The house where Christine and her Aunt Edna lived was large and rambling, painted a pale lavender and graced with two towers, and rounded cupolas over its width. The short front yard sloped down to the street, where a large iron stag stood beside the cement carriage block.
All along the road above the town, were the homes of the wealthier inhabitants of St. Joseph, or St. Joe, as it was fondly called by those living there. The one thing the homes had in common along the wide tree-lined avenue was the sheer size of most of the dwellings, but none were larger than Archer House. It was a mammoth Second Empire built in 1859, one of the first to sit on Broad Street. The style was French and made popular by Napoleon the Third; it was said by some that the architect who designed Archer House, had come all the way from Paris to do so.
Its boards were a scabrous gray, much of them hidden from view by thick creeper vines and wild morning glory seemingly intent on swallowing the house whole. Large stone gargoyles, perched at all four corners of the black slate mansard roof, mouths agape and long tongues flicking out in a silent, frozen hiss. One square tower rose, looking much like a sentinel in the front center of the house, climbing three stories. To a young Christine's fanciful mind, she thought of that tower as the very large finger of God, pointing the way to Heaven. The winding gravel drive was overgrown with thistle weed and grass long gone to seed. It was a house built for a large family, but had never housed one under its spacious roof.
The owner of St. Joe's newest mercantile store, had the home built for his wife, and in 1860, he proudly carried her over its threshold. The couple had recently moved from St. Louis to the small town on the Missouri River, and were celebrating ten years of marriage when they moved into the new home on Broad Street.
Prior to their arrival in St. Joe, they had established a dry goods store in St. Louis very early in their marriage. The business had become a thriving one, and to compound their joy, they had looked forward to the birth of a child in late fall. In 1850, a son was born to the couple, only to take breath for a few scant moments before succumbing, leaving the distraught mother to sink into a depression. At his wits end, Maurice sold the business for a tidy profit and moved them to St. Joseph for a new start. The move proved fortuitous, for his wife conceived again, and they eagerly awaited the birth of their baby.
Less than two years later, their second child died in infancy. There were no more.
The young wife and mother never recovered from the death of her sons, her health rapidly declining. One morning, as the story goes, the maid found the woman lying dead in the upstairs hallway. Wagging tongues had speculated all sorts of reasons for the invalid to be there, and some even hinted at murder. Maurice almost immediately closed the house after his wife's funeral and left town, never to return.
The house and grounds had almost overnight, taken on an unsavory reputation, some saying behind closed doors that Adelaide was driven to the grave by her husband. Truth or no, the weeds and shrubs had a field day, quickly draping themselves over much of the home, hiding from view, the clean and elegant lines of the building. In only a few years time, it became a derelict and eyesore.
Christine's aunt was the most vocal about its condition, her home being the closest neighbor to the Archer place. So it was with a great deal of hope and satisfaction that she sat down to breakfast the next morning and informed her niece that the estate was to have a new owner sometime in the fall.
Christine dipped a spoon into her peaches and looked at her aunt. "I wonder if there will be a girl my age. That would be nice."
Hannah Giry set a platter of ham and eggs on the table. "That house could hold a baker's dozen of girls and still have room to spare."
She folded her hands over her apron and looked at Edna. Hannah was thin and dark, much like her daughter, Meg, but had a wealth of beautiful chestnut hair, at the moment scraped back in a tight bun. Her eyes were a clear hazel, and altogether too sharp, seeming to have the ability to look right through the two girls, sniffing out a lie with ease. The one thing that always struck Christine about Hannah, were the vast stores of energy she had. In some ways she reminded her of the little hummingbird that would show up near the kitchen door searching the potted red geraniums for nectar- always in constant motion. Up before the sun every morning, she was still going strong when Christine was on her way to bed for the night.
At the moment, she was full of gossip which always amused Christine. Her aunt constantly lectured Hannah about chumminess with the hired help of her neighbors, but it was only a front. Edna listened avidly, but pretended to be above the backyard chatter.
"Granny Beasley's maid saw a dark skinned man skulking around over there just last week. Told me so this morning." Hannah glanced at Christine. "Minnie said he looked mighty suspicious, so don't go gettin' your hopes up for a new friend too soon, my girl."
Edna delicately patted her mouth with a napkin and peered at Hannah over her spectacles. She looked prim and starched in her plum silk dress, her iron gray hair elaborately styled and neat as a pin, making Christine feel hot and wilted by comparison. Nothing seemed to faze her aunt, least of all the weather.
"I've told you before about listening to back door gossip, Hannah Giry. Especially coming from Agatha Beasley's house. She should make it very clear to that new girl over there, that she's not getting paid to carry tales."
"It wasn't back door, Missus. We were standin' out in front of the house when she told me."
Christine dropped her head to hide a grin from her aunt. That one goes to Hannah.
Aunt Edna's purple bosom swelled with indignation. "Be that as it may, it's still considered gossip wherever it takes place. As you well know. Cease and desist, if you please."
"Yes ma'am. I'll sure remember that." Hannah turned away, rolling her eyes with long suffering acceptence.
Edna and her housekeeper-cook had an interesting working relationship. Together for years, the two women were fond of each other, but pretended otherwise. Christine wished she had a piece of chocolate for every time Edna threatened to fire her, and one for every time Hannah offered to quit. Their constant sniping at each other was part of the fabric of Christine's life- the same as church every Sunday, come rain or shine. If they ever stopped, one of them would have to be deathly ill.
Edna Stone's late husband Matthew was a banker before his death seven years ago. He had the foresight to buy up prime real estate in the growing town which sat on the Missouri River, and made a neat profit on the sale of the land over the years, providing his widow with the means to live in comfort for the rest of her life.
The former Edna Neilsson grew up in Kansas City along with her younger sister Claire on a small dairy farm. They were the first generation of Swedes in their family born in America, and when their parents missed their homeland too much, they would tell their daughters stories of growing up in the county of Kronoberg in southern Sweden. Her mother, Edna remembered, told her and baby Claire about the midsummer solstice celebrations and the great fun they had every summer dressing the maypole in colorful flowers, and the hours of dancing round it, stopping only to eat pickled herring and the first ripe strawberries of the season.
Their father however, loved the old legends, especially the ones handed down from generation to generation about their ancestors. Papa in particular, loved the tale of Brynhild, the shieldmaiden, who fought alongside her warrior husband, Godfrid in the raids on the Normandy coast in 847. Their father claimed she was as fierce a fighter as any man, and a young Edna had loved the ancient Norse legend, but looking at her young niece and her gentle face, she highly doubted the tale now.
She knew how stories collected details and embellishments over the years. Brynhild may have been an ancestress, but a vicious fighter? No more than her niece would be, she suspected. Christine took after her mother Claire, pretty and delicate, but with a curiosity for life that was boundless.
Edna had married her beau, Matthew and the young couple had moved to St. Joseph and begun a very satisfactory married life, raising their daughter in this very home. Claire, years later, had married a young Swedish violinist, Henry Daae and remained in Kansas City, giving birth to Christine when Edna's own daughter was in her early teens.
Christine looked at her stiff-necked aunt, and felt a rush of warm affection for her. She was indebted to the older woman for taking her in; Christine's mother and Edna, had lost touch with each other over the years, yet she had opened her home and heart to a grieving girl. Edna's own daughter and grandson lived in New York; seeing them more than once a year was rare, therefore, giving her niece a stable home life, benefited them both.
At least when Christine behaved herself.
Aunt Edna however was fond of her charities. She was a fixture with the St. Joe Ladies Aid Society, and was often gone from home, leaving Christine in Hannah's capable hands. The young girl often felt that Hannah had raised her as much as her aunt.
Edna enjoyed the theatre as well, and interested her niece in opera and classical music. Two years before, St. Joseph's only opera house had been severely damaged by fire; the probable culprit a faulty gas line. There had been one death. A workman up in the fly loft, most likely overwhelmed by the rising smoke before he could escape. No one ever knew for certain why he never made it out, but his blackened remains were found lying in the rubble beneath a section of the collapsed stage.
After the fire, the theatre sat idle for those two years, the owner wishing only to find a buyer for what was left of the building. At the least, the land was worth a small fortune sitting on the corner of Francis and Fifth Streets. There had been rumors of the place being recently sold, and plans for its refurbishment. Her aunt was in transports over the thought of musical evenings once again.
"Hannah, I'm having some of the ladies in tomorrow for afternoon tea. Can you serve us a nice luncheon? Perhaps some cucumber sandwiches and fruit compote with those peaches you put up last year. Something light. This infernal heat makes for heavy stomachs."
Edna set down her coffee cup and looked over at her niece. "Harriet Riley was asking about you, Christine. She and the other ladies would love to have you sing for them tomorrow. Harriet thinks you have the prettiest little voice."
Her aunt always asked her nicely to sing at these functions, but that was just a formality; she knew her aunt expected it. And she would, because she loved nothing better. She was planning to attend the music conservatory in St. Louis and improve her singing skills; possibly even become good enough to go onstage. It was her fondest wish. But for now, she was content to perform for her aunt's friends.
"Of course I will."
Edna smiled and sipped her coffee. "I knew you would. Wear your pink silk, child. You look so sweet in it."
Christine nodded and excused herself as the two women went over a menu for the following day. Before she went out the kitchen door, she grabbed an apple from the bowl on the dry sink and went into the back yard looking for Meg.
She walked to the carriage house and stopped at the doorway peering in. Sometimes Meg brought scraps out for the cat, but Nellie, their carriage horse was alone, her neck stretched out inquiringly toward Christine. She went over to the brown mare's stall and fed her the apple, Nellie's large square teeth making short work of it. Christine stayed for a few minutes talking softly to her, the horse's ears pitched forward, appearing to be listening to every word.
The girl scratched the mare under the chin, giving her a final pat and went back outside, wandering over to the cast iron bench nestled beneath the grape arbor. She sat down and regarded the neatly trimmed forsythia shrubs planted in a long line where their property ended and the extensive Archer property began. Absentmindedly, Christine picked some of the succulent purple grapes and popped them in her mouth, noticing that the vines were turning brown.
She looked down when she felt the black barn cat winding its way around her ankles. "Hello, Tidbit. How are you today?" rubbing her behind the ears.
Hannah had given the cat its name, when as a kitten she declared that the little scrap was no bigger than a tidbit.
Christine sat drowsing in the warmth of the morning, not yet the stifling heat it would be for much of the day. She yawned and closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her eyelids, idly listening to the droning of bees in the hydrangea bushes.
Just as she was getting ready to go inside, she spied movement from the yard next door, and watched as a man walked to the dilapidated carriage house of the Archer place.
He looked up and gave a start of surprise when he saw the young girl looking at him. He immediately removed his strange hat and inclined his head in her direction. Christine hesitantly stood and walked toward the boundary of the two properties. She shyly approached the middle-aged man, noting his tall, powerful frame and dark, weathered skin.
"Good day, young miss," he began pleasantly. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Nadir Khan. We are to be neighbors, I think."
"I-I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Khan. My name is Christine Daae and this is my Aunt Edna Stone's house. Welcome to Broad Street. Do-Do you have any daughters my age?" she asked hopefully.
She was startled at the man's bright green eyes in his swarthy face.
Nadir Khan was taken aback at her question, but observed the girl in front of him. She had a delicate face framed by long curly hair the color of new honey, currently pulled back in a tortoiseshell clip and hanging in a fall down her back. A pair of wide, cornflower blue eyes framed by thick lashes were trained on him, but one of her most interesting features was a square little chin with a slight cleft. His father had once told him years ago... more years than he cared to remember, that women with a chin such as this one had, were mulish and tenacious. He studied her dainty features again and smiled. He never truly believed that. She had a slight build, but showed promise of beauty once she filled out. He was altogether charmed.
"No, I'm afraid not, Miss Daae. Unfortunately, the actual homeowner is a bachelor without family. I am simply his man of business getting the house ready for his occupancy."
"Oh." She was disappointed at this news, but politely hid it. "I hope he'll be happy here, Mr. Khan."
"I'm quite sure he will be, Miss." He inclined his head once more. "Good day to you." He continued on his way to the carriage house and his inspection of the building's integrity.
She stood there a moment longer, then went looking again for Meg. She found her in the kitchen with her mother. Christine perched on the red stool in the corner, and told them of her meeting with Nadir Khan.
"He's dark, Hannah. Just like the man who ran the fair that came through last summer. The one who said he was a gypsy. But Mr. Khan is nice. He didn't seem suspicious to me at all," she said innocently, plucking an apple from the bowl and taking a huge bite. Chewing noisily, she reported, "He's getting the place ready for the new owner."
"Land's sake, Christine! Close your mouth when you chew! Why, Nellie is more of a lady than you are."
"Yes, Hannah," she replied sotto voce, thinking once again, that being a boy would be a whole lot easier to accomplish.
Hannah looked at the girl with exasperated affection. "Well? Go on, child. You were sayin'...?"
Christine put the apple down and folded her hands in her lap. "There are no children, just an old bachelor. Imagine one man living in that mausoleum. Why, it's insane!" she said crossly.
"Well, he's free to own as many rooms as he wants. No law sayin' he has to fill them with people," said Hannah. She was making her homemade ketchup and had Meg stirring it over the stove.
"Another day hot as Hades," as she fanned herself with yesterday's Gazette. She added more sugar to the pot, then turned to Christine. "I've got a bone to pick with you, Miss Daae."
With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Christine waited for it, wondering if Meg had told her mother everything.
"You girls stay out of those woods and stop acting like a couple of tomboys. You're both young ladies now. Start behaving as such."
"Yes, ma'am," she sighed, throwing a dirty look Meg's way behind the woman's back, but with a feeling of relief; Meg had for the most part kept quiet. The younger girl looked sideways at her mother, then crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Christine, causing her to snort. After a suspicious look from the housekeeper, she hastily turned it into a hacking cough.
Hannah regarded her silently, but with a calculating gleam in her eye. "You don't sound at all well, child. Some of my elixir should clear that right up; that and a mustard plaster for your chest."
Christine felt panic at the idea of Hannah's evil smelling and even more evil tasting cough syrup. Countless spoonfuls of it over the years at the first sign of illness, had given her a deep and abiding aversion to it. Her stomach churned just at the very mention of the stuff.
"N-No, Hannah, no. I've never felt so wonderful! Really! A piece of apple went down the wrong way, that's all."
Hannah bit back a grin, knowing the two girls were having fun at her expense, but Christine's expression at the mention of her homemade elixir, more than made up for it.
"All right," she said finally. "The both of you run along now," but she turned as they started to run out of the kitchen. "Here! I certainly didn't mean that literally! I won't tell you girls again! Comport yourselves like the young ladies you're supposed to be!"
She sighed, wondering if boys would have been easier to handle. She only had the one child. After Meg had been born, her husband Julian had taken a job with one of the river boats hauling goods up and down the Missouri. He returned home regularly for the first year, spending one week out of each month with his small family. Then the visits home became less frequent, until the day came when they stopped altogether.
It hadn't surprised her all that much. Jules had never been the sticking kind; he enjoyed crowds and smoky saloons- card games and strong drink. She also discovered after they married, that he enjoyed more than one woman at a time. But he had been the least of her worries. Hannah had her child to think about. She looked for work where she could keep Meg with her. She was at her wits end, broke and alone when she answered an ad for a cook and housekeeper. Edna Stone had been a godsend to her and her baby daughter. She was a good woman and a more than fair employer to work for.
Thoughts of her husband had become less and less, until she no longer wondered or cared what had happened to him. She was mother and father to Meg- Christine as well, and that was enough.
Usually.
There were still times she found herself wishing for his arms around her once again. Her man had been unstable and restless, but they had enjoyed their intimacies, and after a few weeks apart, she had welcomed his touch and his comfortable weight atop her.
She shook the old memories away, and soon had the ketchup in jars, the sharp odor of vinegar lingering in the close heat of the kitchen. Storing the jars on the top shelf, she got a bucket of water and some cloths, intending to clean the large ornate chandelier over the dining room table. With one hundred crystal teardrop prisms to clean, she would be working there for much of the day until it was time to start dinner.
The two girls wandered out front and sat on the steps watching the light traffic on the street. Most people not out on any business, were doing their best to stay out of the heat. A smart looking buggy went by, a pretty sorrel mare pulling it at a fast trot, followed by a man on a tall tricycle who swerved to miss a dog lunging at his wheels.
Meg watched with a grin as a young boy chased the little black and white animal down the street yelling for the dog to stop. She turned to Christine with a thoughtful look.
"Remember last July when Mama took us to the fair? Do you recall the three tiny men riding one of those?" pointing to the tricycle and laughing, "It took the three of them just to make it go." Warming to her subject, she chuckled. "And we sneaked away from Mama to see the freak show. I'll never forget those sights. I had nightmares for a long time after seeing the Wolf Boy. But I wanted to go back and see the Bearded Lady again."
She put a hand to her cheek as if feeling an imaginary beard sprouting there.
Christine said nothing for a minute, still watching the street, then she looked thoughtfully over at her friend. "I'll never forget that day either. I couldn't wait to get out of that sweltering tent. Those poor souls... displaying themselves for our enjoyment. How pitiful for them and us. I don't know why I let you talk me into going."
"Well, because it's usually you talking me into something that could get us into trouble! Turn around is fair play, Christine. Besides, you sound just like Mary Thomas, the Goody Two Shoes of St. Joe. She always thinks she's more refined than anyone else. Guess that comes from being the preacher's daughter, but you're not, so don't act like it!"
Christine huffed. "Just because I refuse to gawk at people and their misfortune doesn't make me like her, Meg."
The younger girl yanked at a spent dandelion and blew on it, watching the fluff scatter in the torpid air. "You laughed at that man panhandling outside Harkin's, as I recall. The one who lost his legs in the war," she said sullenly.
"Meg! I wasn't laughing at him! I was laughing at his magic tricks. Why are you being so daft?"
"I'm not being daft! I just don't like it when you get high and mighty with me. Besides, Mama says you always overthink everything. You're...you are...um... phila...um.."
"Philosophical?"
"Yes. That's the word. That's what you are. Is...is it b-bad?"
Meg felt petty now for goading her friend, but sometimes she was a little jealous of the attention Christine got from everyone. Her bad mood disappeared as quickly as it came, and her sunny nature reasserted itself. The older girl was like a sister to her.
Christine slung her arm around Meg. "No. It's not bad," she said quietly. She tucked her dress further underneath her legs and leaned elbows on knees, chin in hand.
"How much did you tell your mother about yesterday?"
Meg swatted at a fly and shrugged narrow shoulders. "Not much. I told her we went looking for berries and that's how I ripped my dress, but I don't dare go in the woods anymore. Next time, she'll likely have me doing nothing but chores till I'm old and gray." She shrugged again. "Well, she would if she knew what we were really doing out there."
Christine snickered. "I won't tell if you don't."
Meg tilted her head and pensively studied the house next door. "Do you think it's really true about that place? It's always been empty. Seems strange to think that spooky old house will soon have folks living there."
As if conjured by her words, a large wagon pulled by a team of sturdy draft horses came down the street, and to their surprise, turned in the rutted drive of Archer House. A veritable army of workmen hopped out of the wagon, carrying tools of all sorts, and headed toward the house. Christine spied Mr. Khan walking forward and stopping to talk with the man in the lead.
She laughed softly. "I think you just got your answer, Meg." She stuck her chin back in her hand and sighed, seeing her hope for a new friend, drying up just like the grass in their front yard. "But why an old man with no family? It's not fair."
The once quiet street soon rang with the sounds of a house being reclaimed from nature, and the shouts and cursing of men working to accomplish it in the rising heat of another scorching day. The two girls would be entertained by the activity next door well past summer and into early autumn, when the new owner would finally arrive, unheralded and in the middle of the worst storm St. Joe had seen in years.