"Meg! What on earth are you still doing awake? Why are you so pale? Meg,
listen to me! Meg?"
Numbly I became aware of her. I blinked; my mother's worried face came into view. "Mamma." I managed to say before bursting into tears. I reached out to her and she held me until my sobbing subsided.
"Meg, what's wrong?"
"Mon.monsie-" I tried to get the word out. "He. Papa. he's dead! Papa's dead!"
My poor mother thought I was talking about her husband. "Meg! You know he's been gone for years, what are you talking about?"
"Papa Daae, he's dead!" I began weeping again into her shoulder. I had said it, that made it all the more real. My mother looked at though I had slapped her.
"Dead?" She repeated. "He's dead." She sat quietly.
As I waited for comfort, and found none, I pulled away and looked at my mother. Sorrow and pain were etched on her face as tears trickled down. "Mamma?" I asked, amazed.
"I. I can't believe he's gone." I looked at her face carefully. The emotion I found there shocked me almost as much as his death had. Could it possibly be?
"Mamma! You. you love him?" Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she pulled a chain from under her dress. Hanging from it was simple gold ring. Engraved on were the initials JD. Joseph Daae.
Quietly she admitted, " We.we were to be married next fall. We were going to tell you girls today."
Everything was too much for my head. I looked once more at my mother, suffering maybe as much as Christine was, more than I was. I hugged her, and for once, she cried on me. I held her, stroking her hair as if she were a child. Pulling away, she wiped her eyes.
"Meg, to bed."
I nodded. Walking over to my bed, I pulled down the sheets and crawled in. Closing my eyes, I shut out my living nightmare and slept.
My mother and I got through the tragedy. We were sent a funeral invitation, but we weren't able to attend. I doubt we would have gone, even if we had been able to. The following week I got a letter from Christine, telling how Papa Daae had died from a heart attack.
She wrote, "I regret to say I shall not be returning to Paris at this time. I must stay in England with my nurse. Please tell your mother I am sorry, and I send my love. I will write to the opera myself and send my resign letter. I hope someday to return to Paris and the opera, and you. I will write as often as I can, and you must write me, too. Love, Christine."
Numbly I became aware of her. I blinked; my mother's worried face came into view. "Mamma." I managed to say before bursting into tears. I reached out to her and she held me until my sobbing subsided.
"Meg, what's wrong?"
"Mon.monsie-" I tried to get the word out. "He. Papa. he's dead! Papa's dead!"
My poor mother thought I was talking about her husband. "Meg! You know he's been gone for years, what are you talking about?"
"Papa Daae, he's dead!" I began weeping again into her shoulder. I had said it, that made it all the more real. My mother looked at though I had slapped her.
"Dead?" She repeated. "He's dead." She sat quietly.
As I waited for comfort, and found none, I pulled away and looked at my mother. Sorrow and pain were etched on her face as tears trickled down. "Mamma?" I asked, amazed.
"I. I can't believe he's gone." I looked at her face carefully. The emotion I found there shocked me almost as much as his death had. Could it possibly be?
"Mamma! You. you love him?" Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she pulled a chain from under her dress. Hanging from it was simple gold ring. Engraved on were the initials JD. Joseph Daae.
Quietly she admitted, " We.we were to be married next fall. We were going to tell you girls today."
Everything was too much for my head. I looked once more at my mother, suffering maybe as much as Christine was, more than I was. I hugged her, and for once, she cried on me. I held her, stroking her hair as if she were a child. Pulling away, she wiped her eyes.
"Meg, to bed."
I nodded. Walking over to my bed, I pulled down the sheets and crawled in. Closing my eyes, I shut out my living nightmare and slept.
My mother and I got through the tragedy. We were sent a funeral invitation, but we weren't able to attend. I doubt we would have gone, even if we had been able to. The following week I got a letter from Christine, telling how Papa Daae had died from a heart attack.
She wrote, "I regret to say I shall not be returning to Paris at this time. I must stay in England with my nurse. Please tell your mother I am sorry, and I send my love. I will write to the opera myself and send my resign letter. I hope someday to return to Paris and the opera, and you. I will write as often as I can, and you must write me, too. Love, Christine."