Afterwards they were both on cloud nine, Giacomo because the performance had gone so well, and Elizabeth because his reputation was increasing.

They spent a lot of time together; singing, playing, laughing.

Some days she forgot to miss Fred.

March 1635

He looked up at her, and stood.

"Elizabeth."

January 1634

And then came the letter from Italy, telling Giacomo his father had died. Zenti came and got her. Fred was gone again, so Elizabeth made arrangements for the kids to sleep over at friends, and went with Zenti to the house the two Italians shared.

She had never seen a man in so much pain before. The lines on Giacomo's face looked like they had been graven deeply with chisels, and his eyes were so dark they looked like someone had put black holes in his eye-sockets. She gave him wine, and he choked on it and sprayed it across the room. Then he began to weep. She was so tempted to take him in her arms like one of her own children, and cradle his head against her breast, but she just sat and held his hand while the storm of tears took its course.

Elizabeth asked him about his father. He told her, story after story after story, all filled with love and affection for a man she'd never see.

That touched her, in an unexpected way. Giacomo had always been a gentle and caring man. Now she saw that he was, in his own way, a deeply loving man.

March 1635

"Kids, go finish your homework. I need to talk to Mr. Carissimi for a minute."

Spring 1634

Giacomo decided to write a Passion in honor of his father, one based on St. Matthew's Gospel. Elizabeth began to spend more and more time at their house, watching him write, taking musical dictation, singing parts with him when he would play new pieces of the passion for Zenti and his journeyman and apprentices.

He took such joy in writing the work, so much love for his father flowed from him, that at times Elizabeth felt like a fly trapped in honey. Other times she wondered if she were a moth, circling a candle flame, dazzled by the light but drawing closer and closer to the fire.

The passion was finished in March, and scheduled for performance over Easter weekend. Giacomo went into whirlwind rehearsal mode with instrumentalists and the choir of St. Mary's Church. Elizabeth watched, waiting for Giacomo's greatness to be publicly displayed again, hungering for the display of his talent in the service of love.

March 1635

She got unhappy looks from Daniel and Leah, but they knew not to make a fuss in front of others, and trailed off into the back of the house.

April 1634

The performance of the passion went extremely well. Afterward, elated, she let the children run free while she waited for a chance to speak to Giacomo without crowds of people around him. When the opportunity came, she praised him, and they laughed, and she called him her pet nickname for him, Jude. Whenever she saw him, "Hey, Jude" came to mind.

Then something changed. She didn't understand what, or how, or why, but something changed. Giacomo's gaze sharpened somehow, and locked on hers, seeming to flow into her soul. He raised a hand, and brushed her cheek with one finger; just barely touching her.

It wasn't the first time Giacomo had touched Elizabeth. Many times they had touched hands during piano lessons, or marathon music writing sessions. Often he had patted her shoulder. Or they would brush against each other walking down hallways or sidewalks. But those had all been contacts between fellow workers, fellow musicians, fellow seekers after the holy grail of music.

This was different. Now Giacomo saw Elizabeth as a woman, and had given her the lightest of caresses. No mistaking it for a simple touch; it was a caress.

At that moment, Elizabeth leaned toward him, wanting to feel the touch of his hand again, always. She would have gone with Giacomo anywhere.

"Mommy!"

The genuine alarm in Leah's voice acted like a plunge of ice water. Elizabeth whirled to rescue her daughter from the chance of a serious fall from the organ loft. The moment that Leah was safe, her mind inexorably showed her what would happen if she turned to Giacomo.

In that moment of clarity-in that very precise instant of time-Elizabeth saw the hurt she would cause Fred, and her children, and her friends and family if she went with Giacomo. And even the hurt she would cause him if she did so.

It was the hardest thing Elizabeth had ever done to reject Giacomo then.

But she gathered her children's hands in hers and left him standing in the nave of St. Mary's Church. Alone.

March 1635

"So why are you here?" Elizabeth asked after a long moment of silence.

Late May 1634

Elizabeth avoided Giacomo after that. She knew that people noticed, but no one seemed to be saying anything about it, so she didn't either.

Then she heard the news. It took her a day or so to muster the courage to see Giacomo again, but on Friday afternoon, she went to his classroom after the school day was over. He was packing his document case. He stood and they looked at each other.

"So, when were you going to tell me?" Elizabeth asked.

Giacomo shrugged. "Tomorrow, I thought."

She walked over and sat down in one of the student desks.

"Master of the Royal Academy of Music, huh? That sounds like a great gig." She tried to keep her voice light.

"I think it will be," he responded.

There was another period of long silence.

"So when will you leave?" she finally said

"Around June first." Giacomo looked at his hands. "I have to make some arrangements, and pack up what I will take and give away what I won't."

More silence.

Finally, she stood up and said, "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Elizabeth stepped over and held out her hand, but before Giacomo could reach to take it, she suddenly threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely.

After a moment, Elizabeth broke the embrace and pushed back. She looked down at the floor, then looked up with a wry grin on her face.

"It would never work between us while I am married, and I won't leave Fred."

She struggled to keep her voice calm.

"You are Euterpe," Giacomo said after a moment. "You are my muse. I am my best because of you."

Elizabeth shrugged.

"Thank you for that compliment," she replied. "But I think you will have a new muse now. I think Princess Kristina will be your muse from now on, one way or another."

Giacomo shook his head.

Elizabeth stepped closer, rested a hand on his cheek, and whispered as the tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes, "God go with you, Jude. Be well, be happy, be magnificent. And think about me from time to time, if you can stand it."

She left the room then, expecting to never see him again.

March 1635