Arianne's Waltz

1: Impromptu Duet

The music stopped Stephen Ingalls in his tracks as he passed through the door. Doug Nicholas, Jason Anderson, and even Quentin Marquis had to sidestep around him to keep from making a noise that would shatter the moment for everyone, even those unaware of their arrival.

Jason looked at his friend. Stephen’s expression reflected total absorption with what he heard. His dark brown, amber-flecked eyes became unfocused; the red highlights in his wavy, dark chestnut hair were nearly invisible in the dim light. Concentration pulled Stephen’s facial muscles taut; Jason could almost imagine extensions attached to his ears as he soaked up the pure sound coming from just around the corner. He knew the others watched Stephen’s unusual reaction just as intently.

Jason’s light coloring contrasted against Stephen’s dark. His hair was light blond, his eyes blue, and though he was slightly taller than his best friend, Stephen’s was by far the dominant personality. Even Doug, who was a darker blond, green eyed, taller yet, and at sixteen a year older than Stephen and Jason, recognized that.

Quentin Marquis, Associate Conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra and friend to Stephen’s father, was responsible for all three boys being here. The older man knew he was in for a treat as he watched Stephen silently shuck his jacket, passing it to Doug without looking; he then removed his violin from its case and passed the case to Jason. Stephen tucked the violin under his chin, and with an unbelievably soft touch from his bow, tested his strings’ tuning. Quentin wasn’t sure the bow actually touched the strings, for he heard nothing. He did see Stephen gently twist the tuning pegs a bit and retest, then the young man moved the three or four steps to pass into the room beyond, from whence came the music.

As Stephen moved, the others followed, only now aware of the lone oboe calling their friend as nectar entices hummingbirds to sip from flowers’ depths. With an agile move that astonished even him, Quentin slipped to Stephen’s side as they rounded the corner; he gestured for those who saw them enter not to react, merely to listen.

The lyric melody reminded Jason of any number of old folk tunes—not necessarily American ones. The music’s poignancy poured from the single performer. He knew Stephen was aware only of the gorgeous sound; however, Jason couldn’t help but notice the performer.

Standing to one side of the room, a slender girl softly played her slender instrument. Her silken hair, almost the same dark color as her oboe, flowed down her back in waves. Jason couldn’t see her face—she stood before a group of more than a dozen young people ranging in age from fourteen to twenty or so—yet her carriage held an air of elegance. She was oblivious to the four newcomers’ entrance, but the rest of the audience raised eyebrows upon seeing Stephen appear, violin at the ready, and none was prepared for the subtle transformation of the music as Stephen began to play.

Jason was suddenly aware an incredibly high, beautiful, and soft tone shimmered out of Stephen’s violin, caressing the melody the girl played as the softest silk might brush deliciously against skin. It insinuated itself so smoothly that several pitch changes occurred before others became aware of his participation. Jason watched with incredulity as Stephen wove those high, soft notes in and around the oboe’s melody, a tune Jason knew had to be extemporaneous, one Stephen could never have heard. Jason smiled, enjoying the music. This special genius made Stephen unique. He savored the experience.

As they played, Stephen slipped forward until he stood beside the other performer. He noted the raised eyebrow indicating he should take the melody, and he did on the next phrase. The parts shifted instruments, and Stephen began playing back the melodies he’d heard, yet in a different progression. The accompanying oboe followed him without faltering. The music was flawless, the two of them playing as if together for years rather than mere moments. They continued trading melody and harmony between them, phrase by phrase, for the next five minutes—until they’d drawn every nuance possible from the unplanned duet. The melody returned to its originator, and the duet ended on a most satisfying diminuendo.

For long seconds, silence filled the room. Then softly, someone from the back of the audience eloquently stated, “Wow!” With that exclamation, the others rose from their seats and began moving toward them, gathering around in a group, talking.

Stephen turned to the other performer, only then noticing she was female. Not only female, but beautiful. Dark eyes sparkled in a delicate, heart-shaped face framed by soft, flowing hair which cascaded down her back in waves of rich, darkest brown. Her chin was neither pointed nor square; but rounded in a way that spoke of determination and backbone when necessary, yet beauty otherwise. He amended his original estimation; not just beautiful, more like striking. He almost lost himself in her eyes, recalling only at the last second what he intended to say.

“I’m sorry for intruding on your music,” he apologized, “but I couldn’t resist.” His voice was light and expressive. “The melody was so beautiful and once my mind started suggesting harmonies, the temptation to be a part of it was just too strong.”

“Oh, no,” the girl replied with a downward glance. Her rich and melodic voice thrilled his ears. “I’m glad you did. It was a wonderful experience for me, too.”

She reached out and slipped her hand into his in thanks. Stephen felt an electric jolt shoot through him at her touch, something he’d never before experienced. After a second of confusion, he regained his composure.

“I’m Stephen,” he told her, smiling in return. “Playing the duet was a great privilege. I enjoyed it.”

“Do so again sometime?” she asked, before she could think twice about asking.

“Gladly,” Stephen told her.

“My name is Arianne.”