A Friend Revisited

Erik closed his eyes as warm sensation flooded his body. It had been several months since the satiny feeling of ivory had been beneath his fingertips, and the music wrapped around him now like welcoming arms.

He had told Kathleen he would begin music lessons the next Monday, but for now he was reacquainting himself with the one true friend he felt he still had, music…glorious music. He could bend it to his will and mood. Pieces of music flooded his mind and his fingers itched to write down the scores, but for now, he played other composer's pieces to revive his passion.

A knock on the parlor door turned him from the keyboard. "Come in," He rumbled in reply.

Kathleen came in and quietly closed the door.

"Are they all tucked in for the night?" He asked.

Kathleen dropped into a plush chair with a tired sigh and closed her eyes. "Yes, at last. Priscilla wanted to come and say goodnight again!" She opened her eyes again, laughing, "I think she is smitten, Mithter Erik!"

He chuckled, "She is a little moppet. I catch her staring at me often."

Kathleen enjoyed hearing his laughter, and firmly believed that he was learning to laugh again after a long spell of hellish events in his life.

"Would you play something for me, please?" She asked, closing her eyes again and sinking back into the chair.

"What does Mademoiselle wish to hear?" He asked, exaggerating his French accent as he shuffled through the sheet music on the piano's flat top.

"A piece Sam Jr. used to play that I quite enjoy. Fur-Elise."

Hmm, young Mr. Price again, Erik thought, but carried on with his playful charade. "Ah, the lady prefers Beethoven!" He said, pulling out the requested sheet music.

The cozy room filled with haunting music and Kathleen soaked it up. Sam Jr. had played for pleasure, and to please his father, who had made Sam learn because his mother had played. But coming from Erik's skilled hands, the music sounded entirely different. He was a true master.

Such beauty and such torment can come from this one man's soul, Kathleen marveled as she listened.

For his next selection, Erik played Moonlight Sonata. When there was no response from his audience, he stopped and turned around to see that Kathleen was sound asleep in the overstuffed chair.

He wavered back and forth between waking her and carrying her up to her room. A vision of carrying Christine to his bed made the decision for him.

"Kathleen," He said gruffly, gently shaking her shoulder. "You will get a stiff neck if you sleep in that chair all night."

She moaned and blinked her pale silver-blue eyes. "You stopped playing," She protested.

"My audience was snoring, so I thought I must have bored her indeed," He teased dryly.

"I do not snore!" She exclaimed sleepily, her Irish lilt more pronounced.

Erik took her hands and eased her from the chair. "Go to bed, woman. You are exhausted. I hope that girl gets back soon before you work yourself to death," He said sternly.

"You must keep the door open at night," She said around a jaw-popping yawn. "The children will settle down much faster."

"How am I to take that?" Erik muttered.

Kathleen seemed hesitant to leave the room, though Erik saw that she was ready to drop. She gazed at him with a strange new look in her eyes.

"Goodnight," She whispered and trudged from the room.

He pondered that strange look as he made the short walk to his cottage. He certainly had not seen it before. But he shook his own tired brain, telling himself it was nothing more than the lighting in the room.

Sunday evening, Kathleen approached Erik with a small dilemma. She found him in his now-customary place at the piano in the parlor.

She put her hand on the top of the piano and said, "Erik, you have never told me your last name. As a teacher, the children must call you by your last name as a sign of respect. They can't keep calling you Mr. Erik."

He had stopped playing when she first spoke, and now he looked down at the keys, a troubled expression on the unmasked side of his face. Several moments passed before he finally looked up at her, clearly at a loss. "I've never needed a last name before," He told her. "But I see that you are right."

He closed the lid over the keys and distractedly arranged the sheet music on the piano rack. "I never knew, or else don't remember my parent's name." Hot anger boiled up in him just at the mere thought of the couple who had thrown him away into such a brutal life. He didn't want to acknowledge them by using their name even if he did remember it. "I will have a name by lesson time tomorrow," He said gravely, and wished her a good evening before leaving the mansion for home.

The small back porch of Erik's cottage was becoming another favorite place to relax at the end of the evening. The sigh of the wind through the new leaves was soothing, and the cool air refreshing, synonymous with freedom in his mind. No more hiding in dank, dark tunnels and caverns. He had found a small piece of the world that seemed willing to accept him.

"Here I am not a pariah," he said aloud. "Oh, Christine! How I thought you understood this outcast. You seemed to hear me as no one else could."

He ran a trembling hand through his thin hair. "But you exposed me to the world," He whispered into the black night, "and gave me my name."

With a little modification he came up with his new name: Erik de Parria, from the French word "paria" meaning outcast.

As it turned out, Monday was turned upside down. Mid-morning, an acquaintance of Kathleen's, a Reverend Harrison Wilkes, brought a couple to meet the orphans, with the intention of adopting one, if not two, of the children.

The youngsters were lined up in the school room and the prospective parents, a Mr. and Mrs. Logan, were able to look each one over and talk to them. Several caught the couple's interest and each child was taken aside and asked questions. Eight year old Milly Quinlan, auburn-hair and green eyes promising beauty, caught their eye. But her twin sister Molly protested that they must not be parted. The girls were not identical, so the fact that they were twins was easy to miss.

Mr. Logan had his eye on one of the older boys, twelve year old James, to help run the farm back in Ohio, he said.

Erik stood at the door, quietly observing the heart-rending scene. The twin girls were wrapped in each other's arms, crying inconsolably.

Surely, they will not separate them, he thought. But after a few more moments he could bear to watch no longer. He needed to escape to the solitude of his house for a while until the selection was over.

"It's as if they're selecting livestock," He muttered distastefully.

At the noon meal, Erik noticed two empty chairs at the long table, however the twins were still present. After the meal, he went to the parlor to prepare for his first music lesson. Kathleen came and found him after the children had been sent outside to play.

"Erik, is anything wrong?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

He rose from the piano bench and stepped to the fireplace, resting his arm on the mantle. His eyes did not meet hers, and he seemed distracted as he looked at the fine saber on the mantelpiece.

"How do you do it, Kathleen?" He finally asked, his green eyes troubled. "How do you watch those children go through what Milly and Molly did? It was like watching someone select a horse or cow!"

"Erik, it is not always like that." She stood before him, hoping to soothe his anger. "They did not realize that the girls were sisters, let alone twins."

"Would you have let them be separated?" He asked defensively, leaning closer to her face.

Taken aback by his fierce attitude, Kathleen stumbled over her reply. "No—no, I try not to break up siblings, and I—I'm glad to say that I haven't had to yet, but sometimes it is necessary for the child to find a home."

"They have a home here!"

"Erik," she sighed, "This cannot be a permanent home. This is only a stop over until a family can be found for them. They need parents, a chance at a normal life."

He muttered an expletive in French and returned to the piano, staring moodily at the sheet music. Kathleen came to stand behind him, longing to touch him, but felt she had no right to.

She spoke gently. "I don't find it easy to let them go, but I have to. It is better that they go than face the alternative, life on the streets, starvation, and for the girls, much worse."

"Yes, I know you are right," He said reluctantly, thinking of his own tortured, dark childhood. "I hope they fare well."

"I pray for that too, for every one of them."

Having no experience with prayer and feeling that his relationship with God was tenuous at best, Erik hoped Kathleen's prayers held some sway.

"Who is to go?" He asked.

"The Logans took James and Dorcas out for a while to get better acquainted," Kathleen said, sitting down beside him on the piano bench. She looked over at his handsome profile, admiring the strength of it, and the concern for the children she saw there. "It will get easier, Erik."

She covered his broad hand with her slender one and squeezed. The sensation that raced through her veins was unexpected…breathtaking, but she left her hand there, sensing his need for her comfort. "You don't have to be here at those times if you don't want to be. I understand your aversion to the process."

Erik sighed, welcoming the comforting closeness of her presence. What he didn't tell her was that seeing "the process" had brought back those hideous days of being on display in that filthy cage being jeered at and beaten like some wild animal. He fervently hoped that none of these children were ever subjected to any form of cruelty.