Page 27 of A Song in the Dark

chapter Ten

The scent of cold stone was so familiar to her now. She’d never taken much notice of it as a child. Back then, it was the aroma of fresh baking bread or a sweet dessert that caught her attention.

But on this tour, she’d lost count of how many times the stone buildings had invaded her senses.

Stone tile gave her a dust-like taste in her mouth. Brick added a metallic note. Plaster walls and wood walls were in stark contrast to each other in how the sounds bounced or echoed off of them.

Then there were the scents. One reminded her of the outdoors, the other of paint.

Walking into the Marble Hall, the aroma assaulted her and brought back a swirl of memories from her childhood. The floors and walls had just been polished—she could smell the remnants of cleaners heavy with lemon oil.

Fresh flower bouquets must be every ten feet or so in the hall. Just like when she was a child, but now their fragrances were almost overwhelming they were so strong.

All the smells brought the pictures from her memory into vivid vision.

As her heels clicked on the marble floor, the sound echoed throughout the empty room. In a few hours, the room would be full.

The patron who’d asked her to come would attend with his family and a few friends, but she’d been informed that many high-ranking Nazi officers had demanded attendance as well.

Funny how it wasn’t a request, but a demand. And they wanted it known.

With a sigh, she kept her left hand on the wall and made a full sweep of the circumference of Marble Hall.

It wasn’t a huge space and the acoustics from the high ceilings were incredibly rich.

The number of people would help temper the echoes and absorb a bit of the sound so she could feel free to play the majestic grand at full volume.

Lord God, please help me to do this to the best of my ability. No matter the audience. Play through me. Thank You for this gift. Thank You for the blessing of music. And lead me to the people that need me or lead them to me. Show me Your will. Please.

Her heart settled into a relaxed and comfortable rhythm. She may not know what was to come, but He did.

Ever since she’d told that reporter she was blind, things had shifted. Not just in her heart, but in how she was received.

Both good and bad. All these years, she’d told herself that keeping her blindness a secret had kept her humble. No need to tell people the adversities she’d had to overcome.

She’d come to realize, though, that she’d kept it close so that people couldn’t judge her. Or show pity. She’d never considered how much her pride was involved.

Things were different with the Nazis gaining power. There were those who didn’t appreciate someone with a disability being praised and recognized. And many now ignored her. At least, that’s what Melanie reported.

She wanted to say that was fine. She didn’t mind being ignored. But deep down, she had to admit she wasn’t used to it. For more than a decade she had been in great demand. Every time she walked out on stage, she knew that all eyes were on her. That was what she was used to.

Even though she performed in front of thousands of people on a regular basis, she’d stayed protected in a small bubble of valued friends. The more she pondered it, the more she came to realize that pride was a struggle she needed to face head-on.

From early childhood on, she’d gained praise from everyone around her for her exceptional gifts with music.

It became expected. God had given her something rare. Monsieur Beaufort called her a true prodigy. And after that term had been thrown around a few dozen times, she came to love the fact that she was special. And it had nothing to do with her being blind.

Or did it?

Oh...

Oh, God... forgive me.

She dropped to her knees in the middle of the great hall, bowed her head, and lifted her hands.

Father, forgive me for my pride. Forgive me for not understanding this sooner.

Forgive me for all the times I haven’t seen with my heart those I could have helped.

Help me not to be blind to them anymore.

Show me—with Your almighty sight—how I can help.

Thank You for bringing us here. Even though this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Keep us all strong and courageous to do what You call us to do. No matter how difficult the task.

She lifted her chin, stood, and then made her way back to the piano. She couldn’t allow her pride to stand in the way any longer.

Earlier today, she’d visited a university, and the music students were fascinated by her.

How long that would last in this new Nazi culture was yet to be seen.

But hopefully seeds had been planted in their young minds.

That everyone was useful—worthy. She would no longer just entertain or give people hope.

She would point them to this truth.

Dr. Grafton had two contacts in place here.

One was a professor at the university who was keeping his eyes and ears open to how the Nazis were appealing to the young generation.

Another was wealthy and being pressured by the Nazi Party.

How long they would stay in Austria was a tough guess, but at least they had them in place for now.

Taking a seat on the bench before the piano, she closed her eyelids and did her best to imagine the room.

While she couldn’t remember the exact details of it from two decades ago, she could recall the massive gold scrolling on the walls and the cherubs at the top of the walls.

There were a lot of gold accents, she remembered that much.

Accepting the invitation to do this private concert had been the right choice.

Before Germany took over Austria, the country was renowned for its musical history and concert halls. But it would most certainly change. More than it already had.

It had been less than two months since the Anschluss. Less than two months since she’d played in this country. But Austria felt different in that short amount of time. The air was different. Sadder. As if a thick fog of fear blanketed Salzburg. Even this concert hall.

Her shoulders curved inward. A darkness far worse than blindness was stretching its fingers into the hearts of men. Her hands shook against the piano keys. Pulling them back, Chaisley made fists then relaxed her fingers a few times.

Drowning in her thoughts of the darkness and what was happening—and what could happen—wasn’t productive.

Not right before a performance. Maybe she couldn’t stop the whole Nazi Party, but she would play her part.

And not let the fear threatening to choke her win.

Please help me, Lord. To be wise. And not be afraid.

She sat up, straightening her spine and placing her fingers on the piano keys once more.

As she ran through her usual warm-up and practice session, her thoughts bounced all over the place. Focus was getting harder and harder to come by.

Three hours later, it wasn’t much better.

The crowd had gathered at the Marble Hall, and Chaisley had to attend an invitation-only gathering before she performed.

That hadn’t been part of the initial agreement, but apparently it had been another demand.

As she, Mel, and Rick walked into the building, the flurry of voices grew. She braced herself for the coming half hour and pasted on a smile.

Conversations died down as she entered the smaller room for this gathering.

“Our guest of honor has arrived.” A nasally voice spoke in high German from the left of the room. It resonated above what voices were still engaged, and the room silenced.

“It is my privilege to introduce you all to the woman who has amazed me with her incomparable talent at the pianoforte...The greatest pianist the world has ever known... Miss Chaisley Frappier!” A beefy hand tugged at hers and brought her forward two steps.

The owner of the nasal voice must be the patron who’d invited her for this concert. He’d laid the compliments on a little heavy, but she would be grateful for the support.

Applause filled the room, and she curtsied. Then she held up a hand and waited for the room to quiet again. “Thank you for your gracious invitation. It is my honor to play for you all this evening.”

Keeping her bearings would be difficult in a room filled with people who moved and meandered. She held her place, and as soon as conversations picked up again, she felt the presence of Mel and Rick move beside her again.

“Three couples are moving toward you.” Mel’s soft whisper gave her a moment’s warning. “We are ten paces from the door behind us.”

“Fr?ulein Frappier, we are looking forward to your concert.” A woman on her right spoke. “My mother wanted me to be a pianist, but my fingers were not coordinated enough.” Her light laughter was brittle and crackly. This woman smelled of rose water and... tobacco.

The two did not mix well.

Chaisley lifted a handkerchief to her nose that she kept for just this reason. She’d learned when she was young to keep her hankies in a bag with fresh peppermint leaves. The oil would rub off the leaves, and if a smell overwhelmed her, she could breathe in the fresh scent and clear her senses.

“I took lessons as a child”—a male voice on her left entered the conversation—“and my father dreamt of me being the next Beethoven, but I was terrible and my teacher slapped my hands with a ruler.”

Chaisley drew back a bit and lowered her hankie. “Simply because you hit the wrong note?”

“No.” The man guffawed and snuffed like a giant hog going after a corn cob. “Because I didn’t listen to a word he said.”

Several men joined in the harsh laughter. The man continued with horror stories of his teacher.

This was not the kind of crowd she was used to—or maybe it was because she didn’t spend much time conversing with a wealthy audience before a concert. She much preferred listening to the stories from those who stayed afterward.