Thanks for everyone who read or reviewed my stories so far, it means me so very much!
To LadyCavalier: Thanks for your nice words! I hope you'll like this story as well!
Conspired
A timid knock on the door broke Erik out of his peaceful composing.
How many times did I tell you…
"Papa," came a soft, teary voice from outside. He sighed and turned to see the head of his little daughter appearing in the doorway, her fuzzy hair even more disheveled than it usually was. "May I come in?"
No.
"Yes."
As silently as she was able to, she closed the door and turned back to him, but without looking up from the floor. Tears formed in her eyes within seconds.
"Yes, what is it?" He urged her gently but instead of answering him she stood still, occasionally sniffling and wringing her tiny fingers together, then all of a sudden she rushed to him, burying her face into his coat.
"Please don't be angry with me," she sobbed pathetically, and resigned that his private time was now irrevocably over, he lifted her to sit on his lap. For a while she kept weeping, making it impossible for him to get know what had happened. He only left her for ten minutes to scribble down a few a measures and here she was, crying miserably.
It was reassuring in a way, though, that she ran to him for comfort. After he told her 'the tale' that was his past he feared she'd never care for him the same as before.
He was wrong.
Christine said – or rather hoped – that she probably didn't understand it but Erik insisted that she simply didn't believe it. He couldn't decide which was worse.
They didn't talk about it since then. For a few days he tried to stay away from his daughter to rule out even the possibility to see her crying or to catch a glimpse of terror in her eyes but after she was so very determined to seek him out at every turn, he allowed himself to be convinced that the truth didn't affect her – too seriously. That child was a mystery.
"Would you tell me now?" He asked the now calm little girl in front of him while making an unsuccessful attempt to sweep her hair back into place.
"If I let you know you wouldn't tell Mama, would you?" She asked between the occasional hiccups.
"No," he agreed finally, completely aware of the fact that it wouldn't be the afternoon he could spend in his study – alone. It wasn't meant to, anyway.
"It… it was an accident."
"Céline, you have to tell me the truth."
She sighed heavily with all the dramatic experiences that a six-year-old's life could hold. "I just wanted to read a little but all of the interesting books are on the top of the selves," she complained, looking straight into his eyes.
With a reason.
"So I had to build a tower to reach them," she continued as if such a thing should go without saying.
"What do you mean by 'them'?" Her father asked alarmed. And for her, here came the difficult part.
"You know! The one with those funny, painted kings and huge letters and the priest book with the square notes in it."
One of the early French codexes and the book from the tenth century with the most beautiful Gregorian chants in it?
"What have you done with them?"
Until now she hoped she could make it without being punished but judging from the look in her father's eyes it was now unavoidable.
"Nothing," she choked. "Before I could touch them the books in the tower slipped," she added hastily.
"You built a tower from books?"
"Yes, I can carry them," she claimed with a little hurt in her voice; she was old enough to construct such a simple building, wasn't she?
"Are you hurt?" He checked worriedly her scalp for any kind of injury but before he found any, she stated calmly,
"I hit my elbow. A little. Lost time it was a lot worse," she assured him but he checked it anyway. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all that he promised to keep this little incident from Christine; if she figures out he had left Céline alone after her repeated requests to watch over their daughter…
"Is that all?" He asked tiredly, hoping that she would say yes.
"Not really," she said and folded her fingers in the front of her dress. Her eyes found them utterly fascinating.
"Tell me."
"You see, it was a rather high tower…" she began timidly; maybe she really should have waited until Mama comes back and told her how it happened.
"And?" He pressed.
"As the books slipped… the small table was very close and some books fell on it…" Twelve, actually.
Placing his daughter on the floor Erik suddenly stood and rushed to the door, Céline following him closely as he hurried to see the damage for himself. When she realized his intention, she started to speak hastily.
"The glass flowers were on top of it…"
"You broke all of them?"
"It was an accident!"
"Did all of them brake?"
"No, the lily is still there," she said but it was a little late; by that time they arrived to the parlor – it was in shambles. Erik decided that he could have been the source of the mess as well. Half of the shelves were empty, and when he examined the books from a closer distance it turned out that only the larger ones were absent. Pride started welling up in him – his daughter was smart enough to use a strategy as she built. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be wise to tell her how proud he was.
There was a huge pile in front of the shelves from books. She told the truth – it must have been a really impressive building. Sadly, part of it landed on the rare, hand-painted porcelain flowers.
"At least you told the truth," he murmured as he looked around.
"You're very angry, aren't you?" Her pleading eyes were once again filled with tears.
"You should have asked me to give them to you," he reprimanded her but his voice was low and gentle.
"You're so very worried about those books. But I would have put them back when I'm finished."
"And I'm worried about you. You could have hurt yourself very badly."
"But I didn't."
"Why didn't you ask me?"
"You don't like it when I go in while you're working."
It was very confusing: her father gave her the exact same expression that Mama did when she told her that she was the best mother in the world. But men didn't cry, did they?
"Will I be punished for it?" She asked again when he remained silent.
"No. You're a good girl." Softly, he caressed the top of her head. "Come and help me to clean up this mess before your mother arrives."
With that he started to put back the dislodged books to their rightful place and she happily followed him. For a while, they worked in silence but after five minutes or so the familiar click of the front door broke them out of their quick working. In less than a minute Christine was standing in the doorway.
"I'm home," she addressed cheerfully but the smile was wiped from her face in the moment she saw in what a state the parlor was. "What happened here?"
Both child and father turned around immediately; when the little girl noticed the severe expression on her mother's face, she stood a little closer to her father.
"Accident," he answered simply. "Nothing you should be concerned about."
Heavy silence filled the room. Now she would ask who had done it. Céline clutched the edge of his father's coat. In the next moment she realized how right she was – Mama's next question was exactly what she thought. She tried not to squeeze the material between her fingers further. When it seemed that the room couldn't be quieter, she heard her father's firm voice.
"It was me."
Another long pause followed his statement and they eyed each other warily; Christine refused to accept his explanation and Erik refused to explain himself further. Finally she gave a resigned sigh and went to pick up the volumes and put them back in order; he eagerly followed her lead.
Céline watched them working in agony. Neither of them said a word – they didn't even look at the other!
Erik picked up the broken pieces of flowers carefully and cleared the table from the smashed objects while Christine deliberately ignored everything he did. Céline tried to swallow but something was in her throat, making it impossible. Slowly she walked closer, forcing her feet to move until she reached her mother and looked up at her with all of the bravery she had.
"I did it," she whispered, her voice cracking a little. "I've built a tower but it shattered… I didn't mean to ruin the flowers. It was an accident."
"Was it?" Christine asked back while crouching in front of her daughter.
"Yes. I didn't want to break them."
"You could have hurt yourself very badly!" Her mother scolded her and Céline looked down sheepishly.
"I know. Papa already told me that."
Her mother was looking at her with stern eyes. "Don't do it again."
"I won't." She tapped the ground with the toe of her shoe timidly. "So you're not disappointed with me?"
"No. I just don't want to see you get hurt," Christine answered gently and suddenly found herself in the embrace of her little daughter which she returned happily. In the next moment Céline was out of the door.
Christine stood and turned to Erik expectantly. "So?"
"So what?" He asked irritably, straightening the last book on the shelf.
"What happened?"
"She has already told you."
"Uh-hmm, yes; she built a tower and you just happened not to notice eighty-six books on top of each other…"
"Well… no."
Christine eyed him suspiciously. "You weren't here with her, were you?"
He remained silent, looking back at her defiantly.
"Erik, I told you! I told you to…"
"I only left for five minutes!" He argued, annoyance evident in his voice as he passed beside her.
"To the sturdy," Christine retorted.
"Where else?"
"You're never in that room less than half an hour!"
"How many times do you want to tell me it was my fault?" He marched towards the door but Christine wasn't finished; she came after him.
"But you lied about it."
"I didn't," came his soft answer.
"You…"
Suddenly he stopped but didn't turn. "She asked me not to tell you. I had to promise before she confessed."
"Since when do you keep your promises?" She teased as she went to face him; by now all of her anger vanished. No one got hurt, after all. He pulled her close by the arm gently.
"Since I have a reason to." He finished with a light kiss to her temple.
"You're impossible," she sulked but moved her arms around his waist nonetheless.
"I know," he said and rested his cheek on top of his wife's head. "I have the ending."
"You do?" It was thrilling to hear the excitement creeping into her voice. It always was.
"But I couldn't finish it," he continued while resting his palms on her back.
"Can I help?" She asked and started to pull away; he took her hand and led her towards his study, answering,
"Yes."
Before they reached the door, though, she stopped short. "Wait," she disentangled her arm from his. "I have to check on her first; I hope there's nothing interesting in the kitchen."