Three days after the robbery which had taken the life of his long time employee, the manager of the Commerce Bank, Andrew Smith, unlocked the front door of his establishment. He was still reeling from the death of Albert Reardon, his cashier for twelve years, and the theft of a considerable amount of money. Another month and work would begin on the addition to the bank that would house the new time-lock vault. Once it was finished, the teller or even himself would not be able to access the vault until a specified number of hours had elapsed. Sadly, that wouldn't help Al or his widow.
But at least the young Daae woman had somehow escaped from the killers, and made it home with the help of a good Samaritan. The unknown man delivered her back to her aunt, then mysteriously rode away. She had obviously been traumatized and wouldn't say much about her ordeal or her rescuer. She explained to the sheriff that the robbers had consumed a lot of liquor, and she made her escape that night when they both passed out in a drunken stupor. After wandering for most of the night, her savior had found her by accident the next morning, and led her back to St. Joe. Smith thought there were some fairly large holes in her story and the sheriff no doubt felt the same, but the girl was returned alive and relatively unharmed.
The stolen money was a completely different matter, and he broke into a cold sweat just contemplating the enormity of its loss. He was therefore surprised upon opening the door, to find a sheet of paper on his desk, propped against the lamp.
He hurriedly read the words written in red ink: This should make you a good deal happier and put paid to this entire misadventure. The money that was stolen from your bank is back where it belongs.
Smith immediately went to the vault behind the teller's cage and with nervous fingers, used the combination. What he found inside, left him very thankful and extremely puzzled. He immediately sent for Sheriff Dillard, who could only scratch his head at the neat bundle of paper currency, bonds, gold and silver coin, which added up to the $15,467.00 which had been stolen from the bank. Someone had broken into the bank and returned the money. Someone with a deft hand at safe combinations. Except for the teller's death, the ordeal had ended in a much better light than it should have. It was indeed a mystery. The whereabouts of the robbers would always remain unanswered, and the story was told and retold until it passed into legend.
The tale that Christine gave the sheriff was one that Erik had orchestrated. His part in her ordeal was completely missing. Only three people knew the truth of the matter, and they resolved that it would remain that way forever.
She rested in her bedroom, slowly recovering from her kidnapping. Her prolonged exposure to the sun, plus her sores from the long ride she was forced into, would keep her on bed-rest for a few days, doctor's orders. Meg kept her company, and to the best of her ability, the younger girl managed to curtail her curiosity. Christine's family was told the same story as the sheriff, and she preferred it that way. Her aunt and Hannah had no choice but to believe the girl's story. After all, why would she lie?
They dismounted near her house, leaving the horses just off of the road and Erik walked her to the kitchen door. Just before she went inside, she slid her arms around his narrow waist. It was an urge that she couldn't deny herself, and she gave very little thought as to the why of it.
She hugged him tightly, briefly resting her head on his chest. "I'll never forget what you did for me. Ever," and before he could react properly, she went inside.
The reunion with her family was tearful, and Christine was surprised when her aunt cried at the sight of her bruised and sunburned face. Hannah started a bath for her, and while she stripped out of her soiled clothing, the myriad questions had flown, and to the best of her ability, she fielded them using the story Erik cooked up.
After her bath she was bundled into a nightgown and given a light supper. Dr. Pierce had been sent for, but Edna had decided that the sheriff could wait until the next day. The doctor prescribed a cream for her burns and cuts; he insisted that a few days in bed would see her health fully restored. Christine had to agree- free movement was painful at the moment. Hannah shooed Meg out of the room and showed the doctor to the door. Her aunt sat down in the chair by the window and regarded the young woman silently for a moment.
"I know you're tired and sore, but I need to know if those...if those ruffians hurt you in any way other than what that beast did to you," and she gestured to her niece's cheek. "Did they put their hands on you in an intimate manner?"
Christine lowered her gaze, and smoothed the bedclothes over her lap. "Dr. Pierce asked me the same thing, auntie. And the answer is n-no." It had been a humiliating experience; lying there while the middle-aged doctor examined flesh that no one but herself had seen in years, the tender skin of her thighs, scraped and rubbed raw from her forced ride cross-country. She was mortified from the questions he posed to her.
She would have liked to tell her aunt the truth; that, yes, one of them had been offensive, had demeaned her and tried to take something that wasn't his to receive. But that would lead to more questions and in turn drag Erik into the spotlight, so tiredly, she shook her head and told her aunt, no, there hadn't been anything other than her cut cheek.
Edna tucked her niece in, and Christine slept fairly well, thanks in part to Erik.
At first, she had lain in bed fighting sleep. The terrifying ordeal which had tried her to the very limits, insisted on playing out on the inside of her eyelids, making her afraid to close her eyes and invite the deadly images into her dreams. When she heard the piano music drifting through her open window, something hard and poisonous inside of her began to loosen. Christine knew he was playing for her and felt the grateful tears as she listened once again to a master. It wasn't his arms around her, but the soothing melody from his fingers was as good as his gentle touch.
Well... almost.
Upon waking the next morning, she found Hannah standing by her bed holding a familiar small jar. "You've had your first visitor of the day. My, but news travels fast around here," she said wryly, setting the pot of salve down.
Christine pushed herself up against the headboard and yawned. "All right. Must I guess who my visitor was, Hannah?" She tried to find a more comfortable position on the bed, wincing as tender skin and sore muscle protested her movements. "Mm, I think... Nadir."
The housekeeper paused in straightening the room. "Right direction, wrong man. Nadir left early this morning, and won't be back for a few days. It was Erik. And he wants you to use that salve wherever you need it. He said it's soothin' on burns. Wonder what's in it?"
"Sap from something called an aloe vera plant is one of the ingredients. He said it..." Christine stopped, realizing she was showing prior knowledge, and hastily made something up. "H-He gave me some once when I b-burned myself on, um- very hot tea."
"Hot tea?" She looked shrewdly at Christine, the girl suddenly finding the view outside her window interesting, and Hannah's eyes gleamed with understanding. She shrugged. "Well then, can't hurt. Use it."
Christine sat up and swung her legs slowly over the side of the bed. "How is he this morning?" she asked casually, not looking at Hannah.
"Worried about you. No one will ever accuse Erik of talkin' too much, but when it concerns you he manages to communicate very well," she said dryly. She left to get the young woman's breakfast and Christine picked up the pot of salve and started to apply it.
Three days after her teacher brought her home, Christine couldn't take it anymore and climbed out of bed. "I'll go crazy if I have to stay on my back any longer," she told Meg.
She threw her dressing gown on and walked stiffly over to the chair near the window. She leaned her head back and rested her eyes on Archer House. "You've been very patient with me, Meggie. I know you're dying to hear the whole story."
Meg protested, "I'm not!" but she looked sheepishly at her and sighed. "Was I that obvious?"
Christine continued her study of Archer's, the third story tower room in particular. "No," she said softly. "Not at all, but if it had been you taken instead of me, I would have wanted to know." She looked at Meg then. "I want to tell you and once I do, I'll never speak of it again."
"You don't have to, Christine. I understand."
The young woman shook her head. "You're my best friend."
They sat there with golden sunshine pouring through the open windows, and the heat of that July day edging toward uncomfortable. She told Meg of her predicament from the moment she walked into the bank until she arrived home. Telling her friend was cathartic for Christine, and even if there were gaps in her story, it felt good to speak of it. She felt no compunction withholding the full story; she was simply protecting Erik's part in it.
Bad dreams weren't entirely absent when she slept those first few nights at home, but every evening she was lulled to sleep by his music. It went far in easing her troubled mind, even with the knowledge that Erik was capable of extreme violence, and although the images of his savagery haunted her, she knew he was also capable of great tenderness.
He was the Phantom.
She could live with that.
The first night she was back in her own bed, she lay there as the house settled around her, making its usual creaks and groans; sounds she was used to and now welcomed much like a dear friend. Her thoughts drifted with ease to her teacher as they often did, and Christine hugged herself pretending they were his arms, remembering how safe she felt with him when she had been so terrified. She awakened from a nightmare that awful night; the details of it had faded, but she became uneasy when the image of Erik's bloody face leapt into her mind. She shuddered and recalled waking up in his tight embrace, her panic calmed by his very presence. He comforted her the best he knew how, murmuring soothing words...
She furrowed her brow in thought. He said something to her. What was it? The words he spoke were lost in the detritus of a mind forced into coping with too much, and they wouldn't come now, but the memory of her teacher's voice when he spoke them was easily recalled. So soft and gentle- unlike anything she had ever heard from him.
Finally after a few more days of inactivity, she was given permission to leave her room. She felt like herself once again, and endeavored to put her ordeal behind her. There had been no end to the visitors calling to inquire of Christine's health while she was indisposed. A pregnant Sarah Robidoux visited for a time with Abby; Raoul and his mother had been by, leaving a basket of flowers, and many of her aunt's friends did the same. Christine heard angry mutterings from Hannah when she brought her lunch up the day before the doctor had given her a clean bill of health.
She glanced curiously at the housekeeper. "What's wrong, Hannah?"
"It's a steady stream of visitors you have down there, young lady. Although most of them are your aunt's friends."
Christine looked at her in confusion. "Why does that upset you?" She pointed to a basket of red geraniums, the boxes of candy, and plates of neatly wrapped cookies. "They come bearing gifts, though. Take some."
The housekeeper looked at the girl with a grim smile. "Yes, bearin' gifts and big ears. They want information. Whatever your aunt can tell them, which isn't much. She would never discuss what you just went through with anyone, especially those old tabbies!"
"You believe me, don't you?" she said, eyes anxious. "I told the sheriff everything I remembered."
"Oh, I believe your heart is in the right place," Hannah replied calmly, as Christine ducked her head and began to eat her lunch, "but your memory needs some work."
"I simply adore these little cucumber sandwiches, Hannah! Have one," and she held out the plate to the housekeeper. "How do you make them so tasty?"
"It's cucumber and bread, Christine," she replied dryly, feeling a tug of amusement at this obvious ploy. "I'll thank you to explain, at least to those that love you, why you couldn't describe the man who brought you home? After all, you spent hours in his company. Surely he would have introduced himself at some point."
"B-But I did describe him, Hannah, and I never found out his name, I swear it!" Christine dropped the sandwich back on the plate and pushed it away. An unexpected thought made her stare at the housekeeper with narrowed eyes. "Did my aunt put you up to this?"
Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed and looked searchingly at the girl. "No, and I resent your implication that I would stoop that low. Your description of this man was too vague, child, and at your tender age, your recall should be much sharper than that! It doesn't take a brain as smart as your teacher's got, to figure out that Erik brought you home." She smiled faintly at the younger woman. "You have always been a terrible liar. You and Meg both. And it's as plain as the wart on Granny Beasley's chin, that you're protectin' someone. I know it and you know it."
Christine shook her head emphatically, increasingly flustered as her story began to unravel. "No, Hannah. You're wrong. Besides, who told you that? Nadir?" Her sunburned face, greasy from a fresh jar of Erik's salve, reddened even more, only this time it was with indignation.
She saw the younger woman's displeasure and smiled gently. "He never breathed a word. He wouldn't either, Lord love him. At least Erik has two people loyal to him- well, three now includin' myself, and I don't suppose he's seen very much of that in his lifetime. Nadir is the one who came over with the news that you had been taken. If he knew, so would your teacher and that man would have moved heaven and earth to get you back."
Christine said nothing for a long time. She stared out the window, lower lip caught between her small even teeth, then pensively regarded Hannah, having made up her mind what to tell her. She trusted the housekeeper and knew she would keep their secret. As it was, she could continue to deny Hannah's suspicions, but it was now pointless. "Very well," she said at last. "It was Erik, but no one is to ever know that. They would hound him. I know they would, and he wouldn't stand for that. And neither would I."
She proceeded to give the other woman a sanitized version of the story, completely omitting her teacher's murderous rage. She felt like a juggler at times; keeping all of her stories up in the air and safely away from each other, hoping they didn't land unceremoniously on top of her head.
"You don't have to tell me to keep quiet. But I never would have thought him capable of findin' you the way he did. Miles from nowhere. That would take some trackin' know-how almost the same as the Phan..." she trailed off, looking at Christine with wide eyes. "That's not possible, is it?" her voice faint.
"No. Not at all possible. He's my voice teacher, not a bounty hunter," and her laugh sounded hollow even to her ears. "We were lucky to find each other that morning. I was going off in the wrong direction," Christine said firmly. She did trust the older woman, but the less people who were aware of Erik's life as the Phantom, the better. She looked thoughtfully at the housekeeper. "Why is everyone so curious about me? I'm back. A little worse for wear, but alive and whole."
"Because some folks in this town like to imagine the worst." She paused when Christine turned away and looked out the window again. "I'm sorry, child, but that's one aspect of human nature that never changes. The need for gossip in this small town is sometimes insatiable." Hannah put a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "It will die down eventually, so don't fret. The old biddies will have someone else in their sights before too long." She pointed to a small package on the lunch tray. "That was in the mail today."
Christine picked up the package. "I sent for this nearly two months ago. It's a gift for Erik," she said softly. She set it back down and looked at Archer House again. "It's very little for all that he's done for me."
Hannah nodded at the bowl of soup. "Eat that while it's still hot."
After she left, Christine opened the package to reveal a thin box about four inches long. Removing the lid, she stared at the sterling silver cravat pin with a single blue sapphire, then looked at the third story tower of the house next door. "I think it's time I resumed my lessons," she whispered.
She was in the parlor with her aunt the very next afternoon, happy to leave her soft prison at last, and carefully answered questions when more visitors came to the house. Among them, Sheriff Dillard and Raoul. They arrived at nearly the same time, and Hannah led them both into the parlor.
Raoul sat down beside her on the settee and studied her carefully, finding her to be much the same except for the slight redness that remained on her hands and face, and a newly healed cut on one delicate cheekbone. There was talk in town about her disappearance and subsequent reappearance, and not all of it was kind. He had nearly been involved in a fight with one lout, who suggested that she was passed back and forth by the pair of killers before they set her free. The salacious attitude of many people shocked him, and not just the men. If he'd known sooner that she had been taken, he would have gone himself to look for her.
"How are you feeling?" he inquired, watching her face.
"Much, much better. Just happy that I don't have to stay in my room anymore," she replied thankfully, glancing up when Sheriff Dillard made a point of clearing his throat.
"Miss Daae, may I have a word with you in private?" The sheriff sat there, biting back his impatience; his wasn't a social call, but Smith was urging him to question her one more time. Dillard thought it would lead nowhere; besides, the money had been returned, and although they all had questions, if the girl refused to answer them, he couldn't force her. She hadn't broken any laws.
Edna looked sternly at the sheriff. "That's quite unnecessary. What you have to say to my niece needn't exclude me. I'm sure you understand." Then she turned to Raoul. "Forgive me, Mr. de Chagny for making you leave when you have only just arrived, but it appears Sheriff Dillard has some concerns that need addressed. Perhaps another day would be better for a prolonged visit?"
Raoul immediately stood and turned to Christine. "Another time then. I'm happy to find you well," and they bid each other goodbye, both disappointed that they couldn't spend a little more time together.
Christine's aunt sat there regally, hands folded demurely in her lap. "Now then, Sheriff Dillard. What do you wish to say to my niece?"
Christine had been tense ever since the sheriff walked into the room. He was of an average height, lean and in his late forties, a curt man, prone to getting right to the heart of a matter, and not content to beat around the bush. He glanced at Edna then turned to Christine and smiled, trying to put the young woman at ease.
"I just want to hear your story again, if you don't mind, Miss Daae." He slipped a notepad out of his pocket, along with a stub of pencil, and leaned forward in anticipation. Christine had no choice but to do as he asked.
Doggedly she recounted the tale Erik gave to her. When she was through, Edna looked at Christine's drawn face and said a little shortly, "Very well. You have heard it once more. Now if you don't mind, why is it so important to you that she has to be bothered like this yet again? Have you found the miscreants who did this? She was kidnapped from the bank, sheriff! She didn't rob it! They did!"
"I know, I know, ma'am. Simmer down now. She's not in any trouble. You see, three days after the bank was robbed, the bank manager found a note someone put on his desk indicating that the stolen money was back in the bank vault." He set his hat on his knee and sighed. "It was exactly that too. All of it was back in the safe with no sign of forced entry. Right down to the last dollar." He shook his head and stared at the floor as if the answer he sought was hidden in the flower pattern in the carpet.
"But how was it possible, I ask you? I've heard tell of men with the know-how to open a locked safe without the combination, and now I've witnessed it myself." He scratched his head. "Can you tell me anything? Anything at all, miss? This man who found you wandering around that morning- can you give me a better description? You said he was average looking with a beard. Any idea of his age? Eye or hair color? Any scars or marks on his body that you could see?"
Christine gazed steadily back at him, but was thinking of Erik and his promise to her. They had just reached the bluff above town the night he returned her home. Christine was exhausted and her teacher was watching her sharply, but something had occurred to her on the road home, and she felt that it was imperative that she know.
"Erik?" He swung his masked face toward her; the preternatural glow of his eyes no longer bothered her. It was normal now- for Erik. "The money they stole. Where is it?"
He stared at her until she looked down at the reins gripped in her two hands. The very act of riding astride and controlling a horse, even a fairly docile one like her mount, had inevitably tired her.
"Why? Do you wish to split it with me?" his tone somber, but eyes alight with amusement.
She glanced at him again and said tartly, "Are you telling me that you have it?" At his slight nod, she continued. "It's the town's money. M-My aunt's money- Hannah's and mine. And yours, and ...and even Nadir's. You are returning it, aren't you, Maestro?"
"The daroga does not keep his money in the Commerce Bank," he said with a snort. "The old goat keeps it under his mattress in one of his socks that has seen better days. And my funds are drawn from a bank in St. Louis," but his eyes softened as they roamed her tired face. "However," and he leaned down and placed his gloved hand on top of hers, suddenly wanting nothing more than to feel her skin against his, "I have every intention of returning the money to the bank. Does that satisfy you?"
"Yes, it does. But how?" She was so relieved, she turned her hand over and grasped his fingers, threading them with hers. Erik fought the urge to bring that small hand to his almost non-existent lips. Instead he drew in a deep breath, and held her hand a little tighter.
"A magician does not give up his secrets so easily. You must trust your Erik."
She had trusted him. This was the proof. Her teacher remained an enigma to her. At times she could only look at him in wonderment, but he accomplished what he had promised her. How he did it was what had her in a state of bafflement.
And so she answered Sheriff Dillard at least somewhat truthfully. Well...um, as I told you before, his face was covered by that scruffy beard...a brownish color, I think. He wore a hat pulled low, and I couldn't make out any of his features, except that his eyes were dark. I have no idea of his age; he could have been anywhere from...oh, forty to sixty," she shrugged her small shoulders, "and how the money was found back in the safe is something I have no clue about. I would truly like to know the answer to that myself, sir." Christine regarded him with a look of innocence, until with a sigh of defeat, he stood up.
"You are a very brave young woman to have kept your wits about you and escaped when the chance presented itself," he said, fiddling with the brim of his hat, "but it's too bad your Good Samaritan didn't come forward. Your aunt here put up a hefty sum of money for your safe return, and because of his uh... shyness, he lost himself a nice reward.
"But you were lucky that he felt it was worth coming to your aid," he added, his skepticism carefully concealed. He had already filed her story away for the tall tale it so obviously was.
"Yes, very lucky. I wish I could find a way of thanking him properly."
And it was nothing but the truth.
Hannah showed Dillard out, and Christine looked hesitantly at her aunt. "I would like to continue my lessons with Mr. Archer this evening, auntie. Do you give your permission?"
This surprised Edna, critically observing her niece. "So soon? You have only just left your room, and I believe it may be a little too soon. You look peaky, child."
"But I'm ever so much better now!" Christine protested.
"What if he's not expecting you?"
"Then I'll come back home. Please... may I?"
Her aunt finally nodded, and the young woman gave her a warm hug. "Thank you," she said, kissing one powdered cheek.
Edna patted her hand. "A return to normalcy is exactly what you need, I suppose. Just don't overdo it. All right?"
"I won't. He wouldn't let me," she said simply.
She was about to leave, when her aunt put a hand on her arm. "The returned money. Do you know how it got back in the safe, niece?"
Christine met Edna's look head on. "No. I do not," and she smiled at her aunt's questioning gaze, saying honestly, "It's more like magic, isn't it?"
Edna dropped her hand and said crisply, "No such thing. But of course you wouldn't know how the money was returned. How could you? Go rest a while before dinner. You don't want to over-do, child."
She watched her niece leave, wondering how anyone could truly believe Christine's tale. To think someone just happened to find her niece stumbling around that morning, miles from nowhere, provided her with an extra horse he just happened to have and selflessly brought her back to St. Joe, which was no doubt miles out of his way and then conveniently disappeared, was the height of absurdity. Before long, the sheriff shows up and tells them the stolen money has gone from the clutches of the bandits and been miraculously returned by someone familiar with the vault combination.
What a farradiddle!
But whoever came up with this scenario was smart enough to realize that it couldn't be proven or disproven, for that matter. It would be impossible to find someone who didn't exist. She had her suspicions, but that's as far as it would go; her niece had been returned to her- and she was very grateful to him.
Christine went straight to her room where she rummaged in the bottom drawer of the walnut wardrobe, searching for a square white box containing colorful pieces of wrapping paper she had saved. Finding the box, she set it on the bed and selected a piece of silver paper from it and a small length of red ribbon. Wrapping it quickly, she went downstairs to the kitchen to help Hannah get dinner.
At six-thirty she left the house and walked quickly through the two yards to Archer House. She heard the honking and the cursing before she made it to the back door. Turning toward the back of the property, she watched as a furious Nadir stalked quickly over to her. She could hear him muttering in his native tongue, and he stopped abruptly when he saw her.
"Allah have mercy! It does my heart good to see you looking so well! We have been very concerned about you!"
Nadir was surprised when she gave him a brief hug, and he awkwardly patted her shoulder in return.
She pulled away and smiled up at him. "Thank you for the box of chocolates! Hannah especially enjoyed them," she teased and watched as he became uncomfortable. She nodded toward the low stone wall at the back of the property and the path into the woods. "Taking an evening stroll with Anthony? How nice."
He became angry all over again. "The only stroll I wish to take with that damned...excuse me, Christine. The only stroll I wish to take with that animal is to a chopping block! He came up behind me just moments ago and bit me on the a...uh, the leg, and Mrs. Cole doesn't appear outside unless she is armed with a broom. The damned beast...excuse me, Christine, leaves droppings everywhere on the grounds. It's most unsafe to put a foot down. I chased him into the woods, but we should go inside before he returns. Erik is insane to keep him on the property!"
She swallowed her laughter as he followed her into the house. "I've come for my lesson, Nadir. Is Erik here?"
He nodded. "Yes. And he will be very happy to see you looking so much better. He told me you were quite done in when you arrived home." He well knew that those two miserable excuses for men had harmed the girl, and Khan felt his ire once again bubbling to the surface. He noted that the humor in Christine's voice never quite made it to her eyes which appeared shadowed and tense. He was glad that his friend had made sure that they paid for their transgressions with their lives, but then, the Persian had known all along that he would.
"He is most likely in the tower, child. He has been there every evening I think, waiting for just this moment. Go on up."
She started up the steps, but paused on the landing to caress the head of the serene lady. "He came for me," she whispered to the statue.
She looked at the gift in her hand. It wasn't very much to give him; he had much nicer cravat pins than this one. When she arrived at the tower room she stood outside the open doors, nervously patting her hair and running her hands down her lilac dress, before peeking in the room. At her light tap he swung around on the piano bench, and she could see that he had been writing.
"Christine!" He set the pen down on the composition paper, and strode quickly across the room to her. She was very surprised to see him smiling. It was a rare occurrence.
He looked her over carefully, noticing as the Persian had, the dark smudges beneath her eyes, but overall he was pleased at the glow of health he now saw in her compared to the image of an exhausted and frightened young woman he found only a few days ago. She had gravitated toward him as anyone would, having escaped from a brutal fate, and Erik had reveled in her uninhibited touches and the feel of her body as she slept in his arms. He bitterly told himself that Christine's warmth for him would end on her return home. His wayward mind recalled the night outside her kitchen door and the fierce hug she had given him. It was his first, and it had warmed his cold heart for days. He wanted more of it.
With that in mind, he hesitantly reached for her hands now, and was enormously pleased when her fingers tightened around his.
He led her into the room, his gaze repeatedly going to their entwined hands. He felt like a love-sick fool, but was helpless to stop. "You look much better! Madame Jules said you were recovering nicely." He settled her in a chair and reluctantly let go of her hand, before retreating to the piano. "Are you sleeping well?" Erik asked casually.
Christine startled by the question, shrugged. "Well enough... considering." She glanced at him briefly before dropping her eyes. "Your music... helps."
"Bad dreams?"
"Sometimes," she admitted.
"It will get better. You simply need time."
"Yes." She fiddled with the package in her hand. "Hannah told me you were at the back door everyday inquiring about me." Christine shook her head in mock sadness. "It wasn't me you were interested in though, was it? It was that cobbler she promised to make for you."
"Indeed. What other reason would I have?" he said, amusement lacing his words.
"Thank you for returning the money, Erik. I don't know how you did it, but Sheriff Dillard is very impressed with you." She hurriedly elaborated. "Not you in particular, but the individual who magicked the money back into the safe. Count me as one of your admirers too," she said quietly.
He nodded as he kept his eyes on her face, oddly pleased at her words and very content to have her back in his home. "Yes, magic. That's as good an explanation as any, I suppose. I am simply glad to see you looking much healthier," and neatly dismissed the topic of the stolen money.
Christine realized he would say no more about it. The subject was closed. She looked at the box in her hand, then got up and walked to where her teacher stood near the grand. She held the gift out to him. "This is for you, Maestro. It isn't what you are used to, but I hope you like it."
He stared at the box she held, eying it suspiciously and making no move to take it from her. Christine's smile slowly died, and the silence stretched out and became loud in its very awkwardness.
"Erik? I ...got this for you. I-It came all the way from Chicago. Please...take it," and she held it out again, but this time there was a slight tremor in her hand.
Slowly he held his hand out, long fingers slightly curled, as if prepared to snatch them back in case the box proved to be dangerous. Christine was stunned by his strange attitude toward the gift, but she breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers finally closed on it. He looked at the box then back at her.
"Open it," she nudged gently.
He nodded, and very carefully untied the bright red ribbon and set it aside. Slowly he pulled the silver paper away revealing the gray box. The paper joined the ribbon, and again he merely regarded the gift, making no move to open it. He glanced at Christine, the look in his eyes unfathomable, but finally he lifted the lid and gazed at the stick pin with the sapphire stone.
Christine waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. "I know it's not much. You have handsomer ones than that, but I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me. I can send it back if you don't like it. It's all right. I..."
"No!" his voice louder than usual, but he caught himself and repeated in a near whisper, "No." He cradled the box in one large hand, "I feel like such a fool, but no one has ever given me anything before. I-I don't know how to act, or what to say except- I will treasure this always, Christine." He took a deep breath, and said the words he couldn't recall having ever said...to anyone. "Thank you."
She felt the lump in her throat, seeing the shock in his eyes at receiving his first gift. She now knew her teacher to be the man she had admired in print; the cunning and bravery of the Phantom were not just tales to sell papers, but a living, breathing man. That he was not as benevolent as she had first thought, little mattered to her anymore, for she had done some growing up since then, but to see him searching for words and confused by a gesture most took for granted, left her feeling sad. She glanced up at him now, surrounded by the shadows in which he lived, and felt an enormous tenderness for him.
He carefully took the pin out of its bed of cotton, rubbing it gently with the tips of his fingers, then nearly yanked the solid gold pin out of his gray cravat, tossing it onto his music sheets.
She stepped closer to him, Erik's pleasure in her gift oddly endearing, and indicated the pin in his hand. "May I?"
Literally speechless, he could only nod, and she took it from him. Reaching up, she slid it through the cool satin fabric, then unthinkingly smoothed her hand over it, feeling the hardness of his chest underneath his waistcoat and fine linen shirt.
He felt short of breath at her proximity and gentle touch, his nerves tightly wound.
"There!" she said, as she stepped back and looked critically at the pin, putting distance between them. "You know, I think it looks very nice," she declared, her own breathing a little erratic. What caused that?
He immediately missed her closeness to him. Missed it, but feared it as well. The closer she became to him, the more tempted he was to tilt her face up to his and... He shook his head slightly, still shaken at the thought of getting a present. No one had ever considered him worthy of a gift. And to think that she did.
Feeling a growing warmth in his veins, he recalled what he was doing before she arrived. "Remember when I told you I was working on a piece of music, Christine? Well, it is finished." He nodded at the piano. "May I play it for you?"
"I would like nothing better," smiling archly at him," but I was here for a lesson. Does that mean there won't be any?"
He nodded, amused at her sigh of relief, and set a chair near the grand, just as he had the first time she entered the tower room. "Tonight I will play for you and you shall listen, yes?" He walked over to the piano, sat down, and began to play in D-flat major.
She loved watching him almost as much as she loved listening to him. He was in his natural element. To Christine, when she thought of music it invariably brought her teacher to mind. He leaned forward, head canted to one side. She knew his eyes were closed and he was far away, lost to her in the bright melody. It was so very different from his usual style; this piece had none of the melancholy which usually infused his choice of music. With a series of arpeggios which his nimble fingers handled with so much ease, he skillfully carried the melody with his right hand, and the chords moved seamlessly into a lighter, more delicate air to become serene and flowing. She was reminded of sunlight on water and the beauty of a warm summer day.
So much skill, she thought as the piece reached its conclusion, and a little more of that hard poisonous knot surrounding her heart, seeped away. When he turned, she was at his side. "Beautiful! I could see the clearing in the woods and...and the glittering water. I felt as if I was walking under the trees where it was shady and cool, then bursting into the light and seeing the willow tree bent over the little pond! I loved it. I remember the piece you wrote for my audition, but I didn't know you could write music like this! Why, it's as good as anybody's!" she declared with artless charm. It was difficult for her to curb her excitement and Erik was relieved to see it. "The clearing was your inspiration?"
"No. You were."
She was flabbergasted. "I inspired you?"
"Very much so." He searched her face. "Why? Does that surprise you?"
"A little, yes."
"Well, don't be. Now then, what would you like to hear? Name it." He sat there playing a simple melody, when she placed a hand hesitantly on his shoulder causing a start of surprise from him. She began to remove it, but he put his hand over hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Neither one of them moved for a full minute, then finally Christine took a deep breath. "Will you sing with me, Erik?"
It was what he had dreamed of doing almost from the first time he heard her dulcet tones coming through his window. And to have her wanting it also, gave him pleasure which he had never known before. "Yes, of course. I would like that... very much."
Reluctantly, he took his hand from hers and turned back to the piano. "What would you like to sing?"
"O Divine Night from Romeo et Juliette."
"Excellent choice," and he began to play. She kept her hand on his shoulder, unwilling to break the contact, and he felt an emotion which he could only imagine was happiness. The closest he ever came to it had been through music.
Soon their voices were joined together, blending so very well, Christine's pure, clear soprano, complimenting her teacher's rich and vibrant dramatic tenor, his voice causing a trickle of pure emotion down her spine.
He turned and stared up at her, surprised to see a single tear rolling down one soft cheek. Their eyes locked, and for those few precious moments no one existed but the two of them.