Epilogue:

All Good Things End One Way or Another

Hello, readers! I can't believe it's been ten years since I started writing this story. I want to thank all of you who were following and reading this for your interest and support. It's been such a pleasure reactivating my imagination in the past year and completing this future life story for Becky. (I had written so much material for this story that some good stuff was left out of this final version as well.) Even though these latter chapters on Becky's adulthood may not be as appealing to some, my main goal here was to finish this tale to the best of my ability within a limited time span.

For those of you who liked the way this story was written, read no further – Becky gets married to Fred, visits Africa, has a wonderful musical career in post-war Europe, and has a son (Christopher Frederick Ralph Edwards). She and Sara have a close life-long relationship as sisters. The Crewes eventually settle everywhere after Indian independence in 1948 – with Ralph Jr. in Australia, Rand in Los Angeles (where The Captain eventually retires with Liz), Sara in London and Becky traveling between Europe, the USA and the rest of the world.

But while I was working on finishing this heartfelt story – it occurred to me that there might be an alternate version of events that would be "darker" and "more realistic", I suppose. Read no further if you prefer only sweetness and warmth. And once again, thank you for indulging my imagination.

#

New York – Randolph School – September 1967

Rebecca scanned the faces of the high school girls in the music room who all had their hands up, eager to ask her a question.

"Was India really as hot as described in the book?" asked Gretchen, a blond student from Long Island.

"Yes, sometimes we would sweat night and day. You would've hardly survived that climate."

"Did you meet Marian Anderson?" asked another student.

"Yes!" replied Rebecca, who was delighted with the question. "She's a friend, and in fact, she's stayed with me when she was traveling and could not find a hotel open to coloured people."

"I really liked Colonel Miles. Did you ever meet his daughter?" asked Nancy, a brunette with green eyes and luminous skin.

Rebecca shook her head. "No, the colonel's daughter died when she was only seventeen. Whenever he mentioned visiting her, he meant he was going to visit her grave."

"That's sad."

"Yes, it was. But we kept in touch with him until he died not long after the war.

Rebecca chose her next student.

"How about you?" she said as she pointed at one in the back who had tawny skin and bright brown eyes.

"Lady Edwards, what is your favorite opera aria?" asked Elanor in a British accent.

Rebecca felt her nose tingle. How was she to explain that she was not actually "Lady Edwards"? In the past, she would ignore the error and answer the question. But being at her old place of employment...

"I'm sorry, but please address me as Miss Williams or Mrs. Crewe if you like."

The girls murmured as their eyes widened.

"Miss... Williams..." said their teacher, Miss Wilde. "Did something happen to Mr. Edwards?"

Rebecca responded with a slight smirk on her lips.

"No, it's just that... he never existed."

The gasps that reverberated across the room were loud enough to make her twitch. She carefully clutched her hands tightly behind her back and smiled as pleasantly as possible.

"Never?" asked Elanor, who looked rather disappointed.

"He was a fictional creation of the book's author, Sara Crewe," Rebecca replied. "May I ask where you're from?"

"The British Virgin Islands. My family just moved here last year. Oh, Lady... I mean, Miss Williams... We loved reading about you in school over there," she said as she held up a copy of the book, "Becky's Story" by Sara Crewe.

Rebecca felt a little mortified that she had chosen to break her silence with this eager-eyed fan.

"I'm sorry... she wrote a wonderful story about me, except that it is only partially true."

After a slight pause, Miss Wilde added, "Well... with the recent Loving v. Virginia case, I was going to ask about your marriage... I suppose... that is no longer relevant..."

"Oh, but I was married," said Rebecca. "Of course, circumstances were a bit different then..."

#

Rebecca went back to her room in Mr. Randolph's old mansion next to the school (now a hotel) and laid down on her bed, exhausted. Her mind raced as she looked out at the last rays of the sun glowing through the clouds as dusk settled upon the city. Now sixty years old, she had never thought she would come back here, to the place where she began her life in suffering.

The holidays would come soon enough, and she would go to L.A. to visit Rand. But what of Sara? Would she travel to London before or after the new year? Rebecca's head ached but she would not wallow in self-pity.

"Ralph wouldn't want me to," she reasoned.

She arose, opened her satchel and took out a file full of papers. Inside was a manila envelope. Upon opening the envelope, she fished out multiple pages of a long letter neatly typewritten on an old-fashioned machine. She heard herself sigh as she read it again.

To Whom It May Concern:

The purpose of this letter is not to dispute the story of my life or that of Rebecca Williams Crewe, as portrayed in the book "Becky's Story" (written by my daughter Sara Crewe Graham), which is part of her popular "Little Princess" book series.

Rather, I wanted to present my own account of my life and let readers judge for themselves as to the veracity of the story given here. I understand that the "Little Princess" books were intended for a young audience, and that all content therein had to be made suitable as such. However, beyond the altruistic and maudlin portrayal of me and the girl known as "Becky", exists a reality that is a bit more complicated. It is this true story that I now wish to reveal to anyone who is interested in my version of events.

"Becky's Story" portrays a loving and devoted relationship between a father and his adopted orphan daughter. Much of what is contained in the book was indeed drawn from real life, although some events were edited or exaggerated for dramatic effect. However, the one major deviation in the book from real life – which is no fault considering its intended audience – lies in its portrayal of the nature of my relationship with Becky, also known as Rebecca.

As readers of the book might know, I first learned of Becky - the little maid my daughter Sara had befriended at Miss Minchin's School – somewhere around spring of 1916, in one of the last letters I received in France before I was wounded and lost my memory. Due to the most fortuitous of circumstances - in that I was rescued by Mr. Charles Randolph of New York and his servant Ram Dass – they nursed me back to health and I regained my senses.

On a fateful night in October 1918, I was reunited with Sara by accident when she took shelter in Mr. Randolph's house after escaping from Miss Minchin. A true miracle occurred when she triggered my memory just in time to avoid being thrown in prison by her former school mistress. That was also the first time I had ever met Becky in person. Yes, I was kind to her in large part due to Sara's generosity, and partly due to my own gratitude for having my life and fortunes restored. However, I never formally "adopted" Becky in the same sense that most modern readers would conceive of it. Nevertheless, as she was an orphan, I did take guardianship of her and provided for her upbringing and education alongside Sara. Thus, Becky became my ward.

Once we settled back in India, Sara continued to consider Becky her best friend and sister, for she had always lamented the loss of her younger sister who was stillborn. A busy man myself, I did my best to stay involved with affairs at home, but often these were delegated to various nannies and governesses who would oversee the girls. When I married my second wife, Elizabeth Carrisford Crewe, she took over some of these duties. With the help of Dr. and Mrs. Hill (yes, I did meet them on our voyage back to India), Becky often had the additional support of Black teachers and tutors to help prepare her for life in respectable society.

My expectations had been that, having lived in India for a period of time, perhaps Becky would begin to grow tired of it and want to return to America. Or, perhaps Sara might have a change of heart and replace Becky with other girls her age or perhaps even a new sister. In fact, I had corresponded with Dr. Hill on precisely such a plan to repatriate Becky back to her home country, or perhaps to a region of Africa where she might feel comfortable. However, she developed a special fondness for India and seemed to prefer her new home, being endlessly fascinated by it. Her physical constitution was such that she was able to tolerate the subcontinent's rigorously hot weather with endurance. She called me "Captain", or "Mr. Crewe", but it was not without a certain amount of affection. However, she did not call me "Dad" or "Papa". And with no new sister forthcoming, Sara remained inseparable from her adopted sister (here I use this term in the truest sense of the word, except for the legal part). We lived a few short years together (1918-1925) in India until it was time to send the girls to college.

During this time, Becky, with the help of her tutors and teachers, worked diligently to become a well-versed musician and polyglot. I remember the first time Sara ran to me excitedly and said, "Papa! Becky knows how to speak French now!" This was no easy feat for an orphan who had no formal education and had worked all her childhood sweeping floors. Not only did she master French and Italian, she learned the foundations of music and how to read and write it, until she advanced to the highest levels of her chosen craft.

In 1925, I accompanied the girls on a trip to Europe for their college education – by myself - for Elizabeth had her hands full with our 3-year-old son, Ralph Jr. Besides, Liz, being generous of spirit, thought it might be my last chance to spend some time alone with Sara before she embarked on her adult life. Our first stop was Somerville College at Oxford, where Sara had gained acceptance to that prestigious women's' school. After sojourning there for nearly a month, parting from her chosen adopted sister and me was a bittersweet affair. Sara would have stayed with us to see Becky off, except that school was starting right away for her.

"We will write each other every week," she solemnly declared as she and Becky exchanged hugs and kisses.

Next, I took Becky to the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna. Her demeanor seemed quite amiable on the train ride there, albeit somewhat subdued.

"Oh, I miss Sara and India already," she said with a wan smile. What she did not say at the time was that she missed me, too.

"I figured you might say so at some point," I said as I fetched a package from my trunk. "It's why I brought this for you."

She was delighted to receive my package and opened it. Inside was an Indian sari made of lovely embroidered silk.

"It's so beautiful! Oh, thank you, Captain!"

She flung her arms around me, and I patted her lightly on the shoulder. Just as quickly, as if she suddenly remembered decorum, she withdrew.

"I'm glad you like it," I told her. "Remember, if you need anything... write me or call my solicitors. As your guardian, I will provide anything required for your education and career until you are established."

She nodded and spoke of her utmost gratitude for my generosity. I stayed in Vienna a few days to settle her in until school started. Yes, I heard her sing in her beautiful soprano voice several times. Then one day, when at last she was safely ensconced at the university, we said our farewells. I left, satisfied that I had done my duty well as a guardian. But I did not know how much she cried that night until years later.

College was a success for both girls, and when they graduated, Sara wrote her stories and worked part-time at a London book publisher as an editor. There, she met Captain Phillip Graham, and after a period of courtship, I gave my permission for them to be wed. They were married in 1931, and my first grandchild, Maggie, was born three years later.

Meanwhile, Becky was singing in churches, orchestras, and choirs throughout Europe, and she progressed in her career there. Soon, she was offered lead and supporting roles in various operas, and she did very well for herself. By then my legal guardianship of her had ended, but I offered to be her sponsor and benefactor whenever needed, as I was conscious of the costs and hardships endured by young artists and musicians. She was grateful for my offer of assistance but never took it up. Instead, once in a while, she would write me to ask for support for a brilliantly talented but starving composer, musician or singer that she knew. Through her requests, I became the anonymous patron of several musicians, small concerts and recitals.

I tried to marry her off to someone suitable, but to no avail. Despite the help of Dr. and Mrs. Hill, and perhaps the entire Black higher education establishment in America, she seemed to have no interest in her suitors. Some of them traveled great distances from America to Europe to see her perform. Instead of allowing herself to be impressed or even courted by them, she preferred to be a matchmaker, and would often pair these suitors up with other eligible young ladies, many of whom were her colleagues. This behavior was both fascinating and maddening to me, but she would always declare, "Captain, I will marry when I am ready. In the meantime, I must grow my career... and I would prefer to be called Rebecca." But whenever I asked her if she was ready, the expression in her eyes would change and she would look away. I could never quite place that enigmatic expression of hers, and it would be years before I learned of the reason for it.

The summer of 1939 was the last time our family had a happy reunion in India until after World War II. Sara had the foresight to bring Phillip and Maggie, as well as Rebecca, to India to visit me, Liz, and Junior, before war broke out in earnest in September. Then everything fell apart. Phillip and Junior were conscripted. Randolph was not yet born, so there was no farewell scene at the docks, as in the book.

However, the first big blow to hit was the loss of my second wife, Liz, in the winter of 1939-1940. She had caught a bad bout of pneumonia, and we nursed her feverishly around the clock. Her last words to me were, "See you there, my sweet," and then she was gone. I could hardly believe it and remained in a daze for weeks afterwards. Junior was still fighting in the battlefields of Europe and had to mourn on his own for his mother, but he took the news in stride. As for me, only the love of Sara and Maggie, as well as Rebecca's watchful care helped me to recover.

The war dragged on and all hope the girls had of resuming their lives in Europe was put on hold. Then, one fateful day in 1941, we received the terrible news that my son-in-law Phillip was shot down and killed over France. Sara was in disbelief and kept holding out hope for a miracle, just like what had happened to me, but when she heard his parents in England had received his body, she was inconsolable.

Right then and there, Rebecca temporarily gave up all career ambitions and determined to stay in India to take care of us. However, she loathed to live upon my generosity, so when Sara was well enough to write again, Rebecca took a job as a music teacher at a local girls' school and performed at private events. Daily, we dreaded hearing bad news about Junior, and we hoped and prayed that he might return safely from the war. We were most grateful every time we received a letter from him, and the angels seemed to surround him until the very end.

Back then, Sara and I were too immersed in our grief to notice, but now when I look back upon these events, the only person (besides Ram Dass) who was consistently present, and who remained healthy and sane enough to look after us was Rebecca. I don't know how we would have survived without her. When Colonel Miles visited us in 1944, Rebecca was eager to go to Assam with me to help with the war effort against the Japanese. I was opposed to her involvement, but with her musical training and a dearth of good opera singers in Northeast India, I reluctantly consented.

As depicted in Sara's book, Rebecca and I participated in an SOE to catch an unlikely Axis spy who loved opera. I escorted Rebecca everywhere as her "benefactor", and "sponsor", which naturally sent some tongues wagging. Certainly, after a while Mr. E.A. Toht, our chief suspect, became envious of our relationship. Prior to this, I still viewed Rebecca as my ward, my child sponsorship, even though she was now a 37-year-old woman. (Her African features rendered her exceptionally youthful-looking, and she could be mistaken for a woman as young as twenty.) As I spent more time with her, I found her voice and performances to be exceptional. The sight of her in alluring gowns, speaking with suspected members of the enemy, filled me with dread and a fighting spirit, and I became resolved to protect her at any cost. It was precisely this feeling that led me to violently disagree with Mr. Toht one evening during a discussion. Afterwards, he laughed and called me the silliest man in the world-and chided me for not knowing my own feelings.

"You shall suffer the consequences," he declared.

What a wretched man I became, for he proved to be right! That night, after I returned home, I felt myself drawn to the cellar. As I sat there staring at the bottles of wine I had collected, I was tempted to drink them all. What could Mr. Toht possibly have meant, that I was the silliest of men? Somehow, I had insisted that I was purely a fatherly figure and friend to Rebecca, when in fact I was no longer thus. The shock of this realization ricocheted through me as I suddenly realized that I was also in love... Next came disbelief, denial, and then last of all, despair.

A reader of this letter might assume that as a successful and wealthy man, I should have had no reason to feel this way, especially towards a young woman who had been my ward. But I was already approaching 60 years of age by then and had fancied myself too old for such foolishness. Besides, the idea that any young lady would want to trade her beauty for my money was rather detestable, even though I had met many such women over the years. In addition, I still felt guilty about Liz's death, as if I were partially to blame for it. Surely, I did not deserve another chance at love.

Thus, when Rebecca came to see if I was well, I spoke harshly to her in the ugliest manner in a futile attempt to drive her away from me. At the same time, I wondered if I could hastily arrange a marriage for her to any suitable man. As soon as she left me in tears, I instantly regretted my words and wished I had never spoken them. My mind and conscience condemned me – I was sure that my angel of mercy had left and would soon end up in Mr. Toht's arms, or perhaps with someone worse. All my grief for Liz, Phil, for my first wife Margaret, for John Randolph, my parents and siblings... tumbled out and I wept profusely until I was exhausted.

The next morning, I made haste to meet with Colonel Miles and tendered my resignation. For it would not do – although Rebecca and I kept our relationship merely as a sponsorship to outsiders, more than a few of them thought it was scandalous and that surely, we must have been lovers. Now that I possessed these unbridled feelings within, I could not in good conscience continue in my role, and I was mortified to confess all of this to my superior officer.

Colonel Miles was amused by my confession, for he had suspected that I was unaware of my feelings for Rebecca. Therefore, he suggested that we should marry. (He did not tell me beforehand that Rebecca had already met with him and told him everything first.) When I informed him that I could not do as he had suggested, he invited me to see a priest and have my feelings removed through an exorcism.

"Wouldn't it be simpler for me to just resign?" I pleaded.

"We need you for our operations. Besides, Toht is now completely obsessed with how to snatch Rebecca from your hands, so you must protect her and keep up the rivalry with him."

So, to the church we went, as I was resolved to excise from my heart all useless and unwanted romantic feelings. Little did I suspect that the exorcism was to turn into a wedding, when a slender figure dressed all in satin and lace, with a heavy veil and white gloves approached. When her veil was lifted, there stood Rebecca! I was speechless.

But before me was a young woman who had hitherto been unknown. It was plain to see that she was extremely emotional, but at the same time very reticent. For she would not even raise her eyes to look at me or anyone else. When the Reverend asked if she would marry me, I could hardly believe it when she said "yes."

"Are you sure?" I had to ask. She nodded, still looking at the floor.

Suddenly, I realized that this was the real Rebecca! The girl whom I was accustomed to seeing on stage, who was confident and proud of her voice was gone, replaced by a very shy young lady who yearned for love. How could I describe the beauty, vulnerability, and fragility of her position? She was risking her entire heart in the hopes that somehow, I would accept her. When I hesitated in my confusion after being asked if I would take her as my wife, I observed a large tear had slipped from her eyelash, and it broke my heart.

We were wed just as suddenly and secretly as our SOE mission. If one could see us, one would surely laugh at how awkward and silly we acted with each other afterwards. Rebecca had never imagined that she would marry me, even though she had been secretly in love with me for some time. I never imagined that she would become my third wife and wondered out loud how to announce this sudden change to our acquaintances. But over time our feelings took over and we naturally became less reserved and more affectionate with each other.

Later, when I asked the colonel why he had permitted us to have such a hastily arranged wedding, he told me that: 1) war time, and 2) he did this to help preserve my reputation and dignity. For he had feared that I might go astray and behave improperly towards Rebecca. He also revealed that certain officers thought my conduct was immoral and contemplated bringing charges against me. I thanked him for his concern.

But my new wife now worried about how Sara would take the news, and I wondered how Junior would react. I thought a straightforward approach would work best with my son, so I wrote a letter to him explaining everything. But a response to Sara proved to be more challenging. In the meantime, I was happy to share the news of our union with friends and enemies alike, and while most of them were happy for us, others were dismayed or opposed. As for Mr. Toht, he was furious.

Rebecca thought it might be best to explain our situation to Sara through a story. Fate, however, seemed determined to meddle in our plans. Days after we were wed, I had suggested to Rebecca that we go fishing, to which she enthusiastically agreed. We went to a pond in the woods near our tea garden, dressed in our shirt sleeves and khakis. Once, after catching a large fish, I could not resist at least one romantic overture, and kissed her soundly on the lips. Unbeknownst to us, Sara had brought Maggie for a surprise visit and saw us...

What a change in attitude this produced! For while my granddaughter was happy to see me, my daughter's eyes were clouded over with anger. This was the beginning of many misunderstandings and disagreements with Sara, who was shocked to learn of our marriage. In her mind, Rebecca was firmly established as her sister, and she could not conceive of her as being anything else. For me to take her as my wife was akin to incest, for which she blamed me. But her fury turned just as quickly on Rebecca, whom she accused of being a gold digger.

"I don't understand! What happened to you, Papa?"

"We fell in love," I told her.

But she would not believe me. Later, she would denounce us both as being weak-willed and easily given into our passions.

In time, I was relieved to receive a letter from Ralph informing me that he approved of me finding happiness again, although no one would replace his mother, as I had assured him previously. After that, Rebecca gave her last performance in front of Mr. Toht before he shot me out of jealousy and rage. Luckily, he missed my heart and wounded my left shoulder instead. Colonel Miles promptly had him arrested and thanked us for the good work of driving him to commit a crime, for they had been unable to find any irrefutable proof that he was actually a spy, although there were many intimations of his alleged crimes.

At once, Sara and Maggie came to see me at the hospital. However, even though she said nothing, the next few weeks were sheer torture for Rebecca. The coldness and lack of affection she received from the one whom she had considered a sister was more than excruciating. The more my wife tried to extend her overtures to Sara, the more she was rebuffed. Of course, Maggie remained as amiable to her "Aunt Becky" as ever, but at one point even she was told to curb her affections.

It pains me greatly to say anything that could reflect badly on Sara's reputation, and I am confident that Rebecca would never publish any of the following details in her memoirs. However, one night, during a quarrel outside my bedroom, I distinctly heard Sara say this to my wife in the cruelest manner:

"You are the reason he was shot! Now I wish I had never begged Papa to take you with us! I wish we had left you at that school!"

"Sara!" I bellowed, even as Rebecca ran off crying. I told my daughter in no uncertain terms that she was never to speak to Rebecca that way again.

But their conflict deteriorated until Rebecca thought it best if she left me, so as not to antagonize Sara any further. Thus, she made arrangements and purchased train tickets to Simla and Bombay. She even called my solicitors to see if she could be removed entirely from my will, but they told her only I could do so.

One morning, a month after I was shot, when Sara was out of the house, Rebecca came to see me. She seemed unusually solemn, but she managed to converse cheerfully, as if nothing was the matter. Still, something in her eyes alerted me, and I asked if she was all right.

"Of course, Captain," she said as she looked about my bedroom. Even though it was now our bedroom, she had not stayed in it ever since Sara returned. "I hope things will calm down soon and this house will return to a peaceful state."

I took her hands and held them tightly. "Whatever you do, don't leave me."

My words must have alarmed her, for she quickly bent down and kissed my hands, and then she arose quickly.

"Don't worry, darling. I just need to..."

She put her hand to her temple before she sat back down.

"What's the matter?"

It was then that she fainted on my lap. I had never yelled for help so urgently. Servants rushed in and laid Rebecca on the bed beside me. I frantically tried to awaken her, despite having my arm in a sling. As we awaited the doctor, I got out of bed and went to look around her room. There, I noticed something peculiar. Much of the décor in her room, even small souvenirs, had disappeared. I surveyed the floor and found two trunks waiting by her bedroom door. The sight of these infuriated me, and I searched for her purse, which still stood on her nightstand. Not that I was one to pilfer through a woman's purse, mind you, but I found and snatched the train tickets from it and read them.

The doctor came and congratulated me after he had examined Rebecca. When she regained consciousness, I tried to control myself as I questioned her as to where she was going, and how was she to live with our unborn child? She was dumbfounded to learn that she was pregnant, and the cause for her fainting. Then she burst into tears and begged for my forgiveness, confessing that she had thought it might be better for my recovery and relationship with Sara if she had left. As I held her in my arms, I told her in no uncertain terms that I could not trust her, and that she was now my prisoner. If she ever dared to leave again, I would do everything in my power to chase her across continents if necessary.

"Do you understand, you who are now bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh?" I demanded.

She nodded before I sealed my vow with a kiss. When Sara returned, I explained what had happened and directed her to reconcile with Rebecca or be estranged from us. She turned pale and worked out a deal whereby she would endeavor to accept our relationship as long as it was never mentioned publicly, and that she could continue to portray us as father and daughter in her stories. Rebecca readily agreed, and such has been the state of affairs ever since. Whenever Sara publishes one of her books, Rebecca and I are never interviewed.

However, over the years, zealous and curious fans have researched our family and always noted that my son Randolph is much younger than his older brother and resembles Rebecca. Sometimes we explain that we are married, and some fans take the news well, while others cannot handle the truth. Nevertheless, I write this letter for posterity, so that anyone interested in the real persons behind the fiction should know the truth.

I have now been happily married to Rebecca for 20 years. Our only son, Randolph John Crewe, was born in 1945 and is a young Hollywood musician. Sara and Maggie reside in London and are successful in the book publishing field. Junior continued his career in the army and now resides in Australia with his wife and children. We all visit each other annually. This letter will be released to the public after Sara's passing, unless she publishes the truth first.

I am, most sincerely,

Ralph H. Crewe

#

The next time Rebecca visited Miss Wilde's class, she arrived to find the girls gossiping about her.

"Why do you suppose they never got married?" asked Gretchen.

"Well, if she was married to Mr. Crewe..." began Elanor.

"Then he might have liked her, but he couldn't marry her!" exclaimed Nancy in a loud whisper.

"Yes, that's it!" whispered Gretchen.

"It must be!" said Elanor.

"Girls!" said Miss Wilde sharply. "Our class will now begin. We are fortunate to have Miss Williams back to answer more questions..."

Nancy was the first to raise her hand.

"Miss Williams! We found him!" she cried.

Rebecca looked at her quizzically. "Found who?"

"We found your long-lost Mr. Edwards!"

"Girls! What kind of nonsense is this?" demanded Miss Wilde.

Rebecca laughed a little. Girls and their wild imaginations! Well did she remember those times when she and Sara used to imagine things about Miss Emily and the milk man.

"What do you mean, you found Mr. Edwards?"

"He's our drama teacher," said Gretchen with a grin. "And he must be your Mr. Edwards, even though he's older now with gray hair. But his clear blue eyes..."

Several of the girls started to giggle, and no one seemed to have noticed that Elanor had disappeared from the class.

"Now, girls," began Miss Wilde. "We are here to ask Miss Williams serious questions about her lived experiences..."

"It's a coincidence, no doubt..." said Rebecca with amusement.

Just then, Elanor came in dragging a tall, blue-eyed man behind her. He wore horn-rimmed glasses and seemed peculiarly youthful and fit for a man of his age. Sporting wavy salt and pepper hair, he seemed just as surprised to be there as the rest of the class.

"See? Mr. Frederick Edwards!" announced Elanor before pointing at Rebecca. "And that's soprano Rebecca Williams Crewe."

Mr. Edwards' eyes lit up when he saw Rebecca.

"Hello," he said with a nod.

Rebecca could hardly believe it. Whoever Mr. Edwards was, he seemed to fit the description of Fred Edwards in the book almost exactly.

"Hello..." she replied, uncertain of what else to say.

"Well... I've heard so much about you from the girls recently," he began quite earnestly as he approached her.

"And this is the first time I've heard of you," said Rebecca, who did not want to come across too friendly. "I suppose you're going to tell me that you're Welsh, too?"

Mr. Edwards laughed.

"Actually, I'm Canadian. But of Welsh and Irish ancestry, yes."

"Canadian? Parlez-vous français?"

"Oui," replied the drama teacher, and the two of them began a spirited chat in that language, with Rebecca apologizing for the zealotry of the girls.

"I assure you that I never put them up to this. Why, I didn't even know that you taught here."

"It's all right. As an actor I've put up with mistaken identity many times. But this is the first time I've been mistaken for a character I did not play."

"Excuse me," said Miss Wilde. "But our class still has to finish our Q & A with Miss Williams, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Well, it was nice to meet you," said Mr. Edwards pleasantly as he extended his hand.

Rebecca merely nodded and gave him a quick handshake before he left the classroom full of girls gossiping. Then she forgot all about him as she prepared for her recital at Columbia University. It was not until the night of the recital two weeks later that she met him again at the reception after her performance.

"Mr. Edwards!" she exclaimed as she beheld him in his dinner jacket.

"Miss Williams, you sounded wonderful tonight," he said in a most pleasant manner.

"Thank you for coming," she replied equally pleasantly.

"I was wondering if you might do me a favor? I know your schedule is very full, but..."

"Of course," she said without fully thinking about it. By now his charming demeanor and something about his smile made him quite irresistible.

"The drama class is rehearsing their annual spring play and..."

"Spring play? Already?"

"Yes, we are starting early. I was wondering if, as a performer yourself, perhaps you could come to my class and give us some tips?"

"Why, yes, I'd be glad to."

"Great. We meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays during eighth period... around 2 o'clock, in the auditorium. See you then."

Rebecca mulled over the invitation but did not actually go until a week later, on a slow Thursday afternoon when she felt a bit restless. However, when she arrived at the school auditorium, she found the building dark and empty inside.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

She thought she heard the sound of fabric swishing, and a breeze behind her.

"Hello?" she said as she turned around. "Aaahhhh!"

She screamed and would have fallen backwards had the masked man in the cape not caught her and set her back on her feet.

"I'm sorry," said Fred as he took off his mask.

"What is this? Are you the Phantom of the opera now?"

"I am for now, until we can find the right person to play him."

"Well, you might as well keep the role! You gave me quite a fright!" she said as she shook herself free from his grasp.

At this, she heard the sound of girls giggling behind him.

"I think they like each other," Nancy whispered to Gretchen and Elanor.

"I think they should get married," replied Elanor in a whisper.

"Class!" said Fred sharply.

This marked the beginning of a friendship between Fred and Rebecca, where she would attend his rehearsals and performances, and he would do the same in return. Soon, he would invite her to dinner or drinks once in a while, and they would have most interesting conversations.

One night in mid-December, while they were shopping for groceries after work, he surprised her with an announcement.

"Well, I've read the book about you and finished it, and I have to say that I am nowhere near as noble or sacrificial as Captain Edwards."

"Oh?"

"For example, I wouldn't have told you that I was the one who discovered that evidence against Mr. Toht."

"Really?"

"You know what I would have done? I would've told you that it was Captain Crewe who did it."

"I see..."

"Come to think of it... I guess I am a bit like him. It's what cost me my engagement..."

"Your engagement?"

He shrugged.

"It's why I never married. Well, anyway... I wanted to ask you something that may... cost me your good opinion of me as well, but it can't be helped..."

"Before you tell me, I was wondering... to celebrate the end of the first semester of school, if you would like to have dinner with me at The Chateau next week?"

"Dinner with you? Absolutely."

"Great! I will make reservations and..."

"But I have a related question for you."

"What?"

"How about if... we have dinner after work every night?"

"Every night?" wondered Rebecca out loud as she picked at the rutabagas.

He grinned as he selected a few sprigs of parsley.

"Yes, every night. We seem to enjoy each other's company. Why not?"

"Well..." she chuckled. "You might not like me so much after we have dinner together every night..."

"Let's just see how it goes. Shall we?"

"All right..."

His electric blue eyes lit up.

"Just remember, if anyone asks, we're just friends."

"Friends... right," she said as she widened the distance between them by going to the other side of a display table.

After that, they dined together on a regular basis. Rebecca was doubtful at first, but the daily meals continued until one day she blurted out to her hairdresser that she had a boyfriend. In time, Rebecca met Anne, Fred's biracial adopted daughter, and they took a liking to each other at once. However, when Rand came to visit for the holidays, he grilled Fred mercilessly.

"Just what are your intentions towards my mum?" he asked.

"Well... I like her a lot," said Fred as he glanced at her. "And someday, maybe she'll like me enough to... to..."

"To marry him," said Rebecca matter-of-factly. "Is that okay with you, son?"

"Just as long as he loves you twice as much as dad did," said Rand with a raised eyebrow.

Fred laughed. "I promise you I will give it my best shot."

The two men shook hands and went straight into an arm-wrestling match. Rand was impressed with Fred's strength and Fred was similarly impressed with Rand's speed and agility.

"By the way, you aren't some kind of baronet, are you?" asked Rand.

"Nope, but my uncle is one," said Fred nonchalantly. "We have quite a few Canadian baronets out there."

"Oh," said Rebecca with a slight frown. Real life was drifting too close to reality, wasn't it?

#

In June of 1968, Sara was pleasantly surprised to see Rebecca at her front door accompanied by a tall, handsome stranger.

"Hello, Sara," said Rebecca as she beamed at her sworn sister from childhood.

The two women exchanged a light hug and kiss.

"Come in, come in. And who is this gentleman beside you?"

Rebecca waited until they had crossed the threshold to announce, "meet my husband, Fred Edwards."

Sara was naturally stunned and stood for a good minute looking Fred over.

"Your husband? You must tell me all about it!"

They sat down for a good conversation full of laughs and tears and reminiscing of old memories. At one point the topic of discussion turned to Fred, and he good-naturedly obliged Sara's many questions.

"I've read the book, and I can say that I do resemble that Fred character a little. Except that I would never let my hair become unkempt. I'm too much of a neat freak for that."

"But Fred was a veteran."

"I'm a veteran as well, but still..."

"Have you ever been to India before?"

He nodded. "Yes, as I told Rebecca, I was there for two years after the war, teaching drama to children. I rather enjoyed it."

Sara looked at Rebecca incredulously.

"Who would've ever thought that you would marry a real Mr. Edwards?"

"Who indeed?"

Fred lightly caressed his wife's hand.

"My one true love."

"How romantic," Sara muttered.

"We will go visit every place where you had set foot," said Fred cheerily. "We'll see Africa and I'll hear you sing your arias in the jungle!"

"Oh boy, we're going to confuse a lot of people, aren't we?" said Rebecca as she grinned at her husband.

#

New York - 1995

Rebecca and Sara, accompanied by Rand, Maggie, and their families, were returning to their hotel after a screening of the movie, "A Little Princess."

"Wasn't that a nice film about you?" Rebecca said as she bent down to speak to Sara, who sat in a wheelchair.

"Oh yes," said Sara with a wistful smile. "And that actor who played Papa was so handsome."

"I thought the two girls who played us were very talented as well."

Sara reached out her trembling hand and tugged on Rebecca's sleeve.

"Becky..."

Rebecca looked down, surprised. It had been years since Sara had called her by her childhood name.

"Yes, Sara?"

"Last night, I dreamt of Papa and Mama and my baby sister... and Phil, Liz, Ram Dass, Uncle Charles, all the people I had loved..."

Rebecca said nothing for a moment as she glanced at Maggie. "Tell me what happened, Sara?"

"Ravanna tried to lock them up, but he couldn't do it, because they were beyond his reach in a free and safe land. Then I went and joined them there. I was so happy!"

"Mum's been having these dreams almost every night," Maggie told Rebecca quietly.

"Sara, will I be able to join you there?"

Sara's face brightened.

"Of course, dear Becky! When it's your time, you will!"

Three months later on a rainy day, Rebecca attended Sara's funeral in Cheshire. There, she shed more tears than she did at Fred's passing three years prior, or even at The Captain's grave thirty years before.

"My dear sister, truly from the bottom of my heart I thank you. Without you, I probably would have died young without a single person to mourn my passing. Rest in peace, dearest love."

She laid a red rose upon Sara's gravestone and was the last person to leave.

#

Los Angeles – 2018

Randolph Crewe, 72, relaxed in his chair in the office of his Pacific Palisades home next to his son Charlie, who was working at the desk on a laptop.

"Dad, it's done!" said Charlie excitedly as he brought his laptop to the old man. "Take a look!"

Rand smiled as he leaned forward and read the Wikipedia page on the screen before him.

"Rebecca Williams Crewe Edwards, 1907-2001, coloratura soprano... Nice job, son."

"Wait," said Charlie as he clicked on another page. "And here's yours."

"Randolph (Rand) Crewe, 1945- , trumpeter and Hollywood film composer. Son of soprano Rebecca Williams Crewe and businessman and tea planter Ralph H. Crewe."

"Now you will all live on forever, Dad."

Rand smiled as he patted his son's shoulder.

"In hearts and memories, we shall."

THE END