A/N - I just wanted to say thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! I have really enjoyed reading them and they have been a big encouragement. I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. I had a severe case of writer's block and couldn't decide where I was taking this chapter. Add to that the fact that I worked all weekend, which carried into this week, leaving me little time to sit down a write. Fortunately, I have a long weekend coming up. I'm sorry in advance about this chapter. Mucho angst. But this is going somewhere. There will be brighter days.
Chapter 17
She was barely aware of where she was going. But despite the emotions that throbbed within her mind, Christine guided herself along a familiar path. She had taken Alyona, Erik's white mare, and was now gliding through the woods. The tears that had stung her face were wiped clean by the winter wind.
What have I done? I have left him alone. I have left my teacher, my friend, my. . .no, I cannot think it right now. I have been foolish. Suddenly, I feel like I am a woman now. That I was a child only yesterday and came into awareness overnight. I am a foolish girl. But I cannot become what he wants me to be. I cannot become his wife. Not yet. I have let my impulsive feelings cloud my judgment. I do not know who I am in this world yet. I do not see my path clearly. I must know my own heart before I look into his eyes again. I must not be seduced by his power.
She rode on with a strange glimmer of determination. Her head bent low against the long neck of her horse as they whipped through the trees. The hood of her cloak had been torn back from her head, allowing the dark curls to fly back in the wind.
A light is ahead. A familiar light. Oh Lord, please take in your child as you did before. Grant me peace, grant me sanctuary, and grant me wisdom.
She stood on the step, looking through the long, thin window alongside the heavy wooden door. A light drew along the hall and appeared at the door. As the door opened, a smile of relief flickered on her features.
"Sister Catherine," she cried out, collapsing at the old woman's feet.
"My child! What is wrong?" she asked, bending over with the oil-lamp and examining the exhausted girl with worried eyes.
"Please," she cried, burying her face in her hands. "Please let me stay here for awhile. Please! I don't know what to do anymore."
Catherine knelt beside her, resting the lamp on the floor and drew her hand along the girl's rich curls, brushing them away from her pale forehead. She did not look well at all. Her face was pale and her eyes drooped with fatigue. Dark circles fell upon the tender flesh beneath her chocolate eyes.
"Come child," she cooed, "we will put you to bed."
Months passed. Winter turned to spring and the life that had hidden itself from the world's gaze began to spring forth from twig and earth. The heavy blanket of snow retreated with the coming heat and eventually disappeared altogether. Now, the forest was bursting with life. Buds of green covered the trees and the frozen water of the nearby creek began to run in a torrent of spring thaw. The birds began to return to the trees and deer were often seen timidly searching for food.
Christine had spent the remainder of the winter with the nun. There was no other place she could think of that would take her in. Madame Giry and Meg seemed like a distant memory to her, and although they would take her in without question, Christine feared the reaction of the town if they found out she still lived. But here, out in the countryside with a lush forest just a few steps from the small rustic chapel, Christine felt more at peace in her life then she had before.
She had helped Sister Catherine unceasingly in her work and even devoted her voice to Sunday mass every week. A hard worker who never complained of the work, Christine became a daughter in the eyes of the Sister. The girl's tragic past, brought on by the death of both parents, and the strange circumstances surrounding a certain town far to the south, were enough to stoke a strong sympathy. But even more troubling were the nights of weeping. More then once, Sister Catherine could hear the soft crying coming from her door as she passed through the hall at night. There was more to the girl's story then what she already knew. Catherine surmised that much had to do with the strange benefactor that Christine had spoken of during her last stay. Of the man whom she once believed to be an angel.
"Why do you cry?" a gentle voice sounded.
Christine turned quickly from her small window and glanced back at Sister Catherine, who stood silhouetted in her doorway.
"I hear it," the old woman said solemnly, "every night."
Christine sat down on the edge of her modest cot and twined her fingers in the quilt. Her gaze drifted across the room and fell upon the wall, haunted and resigned. "I am sorry if it wakes you," she answered softly.
Catherine entered the room, adjusting the skirt of her habit before sitting beside the girl. "You ran away again. Why?"
"I-I don't know," the girl responded shaking her head.
"Yes you do," the nun insisted. "You must tell me why."
"Why must everyone know what it is in my heart and mind? Why can I not keep my thoughts private?" Christine argued, her voice rising in emotion.
"It is not healthy to bottle up one's feelings. You will only lead yourself to destruction."
"Sometimes I wish for that," she uttered lowly beneath her breath.
"Child!" Catherine cried out. "Never say such words again."
They sat in silence for a while before Christine moved to break it.
"I love him, Sister," she said softly.
"I know," she replied, smiling at the young woman.
"But there is more to it then that, or perhaps less," Christine said wistfully.
"What do you mean?"
"I feel for him what I have felt for no other before. I relish his presence, and yet he so often turns away from me. When he is in one of his darker moods, he pushes away any notions of love, of tenderness, and seems filled with. . ." she paused, glancing away embarrassedly.
"With?"
"Lust," she finally said.
An awkward silence ensued.
"I fear him when he looks at me like that. But I cannot deny the dreams I have of him at night," Christine's gaze drifted beyond the window in reflection. She glanced back at the older woman with a strange clarity in her eyes. "You see, I cannot escape him, even in my sleep he is there. Why must he haunt me like this? Why must he torment me?"
"I do not need to speak to you of the sins," Catherine began, reading Christine's gentle nod as acknowledgement of her words. "Love is pure. Love is good. If he does not love you, you should not torment yourself with such thoughts. You should not doubt departing from his house."
"He made me leave," the younger woman suddenly said. "I thought I would never be able to free myself from his power. But he told me to leave. What does that mean?"
"I don't know," Catherine replied.
"I love him," Christine wept. "He told me that once too. But I don't know if his words were real. He has sought after me for so long. But perhaps he only covets me. I am a prize to be won and owned. But am I to be truly loved? Will I ever be loved like that?"
"Only God knows, child. But He loves you more then any mortal can," Catherine replied, stroking Christine's hair affectionately before lifting herself from the bed.
"There were times though. Times when he would touch my face with such tenderness. I thought then that I was truly loved. But I-I just don't know anymore," Christine said.
"Give it time, Christine. Stay here and pursue a righteous life in the eyes of God. Learn of where your heart lies."
Every trace of winter had been wiped away with the arrival and presence of warmer weather. The air was pleasant and fragrant with late spring. But as the weather grew fairer and the meadow greener, Christine longed for a change in the quiet life she had adopted. It was especially at night when such thoughts pervaded her mind. She still woke up on occasion, crying in her sleep, suddenly feeling empty. Her skin burned from the touch that only her dreams brought to her. It took all she had to not scream his name when she woke from a dream, her skin damp with sweat, and her chest heaving.
But she had succeeded in taming her thoughts during the day. Most often, when she felt troubled, she could be found kneeling in the small chapel in prayer. A single candle would be lit for her father, and the small crucifix would hang obediently from her long neck.
She prayed for contentment. She prayed for her thoughts not to stray to selfish things. All that she wanted was a good life. But silently, without admitting it in her prayers, she wished for a love that seemed so far away now. So she prayed for his wellbeing – that he too could find contentment in his life.
"Christine, I am going to the market today. Would you like to accompany me?"
Christine glanced up from the small book she cradled in her hands and smiled briefly at Sister Catherine. "I would like that."
There was a small, modest carriage kept at the chapel for use by both nun and priest. Christine climbed into it, seating herself beside the nun, and adjusted the small bonnet on her head. She wore a light spring cloak about her shoulders, over a modest blue gown. Unfortunately, she had no money to bring with her. But she was accustomed to not having much. Her and her father had lived a simple life and had depended on the generosity of others. Still, Christine wished she could accumulate her own wealth instead of relying on charity. For that reason, her trip to the small town just north of the chapel was in search of work. Perhaps she could find a job as a seamstress – Sister Catherine had taught her much over the course of the last few months. There were also usually positions for servants.
They were wandering the marketplace of the town, gathering food and other necessities for the next several weeks, when Christine came upon a small poster outside of a shop.
Employment required. Inquire within.
Curious, Christine stepped into the small shop and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the store. A weary looking man stood behind the counter, pouring over an open book. He looked up at the young woman as she hesitantly approached the counter.
"Good day, Monsieur," she said. "I read the sign outside. . ."
"Ah, you are interested?" he said, pointing in the direction of the door.
"What exactly is the job?" she asked.
"There is a Count Moreau just beyond the town limits. He requires servants, specifically young ladies to assist the housekeeper."
Christine thought over the offer for a moment. She really did not have much choice when it came to occupations. She had never worked for a living before. So, without further though, she nodded and replied, "Where can I apply?"
"He instructed me to take any prospective servants out to his estate personally."
"May I give you my answer in two day's time?" Christine asked
"Of course," the old man smiled. "You know where to find me."
Christine left the shop quickly, pausing outside as she winced in the bright sun. I cannot stay at the chapel forever. I must make my own way in this world if I am to survive. A small frown crossed her face as she stepped out into the street, carefully skirting her way around the passing carriages and wagons. Catherine appeared across the street, waving to catch Christine's attention. I must tell her.
The ride back to the chapel was quiet. Christine did not look forward to telling the nun about her decision. She was not sure of it herself, but it was the only path she could see. Still, a thought nagged at the back of her mind. A place was still etched in her memory. She felt her heart breaking when she saw his face in her mind.
"I will be leaving you in a couple of days," Christine said abruptly.
The older woman turned, still holding the reins in her wrinkled hands. "You have found work, haven't you?"
"Yes, but. . ."
"I saw you reading the posting," the old woman smiled knowingly. She watched as Christine's head lowered for a moment. "It's alright, dear. I never expected you to stay with me forever. You have your own life."
"I do," Christine said faintly.
"It is the life you have chosen for yourself," the nun continued.
"I know," she answered, gazing away sadly.
She sat in solitude for several hours before the nagging in her mind would not cease its torment. It was afternoon before she finally made up her mind. Christine rose from her seat, grabbed her cloak hanging at the door, and stole away outside. She found Alyona at the small stable and hastily readied her. Before long, she was hurrying through the woods. The naked branches that had once scraped her flesh as she had fled this very place were now covered with leaves. But she paid little attention to her lush surroundings. The only thing that mattered was this journey.
I am nearly there. Nearly at the house of the man I love. I don't care if he does not love the same way. I need him so badly, I would give everything to him. I would relinquish my freedom just to be in his presence again. I would fall at his feet and cling to him like a beggar.
There it is! The house! I can see it looming ahead just beyond the trees. It looked so dark before, but now it beckons to me like an old friend. I cannot see the smoke drifting from the chimney. Nor do I see a candle at the window. But I am nearly there! Nothing matters anymore.
Oh, Erik. Please, I beg of you. . .I will stay with you forever. I cannot bear to be parted from you. We are of one flesh.
But as she approached the house, her heart began to sink for some unknown reason. She jumped down from the graceful white horse and drifted slowly up the front steps like a specter. Her hood fell back upon her shoulders. Her white, slender hands fell upon the wooden door and caressed the surface with desperation. Her cheek soon followed, pressed against the surface.
Christine grabbed the door handle and eagerly pushed at it, but it did not give. She tried again. Nothing. The door was locked. It had never been locked before. The door had always been accessible. Christine stepped back and glanced through the darkened windows nearest the door. No light shone from within. She looked around anxiously, running down the step and gazing around the property. Not a sound could be heard. She rushed to the stable and swung open the large doors. No horses lived there anymore. The hay was gone, and so was all of the equipment.
A trembling, violent emotion began to rise up within her. Christine hurried from the stables and back to the house. She stood at the door again and knocked. Waiting a moment, which seemed like an eternity, she pounded again, this time her fist collided with the hard wood. Still no sound. No! She fought back bitter tears. Her fist continued to beat relentlessly upon the door. No one came.
A sob began to rack her body. She fell down upon the step, feeling the trembling spread throughout her limbs. Her body shook and she bent her face into her hands. A cry sprang up from her throat. If anyone had been passing that very moment, they would have stopped and turned their ear to the horrible sound of human sorrow. It was a bitter wail. One that trembled with such strong, ferocious emotion, and sunk back into hopeless despair.
She lay there upon the cold steps until the tears that coursed down her face became exhausted and she could cry no more. See what you have brought upon yourself? You have nothing now. No one. Once an orphan, always an orphan! That moment, she was ready to give herself to God. She suddenly thought of Christ upon the cross and felt her outstretched arms upon the cold pavement, spread wide in surrender. She wished to die that very moment. He was gone. He had been gone for a while and she had lost her chance. She had lost her angel.
But the bitter tears eventually passed and left the shell of a young woman so torn apart, that only subconscious thoughts controlled her actions. Christine lifted herself from the pavement and found the horse waiting obediently for her arrival. It seemed to bend its long slender neck in sympathy. But her eyes were devoid of emotion now. Christine climbed upon its back and clung to its neck as it took her back to the chapel.
"We are nearly there, Mademoiselle," the old shopkeeper said, glancing behind in the carriage at the young woman who gazed vacantly back at him.
She only nodded. The man frowned slightly. Never had he seen such an expression on such a beautiful young lady before. Such sadness in her eyes! Such haunted expressions. There was a tremendous sorrow in her brown eyes, as though there was no light in the world anymore. There was nothing good. And she knew it. She felt it. A shiver ran up his spine as he guided the carriage up the long drive to the orderly estate of Count Moreau.