Mementos
The simple task of unpacking her trunk evolves into a search for lost treasure. Panic rises as an overwhelming fear threatens to suffocate her as she searches each drawer of each of the three steamer trunks in their stateroom on the SS Persephone. The first was examined methodically and with the precision Christine learned over the years.
Pappa insisted on order, since their situation often required miles of walking – without hope of transport. Neatness and conservation could mean the difference between freezing, or merely being cold when no lodgings were available or affordable. Scraps of paper and matches were safeguarded from the damp. Food was rationed. Oftentimes, Gustave was paid with dried fruits and meats, hoarded for the winter months. Summer and fall were the best because of the availability of fresh fruits and vegetables.
Valuables were wrapped carefully in small parcels, then stitched to pockets inside their satchels. This was a practice her mamma taught him when he would travel alone to harvest fairs to earn extra money to spell them, when he would be unable to farm. He always carried a small kit of scissors, thread and needles with him for this purpose in addition to the obvious.
When Katrine died, Christine took possession of her mother's kit. Over the years the two traveled, her sewing skills improved to the point that the kits were not used for simple mending – she was able to turn garments or remake worn dresses into other clothing or quilts and towels. In addition to the basic tools, her box is a trove of found buttons, ribbons and appliques – many with their own memories attached.
Her personal keepsakes are few – a photograph of Gustave found a frame when she began dancing at the Palais Garnier. A gift from Madame Giry. Pappa's violin, a simple gold chain, her mother's wedding ring…and the sewing boxes are all she has of her past.
The violin belongs to young Gustave now. The photograph is in her carpet bag – the ring and gold chain with her other jewelry, such as Raoul had not already sold. The mementos from her parents not worth his pilfering. As for the other jewels – they were never hers to begin with – so are not missed.
"Where are they?"
Although there is no reason she should expect to find them there – as it contains Raoul's belongings – the second trunk is dispatched with greater frenzy. Finally, the last trunk is rudely tipped over with the kick of her heel, scattering the clothing, shoes and toys that are Gustave's.
No small carved boxes carrying the scent of the cedar reveal themselves.
The effort of her search leaves her exhausted, crumpling to the carpet of gold and crimson wool, finally giving into the tears that threatened from the moment she opened the first drawer of her personal trunk to find the two sewing kits missing.
"The boy is settled in with his nurse," Raoul says, coming in from the passageway, tossing his bowler hat onto the double bed. "Good god, woman – what have you done?"
"What have you done? Where are they?" Looking up at him, she rubs the back of her hand over the once carefully applied rouge now streaked with dark rivulets of tears mixed with kohl. "I trusted you to keep them safe, and you could not even do that."
"Where is what?" Grabbing her by the arm, he pulls her to her feet and shoves her toward a Chippendale dining chair. "This room is a disaster. Your hair is mussed and your face… Could you have not waited for the maid?"
"You said not to be concerned about packing – that Eloise would take care of everything," she says. "You told me to practice – that it was important for this Mr. Y to be please with my singing. So I trusted you."
"Come in," Raoul responds to the knock on the door.
A young woman, of, perhaps, eighteen years, dressed in a drab brown dress stands in the doorway – her eyes widen at the disarray in the room.
Christine stands – moving away from the table, wiping her face with a linen handkerchief.
"What is it?" Raoul asks.
"I came to unpack," Eloise says. "The young Vicomte is settled with his violin." Her eyes travel to the toys strewn on the floor. "I am pleased to see his belongings are with you – I shall have his trunk removed…"
"Leave it," Raouls says. "I shall see to the transfer."
Nodding her head, the girl turns to leave.
"When you were packing my things – did you recall seeing two small boxes?" Christine asks, attempting to re-pin her hair, and straighten her clothing. "They were in the drawer with my jewelry." A sharp look passes to Raoul.
"Yes, Vicomtess. I asked the master if I should pack them," her dark eyes shift to Raoul, who turns from both of them to look out the porthole. "He asked what they were and I opened the boxes to show him the sewing things."
"They were old," he interrupts. "I told her they were unnecessary and to leave them – you would not be doing any mending."
"Please come back later, Eloise," Christine says. "I am certain Gustave would appreciate an audience."
Once the door closes behind her, Christine says, "You will send a wire to the house and ask they be sent to me at our hotel."
"They are no more – I threw them away."
"They were mine."
"You had no need of old sewing tools and useless odd and ends."
"What do you know of my needs?"
"The past is dead, Christine," he says. "I thought this would be a new beginning for us."
"You cannot destroy the past by throwing my possessions away." Her eyes are hard, the black and red streaks present a fearsome visage.
Raoul steps back, visibly shaken. "I only thought…"
"What you thought was you could not pawn them to pay one of your gambling debts. What do you propose to dispose of next? Gustave?"
"What do you mean?" Cocking his head, his brow furrows.
For the briefest of moments time stands still – her heart stops beating and fear grips her gut like a vise. "Nothing."
"It is not nothing – why would you say such a thing?" A few steps are all he needs to reach her, grip her arm, press his fingers into her flesh.
"If my voice did not provide for your needs, you would dispose of me – why not our son?" She hisses – calling on all those lessons long ago to control her breathing and her nerves. "Those kits were mine – my father's and mine. You had no right." Jerking her arm from his grasp, she glares at him.
"Christine, I am so sorry." His gesture to take her shoulders, to console her is rebuffed. The soft blue eyes shine with welling tears.
"You are always sorry." Kneeling down, facing away from him, she repacks Gustave's trunk. "He will need his things. Go find whoever it is who can take this to him."
"Christine."
"Go."
What is happening to her? Why did she say that to him about Gustave? Why open that topic again – long buried…or so she thought? The boxes – he could not leave well enough alone. The ending was always the same – harsh words, physical abuse – then the apology and tears. Not for the first time, she wonders why she agreed to this journey.
A/N - In response to a writing prompt - "I trusted you to keep them safe, and you could not even do that."