Gustave's Death

1862

Adelaide

Adelaide Giry stared wearily down at Gustave, who had finally fallen asleep after what had been a dreadfully long night. She had forced herself to stay by his side the entire time, listening to the dry cough that rattled throughout his entire body in fits until he could barely breathe. From time to time his nose would run red with blood, and she would wipe it away with a stained handkerchief before using the cleaner side of the fabric to wipe her own watery eyes. It broke her heart in two to see him in such a state. She wanted to run away from the sheer horror of his sickly sight but she knew deep down she could never just leave him, not when he was like this. Not when he needed her so. He was almost like a child right now, so dependent on the doctors, nurses, and herself. She wondered if he could even rationalize the bustling of people around him from day to day, or if the heat in his body had already boiled the thoughts in his head to mist.

She hesitantly reached out and took his pale hand in hers, rubbing the side of his wrist with her thumb anxiously, hoping the gesture wouldn't wake him. She knew he needed rest more than she needed the comfort of his touch, but at least holding his hand she could close her eyes for a moment and pretend that he was alright. That they were side by side on a warm spring night, watching a show together or sitting in a friend's parlor for tea. Adelaide shook her head dismissively in defeat. Those things would never happen for them now. Why even let herself dream?

Studying Gustave's sunken face, it almost surprised her how deathly he had begun to look since he'd fallen asleep, lying there so still with his ashen skin and cracked lips. Her eyes began to tear up as she came to the realization that her Gustave would probably not make it through the night.

The damned infection had taken him so quickly! Adelaide was terribly angry at fate for it's cruelty. So soon after she had found him again her once vibrant musician was now the sickly, bedridden man before her. She silently cursed God. How He could be so cruel! How He kept taking and taking from her all she loved - again and again!

She'd been there, visiting him when he first collapsed with the fever. He'd been laughing and smiling and telling her wonderful stories about his travels with his young daughter. She'd been entranced by the way he had spoken with such mirth and joy in his voice. But as the night progressed, he'd gotten less lively. Adelaide had assumed him to just be tired. She'd dismissed herself for the night so he could rest and had been walking towards the door when she heard him fall, an echo of a thud on the hardwood floors.

He hadn't stood back up since. She remembered racing to his side and crying out for help, hot tears pouring down her face as she cradled his body close to hers. He'd been limp in her arms and she'd seen his pleading eyes meeting hers as he passed out and was lost to the world.

Yes, she knew he would die. When was the better question now.

So many thoughts were swimming through her head that it almost made her dizzy. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep making her emotional. Or perhaps it was her heart, breaking piece by piece as the nearby clock ticked away her lover's life minute after minute.

"What am I to do without you Gustave? What about Christine? Is it I who must watch over her after you are gone?" She whispered, eyes half shut as she hung her head in defeat.

"I'd hoped," she heard him whisper, a sound so soft she almost hadn't heard it at all.

Adelaide jumped slightly, taken back, surprised that he hadn't been asleep as she had thought. She immediately pulled herself forward to the edge of her chair and took his hand in both of hers as she leaned down to hear him better. His eyes were still closed and for a second she thought she had only imagined him speaking to her. That is, until he continued.

"Please, Adel...take her with you. To the opera house. She could stay there...with you. With little Meg. She would have...family," he rasped out, his voice strained.

"But Gustave," she smiled sadly, a single tear falling down her cheek as she looked at him, "We are not her family, Meg and I. Not like you are. She needs you."

"But you are family...none the less," he softly whispered, turning to her and opening his eyes fully at long last. When had the last time been that she'd seen those eyes? They were so blue and beautiful, even on his ill face, that she could swim in them and sink away. Leave the hurt behind.

She vaguely remembered the first time she'd seen his eyes, a devious shine in them as she'd danced to the fast-paced tune he'd played for her on his violin. How the years had passed since those long ago days.

"I don't know how to raise two daughters alone," she confessed, ashamed, "It's been hard enough, to work at the opera house and have time for Meg. I already feel as though I neglect her."

Gustave sighed, coughing slightly. "Oh Adelaide, how I wish you would've told me about Meg. I would have been there. I would have come for the both of you in an instant."

"I couldn't!" She protested in anguish. "I couldn't ruin your life like that! I could never had invaded the sanctity of your marriage with such knowledge. I cared for you far too much to even dream of it! Besides...you had Mareena. When I first heard her sing I knew I could never compete with her for your affections. You were so enchanted by her. She was the star, an angel amongst us, while I was merely a traveling ballerina. Nothing more..."

Adelaide paused, lost in another time as she recalled those fateful days. "Yet, even after I'd heard you two had gotten married," she whispered, looking down at his hand that she still held, "I still wished for you. For us...somehow."

She smiled a sad, sweet smile at him, bringing one hand to hold the side of his face tenderly. He looked up at her and returned the gesture, turning in the bed and raising a shaky palm to rest gently against her cheek. She almost sighed at the sensation of his affectionate gesture.

"Once upon another time, perhaps," he whispered sorrowfully, looking into her eyes.

"I wish that other time had gotten its chance," she whispered through silent tears, "I don't want to be alone again. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't have lost me, Adelaide. I'll always be with you, in that beautiful heart of yours..." His voice faded out as he spoke, growing softer and softer with each word. The words themselves were so sweetly spoken though, even through the croaking sickness in his voice. She treasured them.

Gustave fell back to the bed, weakness overtaking him. Adelaide knew then that he didn't have much time. She rushed to find his daughter Christine. She knew the little girl deserved to share in her father's final moments, even if Adelaide wished them all to herself.

Christine

Christine peered over the hospital bed and stared at her father, watching his slimming frame under the sheets as it rose and fell in shaky breaths. His fever had been worse over the past few days, and sweat now rolled from the sides of his thinning blonde hair, dampening what Christine knew was his favorite dress shirt. She couldn't stop her eyes from welling up with tears at the sight of her best friend and father in this state. Oh, how cruel this life could be!

Her father had always taught her of God and angels, but what God would allow him to suffer in such a way? He was a good man and the best father any girl could ask for. They'd traveled everywhere together. From the rolling, green hills of her birthplace in Sweden to the traveling fairs in southern Paris.

They'd always been together. A team and a family, no matter how small and broken. Over the years he had played his violin for people from all over Europe and she would never be far from his side. She would stay beneath the stages as he played, twirling about in her dresses to the beautiful music he created, lost in her own happy world.

On several occasions, now that she was older, he had allowed her join him and sing as accompaniment to his songs. He wrote such marvelous songs for her to sing, most about the dark folk stories of the North. Stories of playful goblins and and angels of music. Lyrics he himself had written, inspired by the bedtime stories he read to her at night.

She didn't want the songs to end. She wanted to perform by his side always.

She remembered when he'd first asked her to come onstage with him. She'd been so nervous, even though they'd been practicing, and he'd almost had to drag her out from behind the curtain. As soon as he'd begun to play though she'd felt all her fears vanish and she'd sung just as he'd taught her to. The small crowd had roared with applause and a young boy had even shyly given her a yellow daisy afterwards. It had been a truly magical day.

Will you die here? She thought with despair, are our journeys and adventures at their end, Papa?

"Shhhh, my child," she heard him whisper with closed eyes, "Do n-not cry. I hate to se-ee you cry..."

Christine sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, the lacy ends scratching her cheek.

"I'm sorry Papa. I'm trying to be strong, just like you taught me to be, but this simply isn't fair!" She whimpered, stomping her foot. "I cannot bare to see you like this! You must get better. You still have so much to teach me about music. You promised me you'd teach me everything you know! Please papa, I never got to meet mother - I can't lose you as well!"

Her tears were streaming down both sides of her face now as she clutched the sides of his bed sheets in fists. He started to cough heavily as he tried to turn and console her, and she watched with horror as a thin red line of blood spilled from the corner of his lips and trailed slowly down his neck. She could barely breathe seeing such a sight. It felt as though all of the air in the room was being sucked away.

She was falling then, to her knees at his bedside. She felt a gentle hand touch her shoulder. She looked up to see Madame Giry standing by her side. The woman bent down and whispered harshly in her ear.

"Dear girl, you must have strength! For your father's sake, pull it together! You know what is happening. Do not make him upset in this hour. Let him go peacefully knowing that he is loved."

Christine nodded her head, knowing Madame Giry was right. Though the woman was only in her mid-twenties, she bore a wisdom of someone much older, and her voice demanded order when she spoke. Ever since she'd met her father's old friend a few days ago, she knew best to listen to her.

Her father wore a distraught face as his coughing subsided and he reached his hand down to tilt her chin up. She felt guilt riddle through her for causing that sorrowful look in his eyes. Then, so suddenly, his features changed. He had the same look of wonder in his eyes as he did when he taught her music.

"Listen, Christine...listen to what I say now. When I am gone child, I promise that our music will not die with me. I shall continue playing the violin - for God himself! - and I can think of no greater honor. And once I get to Heaven, I shall ask him to send to you an angel of music, just like in the stories I used to read to you. And that angel will carry your voice to new heights so that you can astound us all on day, my dearest."

Christine's eyes lit up in wonder at the words her father spoke. Would he really send her an angel? Would their music live on forever? It would be wonderful. Almost as if he were still there beside her as long as she could sing their music.

"You promise, Father? You promise me that the Angel of Music will come to me?" She asked.

"I promise, Christine."

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Thank you for tuning into this story! This the first fanfiction I ever wrote, and I'm proud to say that it's finally complete! So enjoy and please remember to leave reviews as you read! I will continue reading reviews and answering questions about this story from my readers for all of forever!

Also, Christine's mother in this fic in named Mareena. That's pronounced 'Marine-ah', in case names confuse you. I know I struggle greatly with names I don't recognize!

xoxo,

Nicole