Chapter Seven:  Tears Of Love

Erik gave a stiff little bow as he had all those years ago,  "Good afternoon Mademoiselle Perrault . . . excuse me, Madame Degardeau, I hope I find you well."

To say that Marie Perrault – now Degardeau was surprised was to put it mildly.  She stood there and stared for a moment before gesturing the couple standing before her into the drawing room of her quaint home.

"I apologize; you took me quite by surprise, Erik.  Horrible of me, I know, but it's been a long time."

"The fault is mine, Madame, I'm sure you never expected to see me of all people appear out of thin air and arrive on your doorstep.  And I apologize for my own lapse in manners."  He turned slightly to indicate Christine,  "Madame Marie Degardeau, Mademoiselle Christine Daae."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame Degardeau,"  Christine supplied.

Marie nodded, the confusion clouding her features, yet refinement disallowing her to ask the obvious questions she had.  She turned slightly to Erik, hoping he would understand the quandary.

Erik understood quite well, his brow furrowed behind the mask.  "Madame, I realize that my . . . appearance on your doorstep this afternoon must puzzle you.  I have no wish to make any trouble for you in your new life, I merely,"  Erik paused, his mind searching frantically for the precise way he wanted to word his request.  "I merely require some information, and I was hoping that you could perhaps be of some assistance."

"Of course,"  Marie said without thought as she motioned for them to sit down,  "if I can be of help, I most certainly will.  What kind of information do you require?"

Erik twisted slightly as he sat down next to Christine on the divan, uncomfortable with the questions he knew he had to ask.  He turned to glance at Christine, and received a small nod and a smile of support.  He then turned back to Marie with renewed confidence,  "Madame, Mademoiselle Daae and I wish to marry, and while we were discussing the finer points of the ceremony, we discovered that we may have a problem with some of the more logistical aspects of the legalities.  I realized that there is certain information that one needs in order to marry, information I seemed to be lacking."

Erik paused, and Marie nodded her head in a small show of understanding.  "Whatever information you need, if I have it, I would be pleased to help you."  Her mouth widened into a small smile as she glanced between the two people in the room.

"It had not occurred to me before my decision to ask Christine to marry me that I did not know my own last name, that it was never spoken around me.  And while I thought on that, I realized I did not even know my exact date of birth.  My – she never spoke of it."

Marie's face fell, and she remembered with clarity Erik's fifth birthday, the rage he went into after seeing the face in the mirror.  Herself standing over him, picking the slivers of glass out of his wrists.

"I understand, Erik.  Of course I can help you.  Your full name is Erik Laramie, and your date of birth is July 24, 1831."

Christine smiled as the older woman gave the information they needed so easily.

"Is there any other information you require in your endeavor, Erik dear?"

Erik stood dumbfounded for a moment before testing out his full name for the first time,  "Erik Laramie."  He stayed awestruck for several more minutes, leaving a silence through the room as the two women watched him, a time where Marie's eyes kept glancing toward Christine.

Finally, Erik's gaze turned back to Marie, and his appreciation shone in his eyes beyond the mask.  He realized the question still hung in the air, and thought quickly if there was indeed anything else.  An image of the tombstone in Boscherville flashed through his mind, and it occurred to him that perhaps if Marie knew his name . . .  "There is one other thing, although it has little to do with the reason for our journey."

Marie nodded her acceptance.

"I . . . before we came here, we made a stop in Boscherville, and to the cemetery.  Madame, did you . . . did you know my father?"

Marie's gasp of surprise at the impertinence of the question was quickly replaced by a look of compassion on her face.  "Yes, I did, though not that well.  He and your mother had only been married a short time before he was killed.  But he was a good man, kind, and he loved your mother very much, and looked forward to your birth.  I'm sure, Erik, he would have loved you regardless of . . . well, regardless."

"How did he die?"  Erik asked, his curiosity now peaked.

Marie proceeded to tell Erik all she knew about Charles Laramie, about how his parents met, their journey from Rouen to Boscherville, and then finally, Charles' untimely death.

Erik was near tears at the end of her story, and Christine's face wet from her own.  A silence overcame the room for several minutes as it's members each regained their composure, a silence which was broken by the telltale opening of the front door, and a call from the foyer,  "Marie, mon petit chou!  I'm home."

"Gerard!"  Marie gasped, as her suddenly frightened gaze fell on her companions.  She motioned for them to wait there, and started to make her way to the foyer when a tall, distinguished gentleman entered the drawing room.

"Ahh, there you are mon amour,"  Gerard smiled, and then glanced at the two people on the couch, one of whom was desperately avoiding looking toward the couple standing in the middle of the room, an aversion which Gerard chose to overlook.  "Why didn't you tell me we were expecting company, darling?  I would have come home early!"

"I . . ."  Marie stammered before regaining her train of thought,  "It was rather unexpected."  She breathed in deeply before moving to make the introductions that polite society indicated were necessary.  "Gerard, may I introduce you to Erik Laramie, and his fiancée, Christine Daae.  Erik is . . . the child of an old friend of mine."

Erik turned his face, and Gerard had his first glimpse at the mask.  If he was shocked to see it, he hid it well, and held out his hand in a gentlemanly fashion.  "Charmed, I'm sure."

Erik muttered a similar sentiment before turning his attention towards Marie,  "It's been a pleasure seeing you again, and I thank you kindly for your hospitality and your time.  I fear we've been enough of a drain on your time already, and we must be going."

"Are you staying nearby?"  Gerard interrupted before Erik could make to leave.

Erik glanced quickly between Marie and Christine, both of whom wore perplexed looks on their own faces, before turning back towards Gerard,  "We hadn't discussed our arrangements as of yet, although I hear there's an excellent hotel on the Rue de St. Patrice."

"Nonsense,"  Gerard protested,  "You shall stay here then."

Marie spun to face her husband in astonishment, although she held her tongue.

"Any son of a friend of Marie's is more than welcome in my house,"  Gerard proclaimed,  and without giving anyone a chance to protest, took his wife's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.  "I'll just go and tell Cook to set two more places for dinner."  And with that he was sweeping out of the room.

Marie stood, still in shock at her husband's whirlwind of an invitation.  She finally motioned to Erik and Christine, and said plainly,  "Well, his overabundance of generosity was one of the things that drew me to him.  I suppose I should show you to your rooms then."

"Really, Madame, that's not necessary,"  Erik protested, the sinking caged feeling setting in once more.  He dropped his voice a few octaves so he could be sure her husband could not hear,  "We both know what will happen when he realizes what lays behind this mask of mine.  I doubt either of us can ever forget the violence in Boscherville."

"No, I can never forget that, but Gerard is not one to be easily overruled.  If he means to invite you as his guest, he won't be dissuaded."

"Erik,"  Christine cut in as she laid an arm on his sleeve,  "It is only one night, after all."

Erik looked to Christine, and one look at the softness of her face, and he reluctantly relented,  "As you wish, my dear."

Christine smiled serenely at him then, as Gerard returned to the drawing room.  The look on the young woman's face toward this masked man was enough to melt all the hearts in the room.

Gerard made his way back to his wife's side,  "It's all arranged, and Cook is sending someone up to ready the guest rooms."

"That is very kind of you, Monsieur Degardeau, to allow us to stay on such short notice,"  Christine answered.

"It's nothing,"  Gerard replied, and he motioned toward them to sit back down.  Christine and Erik sat once more side by side on the divan, and the Degardeaus sat next to each other in the chairs facing the divan.  "So,"  Gerard began,  "what brings the two of you to our fair city?"

Christine could sense Erik's nervousness at such a question, and came to his rescue,  "Erik wished, before our wedding, to learn a little bit about his father.  You see, his father died before he was born, and his mother rarely talked about him.  And his search led him to remember your wife, Monsieur."

Gerard smiled at the unexpressed sentiment,  "Beautiful that.  I can quite understand, Erik, my father died when I was very young as well, and I was not so fortunate to find someone who knew anything about him.  My own mother had loved him too much to be able to talk about him after his passing, I'm afraid, and she died some five years later of a broken heart."  Gerard ruminated for a moment before continuing,  "Laramie, that name is familiar to me.  Did your father at one time live in Rouen?"

Erik looked to Marie before continuing,  "I understand that he met my mother here.  Your wife explained to me that he worked with my grandfather from time to time, and that is how he met my mother."

"Yes, I seem to remember a master mason by the name of Charles Laramie who lived here some years ago . . . horrible accident that killed him, made all the local papers.  Was such a tragedy, and his wife was so young, and had recently lost her parents to boot . . . good people they were, my parents knew them rather well actually.  Cholera, if I'm not mistaken, and they moved away after that.  Would that be him?  What was his wife's name again . . . Maureen?  No, um, oh bother it!"

"Madeleine,"  Marie supplied quietly.  "Her name was Madeleine, Gerard."

"Then it is!  Good god, boy, but your family was well connected around here."  He paused, and looked over at his wife,  "You never told me you knew anyone from around here, darling."

"Gerard, they have all been dead for quite some time now, it's not all that good to speak of the dead, you know."

Gerard nodded his head in agreement,  "Yes, you are quite right my dear, forgive my impudence."  He then turned back toward his company, and continued with his questioning,  "And what field are you in, Erik?"

Erik cleared his throat before answering,  "Over the course of my life, I have worked in many fields, Monsieur.  There are not many fields I have not tried my hand at."

"Interesting that,"  Gerard paused as he pulled out a pocket watch,  "Well, I daresay the two of you will want to freshen up before dinner."  He glanced over at Marie,  "Shall we show them to their rooms, darling?"

"Of course,"  Marie answered quietly as the four occupants of the drawing room stood, and then made their way over to the staircase.

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"Should I ask, Marie?"  Gerard asked as he made sure the door to their bedroom was closed behind him.

Marie slowly turned from her dressing table to face her husband.  Her expression showcased the worry and anxiety she had felt since opening the door that afternoon to their guests.  Yet she was not about to make this too easy on him,  "Ask me what, Gerard?"

"Why he is wearing that mask,"  Gerard questioned straightforwardly.

Marie's face fell, and her head dropped to her hands.  Gerard moved his tall form quickly, and knelt down before her.  "I didn't mean to upset you, but you must understand I would be curious."

Marie lifted her head, and her look questioned him.  He shook his head, and as if a silent understanding had passed between them in that moment, Marie spoke,  "Gerard, Erik is . . . his face, it's, well."

"In this day and age, though, you would think it wouldn't matter."

"Gerard, even in this so called day and age, yes, because it's not a simple matter of a minor deformity.  Gerard, Erik's face is something you would expect to see on a corpse."

"Surely you exaggerate!"  Gerard exclaimed.

"No,"  Marie answered quietly.  "Gerard, I've known Erik since he was a babe.  I was his mother's only companion from the time he was born until he ran away at the age of nine.  And in all that time, I think I saw his face twice, once when he was an infant, and on his fifth birthday.  It's . . . it's almost more than a mere deformity, Gerard, more like the stuff of nightmares.  And yet . . . I don't know, Gerard, as a child I always felt so sorry for him, for the way his mother treated him.  But there was little I could do, to be honest.  I suppose I can't atone for that now, can I?"

Gerard merely shook his head, and allowed the silence to take over for a moment, before posing another question,  "What made him seek you out after all this time?"

Marie chuckled as she answered,  "Because he's finally found what his mother denied him all those years ago.  Despite his face, that young woman loves him enough to marry him.  There were some things he needed to know first.  Darling, you know that Boscherville was a somewhat backwards town; for all that I loved it.  He couldn't find the information he sought there, so he came looking for me, knowing I could help him."

"And of course you would help him, for you are a kind soul, my Marie."

"I am sorry, Gerard, that this was sprung on you so, but I had no idea that Erik would ever seek me out again after . . . after his mother's affairs were settled."

"My darling, there is nothing to apologize for.  You are just doing what you think is right, and so was I when I invited them to stay.  All will be well, I promise you."

@}-----,----- *~*~* -----'-----{@

Dinner passed by in an uncomfortable silence, which was followed by a similar silence which prevailed in the drawing room.  Erik was painfully aware of the glances Gerard was making towards his mask, and wondered if Marie had told her husband of the horror of his face.

After sitting in the drawing room for a time, Gerard finally broke the silence, and invited Erik to join him in his study, where the two men found themselves across a rather large desk from each other.

Gerard leaned back in his chair and held his hands in a tent-like fashion as he mused to his companion,  "You know, you can relax in my presence, Erik, I have no intention of throwing you out of my house simply because of the way you look."

"She told you then,"  Erik sighed, his body more tense now than ever.

"My wife and I have few secrets from each other, my boy.  Of course she told me.  Of course, you must know I had already suspected as much.  It is not every day you meet someone wearing a mask, unless of course you are at a masked ball or some such thing.  Erik, I asked you in here alone because I realize you may have a . . . dilemma."

Erik raised an eyebrow behind the mask.  "Dilemma, Monsieur?  And what might that be?"

"You wish to marry this girl, do you not?"

"Yes,"  Erik answered simply, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.

"You do realize that there may be . . . issues?"

"Yes, I do Monsieur,"  Erik replied, the malice in his voice barely under control.

"I didn't mean to insult you, Erik, Marie told me that you are a very intelligent man and would likely already know that you may very well have a problem.  I merely wished to bring up the subject without any assumptions on my part."

Erik's tense form relaxed slightly,  "Forgive my quickness to anger, I fear it is not my best trait.  Please continue, Monsieur."

"Please, call me Gerard,"  the older man said without thought.  "I merely wish to help you with your endeavor."

Erik's eyebrow raised, unseen behind the mask.  "Help me?  Why should you wish to do that?"

"Because I knew your father, Erik, knew him quite well."

Curiosity sparked to life in Erik's eyes at this strange turn of events, although he allowed the pause that Gerard left without comment.

"You see, Erik, your father was my half brother."

@}-----,----- *~*~* -----'-----{@

*Author's Note:  The name Laramie in French means tears of love, thus the name of the chapter.

Kudos to Kates and Kirby Russell for noticing the pattern of my previous chapters, and now that someone has a disclaimer that all but the title of this chapter and the prologue come from Celine Dion's "That's The Way It Is." (Yes, that does include the title of the story, what can I say, I love Celine!)

Note to angelofnight:  I'm doing a lot of research to see if JP's were around in 1881 France (The thought had crossed my mind), and trust me, it's mind boggling because I just can NOT find a definitive article on it . . . although I did come across some other interesting research on French documentation that supports some of my original assumings.

Alexis:  You're more than welcome!

All my other reviewers, you know who you are:  More coming soon!!!!!