Chapter Thirty One: Home and Hearth

Leah

The next few days passed by me like fluttering wings.

So much had changed in one night. I had changed, more than I had ever thought possible.

The sting of betrayal lingered in my blood like a dull poison, but the result of my prayers gave me an inexplicable sense of hope. Not hope for their return. No, there was no hope of that, for Henry had made their plans quite clear. But God must have known how badly this would injure me, for Henry had remained in Paris with me.

He told me that he couldn't leave me, and that he loved his career to much to end it. The navy had been very good to him. He had attained a favorable rank in spite of his youth, and hoped to take part in an official expedition in a few years. He did not speak of his lady love, but I knew that her presence did nothing to deter him from Paris.

What ever his reasons, I was glad to know that he would stay. He was a bright light in the darkness of my loss. Had he left as well, I would have been broken beyond repair.

No, my hope was for the future and for the God I had finally spoken with.

It had not been a miraculous connection. There were no bright lights, no visions of paradise, no booming voices. Just a tired girl and a tender God, listening as I spilled out all the pain and anger in my heart, all my doubts and fears. And then there was a sense of … comfort, a sense of no longer being alone. There were no words that could explain the quiet presence that I felt.

I only knew that nothing had ever come close to this, no moment in my short life could rival that special second where I had known that someone was listening. There were only a handful of experiences that were anything like it, albeit only a faint shadows of the reality.

I had felt it once in Madame Giry's eyes, during my audition when she had sized me up. I had glimpsed it in Henry's smile, in Beth's warm words and in Tina's sweet embrace. It had even been a small part of the imaginary eyes that I had feared on my first night in the opera house. It was that illusively tangible knowledge that someone understood me completely, seeing all that I was.

And it had converted me in the span of a single heartbeat.

But that was not to say that it had healed every wound in my heart. Each of them still smarted painfully, simply less severely than they once had. My pain remained inside like an empty tomb. I had dealt with it the best I could, fighting my invisible opponent for a second time until the fifth peal of church bells, when I slunk towards the dormitories. Exhaustion was a blissful drug, and sleep brought me a temporary absolution.

My sleep was deep and dreamless, consuming me until late in the afternoon. I was wakened by a hilarious sensation and a familiar giggle.

"Wake up sleepy head!" Tinkled Tina as she and Meg attempted to discover where I was ticklish.

I opened my eyes stiffly and grumbled something incoherent, inciting more laughter from Tina and the other occupants of the room. I groggily realized that there were several other bodies present.

"Perhaps we shouldn't have wakened her?" Worried Alana.

"Nonsense, you ninny! She looks like Hell half frozen over! If she'd slept any longer she would have turned into Rip Van Winkle." Amanda exclaimed irreverently.

"She can hear you, you know." Hortense quipped dryly.

"Are you saying that I have facial hair?" I asked in response.

Beth just threw back her head and laughed.

Even though I was only half awake, the reality of what Beth had told me the night before hit me forcefully.

"You are among family here too."

The twins' sisterly squabbles, Beth's sweet disposition, Hortense's deadpan sense of humor, and the tickling fingers of Meg and Tina. There was no other place on earth that I would rather be. I had never felt this real, this right before, not even in the company of my biological family. There was an air of complete acceptance that hung heavy in the room. Each of us fit into the other like a perfect piece of a puzzle, and I felt at home in the midst of this jovial chaos.

Yes, this was my home.

This was family.

"But seriously Leah, how are you?" Hortense asked me.

"Hmm?"

"Oh don't be such a holdout, Leah! Beth told us about your family." Amanda said.

"Yes, you must be having a terrible go of it. Do you want to talk about it?" Alana inquired with deep concern.

Any sleepiness that had remained in me vanished in an instant. My eyes widened as I silently turned to Beth. Had she told them of my past?

Family or no, they could not know who I had been! I knew that they would not judge me or intentionally betray my confidence, but some of them had a looser hold on their tongue than Beth. I could not risk the world knowing of my past, especially now that Henry was of an eligible age to be married.

A pleading question hung in my stare as I gazed at Beth. What had she said?

"Well, I told them the abbreviated version. No one would really want to hear me ramble on about your first words or your third birthday party." Beth quickly covered.

I smiled in relief. Beth had not let me down after all. She must have told them something vague about my family leaving the country.

"I am adjusting." I admitted. "It will take some time, but I will have God to help me."

Their faces bore identical expressions of amazement and joy, just before I was pounced upon. We found ourselves in a jubilant pile of skirts and arms. They had known of my disbelief and each had urged me to reconsider many times. Now their happiness was boundless, as we clustered together and conversed lightly until dinner time.

After eating, we returned to the dorms to continue our catching up. We read aloud and told stories until late into the night.

The brass hand of our little clock displayed one in the morning. I had tried to sleep for several hours, but found only restlessness and Tina's quiet breathing. Candle in hand, I returned to the attic in search of something to occupy my distracted mind.

Closing the door quietly, I set the flickering candle on the worn leather seat of the piano bench. A small crate in the corner held the few items I kept up here, my paints and a single blank canvas. I always kept the room neat, enjoying a tidy space.

"Blast!" I exclaimed out loud. I had forgotten my fencing equipment back in the dormitories. I considered painting for a moment, and decided to take out my supplies. I had several hours to waste. But after opening the lid, I could not continue.

I knelt down by the crate for an endless moment unmoving, my fingertips inches from the surface of a finished canvas. It was my family portrait. Each woman's eyes glared at me with an empty contempt, each iris as blank as the depths of the grave. All the emotion that I had hidden with the girls now poured back into me with surprising force.

Anger remained inside, but much of what I felt was emptiness. I realized that no bandage, no gauze could ever heal my pain. Not exhaustion, not my friends, not even the presence of God. Exercise and family numbed it for a while, and God comforted me in spite of it, but I knew that it would remain for a long time. Yet someday I would be free of it, I decided.

All wounds can be healed, given time and patience.

But every wound leaves a scar.

I finally broke eye contact with the ghosts of my past. I could not paint tonight. Fingering my brushes, I knew that it would be years before I could paint again. The varnish on each brush's wooden stem glimmered brightly in the candlelight, reflecting memories of the day my Abuelo had given them to me.

Tears threatened to spill into my lap. I hastily summoned up my cool, detached resolve of the night before.

"I'll put them away." I explained to the empty room. "I'll just forget about this."

I slipped the horsehair brushes back into their leather case, and laid the case inside the well made box that was carved to hold my paints. The buckles on the exterior of the slim box clicked shut with ease. I gathered the few canvases and the box under my arm and took up the candle holder in order to go back to the dormitories.

I was careful not to wake little Tina as I replaced the latch on the door. She did not stir as I set down the candle and shuffled over to the armoire with my cargo in tow. I pushed each reminder far back into the bottom drawer, accidentally bumping something small and square-ish.

My fingers brushed against the small wooden box, and I retrieved it from the dim depths of the drawer.

The shimmering lid of Abuela's gift frowned at me.

"Why won't you give me any peace?" I spat at it. "Would it be so terrible for me to enjoy the life I have chosen?"

I made to shove it back into the darkness, turning it on its side to fit in next to a canvas. A slight tinkling noise came from inside. I stopped abruptly, replacing it in my lap upside down.

Should I open it? After all, I had no reason to respect her wishes any longer. What was inside? I fingered the key that hung from my neck. No one would know.

Then I saw the inscription on the bottom of the box, etched into the lacquered finish in a delicate flowing script.

Para la niña quien baila en mi corazon, mi Milagros.

I quickly thrust it back into the drawer. I would not cry! I called upon the strength that was growing in my breast to chill the heat of my pain, my body shuddering with the struggle.

My mind scrambled for a distraction. Catching a glimpse of my toe shoe, I closed the drawer with silent hurry and snatched up the closest bodice and skirt I could find. It was my favorite practice outfit, I noted as I rummaged about for a clean chemise. I dressed in a rush, once again discarding my night shift in the bottom of the armoire.

Tina twisted restlessly in our bed, tangling the sheets. I cautiously continued to prepare whilst being more wary of waking her. I brushed out my snarled hair and looped the length of it into a fresh snood. With all the tiny black hair-pins in place, I grabbed my toe shoes and the candle. I was headed for the practice stage.

The light of my candle was the only illumination in the great expanse of darkness. I could make out the ambiguous shapes of the seats in the first row. The rafters dangled above me like motionless bats in the night sky as I fastened the ribbons of my toe shoes. Despite the gloomy atmosphere, I was eager to let go of my thoughts and be caught up in the dance.

I dutifully preformed my stretches and warmed up, before beginning. I lifted my form and commenced with the last routine I had learned in class.

I was slowly gliding into the rhythm in my head as my feet remembered their places. Every thought of bandages and wounds dithered away in the face of the music in my mind. Dance occupied me entirely. There was no room for anything else, just the peace of my even breathing.

Here I cavorted about as I never could on stage. Though I loved to perform, though the thunder of applause set my heart beating, I knew that this was my true passion.

I had long ago abandoned the set movements of the routine. My legs glided and leapt. My abdomen bent and pivoted. My arms extended each motion, expressing emotion with every gesture. I poured everything out into my motion.

In the stillness of the candlelight, I felt more alive than I ever could have elsewhere. This was why I had been willing to leave my comfortable life behind. Indeed, the whole world lay far behind me. Stars could have been twinkling under the pale satin of my slippers, for nothing existed here except the release of my energy each time my slippers touched the floor. This was my driving force, a thirst that nothing else could quench.

This was the reason for life.

I had come home.

Author's Note: Please don't shoot me! I apologize for not letting them meet yet, but it couldn't be helped, I swear.

On the subject of my basis for the story, I have read Leroux, watched the movie, and seen the ALW musical (on Broadway! Squee for Hugh, the sexiest phantom of them all!). I have not read Kay, but am considering doing so sometime in the future. For this story, I am trying to lean more towards Leroux.

The inscription reads: 'For the little girl who dances in my heart, my Milagros'. Milagros is one of Leah's middle names, and it means miracle.

Responses: JPT: Amanda! We have returned to the story line! Joy and rapture! And you got to be irreverent. :D

BiP: ¿Le gusta? Out of curiosity, are you a native speaker? I am not very fluent, only three years of high school Spanish. ¿Un capítulo magnífico¡Te Amo! I will do my best to live up to your high expectations. Y si, Eric es un cerdo. But then again, he IS a thirty something year old virgin who has never been kissed.

Fish: Graci, as always. You are wonderful and so very helpful. I'm glad the seminars went well, they sound wonderful. Seamus is such an awesome name for a puppy! I hope he gets fatter. :D A spider bit you? AHH! Yuck. I hope you are well!

Yes, I am having a bit of trouble with separating the voices. I'll probably redo those during final editing. I was glad that you thought the emotions were genuine, that's sometimes a problem spot for me.

Mystery Guest: You have returned! Cheesecake! (If you haven't guessed by now, cheesecake is the answer to all situations ;D) Your review made me blush profusely, thank you. Yes, he is a bit psychotic. But he's a sexy psycho, so therefore I love him. Do you still have that fish hook in your mouth?