Shattered (Watty Awards 2011!)

Epilogue

Epilogue

Six Months Later

Emma Dinsmoore stood outside the door to the manor's music room, straining to hear the sounds of a lesson from within.

"Thomas, if you can't learn that D major has two sharps, not one, or three, or five and a half as you seem to believe, then you will make a very big fool of yourself when you get on that stage in front of an audience! Now, play it again. Properly."

She pulled her breath in sharply, a laugh threatening to spill from her lips at the tone of Peter's voice. He was obviously having his patience tried to an extent he did not find amusing.

She found it very amusing, however.

She straightened herself from where she had been leaning on the door, and gently rapped her knuckles on the solid oak, a weird sense of deja vu occurring as she did.

"Oh, come in," he grumbled. "Unless you have come to bother me further."

She stepped in elegantly like the lady she had become, and walked toward Peter's chair to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Thomas, you're parents are waiting for you in the parlor," she said to the young boy who stared with slight hatred at the mocking sheet of music on the piano. "Lessons are over for today, I believe."

"Yes," agreed Peter, standing with the aid of his cane. "But we will get straight back into the next bar on Friday. Don't forget to practice," he warned, shaking a finger. "Five weeks to go before your recital."

Thomas bid the young couple goodbye and stepped out, leaving momentary silence in the room.

Eventually, Emma took Peter's offered arm and they stepped out together.

"I've finished everything for today, and I have a few hours of spare time," she commented simply. "Assuming you do too, of course."

"Oh yes, hours."

"Good. What should we do?"

"Well," he paused to open his study door, "You can dust my bookshelves while I read and feel sorry for myself in the corner of the room."

Emma rolled her eyes, pulling away from his arm to throw the drapes open. "You married me for the sole purpose of having your shelves dusted and your tea brought up, didn't you? I've always known it."

"Ah, you caught me," he said defeatedly. "All that hard work I put in to make you think I loved you, and now you've gone and ruined it."

"Oh well," she laughed airily, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You'll have to try a bit harder."

He snorted, and then grinned, leaning in for a kiss. She complied, right up until the second their lips touched, when she suddenly pulled away.

"Where are you going?" he complained, upset at having been denied his kiss.

"Sorry, Peter. Have shelves to dust." With a wink, she straitened the familiar bust of Mozart on the top of the cabinet, her fingers once again touching paper.

This time, she pulled it out all the way and read the title.

"Emma's Song"