Thank you, thank you, thank you!
In major rush, but thank you!!
Chapter Seven.
He looked at the widow confused, not grasping why she looked thunderstruck. Then she began walking over to the kitchen, where she pulled out a pot from a drawer.
"Before we talk, you will go outside, and you will bring in the shopping. It is near the road. Monsieur Menot la Veneer the local milkman was kind enough to drive me home in his buggy. But I could not allow him to help me bring the shopping in," she looked directly at Erik as she said the next sentence emphatically, "For I fear that he needed to return to his home as soon as possible, to comfort his daughter,"
Erik remained baffled for a moment, not catching the hint she was obviously giving him. Why was she angry at him? It was almost as if she knew he had gone through her son's private possessions, as if she had some gypsy sense of foresight...Which was impossible. Then it clicked.
Menot la Veneer.
Rosalie Menot la Veneer.
Ooh…
"Madame –" he began to say.
But she interrupted him sternly, "I would appreciate it very much if for once you would not dispute what I have told you to do. Shopping. Bring it in. Now,"
"I –" he tried again.
"We will talk once you have done what you have been told to do," the widow then bent down to pull something else out from a drawer.
Erik stood fearfully – frightened that a woman was telling him what to do and he could not help but obey. It wasn't even out of obligation that he was doing it, because it was his duty, that it was what he had sworn to do. It was as if she told his body what to do and his body acted on cue without a thought – that his mind had no control.
Not even Giry – not even the Shah of Persia had managed to make him do anything with such success!
But there he was – walking out of the house to collect her shopping. He was nothing but an errand boy!
Yet his feet moved on their own account.
After three trips outside, all the shopping was laid on the floor of the living-room. She shuffled over and pulled out a bag of sugar and other ingredients and went back over to the kitchen table.
"Blueberry or apple and rhubarb, Erik?" she asked absentmindedly, "For a pie,"
Erik sat down hesitantly, "Blueberry," he said after a moment.
She nodded assenting, "Blueberry it is…"
But then she moved over, folding her arms, and Erik knew that the deadly blow was about to be dealt out. He sat silently as she slowly paced the floor.
"As soon as you wake and ready yourself, you are going to take the pie over to the Menot le Veneer's homestead, and you will see how Rosalie is coping and you will beg her to forgive you. Is that clear, Erik?" she stopped pacing and looked at him finally.
He said nothing, assuming this was not even the beginning of her rant. He was right.
"How dare you?" she spat, "Whatever imbecilic thought in that small brain of yours thought that you had the right to tell the girl the news in that completely insensitive manner?! What – do you have any idea Erik, any idea the damage you have done to that poor girl?"
Erik swallowed and answered quietly, "I was not aware that she would have reacted that way…"
"You were not – you were not aware she would react that way?" she suddenly moved forward angrily, "Don't treat me as if I am stupid Erik!"
He sat there in silence, for what else could he have done?
"She was a very dear friend of Tobias's Erik! A very dear friend!" her hand moved to her temple where she could feel a headache coming along, "The news nearly destroyed me Erik, when I found out. It's been five months since his death – didn't anything register at all with you, as to why she had not been told until now? That perhaps the news would have to be given to her in a particularly sensitive way?"
"I apologise…I was not aware that they were courting," he mumbled.
"They…They weren't courting as such…" she said quickly, "But I –"
"Weren't courting?" Erik asked curiously, "I just assumed that the way you spoke of her needing to be told sensitively…"
"They were engaged, to be wed," she answered.
"Engaged…But not courting…"
He suddenly looked directly at her, "An arranged marriage? She was not in love with him?"
"She was in love with him, there has never been any doubt about that," the widow answered firmly, "Tobias wanted to wait you see, incase other suitors came to call upon her. They were to wed soon after her thirtieth birthday in five years…"
Erik looked at her curiously. Well this was an interesting insight into the boy's character. What an idiot! Had he been a half wit? To have the love of a beautiful woman, and he would spurn it? Did it perhaps have something to do with his face? He thought he was not good enough for her, and would be happy if somebody else took her away? Fool! If he had had the chance to win Christine's love, nothing would have stood in his way…Nothing…He tried to ignore the fact that he had sent her away. But that was a completely different situation.
"He…Did not love her?" Erik asked, for that was the only plausible reason he could think of, and even that was absurd. To have had somebody willing to give her heart to you…
He noticed her shifting uncomfortably as she said, "He couldn't…That is to say…" she suddenly stood straighter and regained her composure, "It is none of your business and has nothing to do with the issue at hand. You struck Rosalie?"
He looked at her horrified at that, "I believe it was the young lady who saw fit to strike me, Madame!"
"Don't you lie to me Erik, I am not in the mood! Her wrists were bruised!" the widow shot back.
"I took hold of them to prevent further attack," the look of pure venom almost made her step back, "Nobody lays a hand on me, Madame Bienvenu. I do not care who or what you are. Nobody!"
She looked at him for a moment inquisitively. What was that unreadable emotion in his eyes? It wasn't hatred, hatred was too simple a word. It ran deeper. A twinge of curiosity befell her. Who are you? But she forced herself to remain self-possessed, refusing to reveal anything.
"Was that all?" she asked sharply, "What else did you do to Rosalie?"
"Nothing!" he answered, "I pushed her away from me and she fell. Before I could do anything, she had fled,"
"Are you surprised?" she asked dryly, and wisely he did not answer.
She nodded, "Well, as I was saying before, since you gave the news to Rosalie so eloquently, it is your responsibility to make amends. You will take the pie over to her tomorrow and you will –"
"I most certainly will not apologise!" Erik suddenly argued, "She did her own amount of damage in this – my duty is to you, Madame, not a milkmaid in mourning!"
She nodded unperturbed, "And as such you will do what I tell you to. Now, I am telling you to take the pie to the dear girl and apologize for your so poorly chosen words and explain how you can be an absolute fool when around a lovely lady such as herself,"
Erik gaped at her in shock – who did she think she was to thoroughly insult him so easily? He almost laughed as he said, "You believe you can so easily tell me what to do now concerning my personal affairs?"
She smiled slyly at his outburst, "Your blood in exchange for that which my son poured. Do as I say or have death upon you, dear Erik," she gestured for him to follow, "Now come, while I make the pie, you will cut the vegetables for our stew. I trust you have a little culinary knowledge since you have survived so long, alone?"
He remained motionless where he was, balefully glaring at the old wench until she turned to him and said stridently, "It is now an order, Erik, come."
Erik gritted his teeth, and followed. For what other choice did he have?
Half an hour later, when Erik was adding the vegetables he had prepared over a pot of boiling water which was over a roaring fire, there was a desperate knock on the door.
The widow placed the rolling-pin she had been using on the kitchen table and wiped her hands on her apron, muttering about who could be knocking at this hour as she went to the door and answered it.
She sighed wearily as a young man wrapped warmly in a woolen coat quickly stepped in.
"Janvier…I was going to come see you tomorrow," she kissed him on the cheek, "Come, do sit and have some tea, dear…"
"I fear I cannot stay long, Madame," he swallowed, and asked, his voice trembling a little, "Is it true?"
"Erik!" the widow called, and he came in, "Janvier, this is my nephew Erik. Erik, this is a good friend of my son's, Janvier Girard,"
Erik nodded at the young man, noting his initials – J.G. The snuff box in the drawer had those initials…It belongs to this fellow perhaps? Hmmm... That boy must have never returned it to him...
Janvier nodded back, "I was not aware Toby had any Aunts or Uncles on his Mother's side," he then turned to the widow, "Is it true, Madame?"
The widow took his arm, "Do sit down Janvier, and have some tea…"
"Please! Is it true!"
Her hand fell limply to her side, and she closed her eyes, her hand wavering to her mouth.
"It is true, my boy,"
Janvier kept standing, his face blank of any emotion, until he quietly asked, "The body…It wasn't found?"
She looked at him puzzled, "Yes, yes, of course it was found. That is how I knew it was him…"
His hands flew to his face suddenly, and he backed away a few steps, refusing her comfort.
"Oh God, it is true…Toby…" his voice cracked, and he forced himself not to cry. He cleared his throat, straightening, "Is there anything I can do for you, Madame?"
"No, dear," she answered softly, "Maybe we could go through his possessions later. I am sure he would like you to have some of his things…But not now – I cannot even step into his room…" her voice faded.
Janvier said nothing, he was motionless, frozen…After a few moments he sprang back to life, stumbling back to the door.
He choked on a half-repressed sob as he managed to say, "I fear I must go. I must see to Rosalie,"
He was gone in less than a second. The widow remained where she was, her back turned to Erik as he heard her weep softly.
"Madame -" he began softly.
But she waved his attempts to speak away, and fled the room, where he heard the sound of her bedroom door slam.
