A Winter Storm
The Opera House was deserted. An unexpected snow storm had brought Paris to a standstill and no one who did not live within its walls was able to make their way to work. It was Christmas and all the ballet rats had gone home for the holidays. Even the cleaning women and custodians were home with their families. Only Antoinette, Meg and Christine were at home, sitting around the fireplace in the Giry apartments. And Erik, down below in the fifth cellar, musing over a new libretto he was working on and oblivious to the world outside.
The Giry apartments were decorated beautifully. Glass balls of jewel shades hung from the chandelier. Garlands of fir and pine adorned the mantle. A small Christmas tree sat in the window hung with ornaments the Girys and Christine had created over the years as well as heirloom pieces like the tiny violin that had belonged to Christine's father.
"I can't remember a storm as bad as this one, "Antoinette told the young women, who were each lounging on the sofa, reading having finished breakfast and helped with the dishes. "I would love to cook a real Christmas dinner tonight for Christmas Eve. And I had hoped we would join some of the others in the Church to attend the Midnight service and see in the holiday. But it doesn't look like any of that will happen." She paced the living room area, glancing out the window at the still falling snow.
Meg sat up, suddenly sensing a possible adventure. "Mama, what if Christine and I bundled up and tried to make it to the shops. They may still be open despite the storm." Antoinette stopped her pacing and settled in one of the two armchairs opposite the sofa. "I don't know. Suppose you made it to the shops and couldn't get back. The snow would make it easy to lose your way, despite knowing this city as you do."
"Oh, Mama, you worry too much. It would take an ice age to hide the Opera House. We know the landmarks better than anyone. Too bad Raoul isn't around to take us in a sleigh," Meg nudged Christine, who was dreamily lost in the pages of "Wuthering Heights," a classic just released in a new French translation. "What? Oh, Raoul? What about him."
"I was thinking he could have taken us shopping in a sleigh. The de Chagny's have one, I believe." "Yes. The de Chagny's have everything." Christine put her book aside. "But there is no way of contacting him. And I believe they have guests for the holidays. Relatives and some family friends are visiting." Including, she neglected to mention, one Irene Fontaine, a beautiful heiress whose family the de Chagny's had been close to for years and who had always flirted outrageously with Raoul. He had brought her to the Opera several times on these visits. Christine suspected he was trying to rouse her into jealousy, but she never reacted the way Raoul had hoped. As she had tried to explain to him at one of their Friday night dinners after a performance, she loved Raoul, but like a dear friend, one she had known forever. He was not her Heathcliff, she now decided. But, who was?
Then it occurred to her. "What if we asked Erik to accompany us?" Both Meg and Antoinette looked at one another and then at Christine. "You know he's been working on a new opera. I'm not sure it would be wise to disturb him. Although, I am concerned he's not looking after himself and neglecting to eat properly, if at all." Antoinette said, thoughtfully. "I don't know, though. I had planned for him to join us for a dinner tonight. Before the storm. Maybe that isn't such a bad idea. Take the lantern, but wrap up. It's cold in the tunnels. But don't be surprised if he doesn't respond. When he's working he forgets about everything."
"Even me," Christine thought to herself. He hadn't appeared for her voice lessons for over a week. She was worried he had given up on her. That he had other, more promising, and perhaps more beautiful students to attend to, elsewhere. And that thought had brought a pang of jealousy. How could she expect her Angel's undivided attention even though she had had it for so many years. How selfish of her! Realizing then, that these more beautiful voice students existed only in her imagination. Instead, he had been busy being the genius he was and creating music that would be enjoyed by generations of music lovers, for his work was that good and that important and that memorable. As was he himself.
As they grabbed their cloaks and lit the lantern and made their way to the underground Lair, Christine listened to Meg's chatter. "Erik is like this hermit I read about, he lived in a cave, and he lived off goats he killed and berries and… well, I can't see Erik doing that, exactly… but, you get my point. He needs to join the human race. Even someone who writes and is creative can have a…well, a fiancée'. Someone to care for him. I can think of any number of girls we know who would find him attractive. He IS handsome. Well, half of his face is. And if someone loved him enough, they could get used to that other side."
"Yes", thought Christine. "If someone loved him enough." And she realized, once again, that SHE was that someone. That, in fact, SHE was in love with Erik, and had been for quite some time. But did he feel the same? She pondered this as they reached Erik's dwelling. It was dark, except for the burning of several candelabra that shone from his music room, and they could hear him playing the organ, then pausing, then replaying the notes, which were in fact, glorious.
"What shall we do?" Meg asked, holding the lantern aloft to look at Christine. Christine looked across at the light and replied, "Let's go in. He might be mad at us, but I don't think for long."
The two young women, one blonde and petite and the other, taller, willowy and brunette, approached the entry, opened the door softly, and went in. They followed the music and then both stood, transfixed at the sight of Erik playing the organ and lost in the music. "Ahem!" Meg announced as loudly as she dared . "Monsieur Opera Ghost, you have visitors."
There was an extended note from the organ, and the organist turned round on his swiveled seat to face them. A look of of incredulity on his maskless face as he stared them down. "You dare to disrupt my concentration?" he hissed at them, then stood and walked over to tower over them glaring down at them. Christine caught her breath. When he saw her before him, his eyes softened in a way that melted her heart.
"Yes, sorry Erik, " Meg ventured. "Mama sent us. Did you know there is a horrid blizzard raging outside and Paris is under several feet of snow?"
Erik studied Meg a moment, as he listened to her. "So, what does that have to do with me? I'm not going anywhere."
Meg and Christine looked at one another. "Um, Erik, it is Christmas Eve, tonight, and Mama can't make her special Christmas Eve dinner unless we venture out and try and get her provisions."
Erik stared at them blankly.
Meg continued, "She wanted you to accompany us. She wouldn't let us go alone, for some reason. Or we wouldn't have dared to bother you at such a time. Besides, you were supposed to come for dinner tonight."
He continued to stare at them. "Was I?"
"Yes" both Christine and Meg replied.
He turned and paced the room for a bit. Then faced them again. "Alright. My concentration has been ruined for now", here, he glared at them again. "I suppose I better see what your mother wants and then accompany you on this ridiculous expedition."
They followed Erik to his bedroom, standing respectfully at the door, while he rummaged his closet and found a greatcoat, the kind used by the military and made of the warmest wool, and then a scarf and boots, also military looking, great leather things lined with a wool lining. "From my travels," he told them as he pulled off his dress boots and pulled on the army boots. Almost forgetting himself, he returned to his writing desk near the organ and retrieved his mask, fitting it carefully, then wrapping the long black wool scarf around his throat, and pulling on the heavy coat, he added a black Mongolian lamb hat and then warmer gloves than his usual pair. Then he looked at the two women who were staring at him.
"You look… so, uh, so handsome, Erik," Christine spoke without thinking. He looked down at her. "Not that you don't anyway, but… this suits you so well." Erik caught his breath. For he had been in love with his student for some time, but dared not speak of it, nor hope. His eyes were drawn to hers as if some unspoken secret was now being shared.
"Do you ladies have anything warm enough for this weather?" Once again they looked at one another questioningly. "Nothing like that," Meg finally said. Erik scowled at this. "Let's see. Perhaps there is something in the costume bits I've collected that were discarded. He led them to a trunk in the corner of his room and pulled out a long, woolen cloak which he handed to Christine and a shorter version of his military coat with silver buttons and epaulets that he handed to Meg who ooohed over it and slipped it on.
"As for your feet, that's another matter." He led them to another section of his lair and opened a cabinet that sat in the corner. There were several pairs of colorful, yet warm looking boots. Perhaps a bit big, but he handed one to each of the girls. "From my time with the gypsies. I was young when I began my journey with them." Each of them knelt to undo their bootlaces and pulled on the gypsy versions. Meg twirled in her coat and boots, "I could see me in a ballet wearing these. Perhaps a Russian one…" Christine nodded, pulling the hood of her cape over her head. Erik handed them each a scarf, then stood back appraising them. "This should do." He said, then turned, took up Meg's lantern and the three of them made their way to the Girys'.
Once they had Antoinette's grocery list in hand they ventured out a side entrance which Erik struggled to push open and found themselves knee deep in snow and very thankful for the warmth of their new oufits. There was a hush over the city. The snow fell softly around them though the sun seemed to dimly peer out from behind the clouds. "Stay close to me, "Erik told them and they made their way to the shops a few streets away. Several were closed but not the butcher and not the shop that sold produce and best of all, the bakery was open. The owners of all three of these establishments lived above their shops.
Erik purchased a large dressed chicken, potatoes, carrots, fresh bread, oranges, chestnuts, a box of pastries, cookies, and turning to look across the street, saw the wine merchant had a sign in his window that said open, so, ladening the girls down with packages, they made one more stop and then, slowly made their way back to the Opera House. Meg elbowed Christine and gestured that even in the blizzard they could always see the roof of the Opera House to guide them. Christine nodded, though her mind was preoccupied.
Sometime later, as Meg and Christine helped Antoinette in the kitchen to prepare the chicken stuffed with bread, chestnuts and onions and the vegetables that would be their Christmas Eve dinner, Erik read "Wuthering Heights".
As they gathered around the table, Antoinette spoke, "I am happy to have my dearest here to enjoy this holiday evening and am blessed to have you all in my life and…she smiled warmly at Erik, "and to have someone so chivalrous that without his contributions of sacrificing his … genius, we would not be enjoying this delightful meal!" And the women all cheered. Erik simply smiled and nodded. They clinked their wine glasses around the table and when Christine's met Erik's, they paused briefly, looking into one another's eyes, then looked shyly away.
"I don't think we can make it to the Church for the Midnight mass. But I will miss the singing," Antoinette said sadly, as she brought out coffee and pastries after their meal.
"My dear," he said turning to Antoinette, "Why miss the singing when you have us at your disposal? I will take my leave briefly, but, midnight, you say? I will return."
As he was about to go out the door Christine caught up with him. "Would you like a bit of company?" she whispered. 'Maybe we could rehearse something to present together?" With thoughts of the wild Cathy still in his mind he looked down at the woman who was once the girl whose talents he had nurtured. "That is a splendid idea. I would enjoy that."
Together, arm in arm, and with Erik holding the lantern and leading her back and then down, down. And before long, they were in his music room. He laid his greatcoat and boots in front of the fire he had lit in his fireplace. He noticed Christine still wore the gypsy boots. How they suited her. He sat down at the organ and she came and stood beside him. Her heart thudded in her chest at their closeness. It was as if he could hear it, because he turned the seat so that he now faced her. They looked at one another. He reached for her hand and drew her to him. He rose from the seat and pulled her into his arms. He felt hers snaking around him, returning his embrace. "My Christine, my Angel." He breathed against her hair. "My Erik", she murmured, "my Heathcliff…"
"What was that?" he said softly. But he knew, from those words, that HE was her great love of a lifetime. "My Cathy," he whispered, and she knew that she was his.