Radclyffe - Love's Melody Lost

Helen regarded her solemnly, a lifetime of guarding Grahams privacy warring with her concern for Grahams well-being. In the end she finally conceded that Graham needed someones help, and Anna cared enough to ask. She decided the time had come for one of them to trust someone. She set her sewing carefully aside and crossed to the library shelves. She took down several heavy leather bound books and handed them to Anna.

"I think this is what youre asking about."

Anna opened the cover of the first volume to find press clippings, articles, and reviews, all of them about Graham. The earliest dated back over thirty years. With an increasing sense of wonder, she studied the chronicle of Grahams life.

Graham Yardley had first come to the attention of the music world when she was only six years old. By then she had studied the piano for three years. The young music teacher her father first employed soon recognized that the headstrong young child was advancing far too rapidly for normal instruction. An interview was arranged with a famous instructor at the Curtis Institute, who accepted the little girl as a pupil. By six she was giving recitals, by her teens she had appeared as a guest soloist with a number of internationally renowned orchestras, and by twenty she had won not only the Tschaikovsky competition, but every prestigious music competition on every continent. Not only had she been lauded for her innovative interpretations of classical works, but for her own compositions as well. Her talent seemingly knew no bounds.

The decade of her twenties was a time of intense international touring and performances. The London Times, the Paris Review, the Tokyo press and dozens of others celebrated her as the next heir to Rubenstein and Horowitz. There didnt seem to be enough superlatives to describe her. Seemingly she had not yet reached her peak when the coverage simply stopped. Anna was left with a void, staring at empty pages, desperately seeking some further glimpse of the great pianist all the world had welcomed.

"My god, Helen," she murmured, closing the books gently, swallowing the urge to cry. Laying them aside, she met Helens questioning gaze. Just as she knew Helen was waiting for her to comment, she knew that her response would determine what else Helen might share. In the end, all she could do was speak from her heart.

"Shes really quite special, isnt she?"

Helen smiled softly. "Its strange that you should say that - I always thought of her that way - special. People who didnt know her thought her genius came easily. I knew that whatever she was born with, the music she made came from her hearts blood. When she was working, you couldnt drag her away from the piano. For days and nights unend shed go without sleeping - Id practically have to force myself into the room with a tray of food. Shed be pacing or playingstruggling with some refrain. When shed finally come outstarving, shed say, -- she would look so happy! I knew she loved it; you could feel her excitement when she had gotten it just right!"

Helen paused, searching for words to portray a personality that by its very uniqueness defied simple description. The icon the world had worshipped was merely the public image of the complex, complicated, and all too human woman Helen had known.

"Shes been called so many things. A gifted child prodigy they said when she was six, a remarkable composer they said when she was twenty, and at thirty they called her a master. Some things they said arent written down in those articles. There were those who called her arrogant, temperamental, an egotistical perfectionist. All those things were true, but she was so much more to those who knew her! Whatever she demanded of others, she demanded ten times that from herself. She put all of herself into everything she did, and expected the same from others. She was the force that drove all of us, and in return she gave us beauty beyond belief. We made allowances I suppose, for her temper and her arrogance. She was never cruel or malicious, simply so intense, so consumed by her music! She was the light of our lives!"

Anna sat quietly, trying to imagine Graham like that, wishing she had known her. When she thought of the tormented, anguished woman who would not even hear of the world she had once ruled, Annas heart ached. Where was that imperious virtuoso now?

"What happened to her Helen?"

"The accident changed everything," Helen said with a finality that warned Anna not to probe for details.

"Helen," Anna began tentatively, "I heard Graham playing todayit was so beautiful! Why doesnt she perform any longer?"

Helen shook her head. "She wont play for anyone anymore. Hasnt since the accident. She was in the hospital for months. When she was finally released, she came immediately to Yardley. Shes lived here since then. Her father was alive back then, of courseits been over ten years. He stayed on at the main house in Philadelphia, and I came here to be with Graham. He visited, but I knew it was hard for him to see her so changed. At first friends would call, and so many important people from the music world, but she wouldnt see them. For months she barely spoke, or left her room. After a while, she began to go outside, mostly at night. She wouldnt let me help her. Shes always been so stubborn, even as a little girl!" Helen smiled at some memory. "It broke my heart to see her stumble. Sometimes she fell, and it was all I could do not to run out to her. But, oh! Such pride-! I knew it would hurt her more if she knew I could see her like that."

It was physically painful for Anna to imagine what Graham had suffered, or the extent of her loss. Neither could she imagine that the stubborn independent woman she was coming to know would simply give up.

"But, Helen! She's still so strong. Whats happened to her?!"

"She didnt go near the piano for that whole first year, and I feared for her mind, I really did. I can never remember Graham without her music! When at last she began to play again, I thought everything would be all right. But the music was so sad! I dont care about that anymoreIm just happy that she plays at all."

"It doesnt make sense! She can manage quite well, and with a little help"

Helen looked alarmed. "Oh no, my dear. Its not because of her injuries. I only wish it were. Graham lost something much more than her sight in that accident. She hasnt composed a piece of music since she came home from the hospital. Its as if the music left her that night -after she had lost so much already!"

"But what--" Anna began, confused.

Helen stood suddenly, gathering her things. "Ive gone on too long, Im afraid. I must sound like a silly old woman to you."

"Oh, Helen. I know better. It must have been so hard for you all these years!"

Helen smiled. "To have Graham home, alive, was all I wanted. If only I could see her happy again! I wish you could have known her so accomplished, so full of life. She loved her music so, and the world loved her! When she toured, the concert halls would be full! People stood for hours to hear her play. Oh, she was something to seelike a young lion, so graceful and proud!"

"She still is, you know," Anna said softly. "I heard her play, I felt her musicit was one of the most powerful things I ever experienced."

Helen looked at Anna strangely. "You can see it, then?"

"Oh, yes!" Anna exclaimed. "She has such passionin her hands, in her voiceeven in those beautiful eyes!"

Helen touched Annas face tenderly, then turned quickly away. "I think it will be good for us that you have come."

When Anna found herself awake and restless at midnight, she returned to the library. She curled up in the large leather chair, books open in her lap, compelled to revisit Grahams past. She searched the newspaper and magazine images of the vigorous artist, struck by her vitality and fierce passion. The photos of Graham on stage, lost in the rhapsody of her music, were among the most arresting portraits Anna had ever seen. Anna was stirred as if by the memory of someone she had once known and now missed. There was a sense of loss that felt deeply personal. As Anna lay tossing later that night, searching for sleep, the strains of Grahams music echoed in her mind.