Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters. I'm sure you know I don't own anything.
A/N: Well, I am back! Aren't you excited? I am. It's the final stretch of the story. It'll soon all be over. Thank you all so very much for the nice reviews and comments. On to chapter twenty-four.
Chapter 24: To Cherish All the Days of My Life
My first duty as a wife was to please my husband. My second was to clean up his room. No, I do not mean picking up his dirty clothes and having to make the bed. Erik was good about those sorts of things. I never once found a piece of dirty laundry on the floor. It must have come from him living alone for so long. What I am referring to is the room itself. It was too gray and disturbing for me. Erik just grunted when I asked if I could paint the walls a cream white.
"Do as you please. It's now your room, too." And back he went to playing the piano. I loved him, but sometimes he could be impossible. I watched his fingers glide effortlessly across the keys. There were still times when he would get so caught up in his music and forget the normal world. I bent down and planted a kiss on his cheek.
"Don't forget to come down to supper." I reminded him and off I went. Louise and I spent a little over two weeks painting and redecorating the room. His pictures were the work of genius. But, I broke down into tears whenever I looked at them. They were that moving. So, we moved them to a different room of the house where I wouldn't see them. I begged Erik to paint me something else to put on my walls. Anything. He smiled and said he would. I was overjoyed.
A week after the last coat of paint dried, Erik presented me with a picture of the ocean. I had told him that I had dreamed of studying whales out in the ocean, but that it would never happen now that I was stuck in the 19th century. The picture was of waves crashing on the shore with a pod of dolphins frolicking in the background. I got lost in the painting; it was so real. Erik was bombarded with kisses from me. I can't say he minded.
Oh, what about the honeymoon? We traveled for two weeks, seeing some sights and enjoying each other's company. We didn't go too far from Paris because Erik needed to get back to teaching. Hey, we needed the money. Our trip was pleasant, though. I liked it so much that I convinced Erik to go for a week romp in the country every anniversary. Well, almost every anniversary. As he got older, he became more attached to his music and was loath to go anywhere.
After we arrived back home from our honeymoon, I convinced Erik that we needed a photograph of us. He put up a fight. Number one: he was wearing a mask. Number two: why did I need a picture when I had the real thing living with me? Number three: he didn't do pictures. Need I tell you that he lost the battle? I practically had to drag him. The photograph was terrible by modern standards, but by 1870's standards, it was pretty good. I kept the picture on the downstairs mantel piece.
Forgive me for the leaps in time. What could possibly be interesting about a person's forty-odd years of marriage? Unfortunately, not much. Our first few years were full of mistakes and blunders and discoveries. I learned that Erik's feet were the coldest things in the universe. Trust me. They were. He was admonished that he could sleep in the same bed with me as long as he kept his feet on the far side. Did he ever listen? No. Men; you've got to love them.
There was only one really serious incident in the bedroom. We'd been married for about two years. Now, Erik always slept without the mask. At first, he was reluctant to sleep without it for he thought he'd scare me in the middle of night. I disagreed and the mask stayed off (it was also easier to kiss him without it on). Well, this one night was different. I had a nightmare of ghosts chasing me. It was horrible. I woke up in a cold sweat and the first thing I saw was the right side of his face.
I screamed like there was no tomorrow. I don't know why I was so frightened. My rational brain was saying, "It's your husband, silly. Why are you screaming?" My irrational side was screaming, "Remember the ghosts? It's one of them." Obviously, I listened to that irrational side.
Erik was up in a flash. He clamped his hand over my mouth and tried to quiet me. I struggled for a good minute before my rational side took over. I cried and cried. Erik comforted me by holding me close and stroking my hair. I finally found my voice as I dried my tears.
"I'm sorry. It was a nightmare." I said sheepishly. I didn't dare look at him. I was afraid he'd look heartbroken; thinking he had scared me somehow. Well, he had, but he didn't need to know it.
"It's okay. I know. I know. It must have been awful. Rest now, love." I curled up next to him and fell back asleep. And I knew he knew I'd screamed because of his face. We never mentioned it to each other again and it was the last time it ever happened.
"Will you tell me about the ring?" I asked one day while we were in the piano room. Erik was playing a sonnet of some kind and I was listening while mending a shirt (Louise had recently taught me how to sew). From where I sat, I could see the slight glitter of the diamonds in the ring.
"What ring?" He asked innocently, continuing with his playing. I laughed. He was avoiding the question, for good reasons, I am sure. But, I wanted to know the full truth about the ring. He wasn't getting off that easily.
"You know perfectly well what ring. The one you wear on a chain around your neck. I saw you put it in your drawer last night. It is beautiful. Where did you get it?" You all are probably laughing at me. I should know where he got the ring from: it was Christine's engagement ring. For some unknown reason, the girl in me wanted him to tell me the truth for himself.
"Why don't you tell me where the ring came from? You already know practically everything about my past." He glanced sideways at me, his eye highlighted by the mask. "You tell me, Elizabeth." I sighed.
"I know Christine gave it to you before she left with Raoul. That's about it. Why do you where it? Why not put it somewhere safe? People will think it weird if they saw you wearing it." Erik laughed.
"My dear, people already think me weird due to the mask. I doubt my wearing the ring will have that much impact on their minds." He watched me for a few seconds, as I defiantly continued my sewing. I was not about to back down. "Oh, all right." He shook his head. "You're too stubborn for your own good."
"Well, so are you." I retorted.
"Point taken, love. Now, about the ring. Yes, you're right. Christine gave it to me before she went off with Raoul. And I don't know why I wear it." Erik stopped playing and was lost in thought. "I think it's because it is the only connection I have to her. So the ring is special. Does that help answer your question?"
"Yes, thank you. I appreciate it. You know how curious I am." His look told me he knew all too well how curious I was. "Is in it time we headed over to Jack's house for lessons?" He nodded, shut the piano cover, and we were off to lessons.
Our music business prospered for a few more years after our marriage. Erik taught Alex and Jack for another six years, until they headed off to college. By then, their talent at playing the piano was quite evident. They both played at parties and balls around the city. Erik and I were so proud of them. Jack went on to become one of the more famous French concert artists. He excelled at everything he put his hand to and Erik and I found ourselves attending a number of his concerts. At one point, he wanted to bring Erik up and honor him. Erik refused. Jack was confused but honored his teacher's wishes. We never told either of them about the Phantom of the Opera.
What became of Alex? He did rather well at college and came home with an excellent business sense. After talking with Erik, he started his own tutoring service. Being the son of a wealthy aristocrat made people gravitate toward him and trust him. Whenever he had questions, though, he'd come to Erik. Alex ended up marrying a lovely lady from England and they moved to her homeland. The wedding was the last time we ever saw him. In April of 1912, Alex and his wife traveled first class to America to talk to a prospective student. Neither of them made it for the ship sank after hitting an iceberg. He was forty-seven. We were all devastated. I journeyed over to his parents' house to comfort his mother. She was still alive, being just a little older than Erik. I'm sorry to say that her son's death killed her.
Erik never took on anymore students after Alex and Jack. You would think he would because of the money issue. Apparently, there was enough money in the bank now to last us both two lifetimes. I also think Erik was too shy to take on another student. The world was changing, but not necessarily for the better. We weren't always able to get everything we wanted, but we always had enough. In other words, life was good.
We watched in awe and wonder as the Eiffel Tower was built during the early and late 1880's. It was interesting, since to me, the Eiffel Tower had already been around for a hundred years when I was kid. I read about it being built while I was in seventh grade! Erik pelted me with questions about the Tower. When would it be finished? Would it have any practical purpose? How long would it last? I just laughed at him. Erik had always been interested in any architectural wonder. This tower would be one of those. It also proved a point: I was truly from the future. How else could I have so accurately predicted the time of completion?
The Eiffel tower was completed in 1889. It marked the second World Fair to come to Paris. The first was in 1878; neither Erik nor I had any interest in going to it. This year, however, I dragged him to it. We only live once, I said to him. He gave in only to please me. The fair was exciting. There were booths of buyable items and food and so many other unique things. We walked along the base of the Tower and I told Erik about the future of this masterpiece. Erik wanted to talk to the architect but was not able to find him. When asked, I couldn't remember if he had been at the unveiling or not. History was not always my best subject.
There was one downfall to the fair: the human exhibits. We hurried past the displays of people in their "natural" habits. It reminded me too much of animals and I couldn't stand to see it. I never could understand other people's fascination with it. Maybe it was just my futuristic views. The sight was worse for Erik. He had lived in a cage for a good part of his childhood. He couldn't stand seeing people degraded like that. I saw a tear fall down his cheek as we passed them. We didn't stay much longer at the fair.
I figure this is as good as any for a brief snippet about Erik. He was the best husband any woman could ask for. Always kind and gentle, he was anxious to please me. Books, flowers, and chocolates would regularly appear on the nightstand on my side of the bed. When I wanted to do something, Erik would try to make it happen. Even if it was something he did not want to do. I'd say he was perfect, but no one is. He had a few flaws: too protective at times, obsessed with his music, and still in love with Christine. Though that last one never truly raised its ugly head until the time of his death. But that was ways away.
It was during the late 1890's that I rediscovered my love of writing. I had written on and off during my past life in the 20th century but had never picked it back up after falling into the 18th century. Erik was over at Alex's house, talking with him about the tutoring business. I was bored and Louise had already shooed me out of the kitchen. She was getting up in age, but she still commanded the kitchen. And when she said out, you went out.
I did some absent-minded cleaning in the library and finally settled down at the writing desk. A piece of paper was just lying there and inspiration hit me. When Erik came home, he found me leaning over ten pieces of paper, scribbling as fast as I could on one of them. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. I jumped, startled. I hadn't heard him come in.
"How was visiting with Alex?" I asked, setting the pen aside. "Did you two get everything accomplished that you wanted to?" Erik nodded, brushing a strand of his hair out of his face. His hair was graying but I still thought he looked as handsome as ever.
"Everything is pretty much settled. He already has five prospective students and he's excited. Alex sends his thanks for everything and his mother sends her love." I nodded and went back to writing. Erik watched me for a few minutes and then left. I soon heard music floating down from upstairs. I laughed. The two geniuses at work: one at music, the other at writing.
I never published any books during my stay in the past. I would write a little and then read it for Erik and Louise. Both encouraged the book being publishing, claiming the story was beautiful, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. Something held me back. It took me ten years to finish one story, with little stories on the side. Like I said earlier, I only read them to Erik and Louise.
The year 1900 brought about its own complications. Even if I wanted to print a book, I would not have had the time. Erik turned sixty that year and I was forty-five. We also lost a very close friend.