Chapter 2: All the Things We've Shared
For one horrible moment I thought I'd killed my mother, but I soon saw her chest rising and falling regularly, so I knew she was alive. I started to sob with relief.
Maman's screams must have awakened my father because he burst into the room and said, "Good God, what is the matter?"
Before I could answer, his eyes fixed on the red rose sitting on her bedside table and he let out a yell, backing away as if from some invisible enemy.
"Impossible. He can't be here. He can't," he whispered. He turned to me and asked urgently, "Lynette, did anyone else come in here?"
"No, it was just me, Papa. I wanted to give Maman a present and then I found a rose in the garden and I put my hair ribbon on it and when she saw it she fainted, and oh I'm so sorry, Papa!" I said and threw myself into his arms, still sobbing.
A look of relief crossed my father's face and he held me tightly. "There, there, don't cry. You didn't know any better." He patted my head and added, "But I must fetch the nurse. And I must get that away from here before she sees it again."
He picked up the rose gingerly, as if it might explode in his hand, and left the room.
On the bed Maman began to toss and turn and I held her hand to try to calm her.
"It's over now," she repeated over and over. "It's over now. It's over now."
"What is over now, Maman?" I asked.
"The music of the night," she murmured, and then she was still again.
My father came back into the room with the nurse and asked anxiously, "Will she be all right?"
The nurse nodded distractedly and began to wave smelling salts under my mother's nose. Maman shook her head and moaned softly.
Just then Grandmère appeared at the door and said, "Raoul, the girl should not see this. Let me take her to have her breakfast."
"Of course," said Papa. He turned to me and added, "You must be brave Lynette."
I hugged him again and then Grandmère led me out of the room. As she shut the door, I saw Maman sit up weakly and whisper, "Raoul, it was awful, like seeing ghost."
"Don't worry, my love," he said. "I'm here now."
That night my father put me to bed, a rare treat.
"I wanted to make sure you did not blame yourself for what happened this morning," he said, as he tucked the comforter around me. "You meant to do a very kind thing, I know."
"But why was Maman so frightened of a rose?" I asked.
"Sick people often have very odd fears," explained Papa. "That is why we must be very careful around your mother right now.
"May I see her tomorrow?" I asked.
"If she is well enough," he said. "In the meantime, I think you need a special bedtime story after such a long day."
"Tell me about when you met Maman," I begged. The tale was an old favorite of mine.
"Very well," he said and from the pleased way he said it I knew that this tale was a favorite of his, as well. "When I met your mother she was even younger than you. She was staying at the seaside with her father and she loved to dash up and down the sandy beach in front of their cottage. One day when she was running, the wind blew her scarf into the sea."
"It was a red scarf, wasn't it?" I interrupted.
"Yes, it was a red scarf," he said smiling. "Well, your mother loved that scarf, so she started to cry because she thought she had lost it forever."
"But she hadn't."
"No, she hadn't. I was watching her, you see. I had been watching her for several days, running on the beach, but I was too shy to ask her let me play with her. When I saw her crying, I dove into the sea after the scarf. I gave it back to her and then she gave me the prettiest smile I had ever seen."
"Is that when you fell in love with her?"
"Not that summer. We were just playmates then and we spent all our time exploring the beach and collecting fairy stories."
"Mother doesn't like anyone telling me fairy stories."
"She doesn't want to fill your head with nonsense. She wants to make sure you know what is real and what is not."
"When did you fall in love with her?" I asked.
"Not until many years later when I happened to see her at the opera. Her voice was so pure and so beautiful that I fell in love with her on the spot."
"Maman has the best voice in the world. I wish I could sing as wonderfully as she does."
"I think you have a very pretty voice, Lynette."
"But it's not like hers," I said.
"That's because your mother had years and years of training. She moved to the opera house when she was only seven years old."
"Maybe I could get a teacher like hers and then I will be just as good," I said.
His brow furrowed and he paused for a moment before replying carefully, "No, I think it will be better if you learn to sing from your mother."
"When she is well again?" I asked hopefully.
"Yes," he said. "She will be well again very soon."
He was wrong; Maman's health was slow to recover. I was only allowed to see her for a few minutes each day and since my father spent all his time at her side, I saw very little of him either. Finally, at Christmas she was able to get out of bed.
I sat in the parlor and watched my father carry her into the room, setting her down gently on the couch. The candles shed a soft light that made her pale face seem to glow.
"Merry Christmas Maman! You look wonderful!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands in delight.
"You promised you would be quiet, Lynette," Papa reminded me.
"Oh Raoul, the child is allowed to make a little noise at Christmas. I don't mind. I'm just glad to be out of my room finally," said my mother.
"Look at the doll Papa gave me," I said, showing her the pretty porcelain figurine.
"She's lovely," said Maman. "Your father always had excellent taste."
I noticed something sparkling at her neck and said, "Did he give you that, Maman?"
She fingered the diamond necklace absently and said, "Yes, he did. It's very nice, isn't it?"
"It's the prettiest necklace I ever saw," I said.
"I'm glad that my choice in dolls and jewelry is approved," said Papa, laughing.
"Can you sing us some Christmas carols, Maman?" I asked.
"Of course," she said. "But you both must sing with me."
So we sang all our favorite Christmas songs with Maman's clear high voice soaring over us. Then I showed her the rest of my presents, but she did not say much. Maman always grew very quiet and thoughtful after she sang. We had a delicious supper right there in the parlor and it was good to see my mother eating real food again.
I thought that the improvement in Maman's condition might be partly due to the fact that Grandmère had left us for Paris as she did every winter, going to stay with her daughter, the mother of my cousins Henri and Claude. I wished I could see them again, but Maman did not like Paris, so we never went. Every year there was a frightful row about it with Grandmère insisting that it was our duty as Chagnys to attend the whirl of parties that marked Paris society during the winter and Papa refusing to go until Maman changed her mind.
"How is the girl ever to make a suitable match if she is kept shut away like a nun?" Grandmère would protest.
Papa always laughed at this and said, "Lynette is a child and will remain so for many more years. It is absurd to be talking of her getting a husband when she is not even ten years old!"
This year there was no row, since Maman's sickness meant that we could not possibly make the journey, though the city was no more than 40 miles away.
I was a little sorry to miss my cousins and the sights of Paris, but the beauty of winter at the Château de Chagny more than made up for the loss. I spent my days snowshoeing and skating on the river and making snow angels for Maman to see out her window and beating Papa in snowball fights, although sometimes I suspected that he let me win. He also took me on sleigh rides when the sun was shining, but that winter we did not go on many of those because it had snowed more than usual and Papa predicted there would be floods in the spring.
"Oh, do you think it will ever really be spring?" asked Maman wistfully.
"Of course it will, my love," Papa assured her, but his eyes were troubled. Though her body was recovering, Maman still suffered from fits of depression and there were days when she would not get out of bed, even though she was strong enough to do so.
In hopes of raising Maman's spirits, Papa invited her best friend, Mme. La Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac, to spend a few weeks with us at the New Year. The idea seemed to work and Maman was almost cheerful as we prepared for the arrival of "Aunt Meg" as I had always called la Baronne.
At last she came and Maman took her at once to the sitting room for a long gossip, while I played in the corner with Aunt Meg's roly-poly baby girl, who liked to tug at my hair.
"Isn't she the fattest thing you've ever seen?" asked Aunt Meg, glancing over to where the baby crawled on a blanket.
"I'm afraid the little dumpling will never be in the corps de ballet like her maman was," laughed my mother. I was so happy to hear her laugh again.
"That is exactly what my mother says, but of course our daughters are destined for greater things than the opera house," said Aunt Meg.
"Sometimes I think there is nothing greater than the opera," sighed Maman, all the laughter gone again. I wondered what it was that made Maman so slow to start laughing and then so quick to stop.
"Oh, but I haven't told you the most exciting news yet!" said Aunt Meg. "The Opera Populaire has been rebuilt and refurbished and is to begin a new season this winter, the first since…" She looked over at me and said, "Since it was closed."
"Is it true? I thought that Andre and Firmin could not find a suitable buyer," said Maman, plainly astonished.
"Well, they have found an unsuitable one, a rich American with a fondness for French opera. He's hired practically every builder in Paris for the job and now the place is as grand as ever it was in our day."
"You've seen it then?" asked Maman.
"Yes, I saw it just before I left to come here. Most of the investors are friends of the baron, of course, so we were given a private tour. You really should come to Paris and see it, Christine. I'm sure it would do you good to see how the rest of the world has moved on from...from what happened."
"I never go to Paris; you know that," said Maman.
"But it's so silly of you, dearest. There is nothing to be afraid of now."
"Did they have any trouble with the rebuilding?" asked Maman, a queer note of suspicion creeping into her voice. I thought I knew what she meant. I remembered all the problems Papa had had over the renovations in the North Tower. Builders were an awful lot of trouble he had said, so I could imagine the difficulty in restoring an entire opera house.
The same sort of suspicion had crept into Aunt Meg's voice and she seemed to choose her words very carefully as she said, "Now, Christine, there are always accidents on any construction project, things going missing and the like, but no one was killed or even seriously injured."
"I'm glad of that," said Maman. "But you still haven't convinced me to go near the opera house."
"Why not, Maman?" I asked.
They both stared at me as if they had forgotten of my existence and Maman said, "Because I would much rather stay in our lovely home where it is safe, wouldn't you?"
"Of course, Maman," I said, eager to please her, but to myself I wondered what was so unsafe about an opera house.
Maman and Aunt Meg spent most of their time in this way, just sitting and recalling old friends, old stories, and old jokes. I heard how they would to sneak out of their dormitories at night to play in the theatre, how La Carlotta used to terrify the ballet girls with her mood swings, and how Mme Giry, the ballet mistress and Aunt Meg's mother, drilled them until their legs ached with exhaustion.
One morning Maman looked at Aunt Meg and exclaimed, "I say Meg, all your dresses seem quite tight around the middle. You're not expecting a child are you?"
Aunt Meg blushed and stammered, "Yes. I didn't think I was showing yet, and I didn't like to mention it because…"
"I can't have any more children myself," finished Maman quietly.
"I'm sorry, Christine," said Aunt Meg, just as quietly.
"I wouldn't mind if it weren't for Raoul," said my mother dreamily, as if Aunt Meg hadn't spoken. "He says nothing about it, but I know it hurts him to think that his beloved home will go to a stranger. The only other heir lives in Quebec, I think."
I remembered when Papa had gotten a letter from the man in Quebec, hinting that he might turn the château into a hotel for rich foreigners. It did not seem fair to me that a man like that, who cared nothing for out pretty house and gardens, would get to do what he liked with it someday, while I, who had lived here my entire life and loved each brick almost as dearly as my own parents, would have to leave. All this, just because I was a girl and the estate was passed on the male line, so that not even my cousins Henri and Claude could inherit, as it was their mother, not their father, who was a Chagny.
A few days later it was sunny enough for Papa to take us all for a sleigh ride. It was the first time Maman had been outside since her illness and Papa made her wear layers and layers of clothes to make sure she did not catch cold.
"You look more like a bundle of laundry than a person," laughed Aunt Meg.
"I can barely move," said Maman, also laughing. "Is this really necessary, Raoul?"
"Yes, I'm not taking any chances with you," said Papa and I could tell that he was just as glad as I was to hear her laugh, no matter how quickly she stopped.
The day was crisp and clear and Papa let the horses go as fast as they liked. It was a splendid ride and when we returned home we had a special supper, for that night was New Year's Eve. For the first time, Papa said I was allowed to stay up until midnight.
We all sat in the parlor and listened to the fireworks being letting off outside. I knew Papa had let the servants have a bonfire, but it was much cozier in here, eating sweets and listening to Papa, Maman, and Aunt Meg talk about strange grown up things.
"How I long to for spring," said Aunt Meg. "I have such plans for the grounds this year."
"You really do have the finest rose garden in the country," said Maman.
"I thought you didn't like roses, Maman," I said, sucking on a lemon drop.
Her face froze and I knew that I had said the wrong thing.
Papa looked worried and Aunt Meg quickly said, "Come, let us all say our New Year's resolutions. Mine are to get the second greenhouse finished and to go to church more often. What about you, Lynette?"
"To bother Grandmère less and work on my long division," I replied. My secret resolution was to make Maman well again, but I did not like to say that out loud.
"Mine are to be a good husband and father," said Papa.
"I have only one," said Maman. "To be less afraid."
She rested her head on Papa's shoulder and then Aunt Meg coaxed her to sing for us.
I admired how skilled Aunt Meg was at distracting Maman from subjects that saddened her. I wished she could teach me the trick of it before she left the next week, for I never could tell which topics were all right for conversation with Maman and which, like the roses, were not.
Aunt Meg's visit had done Maman a world of good, so much so that when Grandmère returned to us at the end of January, Papa at last felt comfortable leaving the estate to attend to some matters of business in Marseilles, which had been neglected with so much of his focus on Maman's poor health.
I managed to hold back the tears until after his carriage pulled out of sight and even then Grandmère scolded me, "It will not do to worry your mother like that. You must be a brave girl. He will be back by mid-March."
She was right, of course. I had to be brave for Maman, who was really looking almost herself again. At least the shadows under her eyes were not quite so dark and she had started to take more trouble with her appearance, the way she always had before. She was so much improved in fact, that I was most surprised to come down to breakfast three days after Papa'a departure and find Maman's seat at the table empty.
"Where is Maman?" I asked Grandmère. "Is she unwell?"
"No, she has gone to Paris for the day on some errands. She is going to stay the night with La Baronne de Castelot-Barbezac."
I gasped, "But what if her sickness comes back while she is away? How will we know she is all right? And why has she gone in the first place? Maman never goes to the city."
"The number of questions you ask is most unbecoming in a girl of your age," said Grandmère. "But as I see you will not rest until you are satisfied, another unsatisfactory trait I might add, I will say that she has taken a nurse with her and promised to be back by dark tomorrow, so her health will be at no risk. As for the reasons for her departure, your mother does not have to explain her actions to you."
Her face betrayed nothing, but something about the uneasy tone in Grandmère's voice told me that she did not like this strange visit to Paris any more than I did.
