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Chapter 57
At first I did not see Meg or Alex in the kitchen, and for a moment I thought perhaps Meg had walked into a different room. Madeline, however, gasped and Alex very sternly said, "No, May," and I realized Meg had collapsed in the doorway where we had entered.
"My God, what happened?" Madeline asked. Despite her bad knees, she fell to the ground beside her daughter and sat in the broken pieces of a shattered water pitcher.
Meg sat with Alex curled up in her lap and her arms wound tight around him. The telegram was at her feet, the heavier stock paper crumpled. She inhaled sharply, a gasp for air that ended with a hard, shuttering exhale.
Alex reached up and touched Meg's face gently before he pointed at the floor and looked at me. He repeated the same motion again and leaned his head back.
"Yes, she fell," Madeline said to Alex. "You are fortunate the two of you were not injured. What happened, Meg?"
"Charles," Meg managed to say before she released one arm from around my son and covered her mouth. She inhaled with such force that her body jolted before a sob nearly doubled her over.
Both Madeline and I immediately looked to the telegram on the floor. I stepped forward to grab it, but Madeline leaned forward and picked it up first. She looked briefly to her daughter before turning the card over and reading the message in silence.
Madeline did not speak for a long moment, but her face darkened and tears flooded her eyes. She reached out to her daughter, who pulled her hand away from her face and gripped her mother's hand tightly.
I remained frozen in place, dreading what had happened to Meg's fiance and unsure of whether or not I should disrupt the two of them in a moment of shared sorrow.
"Alex," I said quietly. "Come with me."
Alex appeared torn between leaving his place on Meg's lap where he often found himself most comfortable and the current state of confusion as Meg sobbed and clutched her mother's hand while he sat wedged between them.
Without meeting my eye, Madeline handed me the telegram. I took it from her and hesitated, unsure of whether or not I should read something personal meant for Meg while she was on the floor clearly in a state of grief.
"May?" Alex questioned. He placed his head on her chest and sighed as he patted her arm.
Glancing down, I noticed the correspondence was from an Albert and Beatrice Lowry, which I assumed were the names of Charles' parents. I turned the telegram over and skimmed over the words, unable to focus on any particular sentence.
"Praise God he is alive," Madeline said once Meg settled down enough to be able to hear her speak.
I looked at the telegram again and looked for proof of Madeline's statement. The first words to stand out were shot in combat on 17th of September.
It was the twenty-third of October, which meant over a month had passed since Charles had been shot. I suspected word had been sent to his family and they had at last contacted Meg with the news of their son's condition.
"He was alive," Meg corrected. "A month ago. Today? I have no idea if he is still breathes."
"Do not say such things," Madeline said as she moved closer and stroked her daughter's cheek. "Of course he is alive and I am certain he is waiting for your next letter."
Meg pressed her eyes closed. "Now I must wait for his family to contact me again."
"Go to London," I blurted out.
Meg's eyes popped open and she gawked at me as though realizing for the first time that I was still in the kitchen and speaking directly to her. Madeline looked equally as stunned by my words.
"I couldn't leave here," Meg said absently.
She absolutely could leave, I wanted to tell her, but I feared my insistentence in the matter would only bring about additional tears or make her feel as though I wished to be rid of her.
Alex, sensing her need for comfort, snuggled in closer and balled his hand around her sleeve. He paid no attention to me, which seemed to be for the best as I doubted Meg wanted him off of her lap.
Meg looked down at Alex momentarily and rested her chin on the top of his head. "His birthday," she squeaked. "I could not leave him on his birthday."
"He can celebrate when you return," I said firmly.
"I have a little money saved up," Madeline offered. "If you wished to be in London when he returns-"
"I couldn't," Meg said.
"The cost is of no concern," I said.
They both stared at me a moment before exchanging looks. Meg eventually shook her head and quietly asked Alex to sit with her mother. She knelt on the kitchen floor and began gathering pieces of the broken pitcher once Madeline took Alex into her arms.
Meg's every move was mechanical, as though she made every attempt to focus on the task before her. I recalled with great clarity how I had gone through unfinished music once Christine left me, how I realized nothing I did would bring her back and yet I needed something to preoccupy my mind. I was certain Meg did the same, her body going through the motions to save herself the weight of grief.
"Take my checkbook," I said to Madeline as she handed me Alex in order to help her daughter clean up the broken shards. I placed the telegram on the table beside the sink and found myself quite surprised when Alex did not put up a fight being handed off from one person to the next.
Madeline's lips parted but she worked her jaw in silence for a moment before she finally sighed. "She is my daughter. I will see that she travels to London if she wishes."
I made every attempt to hide my disappointment, but once Madeline looked away I assumed I failed. Emotionally I could provide no sense of comfort to Meg as she was more of a stranger to me still, however, financially I was more than capable of providing assistance.
All of my life I had been of no use to anyone. My own mother failed to acknowledge me no matter how many times I called to her as she had no desire to be near me. My uncle had died in the woods because of me. I suppose my father found many violent uses for me, but none that I wished to consider.
Without another word I walked out of the kitchen and upstairs to my room where I shut and locked the door for the first time in weeks. Alex, in a rare act of obedience, pointed to his crib and took up his blanket. Unbidden rage made my hands shake as I returned to my desk and seethed in silence. My anger was not focused on anything in particular but spread out like paint over a wide canvas, dripping into its own, uncontrolled space.
I was livid that harm had come to Charles Lowry. That damned fool should not have signed up for another tour, not even six more months. I was enraged that Meg, who had taken it upon herself to care for my son refused to leave at once. I was incensed that Madeline, the one person in the world whom I wished to repay, would choose to use her meager funds rather than accept mine.
I glanced over to where Alex lay in his crib, wiggling beneath his blanket as he fought sleep despite his eyes being half shut. "May," he sang quietly, drawing out her name.
For his sake, I curbed my temper, but it burned within me nonetheless.
Meg did not leave for London and Alex did not celebrate his first birthday as Meg and Madeline had planned. A second telegram arrived Wednesday morning, which was followed by another one in the afternoon. Alex, sensing there was something wrong-or perhaps slowed down due to a runny nose and a cough-spent his time with me rather than hanging quite literally on Meg.
Madeline came up Wednesday evening and tried the door handle, which I had kept locked.
"Erik," she called, sounding somewhat frustrated. "May I come in?"
I was slow to answer as I had Alex on my lap and every train he owned on my desk, but with a sigh I placed Alex into his crib, opened the door a crack, and peered at her.
She seemed somewhat taken aback by my lack of greeting, but did not question me.
"Charles will be sent home to his parents' home by Christmas," she stated.
"I am sure you are both relieved."
Madeline leaned into the door, which forced me to step back and allow her into my room. She looked from me to Alex, who stood in his crib and squealed at the sight of someone other than me.
"It is not good news," she said quietly once she closed the door behind her.
"He is alive," I commented.
"He has called off the engagement."
My lips parted and I blinked at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Charles called off the engagement in a telegram this afternoon."
"Postponed, surely," I corrected.
Madeline shook her head and turned her attention to Alex. "He does not want her to wait for him." She plucked Alex from his crib and examined his rosy cheeks. "He has lost his ability to walk."
Her words did not register in my mind. I stood with my arms crossed and looked at her for a long moment. "Was he shot in the leg?"
"Yes, and he had his left leg amputated at the knee." She paused and sucked in a breath. "But he apparently fell a great distance when he was shot and lost all feeling in his lower extremities."
Goose flesh rose along my arms. "Paralyzed?"
Madeline offered a solemn nod. "He will be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Twenty-five years of age and he has lost everything," she whispered as she ran her fingers through my son's dark curls. "He does not want Meg bound to that life."
"What does Meg want?" I asked.
Madeline turned away from me and sniffled. "She wants to be his wife."
Her words came as no surprise to me. Given how Meg gazed at Charles whenever he was at her side, I had no doubt her love for him was genuine and that even if he was confined to a wheelchair for life she would choose to marry him still.
"I cannot believe he would do such a thing," Madeline said through her teeth.
"He does not wish to disappoint her."
In his own mind I was certain Charles thought he did the most commendable of acts in sparring Meg a lifetime of caring for an invalid husband. He had promised her walks in the park and expressed his desire to take her out dancing. One unfortunate incident had snuffed out their plans for such a life together.
"You are probably correct, but please do not say a word of this to Meg," Madeline requested.
I nodded. Meg rarely spoke directly to me and I doubted she would suddenly strike up a conversation regarding Charles.
"Meg would like to have Alex accompany her downstairs for lunch if you do not mind. She asked you to join us as well."
"I am sure Alex is ravenous," I answered.
Madeline waited for me to follow her. She turned her head to the side and frowned when I stayed my ground. "Surely you will sit with us for your son's first birthday."
"I have far too much work to complete," I answered.
"You could spare an hour for your son."
"He has spent the last twenty-four hours with me, which is I am sure is more than suffice. Besides, he prefers Meg's company," I said dismissively as I turned away.
"There is cake," she tempted. "Topped with raspberries."
"Oooh," Alex said at the sound of raspberries. Other than his love of trains, which he enjoyed banging against the walls, floors, my desk, and my shin, he equally loved smashing raspberries in his fist.
"I will be down shortly," I said simply to satisfy Madeline.
"Are you ready to make a mess?" Madeline asked Alex.
From the corner of my eye I saw him nod. Madeline, who was not nearly as prepared for his overexaggerated nod as Meg typically was, grunted in surprise as Alex rammed his head into hers.
"You have a hard head just like your father, don't you?" she asked.
Again Alex nodded, but this time Madeline was prepared and moved before he headbutted her a second time.
Once they were gone, I returned to my desk and stared at the notes I had drawn up for my next opera. At the current rate I was contributing to my work I expected I would complete the music in ten to twenty years. It would either be my legacy or my death and I was leaning toward the latter.
I had no desire to compose as my thoughts were not loaning themselves to music. I could not help but think of Charles Lowry bedridden in an army hospital somewhere in Africa, one leg partially missing and both now useless. The life he had planned was now intangible.
It was strange to me that a man as strikingly handsome and charming as Charles experienced ephemeral happiness. He should not have been denied a lifetime with Meg. He should have been looking forward to marriage and a house overflowing with children that would be miniature copies of him and his wife.
"Happy birthday, Alex!" Meg exclaimed from the dining room. She clapped her hands and Alex did the same. "You are the most handsome little boy I have ever seen, did you know that?"
"Careful, he hit me in the head when he nodded," Madeline warned.
"I know," Meg said. She laughed and Alex did the same. "You are like a little ram, aren't you?"
Meg overcompensated with her joyous tone, but Alex did not seem to mind. I suspected she made every attempt to convince herself she was happy, perhaps for her own sake or perhaps to please Alex on his birthday. Alex vocalized his mirth of being in her company, and from my place at my desk I heard Madeline set the dining room table while Meg spoke and Alex made every attempt to copy her words.
"If he is anything like his father, he will want cake first," Madeline said.
I smiled inwardly and removed my mask to wipe my face and allow my skin to breath as I had kept the scars covered for more than twenty-four hours. With my head in my hands I examined the dents in what had been a perfectly new cherrywood desk when I had first moved into the house. Alex had added more than a few scratches and ruts on the surface accentuated with ink stains. I did not mind his exuberance as his motor skills were not quite developed yet and he did not realize he was destructive.
"Do you know I bought a present for you?" Meg asked. "I think you will like it."
Alex babbled in response. I doubted he understood what she asked, but he always responded when anyone asked him a question. He was allowed to speak freely even when none of us understood what he said.
What others may have seen as faults in my parenting style or Alex's behavior, I saw as reminders of the time we spent together. He enjoyed when I whistled, imitating the sound of the trains he loved so dearly, or the sound I made to signify the screech of the wheels coming to a halt far too late as the trains collided and fell to the floor. He was quite entertained by the clatter and chaos and shouted un over and over. The irony of him saying one when he really wanted something repeated indefinitely amused me.
The mechanisms that made the trains move from the wheels to the rods fascinated him to no end, and he was perfectly content studying the movements as he lay on his belly in the middle of the floor or sat on my knee and tugged at my sleeve to make the train travel faster or slower. At such as a young age he was inquisitive, and I had no doubt once he was walking he would be standing on a kitchen chair in order to disassemble the clocks. Thank God he looked nothing like me, but he possessed my insatiable curiosity.
I thought of his mother, whom he closely resembled. Truly she was never far from my mind, but I wondered if she spared a thought for him during the month of his birth. Perhaps she lit a candle and burned it out for him as she made a wish. Perhaps she had forgotten him all together. My heart ached with grief that she was not with him-or with me. She had missed everything from his first words to crawling to pulling himself up.
A soft knock at the open bedroom door startled me from my thoughts and I fumbled to put my mask in place once I realized Meg had come upstairs. I had no idea how long she had stood in the doorway, and in my haste to turn from her, I brushed my sleeve across a stack of papers and the sheets sailed gracefully through the air and landed at my feet.
"I apologize if I disturbed you," she meekly responded with her eyes cast down.
I wasn't certain if she had seen me without the mask, but I kept my gaze averted as well.
"What do you need, Mademoiselle Giry?" I asked, my tone more gruff than I had intended.
She clasped her hands together and rose to the balls of her feet. "We were about to have cake. Alex asked if you would join us."
"His vocabulary has vastly improved in a half hour, I see."
Again I spoke in a manner I had not fully intended. I risked an apologetic glance at Meg and saw she had the appearance of a terrified fawn standing before a wolf. She stared at some distant point above my left shoulder, her lips quivering and chest heaving.
"I will be down shortly," I said, my voice kept low.
"No, you will not," Meg said as she turned away.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your words are nothing more than lies."
Realizing she spoke out of turn, Meg gasped and turned quickly. She tripped either over her own skirts or the rug in her haste to leave my room. I was not certain which, but she slammed shoulder first into the door frame and sank to her knees with a sob she could no longer contain.
I stood immediately, my jaw working in silent horror as I found myself towering over her crumpled form. I peered out the bedroom door to see if Madeline rushed down the hall, but Alex was yelling a repetitive and very drawn out no that most likely drowned out the sound of Meg falling.
"Are you injured?" I questioned.
She covered her face with both hands and silently nodded.
"Physically?"
Meg shook her head. Once she seemed less emotionally fragile I offered my hand to help her to her feet and with a sullen nod she accepted and popped up with our hands barely touching. For a moment she lingered with her back to me, and I walked around to my desk and opened the top right-hand drawer.
"Alex did say your name several times," Meg whispered. "He always does when he eats with us and you remain here."
"I will be down as soon as I arrange all of my music," I said as I gestured toward the papers scattered on the floor. I looked down at the checkbook in my hand and back at Meg. "You will take this and not say a word to your mother, is that understood?" I asked as I tore out a blank check and extended my hand.
With tear-filled eyes she gawked at me, her brow furrowed and parted lips still quivering. "No, no I cannot do that," she said as she shook her head.
"You will not argue with me, Meg Giry." I took a half-step forward and jutted my hand out.
Meg wiped her eyes and hesitated a moment longer. "Charles no longer wishes to marry me," she said under her breath. Her expression faltered and she covered her mouth with her hand once more. "I cannot accept your offer. There is no need."
Her admission came as a surprise, but I kept my hand extended and lifted my chin. "Then you will travel to London when he returns home and convince him otherwise. Take this at once. I will not allow my offer to be denied." I paused and studied her a moment, at this young woman who had been so joyous and hopeful for months and who now looked wilted, like a flower just out of reach of the rain.
Her eyes remained downcast, but she slowly took the check, folded it in half, and tucked it into her skirt pocket. "You do not need to make such a generous offer," she mumbled.
I inhaled and turned away from her. "The offer is not from me, Mademoiselle Giry." With my back to her, I smiled to myself. "Alex was quite insistent on the matter. We had a full conversation this morning."
Meg grunted. "You will come down for cake then?"
I knelt and gathered my music, the sheets of an opera inspired by the love Charles had for Meg. I was not certain I would complete the opera, but I could not easily discard so much inspiration.
"I will," I answered. If for no other reason than to watch my son smash berries on his first birthday.
Going to try to work on Into the Darkness for the next few weeks, so this story might not be updated until middle of May. At least I didn't end on an evil cliffhanger (4-24-18)