A/N: For the sake of storyline, I am going to change the fact that Christine had a daughter first in my previous story. She has now had a SON. I hope you don�t mind too much. Yet I hadn�t planned on going onward with the storyline, so I needs change it now. Thank you for your unending understanding. ///////////////////----------------///////////////////////// It was a surprisingly warm day for the middle of winter in Boston, Massachusetts. There was no snow on the ground, as was common for such a time in the year, and the temperatures reached up into the mid-seventies. Perhaps it was fortunate for those standing anxiously at the docks, watching as �The Commonwealth� docked. It had just arrived from Liverpool, England, on it�s Maiden voyage, and a great many people were anxious to see this new creation. However common new ships were in Boston, it seemed the passenger ships were always crowded around so that people might have a glance at it. As the 1300 some-odd passengers crowded out of the ship, there was a clamor of excitement from all three classes. The voyage had been memorable and enjoyable to all, and the friends that had been made during the trip were separating with sometimes a teary eye. The first class had their luggage delivered to their carriages, while the second-class passengers would either grab their own or have it brought to their vehicles as the first class did. The third class scrounged through the luggage that was dumped onto the docks carelessly, searching for their bags before someone else claimed them. Through this crowd emerged a small family of three, all dressed in some of their finest clothes as they greeted America for the first time. The elder of the two females looked to be in her mid to late thirties, with long, light auburn hair that had hints of red to it � just like the man who stood at her side. She had the most amazing violet eyes that one could possibly imagine on any woman, while he had darker amber-hued eyes like pools of liquid resin. In their company was a youth who seemed to be in her mid teenaged years. With long reddish hair that held hints of brown in it, and eyes that appeared the color of tanzanite, more purple than blue, she seemed to be one of the most awe-struck ladies in the whole of the city. She�d seen plenty of large cities in her life, yet had never been outside one of two countries, and the other she�d only been in briefly, without a chance to admire the buildings around her. And the cities in those countries had not seemed half so modern as this one. �Papa, would you look over there?� She exclaimed as her father tried to put one of the lighter suitcases in her eager hands. Lifting a finger, she pointed towards a large theatre-like building. It truly wasn�t anything very special. Yet she saw everything as special in these first moments. �Yes, yes, Lyre. I see!� The man exclaimed, chuckled despite his annoyance. �We�re going to be living here, you know, Cherie. We�ll have plenty of time to tour the city later on. For now, would you please help me with these bags? You know your mother can�t lift them!� The youth turned to glance at her mother, who still had her arm in a brace from a riding accident that had occurred weeks before they were due to leave for England (and thence to Boston). With a hot blush, she quickly picked up the bags her father pointed to, and gave him a sheepish grin. He smiled tenderly at her in return, admiring her excitement and youth. Although he was not quite in his dotage � as everyone believed him to be quite a young father � he looked a little bit older than he was. Some unspoken horror had occurred early in her life, as his daughter remembered vaguely, that had caused him to age rapidly for a short time due to grief. It was never spoken of what had caused this grief. Her mother had refused to tell her, and whenever she had asked, her father would always give her a mournful smile and shake his head, dismissing her question. �Shall we go see our new house?� ///////////////////---------------------///////////////////////////////////////////// A week passed, and the family settled into their small apartment on the upper levels of one of the tallest buildings the youth could remember seeing in quite some time. Taller buildings were popping up all over the world, from what she had heard; yet the tallest building she�d ever seen had been the Opera House, in Paris. She remembered how much the tall building had intimidated her when she used to go see her father perform when she was a toddler. Yet he�d stopped very shortly after the unspoken tragedy that had occurred at the time. Now he was a very successful businessman, a contractor for poor and wealthy clients alike. Once, even an Emperor had asked her father to design and build him a new wing for his palace. She couldn�t remember which Emperor, from what country. Not anymore, she couldn�t. Yet it didn�t really matter to her. She only remembered the excitement the family had felt at the time. Sitting in the small parlor, she stared out the large window that let her look out onto the cobble-stoned streets below. People were dressed a bit differently here, although it wasn�t such a great change from Paris that she stood out in a crowd. That helped her to become accustomed to the area much faster. Already she was to begin going to a private school in half of a month, and her father had hired her a piano teacher to continue the lessons he�d begun with her when she was only three. He was going to be so busy until his business had gotten a good start here in America, and he didn�t want her to be deprived of the gift of music he claimed she had for the piano. �What are you thinking, my little Lyre?� Her father always called her that. Smiling, she turned to look up at him. The apartment was small, nothing at all like she remembered Paris being. The house he�d built them in France had been rather large and beautiful, yet he�d sold it for a cheap price to family friends when he�d been offered the job here in America. Even though it had meant leaving the two sisters of that same family behind, whom had been good friends to her, despite their age differences, she had been very happy that her father could come and build beautiful buildings in this fairly new country. �I was thinking that if you keep calling me Lyre, I am going to forget my real name.� The youth replied tartly, sticking her tongue out at him playfully. His eyes widened, and then he laughed, wagging a finger at her. He came across the room towards her with such grace that it was like seeing an angel move. He�d always had that silent grace to him that awed her. She felt so clumsy and gawky in comparison. �Allyriane is much harder to pronounce.� He reminded her, being just as teasing. �I see you�re practicing. I�m glad I was able to get this piano so quickly. You lost a great deal of practice time on our journey here.� �I won�t forget how to play the piano in one month, Father.� She said with a giggle. Smiling tenderly, he reached out to touch her hair, which she was always allowed to wear loose if they weren�t in public. It wasn�t exactly ladylike to have it down when out in the public eye. Still, in the house her parents didn�t seem to care all that much about what the public considered proper. �Let me hear you play the �Appassionata�.� He urged her softly. �You were getting quite good at it before we moved. Obediently, her hands fell into proper position over the keys, and she began to play. Music filled the entire room, and poured out into the whole of their small apartment like a tidal wave, and she felt her father abruptly grip her shoulders from behind, as though he�d been physically knocked back by it. Closing her eyes, Allyriane bit on her lower lip softly, and continued to play on, knowing that her breathing had gotten just a smidgen heavier, and that his probably had too. When she played with her heart, as she always did when her father was the audience, it seemed they had to struggle to keep their hearts and souls in their bodies. When she was almost through with the piece, her fingers fumbled at the most climactic moment. She still had yet to memorize that part, although she had been trying for weeks before her lessons halted in order for the packing and moving to be accomplished. Blushing, she turned to look up at her father, who just barely relinquished his hold on her shoulders. His eyes were still closed, and it took him a moment for his breathing to calm. �Papa?� She asked softly, and his eyes finally opened. She loved the depth of those eyes. She always had. Yet the most wonderful thing about him was his deep and resonating voice. It never ceased to calm her after a nightmare, or sooth her when she was unbearably unhappy. Now that she had come of the age when her moods could change so swiftly and so drastically, he�d started to sing to her more often than he had when she was tiny. �That was wonderful, Cherie.� He murmured. �Now perhaps you would like to work on the rest?� He waved his hand gracefully towards a box he�d placed on the nearby chair. She hadn�t even noticed he�d carried it into the room. �My music came!� Allyriane gasped excitedly, scraping back the piano bench to move to the box. �I hope they didn�t forget any of it! It was good of Madame Madeline to send it after us.� �Yes, it was.� Her father replied with a quiet smile. �Erik! Allyriane! Supper will be ready shortly!� Her father turned towards the tiny kitchen, smiling. His wife had rarely made supper once they�d gotten so much money from his profession in Paris. He�d hired her cooks and maids to do all of the work for the woman he would sometimes call his queen. Yet he remembered how well she used to cook before that. Her meals could be heavenly. �All right, Izzy.� He called gently. That was his nickname for her mother, whose name was Isabelle. He turned, touching Allyriane�s wrist as she was about to snatch up some of her sheet music. �Go help your mother, would you? You�ll have to learn to do these things, unless you marry a very high class man.� |
| THE LYRE by ARABELLA |