Chapter 26: Rebirth
Time passed quickly, as it often does in times of happiness and change. Each day, Isabelle grew more and more beautiful as the child of their love grew within her womb. Erik worshipped the very ground she walked on. Thoughts of Isabelle totally consumed him no matter where he was. If he was at the Opera House, performing opposite Christine (once her child was old enough to be left with a nurse), it was still nearly impossible to stop thinking about his wife, the mother of his child. Christine's presence and martial situations didn't sting him anymore. Not even a little. As the months passed, and it got closer to the day Isabelle was to give birth, Erik took shorter days at rehearsal, even though the rest of the cast paid dearly for their lack of tutelage.
Madeline had changed in her life as well. A young man in the chorus that Erik had brought home for supper one evening so that Erik might help him with the music they were to perform had started to court her. He was a bit older than Erik, but was able to see that musically Erik was certainly his better. When the children met him, they immediately liked him, and he seemed to be quite infatuated with them just as much as he was with Madeline. Everyone wholeheartedly approved of their courtship.
Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard stayed very much the same. The only change to the twins was physical, as they seemed to begin maturing a bit early for their ages. They seemed to flower overnight, even though they still had their pre-pubescent demeanor. It seemed that in short time, they two would start looking at gentlemen in a much different way. Only Gerard stayed very much the same, except for perhaps an increase in his vocabulary.
"Monsieur Gènie, may we please move onward to your aria, if you are ready?"
"Certain, Monsieur Reyer." Erik said with a polite nod in the direction of the choral instructor.
It was early in the beginnings of rehearsal for the new Opera they would be performing that season. He was to play the title role in "Rienzi", and it was only the third day of rehearsal. Only Erik was really expected to be able to perform his role well, considering how very well versed he was in music and Opera. As Monsieur Reyer began to play the introduction to the aria on the standing piano on stage, Erik smirked. He was trying to trick him again by not playing his part.
"Almighty father, look down! Hear me, in the dust, pray to you! The strength that your authority gave to me, let it not yet perish! You strengthened me. You gave me great power. You lent me noble character; to make bright that which--"
"Erik!"
Turning, his eyes widened as Marguerite came running onto the stage, despite the effort of two strong looking stagehands to hold her back. Her face was flushed, and tears stood in her eyes. She was totally out of breath, and apparently she'd run all the way here in one of her best dresses. Dropping his copy of the score to the new opera carelessly, he hurried across the stage to her, taking the hands of the stagehands from her arms to pull her protectively into his. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms so that she could try and catch her breath, even though she'd gained plenty of weight in the past year or so.
"Erik, mama sent me!" She gasped for air, her voice strained. "It's Izzy! She's having con . . . con . . ." She growled in frustration. "I can't remember the word!"
"Calm down, Cherie." Erik soothed, touching her cheek lightly. Already his heart had tripled its speed within his chest, for he knew the word without her saying it. "Isabelle is having contractions. Is that what you're trying to say?"
Breathless, she nodded. Usually Marguerite wouldn't forget a word so easily, yet it hadn't been used often around her. They had rarely ever spoken of the baby's birth. Now, with her mother having said the word to her only once to deliver this message, it was easy to forget it in such a panic. Standing, Erik lifted her into his arms. She might have been getting big, but it was amazing how light she still felt when he carried her around.
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." He told the cast members and crew around him. "It seems I am going to become a father today."
Everyone began applauding as he strode with Marguerite from the stage, and out into the hallway.
"Mama was calling a carriage to bring her to the hospital." The girl told him when they reached the warm outside air. It was summer now, and it hadn't rained in several weeks. "We need to go there, Erik."
"No you don't, ma petite!"
Erik turned as he attempted to hail a carriage. Christine had followed him from the stage, and they hadn't even realized it. She reached out to take Marguerite from him, and he allowed her to take the child.
"You and I are going home. Are your sister and brother still there?"
"Yes, Madame." Marguerite glanced at Erik uncertainly, wanting to go with him. Yet she knew better than to argue with them.
"Go, Erik." Christine said quietly as a carriage finally pulled up to the sidewalk. "Give my best to Isabelle. I'll care for the children."
"Thank you." Erik said, climbing in. "But I think it's best if you brought them to the hospital. Pick up the others and follow me there."
///////////////////--------------------//////////////////////////////
Isabelle was in the maternity ward, surrounded by nurses, her doctor, Erik, and Madeline, nearly an hour later. Yet it seemed all the attention wasn't necessary. She might have been having contractions, but the baby wasn't due to be born for several more hours. The doctor kept insisting that the little space where they were curtained off from the rest of the room be cleared. It was hard to get Erik to budge an inch away from her side, but she looked up at him insistently.
"Erik, go to your performance tonight." She said, winded but otherwise all right. "You must. Please? I'll be all right. If we're lucky, our baby will be waiting to meet you when you get back."
"Like Hell!" Erik exclaimed. "I'm not leaving you, Izzy."
"Monsieur Gènie, it really is the best thing you can do right now. She needs space to breathe, and she needs to relax until its time. Please; just go to your rehearsal, and if we're any closer before the performance, we'll send for you, all right? If we aren't close enough, stay until after your performance."
He frowned, but slowly leaned down to kiss his wife's forehead. If they were all against him, he would leave. Gently, he leaned down to whisper his love to her, and that he wanted to see proof of how strong and brave she could be when he returned. She nodded, promising to be at her strongest even if he wasn't there.
"Je t'aime." He whispered before leaving.
Out in the hallway, Christine stood as the children all looked up at him anxiously.
"You three are coming back to the Opera with us." He told them softly. "You'll have to sit in my dressing room, since there is no one to watch you at home."
/////////////////----------------------//////////////////////////////
Madeline had picked the children up some time during the end of the last act of the performance. Erik came into his dressing room to find a note written in her familiar handwriting saying how she'd brought them home to bed. Then it went on to say that Isabelle had given birth to the baby at 10:48 that night. Erik glanced at the clock. It was 11:52. So his child was an hour and four minutes old! Yet the letter did not say the gender of the child, or how mother and baby were doing.
He slowly moved into the maternity ward of the hospital and nearly twelve- thirty that night. He was remembering all of the times he'd come to see Isabelle while she was in her coma. The memories made him a bit nervous, but he forged onward.
A homely looking nurse with rather buxom features came out of one of the curtained cells not far from him, and started. He'd been so quiet coming in no one had even heard the door close behind him. Erik nodded to her briefly, not apologizing for startling her.
"I am looking for Madame Gènie." He said quietly, so as not to disturb the other resting mothers behind all of the closed curtains. "Which cell would se be in?"
The nurse gave him a quiet, knowing smile.
"Cell three." She replied quietly, reaching out to stop him when he began moving in that direction. "Would you like to meet your baby, Monsieur? Your wife is sleeping, and ought to have this time by herself to rest. The labor was fairly difficult for her."
Slightly alarmed, Erik opened his mouth to ask whether or not she was all right. Yet the nurse quickly assured him that she was very much all right. The labor had simply zapped her of almost all her strength, and she needed to sleep in order to regain it all. Then, she led him out of the room harboring so many new and imminently expecting mothers. Across the hall was a wall of glass, which allowed viewers to look into the nursery, little cribs holding tiny infants of all shapes and sizes.
Erik watched the nurse enter this room after she asked him to wait outside. He wondered which crib held his child. Which beautiful creation was a part of him and his beautiful Isabelle? Which infant was the miracle that had come from their love for one another?
The baby that was finally brought outside to him was so small; he could scarcely believe she had not been born prematurely. Wrapped up in layers of cotton blankets, she couldn't have weighed more than seven pounds as he cradled her in his arms. She was half-asleep, with eyelids that were open just a crack. Already the baby had a mop of dark rust-colored hair, a combination of both mother and fathers' hair, which he found absolutely amazing. When he gave out a small gasp of sheer emotion, the baby's eyes opened immediately, staring up at him with a gaze that seemed far too sharp for her tender hours.
"Madame named her Allyriane." The nurse told him, her voice reaching him from what seemed to be a vast distance. "She told me that she fell in love with you through music, and that the name of your daughter was to carry on that tradition."
"It's a name from the word lyre . . . a medieval instrument." Erik explained to the nurse in a hushed whisper, not really knowing what else he might say. He was in a fog of awe and joy, which made his eyes blur with tears. Turning, he moved to sit down with the baby in his arms, who continued watching him with that keen gaze, and once more what appeared to be recognition.
She was the most stunning thing he'd ever held; the most fragile creature on the entire planet. Something in his mind said that now Christine's daughter would have a playmate. Yet that thought was very far away, and he didn't even realize it had come and gone. He was too busy staring into her eyes, which were the palest blue he'd ever seen on an infant. Perhaps she would have amethyst eyes like her mother. Surely her eyes were too light to become his darker amber.
"Do you know who I am, Allyriane?" he asked his baby softly, touching his pinkie to her lips, and watching as her mouth latched onto it instinctively. He smiled, almost gasping at the sensation. Her eyes half closed, yet she still watched him. "Oh, I think you do . . ."
He wondered if his daughter would be more like her mother, or more like he. Would she have the same gifts that he'd been born with? Would she sing or play an instrument? Would she find other professions easy to tackle? Would she be sweet and relatively docile, like Isabelle; or would she be patient but somewhat hot tempered like her father? Erik smiled to think of the poor suitor who might see the wrath of the girl of his affections' should she have his disposition.
"Let's go see mama," He whispered to her, and the child's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You know what I'm saying." He realized, still a bit awe- struck. Standing slowly, being careful not to jostle her, he carried her into the maternity ward, closely followed by the buxom nurse. He moved to cell three, pushed back the curtain, and then stepped inside. Closing the curtain behind him purposefully, he made it very clear that he wished privacy with his little family.
Isabelle lay asleep on her hospital bed, looking somewhat pale, and yet flustered at the exact same time. The one thing he could see for certain was that she was quite exhausted. Still, she was stunningly beautiful to him. Nothing in the world could have made a more beautiful sight than what he now beheld; his wife and daughter so close to his side.
Time passed quickly, as it often does in times of happiness and change. Each day, Isabelle grew more and more beautiful as the child of their love grew within her womb. Erik worshipped the very ground she walked on. Thoughts of Isabelle totally consumed him no matter where he was. If he was at the Opera House, performing opposite Christine (once her child was old enough to be left with a nurse), it was still nearly impossible to stop thinking about his wife, the mother of his child. Christine's presence and martial situations didn't sting him anymore. Not even a little. As the months passed, and it got closer to the day Isabelle was to give birth, Erik took shorter days at rehearsal, even though the rest of the cast paid dearly for their lack of tutelage.
Madeline had changed in her life as well. A young man in the chorus that Erik had brought home for supper one evening so that Erik might help him with the music they were to perform had started to court her. He was a bit older than Erik, but was able to see that musically Erik was certainly his better. When the children met him, they immediately liked him, and he seemed to be quite infatuated with them just as much as he was with Madeline. Everyone wholeheartedly approved of their courtship.
Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard stayed very much the same. The only change to the twins was physical, as they seemed to begin maturing a bit early for their ages. They seemed to flower overnight, even though they still had their pre-pubescent demeanor. It seemed that in short time, they two would start looking at gentlemen in a much different way. Only Gerard stayed very much the same, except for perhaps an increase in his vocabulary.
"Monsieur Gènie, may we please move onward to your aria, if you are ready?"
"Certain, Monsieur Reyer." Erik said with a polite nod in the direction of the choral instructor.
It was early in the beginnings of rehearsal for the new Opera they would be performing that season. He was to play the title role in "Rienzi", and it was only the third day of rehearsal. Only Erik was really expected to be able to perform his role well, considering how very well versed he was in music and Opera. As Monsieur Reyer began to play the introduction to the aria on the standing piano on stage, Erik smirked. He was trying to trick him again by not playing his part.
"Almighty father, look down! Hear me, in the dust, pray to you! The strength that your authority gave to me, let it not yet perish! You strengthened me. You gave me great power. You lent me noble character; to make bright that which--"
"Erik!"
Turning, his eyes widened as Marguerite came running onto the stage, despite the effort of two strong looking stagehands to hold her back. Her face was flushed, and tears stood in her eyes. She was totally out of breath, and apparently she'd run all the way here in one of her best dresses. Dropping his copy of the score to the new opera carelessly, he hurried across the stage to her, taking the hands of the stagehands from her arms to pull her protectively into his. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms so that she could try and catch her breath, even though she'd gained plenty of weight in the past year or so.
"Erik, mama sent me!" She gasped for air, her voice strained. "It's Izzy! She's having con . . . con . . ." She growled in frustration. "I can't remember the word!"
"Calm down, Cherie." Erik soothed, touching her cheek lightly. Already his heart had tripled its speed within his chest, for he knew the word without her saying it. "Isabelle is having contractions. Is that what you're trying to say?"
Breathless, she nodded. Usually Marguerite wouldn't forget a word so easily, yet it hadn't been used often around her. They had rarely ever spoken of the baby's birth. Now, with her mother having said the word to her only once to deliver this message, it was easy to forget it in such a panic. Standing, Erik lifted her into his arms. She might have been getting big, but it was amazing how light she still felt when he carried her around.
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." He told the cast members and crew around him. "It seems I am going to become a father today."
Everyone began applauding as he strode with Marguerite from the stage, and out into the hallway.
"Mama was calling a carriage to bring her to the hospital." The girl told him when they reached the warm outside air. It was summer now, and it hadn't rained in several weeks. "We need to go there, Erik."
"No you don't, ma petite!"
Erik turned as he attempted to hail a carriage. Christine had followed him from the stage, and they hadn't even realized it. She reached out to take Marguerite from him, and he allowed her to take the child.
"You and I are going home. Are your sister and brother still there?"
"Yes, Madame." Marguerite glanced at Erik uncertainly, wanting to go with him. Yet she knew better than to argue with them.
"Go, Erik." Christine said quietly as a carriage finally pulled up to the sidewalk. "Give my best to Isabelle. I'll care for the children."
"Thank you." Erik said, climbing in. "But I think it's best if you brought them to the hospital. Pick up the others and follow me there."
///////////////////--------------------//////////////////////////////
Isabelle was in the maternity ward, surrounded by nurses, her doctor, Erik, and Madeline, nearly an hour later. Yet it seemed all the attention wasn't necessary. She might have been having contractions, but the baby wasn't due to be born for several more hours. The doctor kept insisting that the little space where they were curtained off from the rest of the room be cleared. It was hard to get Erik to budge an inch away from her side, but she looked up at him insistently.
"Erik, go to your performance tonight." She said, winded but otherwise all right. "You must. Please? I'll be all right. If we're lucky, our baby will be waiting to meet you when you get back."
"Like Hell!" Erik exclaimed. "I'm not leaving you, Izzy."
"Monsieur Gènie, it really is the best thing you can do right now. She needs space to breathe, and she needs to relax until its time. Please; just go to your rehearsal, and if we're any closer before the performance, we'll send for you, all right? If we aren't close enough, stay until after your performance."
He frowned, but slowly leaned down to kiss his wife's forehead. If they were all against him, he would leave. Gently, he leaned down to whisper his love to her, and that he wanted to see proof of how strong and brave she could be when he returned. She nodded, promising to be at her strongest even if he wasn't there.
"Je t'aime." He whispered before leaving.
Out in the hallway, Christine stood as the children all looked up at him anxiously.
"You three are coming back to the Opera with us." He told them softly. "You'll have to sit in my dressing room, since there is no one to watch you at home."
/////////////////----------------------//////////////////////////////
Madeline had picked the children up some time during the end of the last act of the performance. Erik came into his dressing room to find a note written in her familiar handwriting saying how she'd brought them home to bed. Then it went on to say that Isabelle had given birth to the baby at 10:48 that night. Erik glanced at the clock. It was 11:52. So his child was an hour and four minutes old! Yet the letter did not say the gender of the child, or how mother and baby were doing.
He slowly moved into the maternity ward of the hospital and nearly twelve- thirty that night. He was remembering all of the times he'd come to see Isabelle while she was in her coma. The memories made him a bit nervous, but he forged onward.
A homely looking nurse with rather buxom features came out of one of the curtained cells not far from him, and started. He'd been so quiet coming in no one had even heard the door close behind him. Erik nodded to her briefly, not apologizing for startling her.
"I am looking for Madame Gènie." He said quietly, so as not to disturb the other resting mothers behind all of the closed curtains. "Which cell would se be in?"
The nurse gave him a quiet, knowing smile.
"Cell three." She replied quietly, reaching out to stop him when he began moving in that direction. "Would you like to meet your baby, Monsieur? Your wife is sleeping, and ought to have this time by herself to rest. The labor was fairly difficult for her."
Slightly alarmed, Erik opened his mouth to ask whether or not she was all right. Yet the nurse quickly assured him that she was very much all right. The labor had simply zapped her of almost all her strength, and she needed to sleep in order to regain it all. Then, she led him out of the room harboring so many new and imminently expecting mothers. Across the hall was a wall of glass, which allowed viewers to look into the nursery, little cribs holding tiny infants of all shapes and sizes.
Erik watched the nurse enter this room after she asked him to wait outside. He wondered which crib held his child. Which beautiful creation was a part of him and his beautiful Isabelle? Which infant was the miracle that had come from their love for one another?
The baby that was finally brought outside to him was so small; he could scarcely believe she had not been born prematurely. Wrapped up in layers of cotton blankets, she couldn't have weighed more than seven pounds as he cradled her in his arms. She was half-asleep, with eyelids that were open just a crack. Already the baby had a mop of dark rust-colored hair, a combination of both mother and fathers' hair, which he found absolutely amazing. When he gave out a small gasp of sheer emotion, the baby's eyes opened immediately, staring up at him with a gaze that seemed far too sharp for her tender hours.
"Madame named her Allyriane." The nurse told him, her voice reaching him from what seemed to be a vast distance. "She told me that she fell in love with you through music, and that the name of your daughter was to carry on that tradition."
"It's a name from the word lyre . . . a medieval instrument." Erik explained to the nurse in a hushed whisper, not really knowing what else he might say. He was in a fog of awe and joy, which made his eyes blur with tears. Turning, he moved to sit down with the baby in his arms, who continued watching him with that keen gaze, and once more what appeared to be recognition.
She was the most stunning thing he'd ever held; the most fragile creature on the entire planet. Something in his mind said that now Christine's daughter would have a playmate. Yet that thought was very far away, and he didn't even realize it had come and gone. He was too busy staring into her eyes, which were the palest blue he'd ever seen on an infant. Perhaps she would have amethyst eyes like her mother. Surely her eyes were too light to become his darker amber.
"Do you know who I am, Allyriane?" he asked his baby softly, touching his pinkie to her lips, and watching as her mouth latched onto it instinctively. He smiled, almost gasping at the sensation. Her eyes half closed, yet she still watched him. "Oh, I think you do . . ."
He wondered if his daughter would be more like her mother, or more like he. Would she have the same gifts that he'd been born with? Would she sing or play an instrument? Would she find other professions easy to tackle? Would she be sweet and relatively docile, like Isabelle; or would she be patient but somewhat hot tempered like her father? Erik smiled to think of the poor suitor who might see the wrath of the girl of his affections' should she have his disposition.
"Let's go see mama," He whispered to her, and the child's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You know what I'm saying." He realized, still a bit awe- struck. Standing slowly, being careful not to jostle her, he carried her into the maternity ward, closely followed by the buxom nurse. He moved to cell three, pushed back the curtain, and then stepped inside. Closing the curtain behind him purposefully, he made it very clear that he wished privacy with his little family.
Isabelle lay asleep on her hospital bed, looking somewhat pale, and yet flustered at the exact same time. The one thing he could see for certain was that she was quite exhausted. Still, she was stunningly beautiful to him. Nothing in the world could have made a more beautiful sight than what he now beheld; his wife and daughter so close to his side.
