Chapter 14

The wedding was upon them before Christine had time to breathe, and she found herself grateful that this wasn't the grand affair that the deChagneys had been planning for her and Raoul. Instead, a small and quiet country ceremony was prepared for the excited yet nervous couple. Christine had dress fittings to schedule, a cake to help Marta design, a suit to have tailored, and guest invitations to manage. Erik was little help with the actual planning - he had insisted that he was no good at such things, and would keep his nose out of the matter, simply showing up where and when he was to make his presence known. Instead, he took over the management of the household - teaching the children, picking up after them, helping Marta in the kitchen, putting Christine's angels to bed. She observed that in the weeks of planning and preparation how Erik had warmed up to the children, their scars a common bond that made him feel accepted, and they more comfortable with his normally intimidating countenance.

After a particularly grueling day of running errands in the summer heat, she returned to a quiet household and to her mentor reading fairy tales to the children in the library. Those who weren't enraptured by the timbre of his beautiful voice were instead sleeping soundly with dreams of witches and warriors dancing in their heads.

"I knew you had it in you," she told him later that evening as they cleaned and put away dishes side by side in the kitchen.

"You knew that I had what, child?" Golden eyes slid to the left to eye her inquisitively as his hands deftly continued their chosen task.

Christine smiled in response, refusing to answer his further queries.

And now, after weeks upon weeks of preparation, here they stood together in the Autumn sun, the local minister standing close by as the pastor regarded Christine kindly and Erik with a bit more suspicion. Her dress billowed in the wind, its hem whispering against the polished finish of Erik's fine shoes, purchased specifically for this occasion. Christine's brown eyes rested upon Erik's but a moment before she reached out to take his hand, and then nodded to the minister that stood before them.

The elderly man raised his arms, motioning for those in attendance to rise to their feet. The small crowd rose in response, each of the children shuffling restlessly but quietly under Erik's stern gaze. Marta rose, as well, her sturdy frame helping assist the gentleman next to her that struggled to stand with his cane. His wife assisted on the other side and both of them looked to Christine with glowing pride.

Joaquin, still weak from recovery, shifted his weight from foot to foot to try to relieve the anxiety that showed so clearly on his face. Seeing the young man's discomfort, Erik cleared his throat pointedly and rested one thin hand in reassurance on the youth's shoulder. Releasing the boy and Christine alike, Erik bent down to pick up the small stringed instrument that rested at his feet.

The music began.

A vision in white, gleaming in the noon sun, emerged from the darkness of the newly rebuilt barn. She clutched a small nosegay of ripened wheat and wildflowers entwined with grape leaves and vine tendrils, and she proceeded hesitatingly as she approached the gathered crowd. Christine smiled as the girl approached, and doubly so when she saw Dinah's normally meek posture straighten with confidence and pride as she grew closer to Joaquin. Joaquin similarly had stopped his fidgeting as soon as she emerged and he saw his veiled bride approach.

In the weeks following their mutual recovery, the two youths grew closer together - Joaquin unable to stop staring in wonder at Dinah's face as if it were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and once Dinah grew used to such attention and realized it was genuine adoration, she stopped questioning the change and instead embraced it with a combination of exuberance and a little trepidation. The decision to marry had been his. When he had recovered to the point where he could safely return to his parents, Dinah had fallen into a deep state of depression as she convinced herself that her summer romance was over. Instead, before his parents, Christine, Erik, Marta and his fellow angels, he dropped to one knee just before he was to be taken home, and begged for Dinah to follow him.

Christine was shocked, as were Joaquin's parents. Erik, instead, watched the scene with a small smile playing upon his lips, beneath the hat that dipped low over his scars. It was no more than a week prior that the boy had come to him to ask his advice regarding the girl. Erik's advice? "If you love her, young man, do not ever let her go."

Moving past the small gathering of witnesses and celebrants, Dinah came to a stop before the minister just as a gust of wind picked up, blowing the train of her veil high behind her. Christine could have sworn that the brief fluttering of the gauze fabric looked like a pair of angel's wings stretching behind her, and she heard Joaquin's breath catch in his throat, as if he were stifling a sob. Tenderly, the boy reached for Dinah's gloved hands and took them in his own, giving them a careful squeeze before the two turned together to declare themselves wed before God and man alike.

Mrs. Dupres was nearly inconsolable with tears of joy once the youth raised Dinah's veil and took his new bride into his arms as the minister declared them man and wife. Once released of their bonds of propriety, the children frolicked freely about the farm, stealing sweets from Marta's reception table before returning to chasing chickens about the yard. Joaquin and Dinah, both having recovered surprisingly well, were positively beaming in the company of friends and family alike, and Christine was heartened to see Dinah and Joaquin's mother developing what appeared to be the beginning of a solid relationship.

As the evening drew to a close, Christine took Erik's hand and led him into the quiet of the fields, which had been turned to allow for a cold winter's rest. With the light and sound behind them, they faced the rising moon together and she squeezed his hand firmly.

"A magnificent day," she murmured, watching the darkness creep towards them from the horizon. "I see the benefactor's funds went to excellent use in recovering that barn." The tone of her voice was distinctly knowing, feeling at him to see if he would confess the secret she suspected and, truly, already knew in her heart.

"Investor," he corrected firmly but playfully, "not donor. From what I've seen this evening, I imagine the investor would be quite pleased."

Erik was startled briefly as Christine's slim arm found its way around his waist, leaning into his solid body for warmth. In the past months, she had been less timid about sharing his personal space, and he found (with growing surprise) that this did not bother him in the least. The feather-light touches, sidelong smiles, and occasional embraces that would once have driven him utterly mad with warring fear and desire were, instead, now taming a beastly part of his soul that he had written off a lifetime earlier as hopelessly lost.

"Poor, wretched woman." The child could hear the echoes of the physician's voice from down the hall.

"It is done, then?" That was the nursemaid - he hated her desperately. She was old, fat, cruel and strict. When his mother was not around, the old hag would occasionally box him about the ears at the slightest of infractions. He would later fall into his mother's warm and loving embrace when she would return from her physician's visits, and beg for her protection. Buried against her bosom, he saw the pain her eyes as she murmured, "Mon petit chou, you know we cannot find another maid for the household. Let it pass like water through your fingers. Always know that I love you and will be here for you. My love for you will never die."

But she had lied, hadn't she? If she had truly loved him, she wouldn't have gotten sick. She wouldn't have left him alone, in the darkness.

He was terrified of the dark.

"What of the child, Madame? Will you..."

A short piggish laugh, akin to a chortle, from that rotund face. "I most certainly will not. What do you take me for, Monsieur, a rat-catcher?"

A heavy sigh from the aged physician - the same one who performed the exams his mother poured the family estate into once her husband left in shame of what they'd begat. The same physician who had known him since birth and who had tried to find a cure for the unfortunate and increasingly horrifying skin disorder on his face. Erik remembered their last visit, over a year ago, and the physician's sharp yelp of surprise as his mother unwrapped the scarf from the boy's head. The older gentleman hurriedly covered it again, proclaiming there was nothing more that could be done, and to not bring the boy back again.

His mother, however, continued returning to the physician more and more often in the following months, and began going out less. She grew pale, weak, and gaut. Erik was concerned, but she assured him that she was fine, and the nursemaid was not someone he would go to for consolation - the one time he asked her what was wrong, the woman told him that his mother was dying because she had to care for him. Better she die than have to see her deformed son every day. When his mother was finally rendered bedridden, he spent most of his days curled up at her side and reading with her until the sun set and they both passed out as the night drew close.

"You know he won't do well in the orphanage, Madame. There is no family to take him in."

"That's true," she acknowledged. There was a pause, and Erik had the keen sense that the two adults were both facing the door, considering him as he sat down the hall. "Then again, perhaps if we put him with his own kind, we could even come out the better for it."

"Madame?"

"I've heard the gypsies have gathered in the countryside and are peddling their wares. They have a show of... oddities, let's say... that the child would likely fit well in."

"You're not suggesting selling the child?!"

"You would rather he be placed in an orphanage, and doomed to a life of being tortured by his peers? Best he be with people who are used to those like him - the freaks and the devil-kissed of this world. You cannot tell me the home for children would be a better option."

Another pause, and another sigh. "No, I cannot."

"It is decided, then. Come, there's no time to waste. You take care of this, and I will handle the boy."

And handle it she did. Without a word to the frail boy, without any preparation or warning, and without allowing him to see his mother's face one last time, she grabbed him by one arm and dragged him forcibly from his home towards his dark destiny.

Christine entered upon a familiar tableau - Erik reading quietly at night in the study, features barely lit by a small oil lamp nearby. In one hand, he held a leather-bound tome aloft to read, and in his free hand, he absentmindedly stroked the curls of the smallest of the household. Maria was securely bundled in the former Opera Ghost's lap, curled underneath a crocheted coverlet and dozing soundly where she lay. Upon seeing Christine enter, he put down the book.

"Christine. I hope the light was not disturbing you." He tried to rise to greet her, and promptly sat back down as Maria murmured and shifted in his lap. Looking at the slumbering child and then at the young Soprano who stood in the doorway, he appeared conflicted. Christine chuckled softly and walked to his armchair, leaning over to gently sweep the locks from the child's forehead.

"No, I just found that I could not rest. I decided to check on the children, and saw that she was missing. I see she's found a new place to rest - hopefully it doesn't disturb you?"

Erik's brow knit together in a hint of confusion as he looked at the girl sleeping in his lap, and then he slowly shook his head. "No," he admitted, a bit sheepishly, "it's a bit comforting to have her here."

Christine smiled and knelt beside the chair, lightly running her fingertips through Maria's silken hair. "She trusts you," she murmured softly, not meeting his eyes, "they all do."

Erik sighed and shook his head, his eyes troubled. Christine took his hand instantly in hers and squeezed it firmly, reassuringly.

"No," she demanded. "Don't go there. Let that poor man die in the catacombs. Let this - all of this - be a rebirth, a second chance. You have a right to be loved, Erik. You must understand that."

His eyes turned towards hers, golden orbs clouded with uncertainty. "Christine, everything I've done..."

She rose up, taking both of his hands in hers, careful not to disturb the sleeping cherub between them. "...is in the past," she finished for him. "Let it stay there, let it die there, where it belongs. All of it. Fate is offering you a second chance, here, with us... with me." Again, her thin hands squeezed his with a strength that surprised him as she searched for an answer deep in his gaze. "Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

Erik swallowed once and opened his mouth, unable to form an answer. He dropped his gaze and let it rest on the creature lying upon his lap, offering her full trust to him without a hint of judgement. Finally, he nodded. "I do."

She smiled. "Then join me in seeing that come to fruition, dear Maestro."