The Music Box

"You like my music box, I see," the old woman said to her granddaughter who was so inquisitive. The old woman moved slowly to the Rosewood table on which lay an exquisite cut-glass box. Picking it up gently with both hands, she seated herself on the velvet Rococo settee in her formal parlor and said:

"Come sit with me and I'll tell you about my music box." The old woman patted the seat next to her. The child climbed up on the ancient piece of furniture and slid next to her grandmother. The old woman's gnarled hands shook as she wound the music box slowly and carefully, and then with reverance placed the music box on the table before them. The old woman folded her hands in her lap and began.

"Listen to the music, my darling. Do you hear it! The wonderful sound of the Waltz, which I loved to dance when I was a young girl." The old woman's blue eyes sparkled with passion as she moved her gaze from the music box to the windows of the parlor draped in heavy brocade, the musty smell of oldness and wisdom hanging in the air. The woman, her fine white hair falling in tendrils around her face, became lost in the memory of a passion so long hidden. She sat motionless except for the gentle nod of her head to the time of the music box, until she felt the child's curious gaze upon her face. The old woman turned her attention back to the music box.

Slipping her small hand inside her grandmother's, the little girl leaned over the music box and studied the intricate workings of the silver tynes against spindle inside the glass-enclosed tomb. The child's head bobbed with the one-two-three tempo of the Viennese Waltz . The child had an uncanny understanding of music for a young age.

This pleased the old woman so, that her grandchild had indeed inherited the woman's love of movement, love of music, love of dance. A slight smile crossed the woman's pink lips, and the she spoke:

"You see, when I was a girl of 14 or so...I don't remember exactly...I knew a young man who enjoyed the waltz as much as did I, and at many an affair he would get in line to dance with me."

The old woman sighed, wiped her lips with a pristinely ironed handerchief, and demurely placed the hankerchief in its hidden space under the sleeve of her long-sleeve dress.

"Before such dances that I would attend with my parents, I dressed carefully, thinking of this young man and wondering if we'd have yet another Waltz. This particular young man felt the music in such a way no other young man did."

The old woman let out another sigh, and paused. Her hands moved back and forth with the smooth tempo of the music. So silky were the old woman's movements that the child was mesmerized. The old woman's face relaxed and the many corse lines in her face softened. Her head moved just so, very slowly, with the rise and fall of the music.

"At these dances, my dear, we young girls were allowed a dance card where the young men could arrange a dance with the young ladies of their choice. Sometimes, mind you, the young men were required to dance with young ladies they didn't fancy. And we young ladies, you understand, were to be respectful of the young men waiting in line to dance with us, even if we didn't particularly care for the boy either." A small giggle escaped the old woman's throat.

"In my case, you see, I loved the waltz so very much, and knew this particular boy enjoyed it as well, and when getting dressed, I always hoped this young man would fill my dance card as much as possible.

"However," the old woman paused to wipe her lips again with the lace-covered hankerchief before placing it in its place within the sleeve of her dress, "a boy wasn't allowed to completely fill up a young girl's dance card so that other boys would have the chance at a dance with the girl."

The old woman rewound the music box lovingly and placed it back on the table before them. The music of waltz filled the formal parlor, and the old woman sat in silence, content in absorbing the melodious sound. The child, bored with her grandmother's silence, slid from the ancient settee and moved to the center of the parlor where she began to move to the music, swaying rhythmically and smoothly.

The old woman watched her grandchild turning and dipping and bending with the Waltz, moving her arms, and turning her head. That the child held such grasp of music was amazing, the old woman thought. Such grace.

The setting sun shown its light through the gauze on the parlor windows, and the old woman and her granddaughter spent the afternoon rewinding the music box, dancing and reminisquing.



In the year 1917, Josephine O'Kelley was 16 and known throughout Savannah as quite a beautiful young ingenue. Attending the parties and teas escorted by her parents, Josephine particularly favored the dances where she could Waltz. On the open ballroom floor, she could move with abandon, feeling the open space beneath her feet and taking all of it. With an astute dance partner her enjoyment was all the better.

Josephine - or Jo, as she was fondly known by family and friends - was the daughter of a horse breeder who owned the best stables in Savannah. Mr. Thomas O'Kelley was well known for raising and training a well-turned horse. His stables also provided horses and buggies to the towns people and Savannah visitors - that is, before the Model T was introduced to the cobblestone- and ballist-paved streets of Savannah. Because he was so prosperous within his working class status, his business acumen afforded him the favor of the monied Savannah residents, and he and family were included in many of the social season's soiries.

As it happened, Charles Smith, the son and apparent heir of the powerful merchant Ignatious Smith, loved the Waltz as well. Early on in the social season he noticed the beautiful Josephine who danced with such fluid motion as if she were riding a water wave. He watched her from the wings when she danced with other partners. He signed her dance card.


And so it was that on a particarly balmy night in June of the year 1917, at the home of the Major and Mrs. Frederick Clopton, Charles danced his first Waltz with the beautiful Josephine. Not knowing Charles, Josephine was taken by surprise that he was on her dance card, but she knew of him and his family's high standings in Savannah, and as the Waltz began, she accepted his offered hand with some trepidation. What reservation she felt was quickly abated as she and Charles became one on the ballroom floor, gliding to the three-quarter rhythm of the Waltz. Around the ballroom the pair turned, instinctively knowing each other's steps.

Thus began the relationship between Charles and Josephine, and a powerful kindred spirit was formed.

The social season that summer afforded Charles and Josephine several occasions for dancing, and each of them began to look forward to the other's time, each other's touch, each other's movements.

On a particularly humid night in Savannah, the air was heavy and oppressive. Charles had signed Josephine's dance card three times, and he would have wanted more time with her, but knew the propriety of filling a young woman's card.

At the end of the second dance, Charles suggested they move to the veranda to escape the heat of the ballroom. Being in the presence of a man without an escort was frowned upon, but Josephine knew her mother was not far away, and the veranda was visible from the ballroom through the magnificant double door windows that opened onto the veranda.

The inviting breeze of the summer air brushed the wisps of Josephine's hair, and she relaxed as it whispered upon her face and her skin, grateful that Charles had been so considerate of her. The wind caught the cream-colored silk of her gown, fluttering it in the wind and bellowing the folds of lacy fabric around her body. Her beaded metallic bodice shimmered in the light of the gas flames that lit the chandeliers in the ballroom.

"I am enjoying myself tonight, Jo," Charles admitted. "You are dancing particulary well ...I might add."

Josephine smiled timidly in Charles' direction, at his compliment. "Thank you, Charles. I do love the waltz so."

"Did you know," Charles moved so close to Josephine that he could smell the jasmine in her hair and spoke, "that the waltz began in the 1800s in Vienna, and it was thought to be quite scandalous because the partners touched?"

"Why, no, Charles," Jo demured, "I didn't realize. So long ago! And scandalous? How silly."

Charles watched Jo's eyelashes flutter, and thought how beautiful she was. His feelings for her had grown rapidly in the past few months, and he found himself thinking of her almost every day.

"Jo, I was wondering if perhaps your mother would permit me to pay a visit to your family Sunday evening." Charles approached the subject tentatively.

Jo hoped Charles hadn't noticed the catch in her breathing at his question, and took a moment to answer. The spirited rhythm of a polka coming from the ballroom filled the empty space of time.

"Mother will be serving tea at 4 oclock Sunday evening, as usual. I am sure she would be pleased to receive you."

"Ah, very well," Charles said as he offered his arm to Jo. "I shall see your family on Sunday."

Charles escorted Jo back into the ballroom and to her mother's side, where he nodded to Mrs. O'Kelley.

"Mrs. O'Kelley, if it pleases you, I would like to call on your family this Sunday."

"Why, Mr. Smith, yes, we would be delighted if you would join us for tea," Mrs. O'Kelley answered.

So as not to appear a threat to the young man next in line to dance with Josephine, Charles regretably took leave of Mrs. O'Kelley and her Josephine, and joined a group of young men debating the issue of sufferage, a subject that sorely bored Charles. He remained on the fringe of the group and kept Josephine in his eyesight.

The strong emotions Charles were feeling for Josephine troubled him, and he wondered what his father might have to say when he discovered Charles' fondness for Josephine. Charles' father strongly approved of Alison, the Yates' daughter, and a marriage of the two had been on the minds of both Mr. Smith and Mr. Yates, for it would be an equitable business arrangement for both men. No proposition of a marriage had been spoken properly, though.

As for Mrs. O'Kelley, she was simply overjoyed at the prospect of receiving the young Charles Smith. Her blue eyes twinkled and she looked to her daughter approvingly. Jo lowered her eyes and tried to hide a smile, but the very idea of Charles wishing to see her was almost overwhelming. She'd had suitors before, but had never returned their favor. Charles was another matter entirely.

Sunday evening came, finally for Josephine's anticipation of Charles' visit has risen significantly. She simply could not remember a time when she was so unsettled. She had chosen her dress carefully, a pale pink gown of silk netting, in the latest fashion of ankle length - or tea length as it was named - which afforded views of her slender ankles.

The tea was offered properly by Mrs. O'Kelley, and Josephine settled into a Rosewood Rococco chair matching the settee on which her mother and her Aunt Catherine presided. Charles stood in front of the fireplace beside the chair Josephine had chosen. He was unable to see the beautiful features of Josephine's face, but was in full view of Mrs. O'Kelley upon whom he gave his complete attention.

The Methodist minister Reverand Stillwell came to call, and the parlor filled with a mix of conversation and laughter. Josephine and the ladies were greatly entertained as Charles gently chided Reverand Stillwell for his reserve of the new dance the polka, a fast paced frenzy that was all the rage - coming from Europe and taking the south by storm.

As Charles' visit came to an end, Josephine accompanied him to the door. Each of them was aware of strange feelings that were sweeping them quickly along. Before leaving, Josephine met Charles' gaze briefly, before turning away. It was all Charles needed to know that Josephine returned his favor. As for Josephine, the prospect Charles Smith courting her was a dream come true.

The summer came to an end, and along with it the busiest social season. Charles continued to pay call to Josephine's home at Sunday tea, becoming a frequent visitor. After a while, and at the end of Charles' visits, Josephine was allowed to accompany Charles unattended to the street of their three-story Victorian home.

On one particular occasion, Charles took the opportunity to give Josephine a gift. Timid and shy, Josephine took the gift, still wrapped, and thanked Charles for his kindness. Charles turned and walked down the narrow cobblestone avenue, and Josephine rushed inside her home and up the stairs to her bedroom where she could be alone to unwrap the gift.

Inside the one wrapped box was another - a small, gold framed box of inlaid glass holding the workings of a musical instrument - a music box. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Josephine gently wound the key to the music box and set it on the dressing table beside her bed. The little box began playing the Vienna waltz, its tynes plucking away a beautiful three-quarter tune. Josephine brought her hands to her heart, and listened until the music box wound its melody to a close.

Silence fell in the bedroom. Lace curtains fluttered with the night wind, and the aroma of the honey suckle vine and the privet hedge filled the air. Josephine, so entranced by the little music box and its beautiful tune, let her emotions run wild. She imagined dancing with Charles in an open ballroom, just the two of them, with wide open space to move freely, to dip and turn, dancing to the tune of the Vienna waltz.

Rewinding the music box Josephine closed her eyes, her hands still upon her heart, and swayed with the melody. Tears fell down her cheeks. She was in love, so deeply in love, and elated with the possibilities of living a life with Charles, a life of prosperity and hope, and having her love returned by such a handsome man.

The summer social season gave way to Fall, a particularly enjoyable time in Savannah, for the humid heat of summer had subsided to a balmy and breezy climate. Charles continued to pay call to the O'Kelley family each Sunday. In fact, his presence was expected. The wooing of Josephine by Charles had become widely known, and both families approved and encouraged their courtship. The formitable Mr. Smith knew he could use the astute prowess of Mr. O'Kelley, and Mr. O'Kelley understood his debt to Mr. Smith - that of the finest thoroughbreds available, for Mr. Smith was quite the horseman.

The Christmas holidays came, bringing with it numerous social occasions, including elegant dinners and more balls. Josephine was ecstatic to find herself seated next to Charles at dinner gatherings on more than one occasion. Their bond flourished amid the watchful eyes of their parents, and the freedom given to pursuing their relation was supervised carefully.

Throughout the winter and into the early spring, the love affair of Josephine and Charles flourished, each of them caught up in the other's presence. The waltz was such a joyous part of their time together, each celebrating the fluid motions of the other across the expansive ballroom floor. It was as if only they occupied the floor, mesmerized as they were by each other's presence.

In the early spring of 1918, the country went to war, and the automatic draft of all men aged 18 to 30 was the utmost discussion among the men in Savannah. The women, as was proper, didn't discuss such situations in the open but talked amongst themselves in small groups.

In an effort to overshadow the gloom that fell heavily among the social sets of Savannah, the enterprising Mr. William Eubanks and his wife opened their palatial estate one warm spring evening for a formal dinner and dance afterwards. A pretense of gaity filled the air, and the gatherers welcomed the distraction of such a heavy burden as war. The atmosphere that evening was light and gay, smothering the sinister threat to the comfort of SAvannah society and the country.

At dinner Josephine was once again delighted to have Charles by her side. He had become such a comfortable presence. An impending engagement was expected, and Josephine was beside herself with gladness and contentment.

With a feast of muscles, venison and roasted vegetables over, the group repaired to the ballroom for a lively waltz cotilian. There was no doubt that Josephine would have no other dancers on her card but Charles. She looked at him expectantly as she took his offered arm to the center of the ballroom floor. And their romantic dance of love began, again, just the two of them, twirling effortless across the ballroom floor. Though others were involved in the waltz on the periphery of their world, they had eyes and heart for only each other.

His warmth, his strength, his self-assurance was so powerful to Jo. She watched as Charles held his chin up just so high, but not to high, as he commanded their presence across the floor. His powerful strides, his pride and self assurance was such an authoritave presence. She longed for the day when she would become his wife, and she would have him forever.

At the end of the cotillian Charles escorted Josephine outside the ballroom to an expansive veranda and handed her his monogrammed handkerchief, pristine and crisp, to wipe the moisture from under the back of her neck. Such a gentle, gracious gesture. Such a sensious promise of all that would come with their union. Forever.

"Jo," Charles stood very close, too intimately close, "I'm leaving for France. I've been called to serve."

Josephine took his hankerchief from the back of her neck and, looking down at it, folded it neatly.

"I understand you must do what you need to do, Charles." Forcing herself not to cry, she turned to Charles and looked boldly into his face - those eyes. She was afraid, she was disappointed, but she would be strong for him.

Impulsively Charles put his hand under Josephine's chin and raised her lips to his. A small kiss, warm and gentle. That was all. Josephine closed her eyes, and absorbed the heat of his lips against hers, his face so close, his body so very near hers. She lowered her chin and looked at the folded handkerchief that was Charles'. A tear escaped her eyes, and landed on his handkerchief, which Josephine folded once more, locking inside the cotton fabric overwhelming emotions forever.

"I will be here, Charles. I will be here." She said as she searched his eyes with meaning. Responding passionately, Charles took her hands in his, one of which still clutched the folded handkerchief. He fervently kissed them both, turning them over so he could reach the tender, pale underneath of her wrists. He brushed his lips against the delicate skin that was Josephines and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply the scented rosewater of Josephine's skin, and savored it. As if catching Josephine forever.

Charles never returned from the war. Josephine had only his memory, the music box and his handkerchief to remember him by.
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I am the young child with the golden hair, and I still have the uncanny ability to move to music, in particular the waltz. My grandmother was a beautiful lady who settled into a comfortable life with her husband Asa, a well-meaning young man who loved Josehphine dearly and took good care of her.

But I could always see in Grandmother's eyes the longing, the mystery, the sorrow, the unabated love of another. I don't think any of the other family members saw this side of Grandmother, but I did. And I remember well the afternoon we danced to the tune of the music box in Grandmother's parlor, the haze of old dust moving gently in the sunlight coming through the windows. The wind played the gauzy curtains so delicately, and I twirled, and Grandmother looked into the distance, swaying ever so slightly with her hand to her heart. Clutching a pristine monogrammed handkerchief just so, her long elegant fingers wearing a wedding ring and band. But the handkerchief held more powerful memories of love and commitment and expectation than the rings ever would.

And now, the music box is now mine. Occasionally, I wind it up, and dance to its music, but mostly I wind up the music box and sit still and think of Grandmother - Josephine - and her unrequited love for Charles.