Chapter Twelve
November came, and with it came midterms. Eroica should have spent most of her time studying for her music history exam, which was going to be tough. But she didn’t. Instead, she pored over her theory books until she was so confused that she didn’t know a chord from a scale. She was determined to get an A on this test, if only to keep Mark Wallace from trying to help her. Her relationship with Mark was getting to be too confusing.
Eroica hardly had time for anything else, with studying, taking tests, teaching her own piano students, and practicing. And Dr. Wellesford was not pleased with how their rehearsals had been going, so she was putting in extra time with him.
Her music history test, which should have been so difficult, just seemed to roll off her pen. She knew that she had done well with it. But her music theory test. She had studied so hard for it that it should have been easy. But it wasn’t. She didn’t know what happened, but when she looked at the test, her mind went blank. She wasn’t even sure how she got through it.
Eroica’s weekend had also become really busy. She wished that she could have had some time to herself to work on her music history term paper. But there were two recitals to get ready for. On Friday night she accompanied Dr. Clive Zimmerman, French hornist. Saturday evening was Dr. Wellesford again.
Friday’s performance went well. Her music was easy, just a lot of chords. Dr. Zimmerman had all of the difficult passages. But Dr. Wellesford and Eroica were having such a hard time putting his solo together that he broke with his tradition and wanted to practice with her on Saturday.
Eroica was in the recital hall, ready to go, early on Saturday morning. She knew that she would be there until Dr. Wellesford was satisfied with the music. So she was prepared to be there for a long time.
By the end of the night, Eroica was exhausted. She and Dr. Wellesford made it through the recital and did very well. She felt that she had performed exactly the way he wanted her to. Everything came together for them: dynamics, tempos, articulations. But it was a very draining experience for her. She loved her job as faculty accompanist, but she wondered if she was trying to do too much.
Eroica had mixed feelings about going to school the next week. Test grades were in. Eroica had received A’s on every test except one. On the front of her theory test, intermixed with lots of penned-in notes and corrections, was a bright red D. There was a message along with it: “Let’s set up a time when we can go over your test together.”
Eroica knew that she would never do that. She did not need to set up a time with Mark Wallace to have him tell her what she already knew. She would not be allowed to graduate if she had any grades below a B minus in her music classes. Getting a D on her midterm most likely pulled her class grade down to a C. Or worse. Now she was going to have to get an A on her final exam, or she would have to retake the class. The thought made her feel sick inside.
Eroica was relieved to find out that she didn’t have to accompany anyone the next weekend. The faculty chamber ensemble was performing Friday evening, and the voice teachers were putting on an a capella choral recital the next night. So she decided that she had better get her term paper finished for her music history class while she had a chance. It was due at the beginning of December, and with her accompanying responsibilities, she knew that if she put it off, she might not have a chance to write it at all.
Every night found Eroica in the library with her computer, stacks of books, and papers everywhere. She always went to the back of the library so that she could have an entire table to herself. Like her practice room, she managed to take up all available space. Nobody else even wanted to go near her. By the end of the week she had gathered all the notes that she needed for her paper, and she had only fallen asleep in the library twice.
When she came home from school on Friday and had sent her last piano student home, she was ready to get the entire paper written. She locked the door, closed the curtains, and turned off the phone. By Saturday night she had enough crumpled papers to keep a fire going all winter. But her term paper was finished.
Eroica was much mistaken in thinking that things were going to slow down for her. There was a workshop being held for the voice majors the weekend before Thanksgiving. Guest vocalists had been invited to come perform and critique the students’ singing, and Eroica had been asked to accompany them. She was already familiar with most of the music, due to years of accompanying her parents. But practicing with the voice majors took up all of her extra time, and she didn’t have much of that. She spent all week practicing with them, and all weekend at their workshop playing the piano for them.
One of the guest performers, Ivan Berbierre, was a good friend of her father’s. Eroica had known him and his wife ever since she could remember. After the workshop was over, they invited AnnaMaria, John, and her to go out to dinner with them. They were not flying back to the east coast until the next morning. Although Eroica was really tired and just wanted to go home, she couldn’t say no.
So she spent the next several hours watching the Berbierres, who were not members of the Church, drink and reminisce. And the more they drank, the more they reminisced. And the longer the evening went.
Eroica had to listen to their memories of AnnaMaria and herself: Eroica’s first effort at doing her hair on her own, and hair pins falling all over the keyboard during a performance; Eroica as a very young pianist, determined to learn a solo all by herself, and finding out that she had learned the whole thing with the music upside down; Eroica, younger still, crying through a performance because her socks wouldn’t stay up, and having to be taken out for the rest of the recital. By the time she got home from dinner with the Berbierre’s she had no self-confidence left.
Eroica tossed and turned all night. After difficult performances, late nights of studying, midterms, and getting her music history paper done, she was not surprised to wake up Sunday morning with a headache and a sore throat. She rolled over, put a pillow over her head, and went back to sleep. For the next three days she stayed in bed and coughed and slept.
Wednesday morning she woke up, and her sore throat was gone. She felt exhausted, but she figured she had better get to her classes to see what she had missed and what was being assigned over the Thanksgiving holiday.
Most students were already heading home for Thanksgiving, so it was easy for Eroica to talk to her teachers. She didn’t particularly want to talk to her theory teacher, but she didn’t know how she could avoid it. Either way, she knew she was doomed. The theory classroom was full of chatter. Those who hadn’t left campus yet were talking about anything but music.
“Because we have a very small class today, and because no one wants to do homework over the holiday,” Mark began, “I want you to pull out your midterm exam, and let’s go over it together. Some of you did well, and some of you struggled. Particularly on the section that included harmonizing a four-part chord structure. Let’s turn to that first, and go through it chord by chord, and just see what our options are.”
Eroica groaned inwardly. It was so easy for her to sit down at a piano and add harmony to a melody line. But to organize it in her head, with no piano, and then write it on paper was so hard for her. There were too many notes and rules to keep track of.
So she looked on, too tired from having been sick to care. As she did, she started to hear organized music in her head. She quickly pulled out a piece of manuscript paper and jotted down the melody line from the chalkboard. The chords began to work themselves out, and it all began to make sense. Eroica could hear what the next notes should be, and the rules finally helped her to know what to avoid. She started to ask questions, which raised a few eyebrows. She had never ventured to say anything since the first day of class. By the time Eroica had worked out the last chord, she knew that she could take that sheet of music to the piano and it would sound right. And she wouldn’t have to change a single note.
“Let??
?s play what we have written and see what it sounds like,” Mark said as he turned to the piano and played what the rest of the class worked out. After answering a few questions about it, he asked if anyone had worked out something different that they would like to share with the class. Before Eroica knew what she was about, her hand had gone up, and she had volunteered. Once again, Eroica’s face turned bright red as Mark Wallace stared at her in surprise, and the rest of the class looked on with curiosity. Eroica went to the piano and confidently played what she had written.
“That was perfect,” Mark replied when she had finished. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Eroica was relieved to hear the bell ring so that she didn’t have to say anything. Everyone file out in a hurry, leaving her with Mark.
“Well, Eroica,” he said, “You missed my class for two days, and you came back ready to teach it. What have you been up to?”
“Actually, I’ve been at home with a cold. I hope that what happened today wasn’t a once in a lifetime experience. I think I’m beginning to understand what you have been teaching us all these weeks. Who knows, maybe I’ll pass this class after all.” She busied herself with preparing for her next class, but Mark wasn’t through talking to her.
“Tonight the Deseret Symphony is performing in Salt Lake City,” he said.
“I know. I wanted to go. They are playing Liszt’s Les Preludes. It is such powerful music. It always makes me thing of Christ’s Second Coming.” She stopped as she realized that, once again, she had said more than she intended.
“Anyway, I’ve been so busy, and then I caught this cold. I’m sure that by now it is sold out, and I’ve missed my chance to buy a ticket.”
“Since I am in the symphony, I can always get a couple of free tickets when I want. So I got a ticket for you, in case you wanted to go. I remembered that you liked to go to concerts alone. You would just be driving up and back with me, that’s all.”
Eroica again found herself in the odd position of going somewhere with Mark, but not dating him. It was a way to go hear the Deseret Symphony, though. She hadn’t heard them since before she went to Germany. Her cellist hadn’t been there then, and she doubted he would be there now. But it was another chance.
“That sounds great,” she replied, ignoring her resolve to stop looking for the cellist, and the fact that Mark would have to drive her back to Provo, even though he lived in Draper.
“Then I’ll pick you up at about six o’clock. The concert starts at seven-thirty.”
New hopes danced in front of Eroica’s eyes. She hardly heard a word Mark said.