Chapter Summary: In the two years since the burning of the Opera Populaire, what has happened to Madame Giry, Meg ... and The Phantom?

(A/N - "Tallis" is derived from Old French and means "forest" ... gotta love those baby name books! And once again I have given Erik a last name just not the same last name as my previous story. This name his last name is "Herrin".)

CHAPTER TWO

The house was small when compared to the other houses in the neighborhood northwest of Paris. Once the guest quarters of a grand estate, the house now stood on its own, in the center of a half acre of green grass that was punctuated by carefully tended flower beds. It was a cheerful home with four bedrooms, three sitting rooms - one up, two down - a large room that acted as a library and music room and a warm kitchen. The groom had ordered the house decorated in rich colors that radiated warmth throughout every room before presenting it to the mother of his young bride. His actions had earned a joyous hug from his new wife and a small smile and nod of approval from her mother and he had been pleased to earn such acceptance from the formidable, rather frightening woman who was now his mother-in-law. Yet there had been one thing missing - a companion for the woman who would now call this place home. She had insisted such a thing was not needed but relented in the face of her daughter's pout. The young woman her new son hired had instantly met with approval and a comfortable bond was formed.

And on this day, Tallis Ordogne, companion to the mother of the Baroness de Castelot-Barbezac, stood in the kitchen of the comfortable home, arms covered in flour up to her elbows, her hands following an age-old motion of push and pull as she kneaded the bread dough beneath them. Tallis found comfort in the making of bread; it was something that had been handed down from her own mother, the wife of a tenant farmer on the Baron's lands. She found that it allowed her mind to drift along on pleasant daydreams of fragrant fields of alfalfa, the first wondrous glimpse of Paris, cold winter mornings and warm summer nights, the first smell of the sea. Tallis sighed, a small smile playing across her face as her favorite daydream passed in front of her mind's eye, if only he knew! And Tallis sighed again for she knew he would never know for he could not see beyond the end of his own nose to what lay in front of him.

"Ah well," Tallis said as she lifted up the bread, holding it before her face, "that is enough of that. What should you like to be today? Long baguette or small loaves for soup?" She raised an eyebrow at the dough. "Small loaves it is, then."

Tallis divided the dough into four pieces, shaping each one into a small round loaf. She sprinkled corn meal on top of each loaf before cutting an "x" into their tops. She placed the loaves on a board, turned around and carefully slipped the board into the brick oven behind her. Tallis moved the loaves off the board with a practiced ease before taking the board out of the oven and closing the door. She gave a quick look to the small clock that ticked away on a shelf before reaching up her hands to move the hair from her eyes.

"Such a simple thing it is to make bread," an elegantly modulated voice said from behind her, strong hands moving to her shoulders. "So simple yet so moving."

Tallis bit down the scream that wanted to come out and instead whirled around to face the person who had snuck up behind her. Icy fire flashed in her cool grey eyes and she slapped at the hands of the man standing before her. "I will be thanking you to not sneak up on me in such a manner!" she warned him. She was aggravated with him for always sneaking up on her and aggravated at herself for always falling for it. "And if you do not wish to have flour on your fine clothes, Monsieur Herrin, I suggest you step away."

Erik Herrin, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom, held up a hand in mock horror as he slowly backed away from two feminine arms pointed at him and completely covered in flour. "You wrong me, mademoiselle," Erik said. "I had no wish to startle you ..."

"That is not what I hear of you," Tallis said as she reached around Erik for a cloth and began wiping down the boards where she had been kneading the bread.

Two years ago such a comment from anyone, including any young lady, would have earned the speaker a fright - or worse - from The Phantom but the short interval of time had begun to change Erik. Six months hiding in the catacombs of Paris amongst the bones of the dead and the bodies of the dying had finished breaking what Christine had begun to break the moment she put her ring into his hand and walked away with that boy. The cries of the barely living and the blank stares of the long dead haunted his every step, reminding him of the tears Christine had shed, the blank look she had given him in the moment before her decision was made. He could find no corner, no shadow, no sanctuary that was far enough away or dark enough or safe enough from her eyes, her voice, her touch. Erik had no need of the ghosts of the catacombs for he was chased and tormented by the ghosts of his own making. He had eventually found his way back to what remained of his lair. He had set about to clear as much of the ruins from the mob as was humanly possible for Erik had wanted a quiet place in which to die, to give a final surrender to his own darkness. Yet even that was denied him for Madame Giry had found him in that darkness.

Erik had not known that she had come looking for him once a week since that awful night when the opera had been destroyed, burning the hopes and dreams of many in the conflagration that had engulfed the building. Erik was stunned to know that someone still cared for him, bore concern for him, wanted to help him and he had fought against her with every fiber of his being. He had railed and threatened, he had thrown things, he had sobbed pitifully, he had threatened to take his own life before her. All that his tantrums earned was a long-suffering look from Madame and the plea to make good on his words. Madame was not one for such nonsense and she had sat, ramrod straight, on his organ bench and urged him to "end this nonsense now or hold his tongue". Erik remembered the look that had passed between them, her eyebrow arched, her eyes darting to the small watch on a chain about her neck, almost as if she had better things to do and he had better get on with ending his life. It was the moment that had finally and completely broken him.

He had sighed dejectedly as he slid down the wall, ending up on the cold stone floor of his lair. Erik was surprised when Madame came over to sit by his side. She had taken his hand and held it as torrents of disappointment had flowed up from his heart to exit through his eyes. She had said nothing but just sat next to him, letting him cry out the poison that was eating him alive. It was at that moment that Erik remembered the young girl who had saved his life at such great risk to her own, one moment of grace that seemed to extend throughout his life.

"Oh, Antoinette," he had finally whispered.

"I will make this work," Madame Giry had replied.

And Erik knew she spoke the truth.

Two months later Madame had secured a small garret for him in no longer quite so elegant village northwest of Paris. He had wondered at her choice only to find that he was but an hour from the home that Madame's new son had purchased for her. Erik could make his way through the shadows of the woods between the village and the home if he wished to see her. It was a trip he would make often when his own shadows would begin to close in, chasing him from the two cozy rooms where he now resided. Yet the garret was not home for Erik for he always feared the knock on the door, the rattle of the window, knowing that someone would eventually be coming for him to make him pay for his sins. It was at those moments of anxiety that Erik would long for the safe, dark solitude of his lair. He often wished he had taken Madame up on her urging to end his miserable existence.

That was until he had met Tallis.

She had not turned from him the day she had come upon him and Madame unexpectedly. Tallis had willingly begun to back out of the door when Madame had begged her to come in and meet her old friend. Erik had stood, somewhat nervously, as Tallis approached him. His apprehension had fled as this remarkably calm woman had taken his outstretched hand and looked him in the eye. She had not flinched at his unmasked face. Nor had she laughed at him. She had merely introduced herself as Madame's companion and wondered if he would be joining Madame for luncheon. That had been the day that the broken pieces that were the remnants of the Opera Ghost had begun to look for each other, jagged ends searching for their match as they struggled to make themselves whole once more.

Now Erik stood in the sunny kitchen of Madame's home, watching as Tallis cleared away the last of the floury mess she had created. She never failed to amaze him with her quiet ways and calm self-assurance. She was so different from any other woman he had known - limited as such knowledge was. Tallis was unlike Madame who tolerated little nonsense from the world about her and could be as stern as a man should the occasion call for it. Nor was she anything like Meg who was sunny and open and excited about every new thing, every new experience that entered her life. And Tallis most certainly did not resemble any of the women who had lived backstage at the Opera Populaire; she was not flirtatious like the ballet rats or catty like the singers. Erik tried to will the next thought from his mind but failed - miserably. He shook his head as he thought that Tallis was not like Christine. Then, again, no one would ever be like Christine.

No one.

But Tallis, this girl from the country, had her own charm. She was straightforward and plain spoken. If she did not approve of something, she would tell you straight out. She smiled and shook her head at the nonsense of the world about her but realized it was a necessary part of being alive. Tallis enjoyed seeing the world that existed beyond the door of her childhood, the world that beckoned to an intelligent girl with visions seemingly beyond her reach. She did not flirt nor was she catty but respected each person with the same respect she showed to herself. She was not a great beauty but there was something pleasing in her grey eyes, light brown hair and ample curves. Tallis was an honest, loving person.

"So why do you speak as if you were born in Ireland?" Erik wanted to know.

Tallis looked at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. "What?"

"What is that nonsense you babbled on about but a few moments ago - 'I'll be thanking you ..."

"It's England not Ireland," Tallis told him, looking Erik directly in the eye. "And why do you need to know?" She stood staring at Erik, her arms crossed over her chest..

"I am a student of many things," Erik told her, raising an eyebrow and not getting a response from the woman in front of him. He sighed. "Language amongst them. It is not often that a young woman raised on a French farm will turn a phrase from the Gaelic."

"Ha!" Tallis replied as she poked him in the chest. "That is how much you know! Gaelic can extend from Ireland to Scotland and into England. It can travel into Spain and Brittany." Tallis relented as she saw a shadow pass quickly over Erik's eyes at the mention of Brittany. "My mother's family is from the southern coast and during the times just before and just after the Revolution, they were involved with smuggling back and forth to the south of England. I have family there, now." She tilted her head. "Is that what you wished to know?"

"It is," Erik said, struggling to drive away the shadow of Christine that had slipped through the careful guards he had placed about his memory. The shadow slipped further away as Tallis smiled at him. He, too, had learned to relent. "But I did not come here today to torment you."

"That would be a nice change," Tallis said as she winked at him.

Erik actually managed a laugh. That, too, was a new learned skill. "In all honesty, I was invited to spend the afternoon with Antoinette." He sniffed, the smell of baking bread beginning to perfume the air of the kitchen. "I believe she said something about joining her for luncheon."

"Was it an invite or a beg?"

"A little of both, I believe," Erik replied.

Tallis tugged at Erik's jacket sleeve, not realizing the fire she stirred within him as her fingertips brushed the skin of his wrist. "Well, I shall have to set the soup on to simmer now for you could certainly use a bowl or two of something that would help to put some skin on those bones." She tsked at him. "What my mother would say about you and your horrible eating habits."

Erik leaned slightly toward Tallis. "I believe, child, the word you seek is 'deplorable'."

Tallis leaned toward him. "I shall remember that word for the next time I am tempted to say "horrible" and I believe I have a word for you."

"And, pray tell, what would that be."

Tallis drew herself up as far she could go and pointed toward the kitchen door. "Out!" she ordered.

Erik swept a mock bow, laughed, turned on his heel and exited the kitchen. He could hear the sound of pots banging as he walked the hallway toward the front of the house. He also heard Tallis begin to hum, a tune with which he was not familiar, and found himself picking up the simple notes, committing them to memory. He was thinking upon the music, wondering if it was French or English in origin when he heard voices. His instinct for self-preservation caused Erik to slink into the nearest shadowed corner, hiding himself from the world about him. He listened carefully and heaved a silent sigh of relief as he recognized the two female voices conversing just inside the front door.

"Oh, Maman," Erik heard Meg say, "they are both so unhappy and that is just not like them."

Erik could almost imagine the shake of Antoinette's head. "Meg, you can never know what truly goes on between the man and the woman in any marriage. I do not know what goes on between you and Valery but I know that you are happy and I also know there will be times of anger and sorrow. They are just experiencing a time of sorrow and I trust they will come through this and be happy once again."

"But I have always looked to them as having the perfect marriage!" Meg replied. "I want Valery and me to have what they have."

Erik heard the click of the door opening. "No marriage is perfect, my dear. You will have the marriage that you were meant to have," Madame was saying. "And they will find their way back to the marriage they were meant to have. Now, give me a kiss and be on your way. I do not wish to keep you from your perfect marriage."

Meg giggled and a few seconds later Erik heard the click of the door as it closed. He waited in the shadowed corner, listening to the click of horses' hooves and the clatter of wooden wheels as a coach pulled away.

"I know you are there," a woman's voice called out to him. "If you would be so kind as to join me in the parlor."

The sound of another door opening and Erik moved from the corner, walking down the hall and turning left into a parlor decorated in shades of warm yellow and cool blue. He almost felt like a small child answering an angry adult as he stood after answering Madame's summons and watched as she took a seat in one of the wing chairs seated beneath an elegant tapestry.

Madame Giry waved a hand at the chair opposite her. "Are you going to stand all day or will you take a seat?"

Erik sat and looked around himself in amazement. He could no longer remember how many times this home had startled him with its quiet, subtle wealth and dignified air and yet still managed to feel comfortable and welcoming. His eyes strayed toward the double doors on the far side of the room, imagining the rich, polished wood of the upright piano that graced one wall of the music room.

Madame Giry had not failed to see Erik's gaze wander; there was not much that she failed to see. "You will stay and play for me after luncheon?" She smiled at Erik's nod. "Then I am pleased for I miss the daily music of the opera house." She grimaced at a memory. "Except for the shrieking of the divas and the caterwauling of a horribly played violin."

Erik pondered for a moment as - yet again - he pushed down the stray memories that always darkened his conscience. "Caterwauling is very descriptive and very apt."

"Indeed," Madame replied. "Have you seen Tallis?"

Erik nodded. "She was in the kitchen baking bread and chased me away so that she could make the soup." His eyes grew distant. "I heard her humming a strange little tune and I must get her to teach me the whole song."

Madame smiled. "She is a wonder, that girl and I am so glad I listened to Meg and allowed Valery to bring her to me. She has a quick mind and is constantly begging me to teach her something new. She is a comfortable companion. It is almost like having a new ballet student; although, I fear Tallis will never have the body required of a dancer but she will have the grace of one someday."

"You are teaching her to dance?" Erik asked, somewhat startled.

"I am a dancer, Erik," Madame reminded him. "I have known nothing else in my life - save for the years of my marriage. It would be a crime against God were I to let His gift fall to waste. I am sowing so that I may reap."

Erik snorted. "You know how I feel about such things."

"I know," Madame replied, a knowing look in her eyes. "But I also know that someday that will change and you will be thankful to God for all that he has given you."

"Perhaps," Erik said as he dropped his head and studied his fingernails. "Was that Meg I heard at the door?"

"You know it was."

"And this couple of whom she spoke ..." Erik cleared his throat before continuing. "Would that be anyone with whom I may be acquainted?"

Madame gave a sigh of disgust. "Meg has a widening circle of young married couples she now counts as friends since her marriage to Valery." She paused, waiting till Erik lifted his head. "It is not always about Christine."

"I did not say that it was," Erik calmly replied although he felt anything but calm on the inside.

"You did not have to say such!" Madame shot back before shaking her head sadly. "Erik, she is married to Raoul, they are happy. Can you not leave it alone?"

"Someday," Erik replied. "Perhaps," he said more softly.

For it was about Christine.

It had been and would always be about Christine.