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looked forward instead of backward.
    “Can you see well enough?” Mr. Simmons asked as the orchestra conducted its final tuning.
    “Perfectly,” she said. “And I wish to thank you.”
    “But the opera hasn’t started yet.”
    She shook her head in a short burst. “They could be playing ‘Dixie,’ and I would thank you.”
    He smiled his understanding.
    The gaslights dimmed, the orchestra began the overture, and the curtain opened.
    The curtain of her new life opened.
    As the opera began, she let herself escape to a land where wars were absurd and emotions keen, deep, but ultimately, happy. And then, finally . . .
    Josephine knew what was coming next. The duet. Her brother’s favorite song.
    She leaned close to Mr. Simmons. “It’s next.”
    He nodded. Josephine drew in a breath, readying herself for the music that had so entranced Thomas.
    The flute and the violin began the soft arpeggio, and then the soprano came in. Josephine closed her eyes, blocking out everything but the sound. The rhythm made her want to loll her head back and forth in a gentle lullaby.
    Then the other woman joined in, melding her voice with the first until Josephine couldn’t tell where one voice began and the next ended. Two became one, mimicking each other, trilling back and forth, wooing each other to heights beyond the ability of a single voice. The words weren’t important. It was all about the music, the marriage between melody and harmony.
    Yes, Thomas, I understand. Do you hear the music with me? Is God letting you look down from heaven to share this? Oh please, Lord, let us enjoy this music together
.
    And then the song ended.
    Josephine opened her eyes and noticed that her head was tilted upward, just as Thomas’s had been on that long-ago evening. And she knew, just knew, that tonight they had both heard the music.
    A handkerchief appeared in view. From Mr. Simmons.
    Only then did she realize she had been crying.
    She dabbed at her eyes and the opera continued.
    Mr. Simmons drew her hand around his arm.
    She did not move it away.

    “How was your evening?” Frieda asked as she unbuttoned the back of Josephine’s gown.
    “Perfect.”
    Frieda spun her around. “The music, or the companion?”
    “Both.”
    Frieda’s eyebrows rose. “You like him, then?”
    “I do.”
    “I caught a glimpse of him out the window when he helped you into the carriage. He is very handsome.”
    “He is.”
    Frieda returned to the buttons. “I still cannot believe your mother let you go.”
    “Neither can I. But I hope the freedom will continue.” It was Josephine’s turn to face Frieda. “She
will
let him court me, won’t she?”
    “Is that what he’s going to do? Is that what you want him to do?”
    Josephine thought for a flicker of a moment. “Yes.”
    “What about going out west with your father?”
    She had considered this. As the evening progressed, and the old feelings of romance and hope and possibilities wove a warm cocoon around her, she’d thought,
What about going with Papa?
She hadn’t allowed herself an answer then, and only reluctantly allowed herself an answer now. “I think—I think I would be all right staying here.”
    “Now aren’t you the fickle filly,” Frieda said, as she drew the dress over Josephine’s head.
    Free of its weighty encumbrance, Josephine tried to untie the petticoat in back. “I am not fickle. I had no reason to stay before now.”
    Frieda batted Josephine’s hands away and unfastened the petticoat and the hoop, allowing Josephine to step out of them. “So this man, Mr. Lewis Simmons, has given you cause to be reasonable in one short evening? Does he know how much power he has over you?”
    “He does not have power over me. He has simply shown me a glimpse of the way things used to be and could be again.” She sat on the edge of the bed and removed her garters and stockings. “I was never allowed to enjoy the perks of a proper young lady. I was on the verge of all that when the