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Chapter 29: Let Me Be Your Light
My loneliness grew at the loss of him in my life. Night after night I performed the role of the page boy. I flirted coquettishly with Carlotta, the silent part suiting me. I had my voice back and yet my muse was gone. I know he would not like my voice's current state and maybe I sang too inadequately in my dressing room in an attempt to pull him into the light.
The curtain closed and I made my way off stage, waving to those that had greeted me. Carlotta was quickly surrounded by her admirers. Her voice hadn't bothered me as before and I had enjoyed her performance tonight. "Christine, wait," called Meg. Her voice stopped me in the corridor while I waited for her to push through the Carlotta admirers and the cast. She made her way to my side. "Christine, where have you been hiding? You do not seem like yourself."
I reached my hand out to hers, guiding her to my dressing room. Once inside I exhaled. The crush of people had been too much. I gestured to my settee for her to sit while I sat at the vanity, turning my chair to face her.
"What ever has been the matter, Christine?" she asked.
"Erik and I had a quarrel and I think I have lost him for good Meg," I said as I handed her his letter I had retrieved from my desk.
"You will have to read it to me, I do not read so well, Christine."
And so I read her his letter. "I don't know what to do because I love him Meg and I want him back in my life."
"From what you have told me, he does love you very much. You were going to get married so surely this is a lover quarrel that will resolve itself over time."
She rose and gave me a hug while my tears fell on her shoulder. "I hope so, dear Meg. I hope so."
"You need to get away from the theater. Let's spend our day off outside the opera house. You need fresh air. You have looked so pale for months.
Retail therapy I thought. "May we go shopping?" I wanted to get another warmer dress, maybe an extra petticoat. It was the end of October and winter was fast approaching and this year I may be on my own.
I awoke with an excitement that had eluded me of late and I dressed for the day out. I had only ventured with Erik a few times out of the Opera House and our adventures had been limited to the hours before dawn. I would experience Paris under the glow if the sun.
It was bright and I squinted longing for a pair of shades. Stepping into 1880 Paris, I was assaulted by so many unfamiliar smells and scenes. I felt like I was in a movie yet I don't think any movie could have prepared me for the immersive experience I found myself in. The sounds of horses, carts, and people's feet hitting the stoned streets echoed off the buildings. There were so many horses pulling carts, carriages, or being ridden. Absent were the motorized sounds and electronic sounds of my day, instead the neighing of horses replaced the occasional car horn one hears. And the clip clop of their hooves striking the cobble stones, having replaced the sound of tires on the pavement. People walked about, some waved to each other while others were singularly tasked, no longer plugged into their tech or social media. There were no traffic lights and I tried to sort out the traffic rules.
"Christine, what are you staring at?" Meg asked, her hand reaching to touch my arm. "Christine?"
I was still trying to get used to her name as my own again. Erik had loved me and not Christine. He was right that I could be myself with him. I returned to reality. "It's just been awhile since I have been in the city."
"You need to leave the Palais Garnier more than. You looked like you had never seen a horse."
Horses were rare, a luxury pet and the sheer number of them pulling carriages, cabs, etc., called to mind Erik reading Black Beauty to me, back when we were happy. So many of these horses were being abused so that money could be saved and a greater distance could be pulled out of their bodies. I wished for the invention of the car to come sooner so that they would not have to suffer. A snapped timing belt didn't compare to the pain and probable death a horse would incur with a torn tendon.
"Meg, would you like to improve your reading?" I asked. Reading with her would help her to thrive and it would give me a purpose.
"I don't want to be a bother. I have managed without it."
I became excited. "Oh but Meg, if you can read then you will be able to know the contracts before you sign them. You will be able to read the papers , to know what is going on in Paris and the world." I became wistful, playing with his ring on my right hand. "Erik and I used to read the papers together." Then I reached to grasp her hands, "Oh Meg, there are so many fun adventures to be had in books. Please let me read with you."
"Very well Christine, though you may find me a troublesome pupil," she said.
"I think not Meg," I said. "Let us find a book store then," and I released her hand. We found a bookstore, it long narrow shop lined with row upon row of books. The smell of the paper, the pages, bringing back memories from my childhood and college days. Often you could find me curled up in a chair reading the latest purchase. My favorite store had a loft where I could lift up my head and people watch too. I had watched the bookstores in my city close, unable to compete with the online retailers.
"I found it," said Meg holding up a copy of Black Beauty. She handed it to me. Holding the book I felt a connection to my childhood, my world, and to Erik. The man and women were so clearly husband and wife. They were affectionate and moved with a clearly practiced routine as they rang me up. They reminded me of my parents, they reminded me of Erik and I.
"Did you still want to buy a dress?" she asked me as the bell on the door ringing as we exited the bookstore.
"Yes," I said, letting her pull me out of my musings.
"Then we shall." She said with a bounce in her step as she took my arm in hers. We entered a dress shop that seemed to have a modest selection of day dresses. I looked around, liking a gray dress of a sturdy fabric that would hide any dirt but was dismayed to find that I lacked the means to buy such a dress. Money was a precious commodity at any time. I thought of the subscribers the ballerinas had. It would take me several more months as I only had a few months salary. I recalled all the dresses Erik had for me back at his house on the lake. So much money in dresses. Now I wished I had taken more dresses with me. It wasn't like he was going to wear them.
"I shall have to save up and make do with what I have at the moment." I said. "We do need to eat, Shall we picnic in a park?" I asked her.
"That's a marvelous idea, Christine. We spend too many hours indoors. It is so nice to be outside while the weather is still nice. If we go this way we will pass a market."
"Lead the way Meg." I said and I followed her through the streets of Paris.
We passed bustling shops. We purchased some fruit, cheese and bread. Leaves crunched beneath our feet and the trees released their foliage for the season. The streets parted and we came upon a park with its grassy landscape covered with the hues of red, orange, and yellow leaves. The place looked familiar and then it hit me and I stopped. This was where I had been attacked. Was this the only park in the area? "What is this place?" I asked her.
"Louvre Tuileries, it was a former palace. I had forgotten you did not grow up in Paris," she said.
"Let's wander further," I said moving onward. I wanted away from the area. The area was pleasant looking in the day but I wanted away from any part that reminded me of the events of that night.
We sat down on a grass patch that overlooked a water feature. The day was beautiful in contrast to that darkened night. The warmth of the sun drove away my feelings of apprehension. I wish Erik could enjoy its warmth. I was pretty sure he hadn't known such a simple joy as the sun on his face without fear. People were everywhere like us enjoying the fall day. All too soon winter would be upon us. Snow would fall.
"Christine, Mademoiselle Daee is that you?"
I looked up, I needed to be her. I didn't want to be her. I wanted to be myself. "Oh Monsieur Vicomte."
He bowed, "May I join you, Mademoiselles?"
"Yes Monsieur. This is my friend, Mademoiselle Giry."
Raoul bowed, taking her hand in his. He sat near us on a mix of leaves and grass..
"I am sorry but you may end up with grass stains on your suit. We decided on a lark to picnic. Would you like some bread, cheese, or fruit?" I asked.
"Thank you. I may have a little bread." I tore off a piece and handed it to him. "Tell me about your day mademoiselles."
"We went to a bookstore. Christine wanted a copy of Black Beauty." said Meg.
" An interesting choice. It's making waves with animal rights activists across the channel." he said.
"I have read it before and I wanted my own copy," I said. "So often the plight of those who cannot speak for themselves is ignored."
"Do you refer to horses or have you another cause to champion?" He asked.
"Raoul, there are so many without a voice. For example, I am appalled at the choices that the ballet girls are forced to make with the so-called gentlemen that frequent the theater."
Meg looked at me in shock and then away. "Christine, we cannot talk of this in public or in mixed company."
Ever the diplomat, Raoul intervened. "I apologize for asking an incendiary question.
Meg nodded her thanks to Raoul. He continued changing the subject. "A picnic with bread, cheese, and fruit is so Persian. I missed bread the most when I was at Oxford. They have bread in England but the bread here is different. When I was missing my homeland I would seek out fresh baked bread or the sea. Bread was easier to come by then the sea given how landlocked Oxford is." He chuckled. "Mademoiselle Giry have you ever been homesick?"
"No Monsieur, I have been in Paris my whole life. If I were to leave then the food I would miss most would be the special pastries that the chef makes for special events, like the Masked Ball. The taste of a pastry returns me to those jovial moments.
"Mademoiselle Daee, do you miss anything from Sweden?" Raoul asked me.
Oh that's right I am a Swedish girl living in Paris. Do I know any Swedish foods? I said the first thing that popped into my head. "The meatballs, Swedish meatballs are different from those found here," I said, recalling my favorite Ikea meal. I guess I like my heritage's furniture too, recalling the many pieces in my apartment at home.
Would you ladies do me the honor of allowing me to escort you back to the opera house?" he asked.
Meg blushed, so unused to a gentleman's attention. "Thank you Monsieur Vicomte." Raoul assisted Meg up and then myself.
"I insist that you let me carry your packages, Mademoiselles," he said, bending down and picking up the remains of our picnic and my book. On the way he offered to buy us pastries at a baker. "Mademoiselle Daee, I am sorry I can't find you Swedish meatballs. I must offer these as a poor substitute."
I bit into the delicate pastry, the buttery flavor with the fruit glaze alighting my taste buds. "Raoul, I mean, Monsieur Vicomte. and Meg, I may have to agree with you about the baked goods here. They are so exquisite. This crust is so flaky and light." I said.
"I am happy that it pleases you so. Shall we continue to the opera house?" he asked.
It was lovely to stroll along the streets with him leading the way. We turned the corner, coming upon a crowd watching a speaker. Wait, they were talking about wages and the women's vote. "Oh I want to hear this," I called Meg and Raoul while I made my way over. This was history in the making, though I knew it would take a German occupation to bring French Women the right to vote in 1944.
"Wait Christine," Raoul called.
It was an older woman speaking on the makeshift stage. "Who is she?" I asked.
"It is Mademoiselle Hubertine Auclerr, she founded the La Citoyenne (Female Citizen). She stirs up trouble Christine."
"Do you think that women should not vote, Raoul?"
"I never knew you to be a suffragette Christine. It's not an idea that is popular with the Republic."
"Perhaps we should leave Christine," said Meg. She was at his side.
Yet here again I was faced with what a woman should do and I was tired of it. I turned to Raoul, "Do men fear what will happen if women vote? Do they fear a loss of power? Do you?" My voice was assertive and firm, something I don't think he was used to with Christine, because he took a step back, and a look briefly crossed his features and then was gone replaced by apprehension. Suddenly I was poked in the back and then the crown shifted and I was stepped on, then shoved. Raoul pulled Meg closer to his side and then reached for me. The crowd shifted once more and swallowed me up. The once peaceful crowd had turned and I struggled to keep my footing. I didn't understand the sudden change. I was being pushed and shoved as I made my way to the edge, like a salmon swimming upstream. The crowd had been mostly women when I first arrived. Now there were men weaving about shouting and shoving women. Women were crying and screaming. Men were shouting. Then the current of people shifted and I was carried away. I changed my tactic and went with the flow and still It was a struggle to stand upright. "Christine" I heard her name called. Then I heard the whistles of the French Police and the current ceased and chaos ensued. I was buffeted about, like a paper tossed about on the wind. Then I stumbled, falling to the ground. Oh this would not be good. I tried to stand but to no avail. I curled up putting my hands on my neck and head to protect myself. Then I felt a lessening of the strikes and a body was over mine. "Christine," opened my eyes to take in Raoul's buttoned vest and jacket a few inches from my eyes. He crouched his frame over mine, protecting me. His hands were on either side of me.
"Oh Raoul, I am sorry."
"Come," he commanded and I obeyed, holding tight to his hand, letting him lead me.
Together we made it to the edge and escaped. He looked disheveled and the suit I had worried over for grass stains looked as if stains were the least of its concerns. I threw my arms around him, forgetting proprietary in my enthusiasm that we were relatively safe. He hugged me back. "It's ok, Little Lotte, you are safe," he said as he stroked my head. I could hear the rapid beat of his heart as my head pressed against his chest. I should not be here, in his arms. He is not Erik. No he is not Erik, but he is a good man. It felt nice to be held again. It had been weeks since I had seen Erik. I had gone for years without a boyfriend. Surely I could go longer than a few weeks but I had gotten used to being hugged, held and I missed the contact. His hands had begun to rub circles up my back, comforting me. It felt so nice and in spite of my allegiance to Erik I leaned into his touch and I sighed in contentment and then I hated myself.
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