Chapter 24
Journey of Discovery

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It was nearing the end of March. Two weeks had passed since being brought to Mamma's house in Perros, and Erik had reached the point where he was feeling well enough to be bored with staying in bed. Uninterested with the book he had been trying to read, he considered whether to go downstairs, but the familiar pangs of anxiety struck because he would have to do so with his face exposed. If Christine had been with him, the two would probably be discussing the latest book she was reading, or the most recent musical news. But she was not. She told him when she brought his breakfast to his room that Anatole Garron was expected later today, and now she was downstairs helping Mamma, probably preparing dinner or engaged in some other domestic chores.

Garron had been making regular visits to the Valérius house, and in the process was becoming indispensable. Whenever he called, he would get a list from Mamma and run errands for the two women so they could concentrate on taking care of Erik. Sometimes he brought a boîte à sucre, a box of sweets filled with the chocolate truffles Christine loved so much, or newspapers for Erik. Other times he would bring more practical items, such as medicines from the apothecary. Anatole also kept Christine abreast as to what was happening back in Paris and the latest gossip from the opera house, and remained their go-between with Reynard d'Aubert, who had returned to Paris but was still keeping track of those who had been involved in the late unpleasantness.

As far as Erik was concerned, though, Garron's greatest accomplishment was that the baritone could look him straight in the face and never once bat a lash over his appearance. Erik's greatest worry since waking up in Mamma's house was not having his mask. If there had just been Christine, it would not have mattered as much. She had seen his face many times and was comfortable with it. But allowing others to see his true self? That was much harder, yet there was nothing he could do about it at the present.

Only yesterday, he had brought the subject up to Christine. She commiserated with him and explained how she had found the mask he had been wearing that fateful night in February. Unfortunately, it was still back in her Paris flat. He told her he had other masks as well as hair pieces, but they too were back in Paris, in his own house by the lake. And even if he had them here, he would not have been able to wear them, at least not now. Not until some of the injuries to his face were healed.

Christine insisted all along that neither Anatole nor Mamma thought any less of him because of his appearance, and it seemed that she was correct. Never once had either of them said or done anything to ever make Erik feel other than accepted within their small circle of friendship. But that did not mean he was comfortable with it.

Mask or no mask, he decided he needed a change of scenery. He got up, and picked up the robe Mamma had brought him a few days ago off the back of the chair Christine usually sat in. Looking down at his bare feet, Erik considered adding shoes or slippers to Garron's list, as all he presently had to wear were the stockings Mamma had quickly knit for him. Still tiring easily, he sat down in the chair and pulled the stockings over his feet.

Then he took a deep breath and prepared to leave his room. Using a cane in one hand – another gift from Anatole – and his other hand on the wall for support, Erik slowly worked his along the hallway and down the stairs. Others might have looked upon this as a small accomplishment, but Erik was quite proud of himself. He could not wait to see the look on Christine's face when she saw him up and about.

Heading towards the parlor, he heard Anatole's voice and realized that he was here already. Repressed feelings of unworthiness unexpectedly came out of hiding as Erik entered the room and saw Christine talking animatedly with the other man. There they were, sitting on the sofa, talking. Nothing untoward by any means. But the dark thoughts that had come to him while he had been imprisoned, of releasing Christine, struck again. Furious at himself for letting these emotions get out of hand, he shoved them back. There was no reason for them, he scolded himself. Forcing himself to stand straighter, Erik walked in. He knew he would have to confront these feelings once and for all, or have them constantly nagging at him, tearing him apart inside.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur duBois." Anatole stood up, smiling as he extended his hand in friendship.

"Good afternoon," Erik replied, swallowing hard and forcing himself to return the man's smile with one of his own while awkwardly offering his own bandaged hand.

"Here, won't you have this seat?" Anatole said, directing Erik to the seat next to Christine.

She, in turn, was immediately at Erik's side, assisting him as he walked over to the sofa. Her face was glowing with happiness. "I had no idea you were feeling well enough to come downstairs on your own."

"I wanted to surprise you." Looking down at his stockinged feet, he added, "Although, if I'm going to be walking around, I suspect I would benefit from a pair of slippers."

Grabbing an afghan from one of the other chairs, she made sure it was tucked about his feet and then sat down next to him. Garron took another chair on the other side of the room.

"Anatole was telling me the latest gossip."

"Anything interesting?" Erik asked, trying to keep his unease from showing.

"Not really. Since Christine has been absent from the opera house, Carlotta has returned with a vengeance. So I dare say neither of you is missing anything. By the way, I must say, you are looking much better, M. duBois, and in only a little over two weeks." Anatole looked over at Christine. "You must have a good nurse."

"Yes," Erik said, reaching for her hand, "and she is an angel."

The three of them spent the next hour talking about this and that, a completely new experience for Erik who was unused to making small talk with friends. Christine invited Anatole to stay for supper.

"I'm afraid I can't stay much longer, as I am taking the 2 o'clock train back to Paris," he said as he glanced down at his pocket watch. He looked across the room at Erik. "I was telling Christine earlier that if either of you need anything to let me know. But I will probably be back in two days, so if there is anything I can bring back for you…? A pair of slippers, perhaps?" Anatole asked, his little wink telling Erik that this was all a good-natured joke.

Erik did his best to respond in kind. "Merci, M. Garron. That would be…most appreciated."

"De rien. It's nothing. And we must dispense with all these formalities. Henceforth, I would prefer it if you would simply call me Anatole. Well then, I shall say au revoir to the two of you."

Christine walked Anatole to the door, then returned to the parlor and helped make Erik comfortable, bringing him some pillows to rest against. She also brought out a blanket, as it was still early spring and the room could sometimes be chilly. Satisfied with her ministrations, she sat down next to him.

"I can tell you're still ill at ease around Anatole. I hope that one day you and he will be friends. He's a very good person."

"Yes, he is indeed," Erik finally said. "It…it still amazes me that he can look upon my face without recoiling."

"He has a greater understanding for your situation than you realize, Erik. Perhaps one day, when the two of you are more comfortable with each other, he can tell you why."

Erik pondered this comment, then looked at her. She seemed so happy, sitting next to him, but he wanted to do what was right. It would break his heart to give her up, but if it would be for the best, then that was what he would do.

"You like him very much, don't you, Christine?"

"Why, yes. He's been a good friend, even before all this terrible business. I hate to think what might have happened to you if he had not been there to help."

What she was saying was true. He was alive because of Garron's help, and the other man he'd briefly met, the one named d'Aubert. But they did not help him for his own sake; rather it was done for Christine's. At least, that was what he had been telling himself these past days. The idea that someone would come to his aid because it was the right thing to do was still new to him, and he was having trouble adjusting to this manner of thinking.

"A woman could do a lot worse than to marry him."

"I suppose that's true," she replied thoughtfully, resting her head upon his shoulder, seemingly content. "But why are you saying this to me, Erik?"

"Back in the sanitarium, I had a lot of time to think. I am a…difficult person to live with, though I've tried to convince myself otherwise." He looked down at the gold band she wore, the one he gave her on Christmas Eve. "Christine, if it is your wish, I will not hold you to your promise."

She was confused. "My promise? What promise do you mean?"

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. "Our engagement. I know that you care for M. Garron, and that he cares for you. He can give you the things I never can..." He could not bring himself to finish what he had started to say.

"Is that what you think? That I wish to be released from our engagement so that I can marry Anatole?" Christine would have laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion if it weren't that Erik was very serious. She leaned closer, putting her arms around his neck. "You dear, sweet, silly man. What must I do to convince you once and for all that there is no one I want more than you? I want to love you, and be loved by you. I want to be your wife. I want us to have a house of our own and fill it with many children."

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She saw the surprise on his face.

"Yes, children. I want to grow old with you." With her fingers, she caressed his face, being careful of those places that were still sore. With one hand on the back of his head, she drew him nearer and kissed him – first on the cheek, then on the lips, and could feel him respond to her tender passion. "And when we're alone in our house, I want to see you – not a piece of leather. We cannot change the intolerance that exists in this world, but that doesn't mean we have to bring it into our home."

"But…"

"No buts, my love. Mamma once told me that marriage is a journey of discovery between two people, and I am eager to begin ours. Now, I want no more talk of sadness…"

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Author's Notes:

More fun with names. Garron is pronounced GARE-on. It is of Irish and Gaelic origin, and its meaning is "gelding." From the Gaelic word "gearran." A garron or garran is a type of horse. The term occurs in Scotland and in Ireland, and generally refers to an undersized and much-despised beast. It is also possibly from the French, meaning "guardian." Anatole is of Greek origin, and its meaning is "break of day." A variant of the name is found in Anatolia, a region of Turkey, east of Greece.

boîte à sucre -- sweets box, or box of sweets