asked.
“I think I’d rather just stay here with you. If you don’t mind.”
“Suits me.” He looked around, gauging the crowd. “So, what are you reading this week?”
“Re-reading, actually. An old favorite. Jane Eyre.”
“Now, that’s not very Christmas-y.”
“No, but I like it.” Sarah leaned back a bit, adjusting her stole. “Although, this time through, I can’t help but think Jane’s a bit flighty.”
“Oh?” Charles looked amused. “How so?”
“Well, this whole business about her running away, after the wedding scene. I mean, if she loved Rochester, really loved him, she wouldn’t run away no matter what his secret was, would she?”
His smile seemed a little tight. “You never know what sort of secret is going to drive a woman away.”
“Charlie, you’re not trying to tell me you have a mad wife locked in the attic of your townhouse, are you?” Sarah asked in mock dismay. “I guess, if you do, we’ll work things out, but still. I’d think you’d have told me by now.”
He made an exaggerated thoughtful face, biting his lip and casting his eyes up into the distance. “Attic. Attic. Let’s see. There’s…old furniture. Several boxes of books, and half a dozen trunks of wildly out of fashion clothing my uncle left behind. But the last time I checked, no mad wife. Not even a mad aunt.”
Sarah laughed, and laid a hand on his arm. “I must say, that’s a relief. But you have to show me the furniture some time. I love antiques.”
In answer, he kissed her, briefly but firmly, his closed lips pressing against hers. It wouldn’t be proper, to do more. Not here at the concert, anyway.
“Charlie?” Sarah asked when they broke apart.
“Yes?” His eyes were moving, as though he were trying to memorize every detail of her face, her hair, her lips.
“Do you have plans for New Year’s Eve yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He gave her that impish grin she loved so well. “I plan on spending the evening with the most ravishing redhead in New York, and at midnight, I plan on kissing her. Thoroughly.”
Sarah laughed, her eyes sparkling, and frowned fiercely. “That redhead had better be me, buster.”
Charles thought she looked delicious. His arm tightened around her shoulders. “Would you care for a preview of that kiss?”
“Right here in public?” The frown was replaced by a mischievous grin. “You’re on.”
But as his lips drew close to hers, the lights dimmed and brightened again, and they had to make way for people returning to their seats.
“Later,” he breathed to her, before the lights went down again, and the curtain rose once more.
The second half of the program began with a new piece, something called “The Little Drummer Boy.” This time, the soloist was a young boy, perhaps ten, who stood at the front with a brightly colored snare drum, providing the repeated “rum pa pum pums” as the chorus told the sentimental story. Charles thought he caught a sparkle of tears in Sarah’s eyes as she listened, and her hand held his in a tight clutch. So mercurial, his beautiful love.
He couldn’t help but wonder again, what he was doing. The more he knew her, the deeper he was ensnared. It was wrong, wrong for both of them, but he couldn’t walk away. Even knowing that one day, he’d have to hurt her, he just couldn’t force himself to leave. As the orchestra began to play the next piece, he almost laughed out loud. How apropos: “The Holly and the Ivy.” It was such an old song, and yet it described him and Sarah perfectly. Vampire and human, death and life, winter and summer. The holly berries, red as blood, the thorns sharp as fangs. He shook his head to banish those thoughts, and Sarah looked up at him questioningly.
"What is it?" she whispered, concerned enough to break etiquette.
Charles smiled reassuringly. "Nothing important. Just a bad joke I remembered." He put his arm back around her shoulders and turned to watch the performance, but he could feel her looking at his profile for a few moments before she sighed and settled back in her seat.
He found himself idly stroking the mink she wore, and suppressed a frown. He thought she’d look much better in fox, red to match her hair. She’d look like a living flame, then. Or possibly Russian sable, the black an elegant contrast to her coloring. And not some useless stole, either. He’d cover her with full-length coats of the most expensive furs on the planet, someday. But not yet. Now wasn’t the time to start one-upping her father. He still had a chance to win the old man over; and besides, there was no reason to make Sarah a pawn in some power struggle. She deserved better than that.
More Renaissance music—a tenor solo this time, on “What Child is This?” He’d always loved that melody, had known it all his long life, sung with a variety of lyrics. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back to Christmases long ago, remembering other halls, other musicians and companions, all long dead. He tightened his arm briefly around Sarah's shoulders. None of them compared to her.
Back to the present, with another instrumental, “Sleigh Ride.” He had to smile wryly at that one. In his experience, sleighs were cold, uncomfortable, and prone to getting stuck in every thin spot in the snow. On occasion, he missed horse-drawn vehicles, but on the whole, he was happy with automobiles. The ride home in the rain tonight was going to be a lot drier in a Yellow Cab than in even the finest horse-drawn carriage.
Sarah turned to him as the audience broke into applause. "Charlie, would you take me for a sleigh ride sometime?"
Charles smiled at her excited face. "Sure, doll, any time you like."
She leaned closer to him, letting her head drift down to rest on his shoulder. She wasn’t sleepy, he could tell, and the simple act of trust moved him again. He thought that if the concert never ended, he would be fine with that. They could sit here together, forever. He couldn’t remember being happier.
All too soon, the program drew towards a close, and the audience stood for the final number, a spirited rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus. Charles held Sarah close, through the triumphant swelling of the chorus, the thrilling repetition of “Hallelujah, hallelujah!” making her shiver with happiness. She’d never had a more perfect evening, she thought, never felt so cherished as when Charles looked at her and held her in his arms.
As the last, drawn out tones of the final “Hal-le-lu-jahhhhhh…” rang through the auditorium, Charles bent to kiss Sarah, and she slipped her arms around his neck, holding him as they fell through a crack in time. As long as their lips were joined, they were somewhere in between. No past, no future, no problems, no pain.
In the storm of applause, though, they came back to earth, and Sarah pulled back to whisper, “Merry Christmas, Charlie.”
Charles smiled down into her shining eyes. “Merry Christmas, Sarah.”