Ch. 9 – That Which Remains Unsaid
At last, Christine could bear her grief no more. She had to tell him, to explain to him somehow. Even if just for the sake of her own sanity, she needed him to know the depth of her feelings for him and to know that she would not knowingly have betrayed him for anything in the world. Resolved in her intentions, she withdrew several sheets of paper, a pen, and ink. Late into the night, she poured her liquid anguish onto the paper before her, holding nothing back. She spoke to him of how she had loved him as a father figure those first years when he had comforted her after her father's death, and how that love had changed and deepened as she had grown older, although she hadn't recognized it for what it was until now. She told him of the magic she had felt that night when he had first brought her to his home and shared with her his music. She wrote of how frightened and confused she had been after the death of Buquet, and how she had thought for a time that her feelings for him were something sinful that must be denied. She explained to him how during the time of his absence, she had missed him and had longed for his voice, and how in her loneliness and fear she had allowed Raoul to comfort her. She wrote of the passion and desire she had felt burning for him on the bridge during Don Juan Triumphant, and explained to him once and for all what her true intentions had been when she had seemed to betray him. She told him all the things she loved about him – his dark beauty and grace, his genius and passion, his celestial voice, and the majesty of his music. Finally, she told him how she wished she could have been there with him when he had died, to hold him and comfort him and kiss him one last time, and how desperately she missed him now.
When she had finished, she read it aloud to him, directing her broken voice heavenward, and then paused for a moment, finally signing it, "Yours then, now, and always, - Christine".
Although she knew he would never read it, somehow, finally releasing all those memories and emotions into words had been deeply comforting to her, as if she had finally been honest with both him and herself. She knelt by the dying embers of the fire, her tears dry at last, and prayed aloud, "Dear God, you know the truth of my heart and you know the all that he endured. Please take these words to my Angel who is in your care now. Grant him your forgiveness and your peace at last. Amen." Satisfied, she turned her face from the fire, and allowed her carefully written letter to fall from her hands into the dying embers.
Through the window, she could see the first rays of the sunrise appearing along the horizon. Knowing she would not sleep this night, she gathered a blanket around her shoulders and quietly stepped out onto the balcony to watch the dawning of a new day.
Unbeknownst to Christine, the quiet figure in the corner had been awake for some time, and was moved deeply by all that she had heard. Suddenly, compelled by a force she didn't completely understand she moved silently across the room, and bent by the fireplace to rescue Christine's heart-rending words from their destruction. Elsa did not know what good could come of them now, but she gently put out the smoldering edges and placed the letter carefully in a little ornamental music box that she kept on the shelf in Christine's room. Retrieving the golden key from the drawer, she locked the box and set it back on the shelf, placing the tiny key in the pocket of her robe. She stood looking at the box for a moment, then sighed, "After hearing what you have revealed this night, Christine, I believe even the angels in heaven are sharing in your grief. God himself would have to be made of stone to ignore your anguish. I truly believe He will find a way to answer you."
What Elsa could not yet know as she looked at the little box on the shelf, was that through her own actions that night she had already played an invaluable role in God's answer.