Jo/23 Jason/6 Amanda/5

A/N: This will be a short 12 chapter story so the chapters will be rather long. I hope you will enjoy them and the quick succession of postings for Christmas for this is a Christmas tale. Enjoy.

The Christmas Angel

Chapter One

Santa, Maybe? Erik

I am beginning to think I shall perish out here in this Godforsaken prairie. What made me think I would fair any better in this new world they call America? Was not France hell enough for me? At least there everything was familiar. Out here in this cultural wasteland nothing is as it should be. If I wanted to lose myself, what better place than the wide open spaces of Wyoming? Well I am lost alright. Lost and about to die and become part of a frozen wasteland all because I suddenly developed a sense of honor and duty.

The old man, Charlie Grayson, owns the property next to mine. Actually I have looked at the survey papers and found his so called ranch is actually mine. It seems the past owner had a wife with a sister she wished to come live with her. The young lady came out, fell in love with her brother-in-law and the brothers built a house for the newly wedded couple to live in. Strangely neither family produced any offspring and had no other relatives willing to come out here to live so the place was put on the market not knowing the 1000 acres Charlie occupied was passed down by the second brother as a gift for loyal service upon his death as his wife had died a few years earlier. The older brother let things go as he had no need for the land and rather liked Charlie's company when his own wife died. So many years had gone by with no one making a claim on the property Charlie figured he owned it by squatter's rights. His brother-in-law would not begrudge him having those few acres.

If it was only Charlie living there I wouldn't give it a second thought but damned if he didn't inherit a niece over twenty years ago when she was only three. The girl is more boyish than any female should be. She even goes so far to cut her hair as a man does and wears men's clothing. Secretly I think a man's trousers and shirt never looked half as good on anyone I know. If that aggravation was not enough to want to tell Charlie to find other lodging now there are two more irritating people in the mix.

Charlie was a friend, my one and only true friend in the world. Neither of us expected anything from the other and felt comfortable speaking our minds or simply enjoying the quiet together. Madam Giry I counted not so much as a friend but more as a trusted servant. I couldn't let myself care too much for her and her feelings or involve myself in her life too much. Until she brought Christine into the opera house I had kept her at arms length.

I lost her due to my own insane actions whereas Charlie left me not of his own free will. I had dreaded going to Charlie's ever since he died and had stayed away all this time. With the weather getting worse I knew I must make the journey across the mountain to check on things.

His death a month ago left a void in my life, one I did not expect. I have missed Madame Giry and God knows I have mourned Christine's loss but Charlie left a different sort of rift in me. One I don't know how to fill. If I had not promised to make sure his niece and the children came to no harm I would be safe and warm in my own home instead of out here being buried alive under heavily falling snow.

With snow flying around me and cold biting into my cooling flesh this place seems some sort of frozen hell on earth. My damn horse spooked at some sound carried on the wind rearing up and leaving me stranded with a broken leg I am sure. My shoulder may be broken or merely dislocated. On the bright side of things there is no one around to witness my demise or point at me while exclaiming in horror at my face. Well perhaps they wouldn't do that now as much of my face is covered by a thick dark beard. My hair also has grown considerably since I left Paris over a year ago. When I realized I could discard both the mask and wig I had done so jubilantly. That jubilation had only lasted as long as my confidence in my ability to mingle with normal people. As badly as I had wanted to don both devises I had forced myself to persevere and in the end have come to find that most people out here don't care about such things as trying to survive and live their own lives takes up most of their energy. This land is a harsh land but the rewards are unending if one can manage to hang on through the tough times.

Running my hand over the scruffy rough hair I wonder what Christine would think of how I look now. Would she approve since it covers the less attractive side of my face? In the beginning I did continue to adhere to my usual practice of careful grooming. As the days passed with no visitors I began to let nature take its course. Now I look nothing like that poor pathetic man Christine called her Angel of Music. As an Opera Ghost or Phantom of the Opera I might cast a rather frightening shadow. I have filled out with proper nourishment and regular meals. Less time has been spent on my music since I arrived on the continent. I recall the strange looks I got when I requested my piano and all my other instruments be packed and shipped to my new residence New Hope, Wyoming. If I had asked for them to ship animals two by two the clerk at the train station could not have looked any more skeptical.

My beautiful instruments now reside in a six room cabin that sounded much better on paper at the realtor's office. The land, some ten thousand acres is beyond words to describe. If an ex ghost could not lose himself in this vast country then he would be better off digging a hole and climbing in then covering himself back up.

With the cold seeping into my inner core my mind is beginning to fog and repeat thoughts over and over. Again I have come full circle in my thinking and return to cursing Charlie for committing me to caring for three innocent people one of which I find myself attracted to against my will and better judgment. This new found conscience that has raised its ugly head is the cause of my present dilemma.

I never would have guessed Josephine, who prefers to be called Jo, had a motherly bone in her body but apparently even a tomboy can have nurturing tendencies. If I want to rile her all I have to do is toss out a few Josephines and that does the trick. I never saw a female trying so hard to disguise her femininity as she does. Perhaps it stems from living a hard life that requires a harder makeup than most women have or perhaps she had wanted to be the son Charlie never had.

All I know about the children is that some fire in town took the life of Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth and Charlie inherited six year old Jason and five year old Amanda at the insistence of Jo. Nearly six months later no one would know those children had not grown up with Jo and Charlie. They call Charlie grandpa but they do not call Jo mother. I suspect she has spoken with them and come to the agreement they would be brother and sisters rather than mother and offspring.

When I let my guard down that day on the mountain that I met Charlie I had no idea what role he would play in my life. I had been sitting on a log mourning over a stupid rabbit I caught in one of my traps. The point of traps is to catch something and I do need to eat but it is one thing to eat meat prepared and cooked by someone else and quite another to kill it and then do what is necessary to eat the meat.

I suppose being artistically inclined and looking as I do has made me more aware of the pain of others and God's creatures. Charlie came upon me in a weak fit of tears. He caught me off guard in more ways than one. The person I used to be would have had no compunction about killing him for witnessing my shameful display. Surprisingly Charlie had sat on the log with me introducing himself then going into great detail about his first kill. Although he was only a teen barely out of short pants he had cried when the deer he shot let out a terrible cry of pain just as he ran up proudly ready to claim his prize. Looking into those brown eyes filled with agony caused by him had left him feeling somewhat of a murderous monster. I could have told him I know first hand what a murderous monster looks like and he bore no resemblance to one while on the other hand my image would be used as a demonstration for the meaning of murderous monster.

Tenuously at first we would met for a day of hunting and conversation. He showed me a more humane way to dispatch with the smaller creatures which eased my conscience a good deal. When he invited me for dinner one evening I had no reservations about sharing a meal with him. If I had known about Jo at that time I would have declined entering into his home.

I at first thought Jo was just a very feminine looking male until Charlie explained about his niece. She glared deadly daggers at me the whole time as if it were my fault her uncle felt obligated to inform me of every minute detail of her upbringing since she first came to him.

That young woman has a wicked tongue and it is sharp as a knife. She has it at the ready to rip anyone to shreds if they so much as look at her cross-eyed. She and Carlotta would have gotten along famously. The main difference being Carlotta led a less sheltered life and therefore had no claim to innocence whereas Jo's only exposure to the seamier side of man's nature and his lustful nature is the mating of the animals they keep. I can say with complete confidence she does not know how often my lustful gaze has landed on her when she is otherwise occupied. I had thought only Christine would ever invoke such imaginings of my mind but what I dream about Jo is much more passionate and less…refined than how I pictured an encounter with Christine.

Perhaps because Christine is younger I held back giving in to my more lustful demands. I do know that I had only allowed myself daring caresses over her tempting form during those two occasions I held her in my arms. Her two kisses to win Raoul's release on the other hand were charged with pure seduction of my senses and left me completely defenseless against her which is why I let her go with Raoul. She would barter herself to save his life but not because she loved me or wanted me in that way. If I had made her stay I would always have been her second choice, second best. As much as I loved her I couldn't accept her on those terms, the terms set by me while insane from fear of losing her to Raoul. Better to let her go than keep her and live knowing she pined for another's touch and died a slow miserable death without her whole heart. Raoul would carry the larger portion with him if he had left without her and I would have had what remained, a woman dying without her one true love.

Just thinking of Christine has my chest tightening uncomfortably. I curse her even while my heart yearns for her. After over a year's separation these moments of torment have come less often and with less intensity. I no longer have to climb into a bottle to ease my pain. Creativity and the wonders I discover every day on my land keep my mind busy and healthy.

While my mind has been wandering down memory lane me body has been going numb from cold and pain. The pain subsiding should have alarmed me as to what was happening to me but I had let myself give into the euphoric feeling I felt once the cold seemed to lesson and I felt less concerned by my dire circumstances. Even now I have to fight to retain consciousness. As I begin to black out I hear voices that are not clear what with the winds howl and my own disorientation.

I sense someone beside me. They come down to kneel at my side. Something brushes across my face then lower down my body. I want to protest such familiarity but can't seem to open my eyes or mouth. In the end I don't care what happens to me as long as my peace is not disturbed by whoever has come to share this bliss with me.

I hear a conversation going on around me. The voices are familiar but at the moment I cannot place who they belong to.

"He isn't dead is he Jo? What'll we do if Santa died? Who will bring our presents? Who will grant our Christmas wishes?" This voice belongs to a young child, a female child. Briefly a picture of a pixie with blue eyes and blond hair flashes into my mind. I know this sweet child. I think…I believe this is Amanda. Yes, Amanda, but what is she doing out here? Dear God she will die out here. I must do something. As hard as I try I can't move even a finger.

"Silly, you know this isn't Santa. This is Erik. Just crabby old Erik." This voice I also recognize. I think it is Jason. He pauses then continues, "Although with the snow covering his beard he does kinda look like that picture in the Gazette last year. You know the one where he's all in red and white fur? Hmmm. You don't suppose he…he could be Santa in disguise do you Jo?" I could hear the uncertainty in his question.

"Of course not. You both know good and well this is just Erik our neighbor. Looking at him at the moment I'd have to say he's our demented neighbor. What sort of fool comes out on a night like this with a noise shy horse and without a lantern? Believe you me if we weren't looking for the perfect tree we'd not be out either." I can hear the dislike in her voice and if I could speak I'd tell her I am not in need of her concern or assistance. I'll find a way to save myself even if it kills me.

"You know he does sort of look like that picture. Well if he were older, didn't look so nice, and was much, much heavier in girth. No he can't be Santa. He's far too fit and good-looking. He doesn't look grandfatherly in the least." This is Amanda again weighing on the conversation. She is far too bright and outspoken for a child of five.

Feeling hands lifting me up I want to yell at them to be careful of my injuries but oddly I don't feel a thing. Should I not feel terrible pain as I did when first I crashed to the ground? I know I should be worried but can't seem to muster the strength to do so. At least I shall die among friends. Friends? Do I count the owner's of these voices as friends? Some dark corner of my mind tells me that I would like more than friendship with the older female whose voice comforted me even while it brought vague longings for something I have never experienced.

Now I am being yanked and pulled along the ground like a sack of potatoes. If I were in my right mind I would definitely object to this treatment. At the moment I am just grateful to move from that spot lest I become frozen in place. A sudden peace comes over me and my head begins to feel as if it might float away. I can feel the darkness pulling me deeper into the abyss of unconsciousness. As I let myself drift along on this stream of unfettered dreams I wonder vaguely if I shall awake from this dream. Would my death be a loss to anyone? Probably not. Would Madam Giry cry for me? Would Christine? I daresay not a soul will stand by my graveside and shed so much as a drop over my demise. All those I left behind in the wake of my destruction at L'Opéra Populaire would rejoice to learn I died a lonely death in a frozen wasteland far from home. Had the opera house ever truly been a home?

Hands now are gently pulling me upward onto a solid flat surface covered in what I believe are either bear skins or buffalo hides. The warmth brings a sting to my skin I would not have expected. Before I lose consciousness I hear her sweet words whispering in my ear, "Don't you dare die on me Erik. Uncle Charlie would have my hide for not going to see you sooner. If I had you wouldn't have been coming to pay us a visit. And don't you dare deny you were coming to our place. Where else would you be going in such weather?" She drifted into silence to tug on me some more then tucked more covers around me. I felt two bodies slid next to me. Being slight of build I suppose they are the younger members of my rescue party.

I feel the warm slide of a bared palm caress the side of my face then more whispered words, "I won't let you die Erik. If you died I don't think I'd want to go on. Whether you know it or not I need you and for certain you need me and the children. We'll make you see how well we fit together. I do think fate brought us to this point. I can predict a very long recovery for you at our place. We shall get to know one another very well over the next few months. Just lie back and enjoy the ride. We are taking you home or rather to our home."

I wanted to dispute what I heard but couldn't speak. Really my objections would only be a form of self-protection to fend off those who could hurt me. I should have kept Christine miles away from me. If I had I would still be living a quiet somewhat boring life under the opera house. Is that what I want? Maybe this life I am forging isn't… That is where all thoughts on the matter ended until much later.