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Chapter 6: Let the Dream Begin

"Maman?" I gasped. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, Lynette darling. It's me," said my mother, her smile broadening.

"Oh, Maman!" I cried, running into her arms. In that moment, the only thing that mattered was that I was hugging Maman, my own dear Maman, who seemed so happy and healthy again. She squeezed me tightly for several minutes and then let go, her eyes scanning my face.

"You're all right," she said. "I'm so glad you're all right, dearest. Come, let us sit and have a talk."

While she pulled out two stools for us, I asked curiously, "Where are we Maman?"

"Where do you think we are?" she said.

"Well, Papa said you went to heaven, but this place doesn't have any angels or clouds or pearly gates." A frightening thought occurred to me and I whispered "We're not in the other place are we Maman, you know, hell?"

"Do I look like I've been in hell?" asked Maman, laughing.

"No, you look very well," I admitted. "I suppose this is Purgatory then and you are waiting to get into heaven. Do you like it here?"

"It's surprisingly comfortable," said Maman.

"Do you like it better than home?" I asked anxiously.

I wanted her to say that of course she liked our lovely home better than this cave, but all she said was, "It's different."

"Claude thinks Papa is going to get a new wife," I said. I hoped that this news would somehow scare her into coming back with me and stopping Papa from ever remarrying.

Instead she said, "I hope he does find happiness with someone, eventually."

"You think it's a good idea?" I said incredulously.

"Your father has a loving heart and I'm sure he'll choose someone who'll make a good mother for you."

"I would never love her as much as I love you, Maman," I promised.

"I know, darling," she smiled. "Now tell me, did you have a happy birthday?"

I would have replied, but I was distracted by a prickling at the back of my neck. I whirled around in my seat, but there was no one there. I looked around until I spotted twin points of light blazing in the darkest recess of the cavern. Gradually, I realized that these lights were actually eyes and if I stared very hard, I could just make out a tall, dark figure standing perfectly still in the shadows. I grew suddenly nervous.

"Maman, who is that man in the corner?" I asked in a low voice. "Is he dead, as well?"

"Yes," she said, after a pause.

"Why doesn't he speak?" I asked.

"He thought you and I should have some time alone," said Maman. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

In truth, I wished to keep her all to myself, but I could see that she wanted me to meet this man for some reason, so I said, "Yes, please."

"Come out, Erik," called Maman.

As he emerged from the corner, the candlelight flickered over his black clothes and the white mask that concealed half his face. I thought he resembled nothing so much as a figure from a nightmare and I had to fight the impulse to run away shrieking in terror. Be brave like d'Artagnan, I told myself sternly.

"Lynette, I would like you to meet Erik," said Maman.

"Charmed," he said curtly, in a voice that was oddly familiar.

I curtsied without saying a word, trying hard not to stare at his mask. I did not want him to consider me rude, but I couldn't think of anything to say to this fearsome stranger.

It was my mother who broke the awkward silence, saying, "Oh Erik, won't you sing for her? I know she would like it very much."

"If it pleases you," he said and from the way he said it I could tell that he would do anything to please my mother. A knot of jealousy formed in my stomach and I decided I hated him.

But when he opened his mouth and began to sing, I could not hate him, not really, no matter how hard I tried. I had thought Maman's voice the most wonderful in the world, but hers was nothing compared to Erik's. The notes streamed out of his throat like a living thing that enveloped me in its soft arms. Almost against my will, my body sank to the floor, hypnotized by the heartbreaking beauty of his singing.

I saw Maman sitting on a cushion, her face rapt as she took in his every word. I remembered my father saying, "You've never looked at me the way you looked at him." I didn't know who Papa had been talking about, but it was certainly true that my mother had never looked at my father like he was her whole world, the way she did with this man, if he was a man. It struck me that for the very first time I was seeing Christine, not Maman.

It is an exceptional moment when you realize that your mother is a person, not just your mother. I felt very grown up and yet unsure of myself all at once.

Neither one of them seemed aware of my presence anymore. His glorious singing was just for her and I felt reduced to the role of bystander. The knot of jealousy squeezed tighter and I decided that I wanted to hurt Erik as badly as I could. I thought how easy it would be to pull off his mask, while he was so lost in my mother's eyes.

So I crept quietly toward him until I was close enough to rip off the thin sheet of porcelain that covered the right half of his face. Instantly, he jerked back and I gaped at the sight of the reddened, welted mass of flesh that now lay exposed. He quickly put a hand to his face to hide the deformity, but I had already seen it and I started to yell, scrambling away from him as fast as I could.

He did not seem surprised at my response and I thought I heard him mutter, "Like mother, like daughter." But I might have misheard his words since I was busy screaming my head off. Burying my face in my hands, I rocked back and forth on the floor of the cave, trying to forget the terrible sight of his raw, blistered face.

"Please stop, darling," said Maman, kneeling beside me. I did not understand how she could speak so calmly.

"But he's a monster Maman! You're trapped in Purgatory with a monster!" I cried.

"Don't say such things," said Maman, seizing me by the shoulders. "He is not a monster."

"He's not?" I asked shakily.

"No, and I'm ashamed of you for behaving so badly. I thought I raised you better than to judge someone by their appearances."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to," said Maman.

I stood up and turned to Erik, who had put his mask back on. "I'm sorry, sir," I said, hanging my head.

"I think I'd better go, Christine," came his icy reply.

"Yes, perhaps that would be best," said Maman wearily and he stormed angrily out of the cave.

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Maman. Don't be sad," I said.

"I don't blame you, darling. Everyone reacts like that. I know I did at first. It's just so hard for him," Maman said tearfully, more to herself than to me. "He can't help the way he looks and it hurts him to know that even a child can't see past his face. It's not such a bad face really, when you get used to it."

"You mean he doesn't wear the mask all the time?" I asked, horrified at the thought.

"No, he only wore it tonight because of your visit," she replied. Then, wiping her eyes, she said in a more cheerful voice, "Now, let's eat the special supper I made for you. We must enjoy our time together. I want to hear all about your doings in Paris."

So, sitting at a small table covered with a white tablecloth, I told her about playing Three Musketeers, writing letters to Papa, celebrating my birthday, and visiting Mme Giry. She listened attentively and asked me lots of questions, as we laughed and ate the food she'd prepared (Maman had apparently learned to cook in Purgatory). I wanted to ask her some questions of my own, but I was afraid of making her sad again. After dessert, she gave me some very bitter coffee and I drank it all just to please her. I wanted that meal to go on forever, only I started to feel curiously tired again.

I stifled a yawn, just as I was saying, "So now I'm reading The Man in the Iron Mask, which Victoir gave me as a birthday present."

"Who is Victoir?" Maman asked.

"He's a friend of Claude and Henri's," I said, yawning again. "He's my friend too, I suppose. He and I are generally the ones who come up with all the ideas for our games."

When I yawned for the third time, Maman took my hand and said, "I love you very, very much Lynette."

"I love you too," I said. They were the same words we had exchanged the night before she fell into the river. I began to feel frightened.

"You're not going to leave me again, are you Maman?" I asked, struggling to keep my eyes open.

"You can't stay here, darling," she said. "You have to go back."

"No," I started to say, but suddenly I slumped forward in my chair, my face almost falling into the remains of the chocolate mousse. The world was going dark, but I could still hear voices around me.

"You're certain it won't hurt her?" my mother was asking worriedly.

"It will just make her go to sleep," Erik assured her and then everything went black.

When I woke up in the guest bedroom the next morning, I thought that it was probably the most bizarre dream I had ever had. But it seemed so real. I couldn't help feeling that I actually had eaten supper with my dead mother and met a strange man named Erik. I decided that if I didn't tell anyone about it, then I could go on pretending that it really had happened.

A week later it was time for me to go back to the château and Papa and Grandmère. Henri and Claude were to spend the summer with us again and Victoir would be just nine miles away. He promised to ride his horse everyday to see us and I knew that we would have splendid times. I decided to ask Papa to have a tree house built that could serve as musketeer headquarters.

After that my life entered a regular rhythm, with spring, summer, and fall in the country and winter in Paris. Sometimes it seemed as if this had always been my life, as if I had never had a mother, just a father, grandmother, aunt, uncle, cousins, and friends.

But other times, usually just before I fell asleep, memories of Maman would creep into my head and I would wonder how she and Erik were getting on in Purgatory and if she had gone to heaven yet and if I would ever dream about her again.

Coming soon: The return of the burglar! As always, any reviews are welcome. :)