A little girl lay in bed in the empty dormitory, her small body almost invisible beneath the many blankets heaped over her. Only her face peeped out above the quilts, a sweet countenance with a pert nose, a cherubic mouth, and a pair of large, liquid brown eyes.
Those eyes were closed as the girl slumbered fitfully on the thin mattress beneath her. She would have continued to sleep, had not a blonde head peered through the door of the dormitory and whispered loudly.
"Christine! Are you awake?"
When the question went unanswered, the body belonging to the head stepped cautiously into the room. It was another girl, slightly younger than the one in the bed. Part of her long golden hair was bound up in a bow whose shade of blue matched her eyes almost exactly. She looked as though she had stepped right out of a painting by Degas; little satin toe-shoes were on her feet and she wore a gauze tutu.
The girl tiptoed closer to Christine's sleeping form, sat on the bed next to her and shook her arm gently.
"Christine!" She whispered again. "Wake up!"
Christine rolled over and moaned softly.
"Meg…What is it?"
"Are you feeling any better?"
The dark-haired girl rubbed the heels of her hands into sleepy eyes.
"Well, I was…"
Meg fluffed the pillows and helped her friend sit up.
"You're very lucky that you didn't have to dance to-day. Mama treated us like slaves."
Christine smiled wanly.
"I wish that I felt well enough to dance, Meg. It's just so very lonely sitting up here all by myself."
Meg gave her friend's hand a sympathetic squeeze.
"But now I'm here to keep you company. We'll have fun, you and I."
She paused for a moment as an unpleasant thought intruded on her optimism.
"Just as long as Mama doesn't find—"
"Marguerite Giry!"
A hushed but sharp voice interrupted her sentence. Standing in the doorway was a tall, sever-looking woman, whose stern bearing was slightly belied by the kind light in her green eyes. Nevertheless, both Christine and Meg flinched slightly as the woman swooped down, hawk-like, upon them.
"What are you two doing?"
She addressed a guilty-eyed Meg.
"Didn't I tell you to let Christine alone? I do not want you getting ill as well. Go downstairs this instant and get yourself some supper."
"But Mama…" Meg protested feebly.
Her mother lifted a hand to silence her and nodded towards the door.
"Go."
The little girl heaved a dramatic sigh, jumped lightly off the bed, and with a tiny wave to her friend, exited the room.
Christine glanced up at the woman nervously.
"Madame Giry, please don't be cross with Meg; she only came to keep me company. I asked her to."
The ballet mistress smiled. "I do not doubt that she meant it well, but there is the chance that you would make her ill, and she in turn, would cause every girl in this dormitory to be bedridden."
Christine nodded, seeing the reason in this.
"Now hold still," Madame Giry commanded, putting out a hand to feel the girl's forehead and face. "Hmm…" she mused. "Still a bit warm, but nothing that a few days of rest won't cure"
So saying, she handed Christine a mug of tea she had been holding and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Drink it up, the warmth will do your throat a world of good."
The girl did not reply; she simply stared fixedly into her lap. And, as Madame Giry watched, a single tear ran down her cheek to land with a plop in the amber depths of her tea. With a look of concern, the ballet mistress reached over and touched Christine's trembling shoulder.
"What is wrong my dear?"
The girl looked up, tears streaming down her face. "I want to go to the chapel and light a candle for my Papa. I promised him that I'd pray every day. If I don't, I'll have been lying, and lying is a sin. I promised…"
Her voice dwindled off, and her shoulders hunched, almost as if she was collapsing in on herself. Madame Giry quickly produced a handkerchief from within a pocket of her dress.
"Now, now…dry your eyes."
The girl did so, still sniffling.
"You needn't worry about where you pray child. The Lord and His angels will always hear you."
Christine glanced at the woman, her brown eyes still dewy with tears.
"But," she replied quietly, "Can I hear angels wherever I am?"
The ballet mistress smiled at the young girl's fancy. Hearing angels!
"Yes Christine, you can hear them too. But now you must rest. The angels will only speak in dreams."
She watched as Christine, suddenly at peace, lay obediently back in bed and closed her eyes. It was a small thing really, to humor a sick little girl. Indeed, though it was only the early evening, the child could make use of the extra sleep.
Now, Madame Giry thought as she exited the room, I must find Meg and apologize for my sharp words. The poor thing was only trying to comfort her friend. Taking care that the door of the dormitory was shut firmly behind her, she set off down the hall.
Hours later, in the middle of the night, Christine's eyes fluttered open. For a moment she did not know what had awakened her; everything seemed as usual. The candles on the bed stands had all been snuffed out by their owners; the room's darkness was pierced only by a few intrepid moonbeams straggling through the single window, and she could hear the soft breathing of the other girls in their beds.
As she awoke, she became aware of a gentle touch on her face, bushing damp, sweaty curls from her feverish forehead. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, she was able to make out a dark form sitting on the edge of her bed. The girl tried to speak, to ask who was there, but her voice only emerged a weak croak. Her throat was on fire and attempting to talk only made it worse. She whimpered in pain.
At her first weak vocalization the shadow had stiffened, as though startled, but now it seemed to relax and touched her face again; Christine could feel the soft leather gloves encasing its hands. Then, softly, almost imperceptively, the figure began to sing. The girl did not know the words, but she recognized the voice.
Fighting the pain in her throat, she managed to whisper hoarsely.
"Angel?"
The voice replied, soft and rich as velvet.
"Yes Christine, it is I."
Almost delirious with joy, she took the figure's large hand in both of her little ones and pressed it against her face.
"I was afraid you wouldn't know where to find me."
The girl smiled in the darkness as the voice of her angel washed over her.
"Do not doubt child. I will always know where you are."
Using its free hand, the figure pressed Christine gently back down from her upright position. "You must sleep now, and regain your strength."
Lying back in the bed, the girl muttered sleepily, "Madame Giry said that as well. Will sleeping really help me get better?"
She felt, rather than saw, her angel's smile.
"Rest does indeed aid recovery. You would do well to heed Madame Giry. She is a wise woman."
Christine nodded, not really listening, her eyes beginning to close. The figure saw this and began to sing again, softly, so as not to wake the other girls in the room. Finally the angel's young charge drifted off to the land of dreams, wrapped in a cocoon of song.
Soon after Christine had fallen asleep, the figure gently disentangled its black-gloved hand from the girl's grip and stepped away from the bed. The child within stirred but did not awaken. With a movement of its lips that might have been a smile, the figure leaned over and arranged her hair so that it spread neatly across the pillow, and, as a parting gesture, ran one finger down the girl's face, almost as though tracing invisible tears.
Then, without making a sound, the shadow turned on its heel and left the room. It paused for a moment in the darkness of the hallway, took a step towards the wall, and suddenly disappeared, leaving no sign that it had ever been there at all.
FIN
This is my first time posting on so be kind. Read and review please.
