Page 24 of The Best of Friends
Daria looked at Toss. “Which do you think is most fitting?”
It was a decidedly odd thing to have someone consider his musical inclination an asset. The past weeks with Laurence had nearly convinced him his abilities and interest were shameful. “I can say I often feel as though the instrument judges me for the sour notes I play.”
“Then that must be how we proceed.” Daria didn’t often speak with such firmness and confidence. “No one would know better than you would.”
Another quarter-hour passed before all three teams were ready to share.
Mrs. Fortier once again read for her team, the soft cadence of her French accent adding something soothing to their offering.
“Music, its magical melody smoothing the wrinkles of disappointment,
Floats upon waves of memory, offering glimpses of yesteryear.
Those who reminisce through tinted lenses and broken recollections
Do not the dissonant notes recall nor the discordant melody hear.”
Fervent applause met the poignant verse. Toss, for a moment, couldn’t even manage that. A very evocative poem, the imagery powerful. And composed so quickly.
“That one has Henri’s mark on it,” Mr. Layton said, his expression inarguably proud.
“These evenings began many years ago as a way to help Mr. Fortier flex his poetic muscles and seek out ideas for new poems,” Mater explained to both Toss and Daria.
“He writes poetry in earnest, then?” Toss asked.
Mater, Mr. Layton, and Mr. Greenberry all nodded.
“Professionally?” Toss further pressed.
“It is a well-known secret that he has published poetry for decades under a nom de plume,” Mr. Layton explained. “His family was very much opposed to the idea in the early years, and hiding his activities was crucial.”
That was familiar. It was also deeply, deeply intriguing. A man of birth and standing, still embraced by Society, who pursued the arts professionally.
Mr. Colm Greenberry rose on behalf of their team. Daria watched him with pink-tinged cheeks, the same blush thatTosshad inspired earlier. The one that had inspired a return of the “heart hiccups” he’d been experiencing since he’d first met her.Hisblush.
He knew his response for what it was: jealousy. But he wasn’t yet ready to explore why he was feeling it so acutely.
Having secured Daria’s gaze and likely oblivious to Toss’s disapproval, the younger Mr. Greenberry began his recitation.
“The harp, the trumpet, the lyre, and horn
Sometimes sound a misplayed note.
But only the pianoforte, when all goes awry,
Takes the time to gloat.”
While he was embarrassingly reluctant to associate the young gentleman he had only just met with anything worthy of approval, Toss couldn’t deny he appreciated the poem. He’d often felt the pianoforte took notice when he played something wrong. The way the note hung in the air for moments after being played did, at times, feel like the pianoforte was gloating. Still, he didn’t have to give Colm Greenberry credit for the poem. Toss was wallowing in jealousy, after all. It stood to reason he would feel a bit petulant.
But it was his team’s turn, and Toss had been chosen to read on their behalf for this final round. It had been suggested Daria do the honors, but her response had been more panic than hesitation, and Toss had quickly volunteered himself in her stead. He could set aside this sudden one-sided rivalry for the sake of saving her from misery.
“I fill it with my doubts, played in chords and trills.
It reveals each sour note, and all my secrets spills.
The notes become words, each tune a story,
Revealing what my life has been, the failures and the glory.”
