The Silent Harp Read online

  “Yes, he is,” Hannah agreed. “She even cried at her own wedding. You remember she wanted us to help her run away?”

  “Poor, poor dear. She’s had such a miserable life. At first, I got a few letters from her, but I haven’t heard anything lately.”

  “Perhaps we can all get together again after my honeymoon trip. They should be back home again by then.”

  “That would be so wonderful.” Sharon sighed. “The three of us together again just like at school.”

  “Come along now,” Hannah said. “You have to dance with my cousin Jeffrey. You’ll have to forgive him. He’s very immature.”

  Jeffrey Astor was grown-up physically but not emotionally or socially. As soon as Sharon began to dance with him, she saw that he was inebriated. His speech was slurred, his eyes were watery, and he kept stepping on her feet. Her mother would want to hear all about their conversation after the party, but that was just too bad. Sharon was glad to escape from him after one short dance.

  She then danced with Harold Vanderbilt, another of the titans—or at least the son of one. He could talk only of yachts, a subject of which Sharon knew nothing and did not care to learn about. The third member of the eligible-bachelor trio her mother had pressed upon her was Melvin Morgan. He seemed jovial enough, but he was in his midforties, which seemed ancient to Sharon. Not only that, but his face was always red and he was very overweight.

  Before the evening was half over, Sharon was glad to get away. She found Franklin waiting for her, and he led her to the car. “Did you have a good time, miss?” he asked as he opened the door.

  “Oh yes, it was very nice. Thank you, Franklin.” As the chauffeur got into the driver’s seat and edged the car away, Sharon thought, I wonder how many people would envy my being at a party like this—but here I am bored with it all. She certainly couldn’t tell her parents that the party was boring, so she began to fabricate a good tale in her mind—something that would satisfy them for the time being.

  ****

  Early one morning a week later Sharon was sitting in the library reading, curled up in a chair in the same position she had enjoyed as a child. Engrossed in her book, with the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, the unsatisfying events of the party were the furthest thing from her mind. Hearing footsteps on the parquet floor, she looked up to see her father enter. “Hello, Dad.”

  “Good morning, daughter.”

  Sharon watched her father’s tall, strong figure make his way across the room. He was picking up some extra weight these days, and his dark hair was now touched with gray, but he still had the bright blue eyes she had always known, and to Sharon he was as handsome as ever. He reached her chair and ran a hand affectionately over her hair. “What are you reading so early in the day?”

  “Jane Eyre.”

  Leland sat down across from her and crossed his legs. “What’s that one about?” He had never read a novel in his life and vowed never to begin. He thought them a trifle and a waste of time—time much better spent reading about the stock market. He was also fond of history books and had a magnificent library full of them.

  “Oh, it’s about a young woman who’s not very pretty and becomes a governess to a wealthy English lord—”

  “Wait a minute! Let me finish it.” Leland grinned at his daughter. “I’ll bet a thousand dollars to a hundred that she marries the lord.”

  “That’s right, but—”

  “That’s the trouble with those novels. How many times in real life have you heard of a rich English lord marrying a poor, plain girl?”

  Sharon knew her father was teasing her, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. He had been a doting parent, and every wish of hers within reason had been fulfilled. Despite his busy life, he had managed to spend much time with her, which Sharon had enjoyed tremendously.

  She put her bookmark in the book and closed it. “How is Mother this morning?”

  “She’s fine. I think that baby is coming late just to annoy me. What a way to begin his life.”

  “Oh, Dad, you know that’s not so.”

  “Oh, I know it, dear, but it doesn’t keep me from being anxious.”

  “Have you settled on a name yet?”

  “Yes. I admired your mother’s parents so much. They were such fine people and such a help to me that we’ve decided to name the baby Clayton, after your mother’s family.”

  “If it’s a girl, will you name her Clayton too?”

  “Nonsense. It’s not a girl. It’s a boy.”

  “You seem very sure of that. I hope you’re not letting yourself in for a disappointment.”

  Leland laughed and shook his head as he got up. “I’m not going to the office today. I’m hanging around here until that boy decides to come. And, Sharon . . . there’s . . . there’s something else I came to tell you.” He put his head down, hesitant to continue.

  She was puzzled at his behavior, for he was usually so confident in his speech. When he looked up, she saw that his eyes were troubled. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

  “I talked to Alan VanHorn this morning. The poor fellow is all broken up.”

  “About what? Is he having business trouble?”

  “No, no . . . it’s worse than that, I’m afraid. Haven’t you seen this morning’s headlines?”

  Sharon felt her heart skip for fear over news that could be this bad. “No . . . I came in here first thing. I haven’t even had breakfast yet. Why?”

  “It grieves me to tell you this, my dear . . . but the steamship Lusitania was sunk by the Germans yesterday. She was approaching the Irish coast when she was struck without warning by a German U-boat. Twelve hundred people died, including a hundred twenty-eight Americans.”

  At her father’s silence, Sharon grew pale. “Dad, you don’t mean Margaret was on that ship.”

  “I’m afraid she was.” He pulled her into an embrace after she got up carefully from her chair. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

  Her eyes overflowed with tears and she gasped, “Oh, Dad . . . she had so little happiness. She didn’t have a good childhood, and then her parents made her marry that awful German! She hated the very thought of it, and now she’s . . . she’s gone.”

  Not wanting to give full vent to her emotions in front of her father, she pushed away from him and ran upstairs to her room. Once alone, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed.

  She wept for her friend, grieving over her death but also for her wasted life. Sharon remembered so clearly Margaret’s misery at her own wedding, and now there was nothing—nothing at all for her.

  ****

  For two days Sharon kept to herself, despite her parents’ offer to be with her. With Hannah having already sailed to Europe, she preferred to grieve alone. It was the first deep grief she had ever known, and she bore it as best she could, but she slept little and ate almost nothing.

  Two days after she received the news of her friend’s death, the baby arrived. It was a boy, and Sharon rejoiced at her father’s joy and her mother’s survival. She stood beside her father, gazing down at the tiny red-faced infant, and smiled as he declared, “This boy is going to do great things, daughter.”

  “I’m sure he is, Dad.” Sharon reached out and traced the forehead of the baby, who blinked at her with large blue eyes, then opened his mouth and cried loudly. “I hope and pray he’s everything you hope for, Dad.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “What’s a Home Run?”

  Leland Winslow loved breakfast. He loved it so much, in fact, that he hired a butler over the summer, Laurence Bettington, simply because his wife, May, was an incredible cook. All of May’s meals were outstanding, but breakfast, in Leland’s opinion, was her best work. “Well now, May, this looks scrumptious,” Leland exclaimed as she brought in a tray of fresh-baked biscuits. Leaning forward and inhaling deeply, he said, “Nobody makes biscuits like you do.”

  “Thank you, sir,” May said, bobbing a polite curtsy. She was a short woman, blond and heavyset, in contrast to her husband,
who was tall, lean, and dark. “And I’ve got fresh strawberries fixed just the way you like them.”

  “Bring them on!” Leland called out exuberantly.

  Sharon smiled at her father across the table. His enjoyment of food amused her, but it was also getting to be a problem. “You need to lose some weight, Dad. I’m afraid May’s not helping you any in that regard.”

  “Yes, yes, yes . . . you’re right, as always. I’ll start cutting back tomorrow.”

  “You always say that. Why don’t you begin right now?” Sharon teased. “Eat just one biscuit and one slice of ham and let that be it.”

  “With fresh strawberries the way May fixes them? Not likely!”

  May not only cooked, but she also tended a small greenhouse off the kitchen, where she grew strawberries as well as the herbs she needed for her specialties.

  Leland ate his eggs Benedict, and then May brought in the strawberries. She had piled them on top of long strips of baked pie crust, letting the juices soak in, then topped that with a thick layer of whipped cream. May’s eyes twinkled as she said, “Your daughter may be right, sir. Maybe you ought not to eat these.”

  “Not eat them! Have you lost your mind, woman? You give me those strawberries.”

  “I agree, Leland,” Lucille added. “You do need to cut back a bit.” She was holding five-month-old Clayton in her arms and eating with her free hand.

  When the master of the Winslow house had had his fill, he leaned back and sipped the rich black coffee he always drank in a heavy white mug. “What are you up to today, daughter?”

  Sharon had been waiting until her father was in a good mood, for she was not sure how he would take her newest venture. “With Hannah married now and off on her world travels, I’ve been rather bored lately. I’ve been thinking about trying out for a part in an operetta.”

  “A part in a play?”

  “It’s not a play, Dad. It’s an operetta. It has singing like an opera but spoken lines, too, like a play. It’s by Gilbert and Sullivan. You must have heard of them.”

  “Hmm, I suppose, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing for you to do. Why would you want to get involved in show business?”

  “This isn’t show business, Dad.” Sharon had planned her campaign well. She knew her father and mother would never let her get involved in anything that smacked of show business, but this was different. “This is the New York Civic Drama Society. They do only very tasteful things.”

  “It’s still a stage show,” her father insisted.

  “But it’s being sponsored by the Vanderbilts. Elizabeth Vanderbilt and Jeffrey Astor will be in it.” This was Sharon’s trump card, and she immediately saw a change sweep across the features of both of her parents.

  “And you say Jeffrey Astor will be in it?” Lucille asked.

  “Yes, it’s a very exclusive troupe. They are extremely careful about who they let in.” Sharon smiled at the interest her parents suddenly displayed. Anything that was exclusive and hard to get into was exactly what they wanted for her. “Of course, we may not be prominent enough for me to be accepted.”

  Exactly as Sharon had hoped, both parents immediately urged her to try out for it.

  “After all, why have I been paying for all of these singing lessons for so long if not to hear you perform?” Leland reasoned. “You must audition for a part, and you’ll get one too. You have a beautiful voice.”

  “All right, Dad. If you think I should.”

  “Of course you should,” Leland insisted. “When does the play open?”

  “Oh, it’ll take about three months to learn it all.”

  Leland inquired more into the theatrical aspects of the operetta, and then after Sharon got up from the table, he turned to his wife. “Lucille, I think this would be a good thing for Sharon. With her friends gone now, she does seem a bit lonely of late, just reading her books.”

  “Well, if the Astors are behind it and the Vanderbilts, of course it’ll be acceptable.”

  “I wouldn’t like Sharon to get bitten by the acting bug, though.”

  “I don’t think that’s likely. She’s very level-headed.”

  “On second thought, we don’t know all who will be in this thing. She might take up with an actor.”

  Lucille laughed. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s far too wise.”

  “We’ve been afraid that she might take up with a tradesman, but an actor . . . ! That would be even worse. But, as you say, she’s a good girl. She’s never given us a moment’s trouble.”

  “No, and this one won’t either,” Lucille said, gazing down at her infant. “You have a beautiful son, Leland.”

  “For which I thank you, dear.” Leland got up from the table, went over and kissed his wife, then took the baby. He loved to hold him in his arms and talk to him as if the child could understand him. “You’re going to be a better man than your dad. One of these days everybody in America will know about Clayton Winslow!”

  ****

  When the chauffeur dropped Sharon off at the Olympic Theater, she told him, “I don’t want you to wait, Franklin. This will probably take a long time.”

  “I’ll be glad to wait if you like, miss.”

  “No, you can go on home now. I’ll get a cab.”

  “As you say, miss.”

  Sharon looked up at the Olympic marquis. Sharon had seen several productions there, but she had never been on the stage. As she walked in, she saw that the lobby was filled with adults of all ages. Chairs were scattered around for those auditioning, and she sat down to wait her turn while watching the crowd mill about.

  “Do you mind if I take this seat?”

  Sharon looked up to see a handsome young man with tawny hair and blue eyes so dark they were almost black. There was a vibrancy to him, Sharon thought as she smiled at him. “Of course not. It may be a long wait.”

  “Have you ever tried out for one of these before?”

  “No. Never.”

  “My name is Robert Tyson,” he said with a smile.

  Sharon gave him her name and asked, “Are you from New York?”

  “Not the city. I’m from Buffalo.”

  Sharon tried to think of something complimentary to say about Buffalo, but her mind went blank. “Did you come all the way from Buffalo just to try out for Pinafore?”

  “Oh no. I’ve lived here about six months. I came here to study singing.”

  “Really? Who is your teacher?”

  “Carl Dartman.”

  Sharon blinked with surprise. “Why, he’s my teacher too.”

  “You don’t say! What a coincidence. He’s a good teacher, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He certainly is. A bit of a slave driver at times.”

  Robert laughed. “I’ll agree with that.”

  “Did you do much singing in Buffalo?”

  “Quite a bit. But I don’t think any of that counts here.” He glanced around. “If I understand correctly, we can have any parts that the Vanderbilts don’t want.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. I’ve heard Elizabeth Vanderbilt will be auditioning for the female lead. I don’t know why she has to go through with an audition. Everyone knows she’ll get the part.”

  “Can she sing?”

  “Actually she’s a very good singer. I’ve heard her several times.”

  At that moment a large balding man waltzed in and clapped his hands. “May I have your attention, everyone!” He waited until the talking stopped and everyone turned to face him. “My name is Roger Hammond, and I am the director of the production. We are going to begin the auditions at once. They will be relatively brief, and I ask that after you have sung, please leave the stage and come back to the lobby.” His eyes ran around the room as he said, “All casting decisions will be made today. If you care to stay around until everyone has been heard, you can hear the results for yourself. If you must go, then leave your name and number so we can get in touch with you. Now everyone please fill out this information sheet and wait for my
stage manager, Roy Delaney, to call your name.”

  Sharon filled out the form quickly but hesitated at the question asking about her past singing experience. Embarrassed, she simply wrote “church solos” and left it at that. Robert was writing rapidly, and she said, “It must be nice to have some bona fide credentials. I’m afraid I don’t have any.”

  Looking up, the young man smiled. “I don’t think they pay much attention to that. What will decide it for them will be how well we sing—except for the Vanderbilts, of course.”

  The two continued to sit together as they waited. The assistant didn’t seem to be calling them in any particular order, so there was no way of telling how long they would have to sit.

  Sharon could hear the singers through the closed doors, and she felt somewhat daunted as she listened. Everyone seemed so accomplished. Singer after singer got up, both men and women, and from what she could hear, most of them were very good indeed.

  Finally Mr. Delaney called loudly, “Tyson—Robert Tyson!”

  “Wish me luck,” Robert whispered and smiled.

  “You’ll do well,” she whispered back. “I know you will.”

  Robert strode confidently into the theater, and from the lobby, Sharon and the others waiting could hear his voice clearly. He obviously had a great deal of confidence and showed no nervousness at all. Everyone in the lobby fell silent. He had a magnificent voice, reaching all the high notes without strain.

  When he came back to the lobby and took his seat beside Sharon, she said, “That was wonderful! You’re bound to get the lead.”

  “I’m not so sure about that. Your turn must be coming soon.”

  After three more had auditioned, Sharon heard her name called.

  “Good luck. You can do it,” Robert said and smiled at her encouragingly.

  Sharon felt shaky as she climbed the steps to the stage and gave the music to the pianist. All of the singers had been asked to sing one of the songs from H.M.S. Pinafore, and she knew hers well. Her throat seemed to close up, however, and she was acutely aware of Hammond sitting in the audience with Mr. Delaney and another man.