Erik ambled through the expanse of field, green blades of grass rippling to and fro with the spring breeze. Although he still felt most comfortable with the dark curtain of night, he'd come to appreciate some of the advantages of daylight. For instance, it would be quite difficult to pick wildflowers while groping blindly in the dark.
Stooping down on one knee, he selected a few bunches of lavender coloured flowers, the petals tiny and impossibly delicate in his large hands. Up ahead, Peter frolicked with Sascha, the air occasionally punctuated with a sharp bark or high-pitched laughter. The tranquil setting served to put his mind at ease and he could literally feel the tension slowly ebb away. Unsure of how much time Henry required for his talk with Melodie, he decided to sit for a while.
Much had changed over the past week and a half. The last time he had awoken to someone else in his home had been that brief interlude with Christine. There was one significant difference, of course. He had lured Christine, almost in a spellbound state, to the depths of his lair. Melodie had requested to reside with him, to work with him, and even to learn from him. And although he had presented her with opportunity to do so, her hand had never once strayed towards his mask – unlike the cruel, prying fingers of Christine.
The decision to allow Melodie into his home – into his life – had been an agonizing one indeed. For two nights and three days, he had tortured himself with the process. While the reasons for accepting her request were varied, there was one that stood apart from the crowd. If he decided to take on the identity of Michael Blythe, how wondrous it would be to attend the opening night of the theatre. What would it be like to stand on the stage, a roar of thunderous applause surrounding you? It was, perhaps, a laughable fantasy, but the mere possibility of it was somehow tantalizing.
Using a portion of his commission funds, he made the interior of the house more liveable, mostly adding furniture and a few decorative touches. Although he hadn't resorted to haggling over pricing, he was satisfied with the results of his limited budget. Not fully aware that any changes had been made, Melodie had not commented on the décor, but she had been very pleased with her chambers. Only able to make an educated guess at her needs, he'd simply told her to inform him of any item she might require. So far, she had not approached him with any requests.
The extreme awkwardness of the first day of her arrival had passed but by no means were they comfortable with the living arrangement yet. Other than discussions regarding the symphony, they remained quiet, treating each other with formal politeness. It felt a little strained but not entirely unpleasant. Often catching himself staring at her, he would forcefully avert his gaze, mentally rebuking himself for the rudeness. Henry would certainly not approve of his behaviour.
Erik had been thoroughly taken by surprise by the visit although, in hindsight, he should have expected it. He'd deliberately squelched his annoyance at the intrusion, reminding himself that he was fully capable of behaving like a gentleman. Obviously, Henry cared for Melodie like a father and was equally protective. Of course he would express concern and distrust over this highly unusual situation. The unsubtle threat to his well being, should he ever harm Melodie, had both amused and touched Erik. She should consider herself lucky to have someone care for her so deeply.
"What are you doing?"
He glanced up to find Peter looking down at him with childish curiosity. "Just thinking," he replied.
"Is that for Melodie?"
Following the line of the boy's pointed index finger, he regarded the clump of purple wildflowers still clutched and forgotten in one hand. "Yes."
"Can I help?"
At Erik's nod, Peter knelt down on the grass, carefully handpicking each selection. Sascha lay stretched out by her master's side, panting with a lolling tongue, apparently worn out by the vigorous activity.
The boy's small face was set with studied concentration as he crawled about, plucking only the worthiest of flowers. Erik's attention was drawn once more to the faint bruise that darkened the hollow just beneath the child's cheekbone. He'd noticed it when Peter had first arrived to accompany Melodie into town, but he hadn't wanted to mention it in her presence.
"How did you get that bruise?" he asked bluntly.
Peter's head lifted slightly, bright eyes peeking out from behind a few errant curls, before he dropped his gaze again. "I forgot to close the gate. Some sheep got out and dad had to chase them around."
"He hit you?"
Thin shoulders shrugged in answer, as he continued to gather the flowers.
The non-verbal response was enough of an admission and Erik's jaw tightened with anger, his heart heavy with empathy. Although it had been a long time since anyone had dared raised a hand against him without facing brute retaliation, he acutely remembered how it felt to be abused as a child – the intermingled feelings of helplessness and shame. Though he would love nothing more than to confront Peter's father in a darkened alley, common sense advised him to refrain from such rash measures. He had managed to live here peacefully and now that Melodie had joined him, the last thing he wanted to do was stir up trouble. However, he couldn't very well turn a blind eye to the situation either. "Does this happen often?" he asked.
"No."
Erik could not judge if the boy was answering truthfully or not, partly because all he could see at the moment was the crown of the child's head.
"Peter, stop and look at me." Speaking softly but firmly, he waited until Peter finally ceased moving about, sitting up to regard him with a wary expression. "Does your father hit you often?"
"Not a lot. Only when I do something really stupid."
There were a number of platitudes that Erik could have uttered but none of them would have been helpful or even appreciated. Instead, he found himself saying, "In a few years, you're going to be a lot bigger, a lot stronger, and not such an easy target for your father. But until then, if things ever get out of hand and you need help, I want you to come and find me, day or night. Is that understood?"
With a solemnity beyond his years, Peter nodded slowly. Starting to bend forward again, his eyes flickered to something beyond Erik's shoulder.
He leapt to his feet with a sunny grin. "There's Melodie!"
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Reduced to feeling all but ten years of age, Melodie sat with a stiff back and waited for the lecture to begin. Henry's opinion was important to her, but she reminded herself that she was a grown woman and capable of making her own decisions. Still, she worried that he disapproved of the arrangement and braced herself accordingly. The silence seemed to stretch beyond reasonable expectations and with the utmost willpower, she resisted the urge to fidget. At last, she could bear it no longer.
"Henry?" she inquired.
"Sorry, yes, I'm trying to gather my thoughts on how to proceed. I do want to talk with you and yet, what I had first intended to say no longer seems suitable."
"Why is that?"
Sounding perplexed, he said, "I don't know. I'm not even sure of what I expected to find when I came here. Erik is most…interesting and very charismatic. But I have to wonder how you can put so much faith in a man that you don't know anything about?"
It was a struggle to come up with an explanation that didn't sound completely illogical or foolish. In the end, Melodie decided she could only speak honestly. "I have no answer and I cannot explain it. If you had heard his music, you might begin to understand. As you have guessed, Erik is exceedingly complex, but I have to believe that someone capable of conjuring such beauty must have a good heart. You need not worry for my safety."
"You must know how naïve that sounds."
In fact, she was aware of it, but that made her conviction no less true. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined herself living with a strange man for the sake of writing a symphony, yet, here she was. And although he had hinted at a propensity for violence, she instinctively felt that he would never harm her – at least, not intentionally.
"I know," she said, and not knowing what else to add, simply shrugged her shoulders in a helpless gesture.
"Are you attracted to this man?"
The question was so blunt and shocking, she was only vaguely aware that her mouth had fallen open. An immediate surge of heat to her face told her that she was blushing furiously. "What? What sort of question is that?" She meant to sound indignant but the tone was terribly weak, even to her own ears.
"You get an odd sort of look in your eyes when you speak of him. It was there even when you mentioned him for the first time but now, it's noticeably stronger."
"I…I admire him, yes, but that is all," she stammered.
"He's not an unattractive man."
Refusing to even comment on that statement, she longed to throw open the windows and feel a cooling breeze on her face. Met with silence, Henry continued on. "Even the mask is strangely compelling. Do you know why he wears it?"
"No, I don't."
"Are you not curious?"
"Of course, I am!" she snapped, starting to grow irritated. "It's only natural to be curious but I'm not about to invade his privacy even further. Perhaps he'll reveal his reasons one day and perhaps not. Either way, it's his choice."
"Forgive me." He sounded truly regretful, patting one of her clenched hands. "This conversation has taken a turn I didn't intend. I'm only concerned about you."
Nodding, she felt some of the flush receding from her cheeks. "I know."
Henry expelled a long breath. "I may not have the trust in Erik that you seem to possess, but I do trust you, and your instincts have always been better than most. Mellie, I want you to promise that you'll keep in contact with me and should you ever need me, for whatever reason, you must come to me right away. You will always have a place with me, even if it means I leave the Wentworths and we venture out on our own. You are the most important person in my life. Never doubt that."
By the end of the impassioned speech, Melodie was blinking against the gathering moisture in her eyes. Wrapping her arms around him, she murmured against his ear, "I love you too."
After talking for several more minutes, she soon walked with him to the door. She had to smile when he almost set out without his hat and coat, and he shook his head at his own absentmindedness. Retrieving the items hooked onto the nearby coat rack, she gave him a final farewell kiss on the cheek.
When the door closed behind him, she turned around and leaned against it, managing to withhold a sigh, if only for her own benefit. Henry had not exactly given his blessing, but it appeared she still had his support. For that, she was greatly relieved. Some of his questions had rendered her completely off-balance and she desperately hoped that he had not been as forward when speaking with Erik.
Was she attracted to him?
No, it was a ridiculous notion with absolutely no validity. She was attracted to his music and talent, yes, but not the man. But if she stopped to thoroughly analyse that statement, she had to wonder how one was separated from the other. Those traits came from within Erik, were part of his very being – not isolated entities. How could she rightly claim to be attracted to one and not the other?
Bolting from the door, she tried to remember where she'd left her cane. To stand here and attempt to decipher her feelings was a waste of time. There was no need to dwell on Henry's misguided inquiries.
Recalling that she had propped the item against the couch, she made her way across the room. Given the small and relatively uncluttered layout of the house, she had quickly learned her way around. With cane in hand, she headed to the kitchen and out the back door. Having lived in the city all her life, it still felt strange to walk outside and be enveloped in such peaceful serenity. Strange, but oh, so wonderful. It was as if her favourite bench in the park was right at her fingertips, to be enjoyed at any moment upon stepping through the door. With such an inspiring setting, it was almost a certainty that the finished symphony would be nothing but glorious.
After several paces, she halted and listened. A bird happily chirped nearby, but she could not distinguish any sound that gave a clue to the whereabouts of Erik or Peter – not even the bark of a dog. Onwards she shuffled, locating a few trees on her journey but no other form of life.
"There's Melodie!" came an excited shout, off to the right and slightly behind her.
Knowing Peter must be watching, she turned and smiled, waving in his general direction. Though she started walking that way, she didn't get very far before the same childish voice was right under her nose. "I picked some flowers for you!"
Since she'd heard him approaching, his voice hadn't startled her, but she couldn't help flinching when the proffered flowers almost whacked her in the face. With a chuckle, she accepted the fragrant gift, inhaling the sweet scent.
"Thank you, Peter, they're lovely."
"Erik picked some too but he said I could give them to you. I have to go. It's almost supper time."
As quickly as he had come, he was now gone and although she wasn't sure, she thought his absence might have been replaced by the presence of another.
"Hello, Erik," she ventured to say.
She was pleased to hear his low, rumbling voice in reply.
"Hello, Melodie."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
As usual, Erik had hesitated over the use of her name but had finally grown weary of his own mental game. It was a strange stumbling block that he couldn't even begin to explain. At first, he hadn't even been aware of the fact that he'd never uttered her name until she'd pointed it out to him. But it had gone on long enough.
He was rewarded by a smile that lit her whole face from within.
"At last, my name is spoken! You may call me Mellie. I actually prefer it."
"All right…Mellie. I would advise in future that you don't venture out this way unaccompanied."
Her eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. "Why?"
"When Peter called out to you, you were mere steps away from falling into the river."
Rather than seeming horrified or nodding in agreement with the wisdom of his suggestion, she looked positively delighted with this news.
"Really? A river? Odd that I didn't hear the water. I usually notice things like that."
"I suppose," he conceded, "'river' might be overstating it. It's more of a brook, but there is a fairly steep drop in the bank of a good foot. You could have easily turned your ankle."
With an airy wave of her hand, she swung around to head back in that direction. "My cane would have informed me of any drop, but I appreciate your concern. A brook sounds positively charming."
Unsure whether to be amused or annoyed by her quick dismissal of his advice, he nevertheless fell into step beside her, adjusting his naturally long strides to match her pace. Curious as to whether she would find the edge of the embankment on her own, he said nothing to guide her. At first, she walked for some distance parallel to the water but after stopping for a few seconds, she veered course and turned to the right. Sure enough, with the cane sweeping in a steady motion just beyond her feet, she soon found the drop that he spoke of. "Shall we sit for a while?" she suggested.
He had been doing nothing but sitting for the past twenty minutes. Thinking of the passage that he'd been working on when Henry had made his uninvited visit, he glanced down to reply that they should return. However, he found himself gazing at nothing but air. Dropping his eyes even further, he saw her sitting on the grassy edge, legs stretched out and nose buried in the purple petals bunched in one hand. With a patience that he usually reserved for Peter, he crouched and then sat beside her, careful to maintain a respectable distance. "I can hear the water now, though it's not obvious," she said. "I suppose I wasn't listening for it when I first came out here. It's moving fairly slowly, I presume?"
"Yes, it's not very deep nor very fast."
"Since I can't swim, that's probably for the best. I shall strive not to drown myself on your property."
"That would be most appreciated," he said dryly.
"Where is Sascha? I don't hear her."
"She's fallen asleep. I believe Peter wore her out. She'll come to the door when she's ready to come in."
When she next spoke, her tone was wistful. "It must be beautiful here. I do wish I could see it."
He had never heard her complain or lament her lack of vision before. A question popped out of his mouth without thinking. "Were you born with your…condition?"
Fortunately, she appeared to take no offense to its personal nature, answering readily. "No, it's only happened in the last five years or so."
"But your vision is worsening?"
She hesitated, as if mulling over the answer. "It's difficult to judge on a daily basis but yes, it is getting worse. And the deterioration over the last six months or so has been the most rapid. I'm not sure why."
"Perhaps you are straining your eyes too much."
"I don't know. I don't think so. In any case, if I'm to lose my vision entirely, why should I deny myself the pleasure of reading a book or writing a letter while I'm still able?" Her tone was cross, her chin jutting out defiantly.
"Understandable. It's your choice to make."
"Exactly. At first, I stopped reading altogether, afraid that I was overly straining my eyes. Now, the only issue stopping me is the headaches but if I limit my time, it's manageable."
Silence settled between them and it was a surprisingly comfortable one. Briefly closing his eyelids against the light of day, he wondered what it would be like to view the world through Melodie's failing eyes. He supposed that no one could truly understand what it was like, including him.
The tiniest hint of a smile played on his lips when he realized he was hearing something for the very first time – the bubbling water of the brook.
Enjoying the quiet stillness for a little while longer, he turned to regard her when she spoke again. "Well, I suppose we should head back. Thank you for indulging me."
He helped her to her feet and they began walking towards home. "I'm sorry that Henry dropped by so unexpectedly," she said. "He's always been somewhat protective of me."
Remembering the earlier warning, Erik could only agree. "Indeed. He made that quite clear."
She sounded somewhat dismayed. "I hope it wasn't too unpleasant a conversation."
"It was fine," he assured her, vaguely surprised by his own reaction. Normally, he wouldn't be so…understanding, with the potentially volatile mix of the intrusion into his private dwelling and a semi-hostile interrogation. In this case, however, he harboured no resentment against Henry. "I understand his reasoning in coming here the way he did but thinking ahead to future visits, I would appreciate some notice. I trust you will relay this to him."
"Yes, of course."
"And what of your conversation with him?" he countered. "Was it unpleasant?"
When she failed to respond, he glanced down and noticed the curious sight of her pink-tinged cheeks. Perhaps she'd been out in the sun overly long.
"Not at all," she finally murmured, rather unconvincingly. "He was surprisingly understanding."
She revealed nothing more of their talk and he did not press for details. Soon reaching the house, they went inside and he found a shallow bowl for the freshly picked flowers. Passing it to her to fill with water from the pitcher, he heard an odd rattling sound. Only then did he realize he'd completely forgotten about the water he'd begun to boil for tea. Reaching for the brass kettle, he somehow managed to carelessly get his hand in the way of the billowing steam.
"Merde!" he hissed, jumping backwards.
Melodie was at his side immediately, her eyes wide with concern. "What is it?"
His hand beginning to throb with pain, he spoke through gritted teeth. "My hand. I burned it. Stupid."
"Let me see," she demanded, reaching up to gently but firmly grab hold of his wrist. Her attempt to inspect his hand was met with some resistance, as he clutched it against his chest. Clearly frustrated, she spoke quite sharply. "Erik, don't be a goose. Let me see your hand."
Unable to decide if he was more miffed at her tone of voice or being called a goose, he allowed her to lead him closer to the window. "The skin is quite red," she observed out loud, "but there are no blisters. It's not too bad." She pulled him back another two steps to the kitchen table, where she unceremoniously dunked the injured appendage into the bowl of cool water. "How does it feel?" she asked.
"Wet."
"Very funny. Is it quite painful?"
"I'll live."
In truth, he knew the burn was very minor, but he had never been fussed over before. He found it slightly humourous and – he admitted with great reluctance – rather enjoyable. However, he almost snatched his hand back when he became aware of her next attempt at doctoring. She'd lifted his wrist and was now blowing lightly over the angry reddened skin. "What are you doing?" he asked, completely baffled.
Stopping with her lips puckered in mid-breath, she began to laugh. "Sorry, it's what Henry used to do when I'd hurt myself as a child. I wasn't even thinking."
For a horrifying moment, he had thought she was about to kiss his palm. It was torturous enough for his hand to be cradled within hers; he couldn't imagine the feel of her soothing lips against his damaged skin.
As he reached for a nearby cloth to dry off, she shook her head, continuing to look amused. "I also injured my hand the other day. Nearly crushed it when I slammed a drawer shut. Considering we're both composers and musicians, we should learn to be more careful. We're quite the pair, are we not?"
Though her head tilted back, her gaze did not quite meet his eyes, falling in the vicinity of his chin.
In answer to her rhetorical question, he regarded her with an expression that very rarely graced his features – a genuine smile.
Yes, he agreed, we're quite the pair indeed.
A/N: As always, thanks to my wonder-beta penkitten and to all who have commented. I'm especially thrilled that some of you have mentioned liking my characterization and plotting – two elements that are really important to me.
To allegratree: Special thanks for your insightful feedback. I have gone back and edited the "Hi, bye, and okay". Please, if you (or anyone else) spot errors like these, continue to point them out. I've been finding it difficult to write the speech for Peter. I have him addressing his father as "dad". Is that acceptable or too modern? I thought "father" might be too formal (I would use "father" if socially, he was of a higher class) but I really have no idea.
No comment on the name thing with Erik (Melody vs. Melodie)
As for the name of the composer, it was actually Henry who came up with it and you're right, it wasn't a very bright choice of surname. I'll try to include an explanation on it later in the story but it's of no real consequence.
