I have a tumblr as of two days ago: symphony-in-a
I'm going to end on a nice even chapter 40, then promptly begin another E/C. But it'll be very different, more of a slow burn than a family fic.
Enjoy! Please review if you do.
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ERIK
The bedroom was white, with translucent curtains swaying in the breeze, and pale sunlight streaming in through the open window. The trees outside were dusted with snow. I approached the bed where Christine lay, clasping a pearl-white bundle to her chest. Her skin was pale as porcelain.
"Don't you want to see the baby?" she whispered, smiling down at what she held.
A white hand peeked out of the blankets, no larger than a coin. I sat down beside her, my heart pounding madly in my chest. Let it be perfect, let it be perfect...
The veil was pulled away. The head of a doll appeared, with a single curl of brown hair on her head. Her eyes opened, revealing a startling blue. Nothing tainted her features. She was exactly as a baby for Christine ought to be.
The moment I smiled in relief, Christine's face contorted, and her arms fell limp. I caught the baby, whispering her name, asking what was wrong, over and over, until the words lost all meaning. She stared up at the ceiling with fear in her eyes. Beneath her grew a pool of blood, staining the white sheets of the bed like wine, dragging the pink from Christine's cheeks. I grabbed her arm.
"Christine! Christine!"
"Erik! Erik!" she called in the dark.
My forehead was damp with sweat. I found I had been shaking her by the arm without my knowledge. I slid off the bed, my legs trembling beneath the weight of my body. She pursued me, rubbing her arm. Oh, heaven help me if it bruised!
"I've hardly begun to show," she whispered. "And you seem to have nightmares at least once a week about it."
I took trembling breaths, unable to reply. I tried to keep my gaze directed out the window.
"Come sit with me," she coaxed.
I turned around to see her patting the spot beside her, smiling faintly in the darkness. Then her lips trembled into a frown.
"I'm so sorry you have to endure this," she said. "I wish we had been able to decide on it together, rather than be thrown into it, but life doesn't exactly work like that, does it? We know that better than most, I should think... Come sit with me, won't you?"
"What will I do if you don't..." I asked feebly, "i-if you..."
"Then you'll have the baby," she replied.
"But it won't be you. I need you."
"Erik," she sighed, "we don't know when we will die. I can't say I won't, but the odds aren't exactly high. I'm a young, healthy woman with no history of difficult births in my family. My body seems to be changing in the way it should, at the correct pace. Everything is going well. We have no reason to worry."
"You are all that matters to me," I told her. "I can't live without you."
"I know that, and it upsets me that I might not be here with you always, that one of us will one day be alone..." She shook her head to clear it. "Oh, let's not talk about death now. It upsets me just as much as you. And I'm so full of life, now, my dear. There shouldn't be a need to talk about such miserable things."
I placed my hand where the child grew within her. She smiled at me, clasping her hands over mine.
"I can't wait until we feel the first kick," she said excitedly. "The books you bought me all say that comes later, but I hope it comes soon. It's been almost four months now, I think. Only two more until we'll feel him for the first time, then only three until we can see him."
"Or her," I added.
She leaned back onto the headboard. "What will you name our child, if it is a her?"
"Christine."
"That's sweet of you, but we can't possibly name her after me. It would be too confusing."
"Well, we have one named Viola. Perhaps Violin? Cello?"
"You're being facetious, right?"
"Of course I am... But if it's a boy, what will you name him?"
She hummed contentedly. "Gustav, after my father."
"Do you have a girl's name in mind as well?"
She shook her head. "Not at all. I want you to have a part in deciding."
"You're giving birth. Shouldn't you name him or her?"
"You helped."
"Not..." I fidgeted, "very much."
She laughed, "I would take that help any day, but yes, it rather pales in comparison to what I will have to do... But you're caring for me now, and you'll have to later. That means the workload will be fair at some point."
"After giving birth, I doubt you will think that way."
"Oh, lots of women use chloroform now to help with the pain," she said simply. "Perhaps it won't be as bad then."
"Chloroform isn't... particularly safe, though."
"It's safe enough-"
"But I don't trust a midwife with the dosage. If you require it, I will be in control of how much you have."
"But you can't be in the room while I'm giving birth," she declared, her eyes widening.
"Why not?"
"I-It's not done. No midwife in her right mind would permit such a thing."
"I'm sure they could make an exception for a man with medical expertise."
"I..." she sighed in resignation. "Maybe... it's just... Laura was telling me about her birth. The midwives didn't even want her husband in the same room as her afterward, only once to see the baby, and whenever she required something. It was very funny, she said, as she does absolutely everything around the house. Her husband had to hire a nursemaid for a couple weeks so that he could work, but she said it was mostly because he was too prideful to cook meals for her and such... I forget how strange we are, in our marriage, especially that you help me with meals. I've never said that to my friends, though. They would be in an uproar."
"Do they think men can't cook?"
"No, it's just that... oh, you know, men provide for the food and the house, so women should be the ones to cook and clean. With us, though, that doesn't make sense. It wouldn't be fair."
"Would you... prefer it, if I worked?"
"What would you do?"
"I was merely asking."
She thought for a moment, then replied, "No. I wouldn't. We spend more time together this way."
"Some would say too much."
"Well, I go visit my friends, and we have Viola to tend to."
"And I have to tend to you now."
"Oh, not yet. I'm quite capable still. You wait until the last two months, those are absolutely miserable, I hear, for both parties."
"I would much prefer that form of misery," I told her quietly, "as opposed to others."
"Yes... I expect so."
We were silent for a moment, pensive. I glanced out at the silver trees reflecting the moonlight. Leaves had begun to fall now, coating the ground in burnt colors. There was no delight to stepping in them, though, as they were damp from rain and not in the least bit crisp. That was the only joy when autumn grew cold- crisp, bitter leaves to crunch underfoot.
"Viola's growing up so fast," Christine whispered, glancing at the door. "They say that about children, but I didn't believe it. She'll soon be old enough to eat real food, you know. Clarice is going to teach me how to make peas for her, and a few other things. I think she might be visiting Laura's baby tomorrow, so I can ask her then."
I nodded, lying back down on the bed. She curled up on top of me, running her hand along my deformity and caressing the warped skin.
"I'm glad it's cool now," she whispered, "so that we can sleep close together."
"Yes..." I swallowed, "very close, apparently."
She laughed, then kissed me before shifting to the side a bit, exhaling sleepily.
"It's funny," she said, "how much we talk in the middle of the night."
"It is..."
She curled up against my arm, shutting her eyes. I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her head to fill back up with beautiful dreams of the baby. I, however, couldn't bear another of my twisted nightmares, so I kept myself wide awake where I lay beside her.
If only I could know for certain that everything would go well in the end...
The days were full of Christine's excitement, but mine were filled with dread. Often, I would wake in the night and she would not, as she slept more soundly than she had before. I had to resort to small doses of laudanum to fall back asleep, and sometimes to fall asleep at all. This made my dreams insensible rather than frightening. Even with that, my heart grew heavy in my chest that these remaining months could be my last with Christine. I tried to see any other future, of her happy and healthy, with a baby equally so, but I couldn't imagine it. My mind refused.
Viola decided, of course, that it was then that she would begin to sprout teeth. She had to have a toy in her mouth at all times or else she would start wailing with pain. Christine was beside herself from it. She often endured strange moods now, but mostly she would burst into tears of happiness at the smallest thing. I bought her a vase of hydrangeas and she sobbed for half an hour, at least, over it. Though blessedly rare, she would sometimes upset herself over something, often about the baby's room. She never berated me about anything, but she could snap at me for no obvious reason. One day it was the cradle I had bought, as her friend's-friend's baby had suffocated from the way the mattress fit in a similar model. So I had purchased a new one, and she had fussed over it for a time before insisting that it was perfectly lovely and I was wonderful for helping her, and the like. Her praise of me was more common than her strange moods, thankfully.
She was always tired, it seemed. I would be composing at the piano, hear her sit down on the sofa beside me, then glance over and find her asleep. I kept a blanket folded underneath the coffee table now due to this. It was a great pleasure in life to care for her in such ways.
Though she asked very little of me, and I felt quite pleased with my care of her, there was one thing I could not do. It sounded silly even to think of.
She wanted pickled herring. She only ate seafood now, but she kept mentioning the pickled herring specifically, asking if I would mind searching Rouen for some. I did, of course, but I only found a different jar of a pickled fish. She thanked me, but it was all politeness on her part. Fortunately, I had found some recently, and bought ten jars, which I hid in the cellar. Her birthday was in a few days, and I wanted to have something for her that I was certain she would like. I had wanted to buy her a diamond necklace or the like, but she wasn't so fond of those sorts of things. Instead I bought her some expensive stockings for the winter in the colors and patterns she preferred. Then, as she didn't care about herself so much, I got little dresses for Viola and the new baby. She would like anything I gave her, of course, but I wanted to see her surprised. I wanted to see her genuine instead of polite.
The morning of October first, I woke to find Christine curled up at the edge of the bed, the covers tucked up under her. Should I make her breakfast? Bring her the flowers I had hidden? Did she open gifts now or later? Oh, I knew nothing of birthdays! I had never experienced one, or taken part in another's. There had been observations, though. I knew that there were gifts and sweets, but in what order?
Christine turned over in her sleep, moaning as she pulled my arm about her. I didn't want to wake her up further, though, so I waited for her to settle, and remained there until Viola began to cry. Christine was upright in an instant, hurrying to her child before I could even stand up from the bed.
"Good morning, my little angel," I heard her croon as I entered the nursery.
Viola stared up at her in ecstasy, reaching for her mother's face.
"Happy birthday," I said from the doorway, figuring it best just to say the words first.
She beamed. "Thank you. I forgot to remind you yesterday, so I'm surprised you remembered. Twenty-two now."
"Twenty-two..."
"You know, Erik..." she said, with a bit of shyness, "since we don't know when your birthday is, can't we celebrate them on the same day?"
I was silent for a moment, quite overwhelmed by the proposal. "Wouldn't you prefer it all to yourself?"
"No," she said simply, blowing raspberries in Viola's face to make her laugh. "I already share every minute of my life with you. And besides, I already bought your gifts, so it must be today... What did you say you were?"
"Perhaps forty."
"Let's just make it your fortieth, then. That's a nice number... Did you plan anything for today? It's fine if you didn't, though-"
"I thought we could take a walk and have a picnic for lunch."
"That sounds lovely. Gifts after or before?"
"Well, what would you like?"
"I asked you."
"It's your actual birthday-"
"All right, fine, I'll decide. Before."
I nodded in agreement. "Do you want breakfast?"
"Yes. What are you going to make?"
"Crêpes."
"The baby likes that idea very much," she said. "Not this baby, though, she has to eat peas first before she can start on real food." She blew another raspberry for Viola's delight.
After breakfast, Christine decided we ought to give our gifts then. I didn't quite know what to think of it. She had made me a gift once- the scarf- and I had kept it with my coat. It was not my fondest memory, though. Those days had been filled with so much uncertainty on my part, and I wished I had given Christine my love in a better fashion from the very beginning.
She sat down on the sofa with Viola, who had begun to fuss for an unknown reason.
"Papa has to get my gifts now," she told her. Then she teased, "Is that why you're upset? Because you don't get any? You'll get lots of gifts for Christmas, though, I promise you that, the way your father spoils us both."
"Is that such a bad thing?" I asked, heading up the stairs to get her roses first.
"Not at all," she replied, smiling.
When I brought the vase of roses down, she sighed in delight. "Oh, those are lovely, thank you."
I retrieved the rest of her gifts, then placed them all out in front of her. The herring was in one large box, all ten jars of it. She stared at this in confusion.
"Did you buy me a sewing machine?" she asked.
"Did you want one?" I replied.
"Well, I would like anything you gave me..." she said, and I realized then what I should never get her. "Now let me get yours. I only have three for you, though."
"Three is... Three is good."
She handed Viola back to me, who whined in indignity. I turned her around to face me.
"I love you, too," I argued. "You needn't cry. Your mother will be back soon."
"Mah!" she whined.
"What?"
She began making incoherent noises again. I must have been hearing things...
"Here they are!" Christine declared triumphantly, carrying three little boxes in her arms, all complete with red bows.
"Mah," Viola cooed.
"So she did say it," I said triumphantly.
"It could just be baby talk-"
"No, she's saying 'ma' as in 'mama.'"
"That would be a wonderful birthday gift, wouldn't it?" she beamed as she picked Viola up and sat down with her. "Is that your gift to me, my little angel?"
"Mah," she said again, then she continued with this sound, smacking her lips in between them.
"Yours first," I told Christine before she could say the opposite.
She smiled. "I would argue, but, I want to know what is in that box... And it's heavy, too! What on earth is in this? Bricks?"
"Just open it."
She tore at the paper, then pulled open the brown box. Her lovely features widened.
"You actually found some," she said. "I can't believe it, you actually did! I am taking these on our picnic- oh, thank you so much."
She set one of my gifts in my lap. I stared at her in confusion.
"Are we taking turns?" I asked.
"Of course. Go on, let me see if you like it."
It was wrapped. I had never been given a real wrapped gift before, certainly not complete with a bow. What could she have gotten me? I would treasure the contents of that box no matter what they were, but my curiosity was building, building, yet I could not find the strength to untie the bow.
"Darling?" she asked.
"I don't want to destroy it," I replied.
"What do you mean?"
"It's so beautiful."
"Well, save the paper, then, and the bow."
"Save it? But that's not the same."
"I'll go wrap you up an empty box, if you like, but you do know what's inside is what matters?"
"I do... of course I do..."
I tore it. The paper peeled off, and the bow tumbled into my lap. Was I shaking? Either that or we were experiencing an earthquake in France.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"No. No, I'm not."
"Are you concerned my selection wasn't good?"
"If I found a rock within this box, I would be overjoyed regardless."
"Ah, you guessed it! A rock, the best gift for one's husband-"
"Christine-" but I sighed and chuckled. "Yes. Just what I always wanted..."
I pulled open the lid, and there was of course, not a rock, but instead some folded sheet music. The notes had been inked in by her very own hand.
"You wrote me a piece?" I asked.
"Oh, I wouldn't call it a piece," she replied, beaming. "But certainly a song I wrote for you."
"For me?"
She nodded. "You and only you. I would be happy to sing it for you later."
"I would quite like that... thank you."
She glanced at her gifts, and I handed her another. I hardly knew the things for the baby would make her cry, though. It was only a pair of shoes at first, two for Viola's feet and two for the baby, that made tears run down her cheeks. She embraced me, still holding Viola between us, who cooed.
It was odd that Christine reacted to most things with tears: happiness, relief, anger, sadness. Even when she laughed she often cried. I had hardly known all those emotions could be answered the same way.
"They're all so lovely," she told me, as I insisted she open all of them before I opened my last two. "And now you must open yours. I didn't make these two, don't worry. I bought them."
"What with?"
"A bit I snuck out of the safe," she beamed mischievously. "I still have my own money, you know, quite a bit of it. I only took my share."
"That doesn't matter to me. It's your money as much as it is mine."
"Well, the husband is supposed to manage the finances. Not like most do, of course, but we're supposed to pretend like they're in charge of it."
"You've been talking to your friends too much."
"They make me very happy to have a husband around all the time to help with things, and be willing to help with things. I wouldn't tell them that, though, they'd gasp in shock. And I don't want them to think I'm not a good wife-"
"They think what?" I demanded.
"Nothing. They would just think me less competent, being helped by my husband around the house. But they seem to like me very much. They value my honesty. And I was also one of the only women who has already finished her share of knitting for the asylum, so now I'm picking up from where Laura left off... Oh, but open your gifts, won't you? Don't let me keep talking about nothing."
"I like it when you talk about nothing."
I proceeded to open the first box. It was long, and contained tissue paper, which I pushed aside to find a new dressing gown. It was crimson, and the fabric was quilted. The edges were a deep burgundy.
"What do you think?" she asked anxiously.
"I like it very much."
"Will you wear it tonight?"
"If you want me to."
"It's not like you'll have it on for that long anyway, though."
I turned to her in stupefaction. "What do you mean?"
"What do you think I mean?"
"We can't make love while you're with child! Not this far along, anyway. It's been almost four months. Won't it hurt the baby?"
"Of course not."
"How do you know?"
She shrugged. "I've learned a lot from the opera girls, more than I will ever tell you, and certainly more than I will ever do myself."
"Why not?"
Her mouth fell open in embarrassment. "It's not decent, the things they talk about-"
"Says the woman who insisted on making love at night in the middle of a forest-"
"Erik, that was different!" she said, her cheeks coloring.
I laughed, "Perhaps... but are you certain it won't hurt the baby?"
"Entirely."
"Then... yes, of course I want to, as long as Viola goes to bed well."
"Oh, she had better," Christine scolded playfully, making kissy noises around Viola's face as she giggled. "You wouldn't interrupt your mama and papa, would you?"
"Mah," she giggled, "mah."
"Can you say that? Mama?"
"Mah."
"It's close," I said.
"Very close..." Her eyes lit. "Last gift."
It was a perfect cube, tightly wrapped. I had to tug the bow off before it opened, and inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a gold pocket watch.
"You buy me nice things," she said, smiling, "so I ought to do the same. And on the back I had it engraved. I didn't know what to say, so I just put 'from your dear Christine,' though it sounds a little silly-"
"It's not silly," I replied, admiring it with my mouth open in awe. "It's wonderful."
She kissed my cheek. "Perfect... Now, did you buy me any sweets?"
"There is a box of chocolates in the kitchen."
"Oh, I love you."