Chapter 3: Miserable Hopes
I opened my eyes warily. Where was I? What time was it? How long had I been sleeping? Then I remembered. The violin. I lay on my bed and looked around me. Sister Mary Elizabeth sat in the chair by my bedside, working on a bit of embroidery. When she realized I was awake, she said,
"Oh, hello, dear. It's a good thing to see you awake. You gave me quite a fright there for awhile."
I looked at her, baffled.
"What, what happened?" I asked her eagerly.
"Oh, I found you over in your father's room when I came to get you to tell you your lunch was ready," she explained, setting her embroidery aside, "when I walked in, you were collapsed on the floor, clutching your father's violin, sobbing hysterically. I came in and took you in my arms, and after awhile you just cried yourself to sleep."
"Oh," I replied, a bit confused.
"I came in here and put you on the bed. I was pretty worried about you. You've been asleep for nearly two hours."
"What time is it?" I asked her.
"Nearly three o'clock," she stated simply.
I propped myself up on my elbow and examined the sheets. We sat there in a moment of silence while she rocked steadily back and forth in her rocking chair.
"Are you hungry?" she asked me.
I jerked my head up to look at her. She had a kind face, and looked to be in her early sixties. She had brilliantly blue eyes, and a kind smile. Even behind the many wrinkles that encompassed her face, you could see that when she was younger she was very beautiful. I wondered why she had chosen to become a nun instead of get married. I nodded halfheartedly.
"Alright then," she said rising from her chair and turning towards the door to leave, "I'll go get something for you to eat."
She walked from the door and closed the door with a slight click. I stared absently out the small window in my room. The weather had slightly improved, but not by much. The same gray, groggy storm clouds still loomed ominously overhead. I pulled back the bedding and looked down upon myself. I was still in my dress; Mary Elizabeth hadn't changed me out of it.
I slid out of bed and stalked over to my vanity, my cold feet slapping on the hardwood floor. I looked around my room for my pair of slippers, and upon finding them, thrust my feet into their warm and soft embrace. I sighed, that was better. I looked in the mirror atop the dresser, at my mane of tangles and snarls. Even after Sister Mary Elizabeth had so painstakingly done her best to tame my wild rats' nest. Oh well, at least the lice were gone. I opened one of the small drawers and rummaged through it until I found my sharp-toothed comb. I winced just at the sight of it.
I slowly raised the comb and held it poised just above my head. I gulped at the thought of what I was about to do. I found a place on the back of my head and stuck the comb in. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the effect as I slowly began to pull back. I let out a sharp cry of pain as the comb caught one of my many snarls. I pulled harder, but only succeeded in wrenching my neck back along with the comb. I inhaled short breaths and whimpered slightly as the sharp comb inevitably hit a particularly stubborn section. I struggled with it, yet however hard I pulled; the comb was too entwined to get out, unless I wished to go bald by pulling half of my hair out.
I sighed and began work on another section. After what seemed about a half an hour, it seemed like I was free of the awful tangles that had taken up residence in my hair. I ran my fingers through my long curly hair, just to make sure. I looked in the mirror; my hair was still frizzy and poofy. I ransacked my drawers until I found the small vile of botanical oil. I opened the small lid and breathed in the sweet aroma. It had belonged to my mother, that much I remember; and every day she would put a little bit in her hair and on her neck and just a bit on her clothes. I recall running into her warm embrace and breathing in her sweet scent of lavender and roses. Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them back as I poured a bit of the oil into my hands and rubbed them together and smoothed them through my hair.
"Now Christine," my mother had once told me while she sat at her vanity and prepared herself, "you must never wear too much, or your skin and hair will become too oily and smell too strong."
"Yes, mama," I had replied watching her apply the oil caringly to her delicate features. She took a little from her hand and rubbed it gently over my own neck. I breathed it in deeply and looked up adoringly at my mother. She offered me a warm smile and took me up in her arms in a warm hug.
A single tear rolled down my cheek as I looked back fondly upon that memory and into my vanity mirror. I sat down heavily in the stool before it and folded my arms in front of me. I put my head down to rest before me and let the words weigh down heavily upon me.
Alone. No one there for me.
I sat up at the sound of Mary Elizabeth's voice.
"Christine, dear!" she yelled from down the stairs. It seemed, no matter how loud she yelled, her voice never got hard, always retained that soft and gentle side of it. "Your lunch is ready!"
I quickly pulled out my silver handled soft boar bristle brush and ran it over my curls to make sure they were smooth enough. Wiping the excess oils on the skirt of my dress, I rushed out of the room and down the stairs.
Upon walking into the small kitchen, I saw a bowl of soup set on the table at my place, large curls of steam lazily making their way out of the bowl and dissolving into the air.
I sat down lazily in the hard wooden chair and looked down at the contents of the bowl. Soup, and split pea by the looks of it. I scowled slightly at it, the corners of my mouth pulled taut in a slight frown. I wasn't particularly fond of split pea soup.
"Is something wrong dear?" I heard the Sister's voice behind me. I looked up at her kind face, bordering worry and disappointment.
"No," I whispered meekly as I picked up the spoon she had set beside my bowl. Seeming content with this, she walked away to busy herself with another task and leave me to my lunch.
I gazed into the small bowl at the liquid inside of it. I stirred it absentmindedly for a few moments before I took a spoonful and raised it to my lips. I put it inside my mouth and moved it around delicately with my tongue before swallowing it down. I did this with the rest of it until the bowl was empty.
I quickly got up from the table to bring my bowl to the sink, and was startled to find Mary Elizabeth there, gazing out the small window. I had hardly noticed her. Had she been standing there the whole time? When she noticed me scrutinizing her, she quickly came to her senses and acted as if nothing had happened at all.
She brushed her hands on her skirts before taking my bowl from me with a polite "Thank you, dear", and heartily scrubbed the bowl in the small sink. I started to wander in the next room when she spoke to me.
"Oh, Christine!" she said, grabbing my attention.
I turned around to face her.
"I was wondering if you would mind going out today. I have a few quick errands to run, and I'm a bit hesitant about leaving you here by yourself."
I pondered this for a second before giving her my answer. "Okay," I said, nodding my head and turning to leave the room.
"Alright then. Go get your coat on and we'll go as soon as I'm done tidying up the kitchen."
I turned and left the room, heading towards the stairs and up into my bedroom. I walked over to my wardrobe and looked inside of it. I leafed through the various articles of clothing, coughing a bit on the musty dust smell. I pulled out an old, coarse gray wool sweater with large buttons and pulled it on, feeling the rough fabric pass over my skin. Fumbling with the awkward buttons, I made my way out of my room and down the stairs.
When I reached the doorway, I saw Sister Mary Elizabeth standing there, ready to leave and waiting for me. Upon seeing me, she smiled her gentle smile and greeted me.
"Oh, hello dear. Are you ready to leave?"
I nodded slowly and followed her out into the fog. Once we were outside on our front step, Mary Elizabeth turned around, pulled an old fashioned key out of her handbag, and locked the door behind us.
It was still quite foggy and cloudy, although it was not raining anymore.
"Where are we going?" I wondered aloud, breaking the silence between us.
"The seamstress. We have to have you fitted for a dress for your father's funeral tomorrow," she replied.
"Oh," I said quietly to myself as we continued to trudge along the small gravel road into the town. As we reached the main street, Mary Elizabeth took my hand so I would not get lost in all of the confusion. She led me along like an obedient horse, through the jumble of people and past all the horses and carriages the upper class used as transportation.
When we reached the small seamstress shop, Mary Elizabeth pulled open the door and ushered me inside. I felt a warm gust of air rush over me as I stepped into the small, cozy room.
A young girl, who could be no more than fourteen, walked out from the back room and stood behind the counter to greet us. She stood at about average height, and had striking features, from her golden blonde hair to her sea green eyes. She reminded me severely of my mother.
"Hello Sister. How may I help you?" She asked in a kind, firm voice.
"Oh, hello Adrienne. Is your mother in? I need some fittings for a dress."
"Yes, she's in the back now. I'll go get her for you."
A tall woman with piercing dark eyes and her dark hair piled up on top of her head in a tight bun emerged from the back room, standing tall and proper.
"Good day, Denise," Mary Elizabeth greeted her.
"Good day, Sister," she acknowledged, a slight smile making its way over her sharp features. "Adrienne tells me you need some fittings for a dress. What kind of dress, exactly?"
"A funeral dress for Christine here," she said, putting one of her arms around my shoulder.
"Oh yes, of course. Well, if you'll kindly stand on that stool there. Adrienne, would you mind taking her measurements for me while I talk to Sister Mary Elizabeth?"
The girl Adrienne nodded, taking my hand and leading me towards the stool that stood slightly in the corner of the room. She disappeared into the back room once again, and when she emerged she had pulled her hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, carrying a small measuring tape. She took my hand once again and helped me step onto the stool.
She worked in silence for a few moments before speaking to me. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. I never knew him, but people talked about him often in the town. He was a violin player, right?"
I nodded solemnly. What had people said of my father? As if she had the power to read my mind, Adrienne spoke again.
"People used to say that he would play beautifully. And they spoke of you as well. Said you had a voice to rival the angels themselves," she said this with a slight smile as she continued to take my measurements, constantly dipping her quill in the inkwell and writing the measurements down. "My parents used to take me down by the shore," she continued, "and once we passed by your window, and I heard your father playing and you singing. It seemed to seep into my soul it was so lovely."
She sighed heavily as she stood up and faced me. I looked at her with imploring eyes. She simpered at me, most likely out of sympathy as she helped me off of the stool.
We made our way up to the counter where the two women stood talking.
"Mother," Adrienne addressed her mother, "I have Christine's measurements."
"And how long will it be until the dress is ready?" Mary Elizabeth asked Denise.
Adrienne handed her mother the measuring tape, along with the parchment. She pored over it for a moment before producing an answer.
"It will be ready by tomorrow," she told Sister Mary Elizabeth.
"Alright then. How much do I owe you?" asked Mary Elizabeth.
"Thirty francs," she answered promptly.
Mary Elizabeth opened her handbag once more and produced an envelope, from which she took out the franc bills and handed them to Denise.
"Good day then. See you tomorrow!" She said as we turned to leave.
"Good bye!" Mary Elizabeth said as we walked towards the door.
As I turned to look behind me, I saw Adrienne waving at me.
"Good bye, Christine!" She said, "Bon courage. Good luck."
And then we were out in the busy streets again. We walked along down towards the butcher and the market.
We went to the butcher's where we picked up some chicken, and to the market where Mary Elizabeth selected several potatoes and some soft baby green spinach chutes. When her errands were finished, we took an alternate route, one that went by the seashore. While we trudged along, I looked at the mighty old oak that stood beside the road. I ran to it and embraced it, tracing my fingers along the bumpy old trunk. I looked around the other side and found the initials "L. L." Or "Little Lotte". I remembered when those had been carved there. I was out on my way to the shore with Raoul, when we had stopped by the tree to rest. He unexpectedly drew out his pocketknife and carved the initials in the trunk.
I had immediately collapsed into a hysterical heap, sobbing maniacally while he tried his best to comfort me, confused at what had set me off so easily. When I finally returned to my senses, I had scolded him for doing such a thing to a tree, insisting that it was living and it had feelings to; and by carving something in it its soul had been damaged. He simply looked at me bewildered, but laughed it off and took my hand and led me on.
I recalled that memory fondly, tracing the carved initials with my index finger. I sighed and returned to the path, quickening my pace to keep up with the Sister. Upon returning home, she immediately began work on supper. I helped however I could to busy myself, fetching water for boiling or wood for the potbelly stove. She prepared a lovely dinner of chicken prepared with fresh herbs, small, boiled red potatoes, and spinach salad, which she made olive oil vinaigrette for. After dinner, I helped her tidy up the kitchen and build a fire in our sitting room.
While she rocked steadily back and forth in her rocking chair, continuing her embroidery, I looked through the bookcase at some old book we had come to own over the years. Many were musical scores that my father had learned to play, and I pulled out one of his favorites, Faust. Thumbing through the old worn pages, I pored over the music intently.
My father had always told me that someday I would play the great leading role of Margherita. That someday, I would become a prima donna at one of the greatest opera houses in the world, perhaps even the world renowned Opera Populaire. He told me that with the right instruction from the angel of music, I would awe all who heard me with my voice. He told me I must never let the angel of music leave me. I promised him that I wouldn't. And now, I silently wondered to myself, praying to my deceased father in my mind.
"Papa, you are in heaven now," I prayed to myself silently in my head, "and my angel has still not come to me. The angel you promised me. The angel of music. Where is he, Papa?"
I did not notice as a large tear rolled lazily down my cheek and fell, leaving a temporary stain on the sacred page. Mary Elizabeth looked up at me, concern spreading across her face like a shadow.
"Christine, dear," she said, bringing me from my reverie, "are you alright? Perhaps you need rest now. Come, I'll show you to bed. It' been a long day for me as well; and you need your rest for tomorrow, your father's funeral is early in the morning," she regarded me kindly.
Setting her embroidery aside and rising from her rocking chair, she came over to my place on the floor and helped me up. I reluctantly set the book aside and followed her upstairs while she led me by the hand. She lit an oil lamp on my bedside table, and pulled out my nightshift from its place in my wardrobe. After she helped me change out of my day dress and
folded neatly and placed it back in the dresser, she helped me into bed, tucking the warm sanctuary of covers around me. She kissed my forehead, bid me good night, and extinguished the oil lamp before leaving my room. I was left, staring absentmindedly at the ceiling. I tossed and turned when I finally tumbled into a realm of nightmares, screaming in my sleep, my father's death plaguing my mind like an incurable disease. I dreamed I would be left alone for all eternity, thrown into a black pit of loneliness and despair. No angel. No Father. Alone.
Hi! Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I had terrible writers' block, and had to rewrite this chapter. Not my best, but better than before. Hope you all liked it. Thank you all for reviewing, and be sure to drop another review for this chapter, I'd really appreciate feedback!
Lilly-Billy: Thanks for reading and reviewing, I'll try to write more!
Chrissy: Thanks, I'm flattered you took the time to read it. Hope you get around to reading the rest soon!
Silvia Broome: Thanks for the review. Yes, it is rather unoriginal, but I didn't know what else to do, so I decided to try my hand at this. Hope you liked it.
HatEatingPossum:Thanks for reading, I hope you do get an image of Christine's childhood. I'll try to update more, but I've been in a bit of a fog lately when it comes to writing.
RenegadeMule: Ryan, please at least read it! Geez, we didn't get you this time! But it's not over! You WILL watch phantom AND sound of music soon enough! Mua ha ha!
Nea:Thanks, no I don't use a thesaurus. Should I? lol, anyway, thanks for reading and I hope all is going well with your fic.
Nade-Naberrie: Thanks, and it's a good thing you know me well. Yes, I am the age I claim to be, as insane as it may seem. Ha! I got you to pity her! I win! lol, this is before the little incident at the opera house. She should get there soon, I hope. Anyway, thanks again.
Thank you again to all of my reviewers! And by the way,I leave for Australia in two weeks, and I'll be gone for about three weeks. I'm in a good writing mood now, so I hope to get at least one or two updates in before I leave. I'm not making any promises though!
Always,
LePetiteChristine
And btw, if you have any ideas, you can email me or my screename for aim is also goldenfaridust, and my yahoo messenger name is lapetitechristine. Let me know about your ideas!