TEARS OF THE FOOT GUARDS

SCHERZO - STAVE L

S T A V E

L

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Tildon slapped the pianoforte. "You're singing it wrong! I keep telling you not to force the ending, and you keep singing it the same idiotic way!"

Obedience preoccupied. "Sorry."

"I don't care that you're sorry," he scolded. "I care that you pay attention so not to waste our time. Mistakes I tolerate, but you're not even trying."

Obedience numb.

"You're croaking like a tavern singer." He waved her off. "I can't stand to hear any more. Your voice needs rest. What've you been doing? Take care of yourself, Mrs. MacEachran. I will not work with singers who do not take care of themselves." He measured her. "You're now going to cry?"

"No."

"You think me unfair?" A rare solicitation.

"I think you're an ass," she blurted.

He smiled, though not triumphant. "Mrs. Briddly," Tildon shouted. "Mrs. Briddly."

"Yes, Mr. Tildon," the maid called up the stairs.

"Bring up some tea."

It was served at an arrangement by the window, a tall casing for a New York house. That it was saved from the blaze no one could figure for the vista it looked upon was ragged buildings like rows of broken teeth; he gazed at her while she looked at it.

He studied the line of her neck. "Anything different 'bout the lesson," he queried, "other than your lack of attention?"

"That you're more an ass today than you are other days?"

He nodded. "May be – my charm and prerogative; I am hard on you because you have promise. I also believe you're intelligent to view it as care."

"I do," she confessed, grudgingly.

"But I'm referring to something else."

She sat with hands in her lap, the tea growing tepid. "Where is he?"

"Away," he said with a modicum of discretion.

"'Away', well that's a pity. Away with who? Away from what?"

"Just away," Tildon said.

"Good for them. How nice to be away. Somewhere pleasant?"

"On some duty – nothing so powerful like a General of Brigade when he wants something done."

"And what's that to me?"

"General Howard thought it best . . . With my encouragement . . ."

"Your encouragement? Why your encouragement?" she said.

"I too thought it best."

"Best for what?"

"Your best," he said.

"Why thank you for your concern. Am I now some town nuisance?"

"Mrs. MacEachran," he said with forbearance. "I'm trying to be your friend – old ass that

I am. You cannot suffer another Indiscretion. You're too much of a Talent for that to be allowed. Afterall, you must rely on others' Good Graces."