Chapter Summary: Erik faces the tempers of two women – Marie and Christine – and is startled when Christine makes an observation about his life. Tallis fears for her chances with Erik even as Antoinette offers her further insight into Erik's character. Louis and Francois discuss plans for their "guest" as an angel tries to get Raoul's attention. And just what is Nico doing in that barn …
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
Erik watched Marie from the kitchen door. He leaned against the jamb, arms folded across his chest, face void of expression as he studied the young woman who bustled needlessly about the immaculate kitchen. "You do not like me very much, do you?" he wondered.
"I do not like you at all," Marie huffed, keeping her back to him.
"Might I ask why?" Erik knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.
"Why?" Marie replied, her hands angrily pushing a damp cloth back and forth over a work surface. "If you have to ask that question, than you are truly blind or foolish or both."
"Marie," Erik said as he took one step into the kitchen, freezing in mid-stride as Marie whirled on him.
"If you take another step closer to me, I shall scream my head off!" she warned, throwing the cloth at him, watching as he expertly dodged the flying material. "I do not like you because of what you are! Do you have any idea what you did that night? Do you?"
Erik opened his mouth but did not have the opportunity to speak.
"You killed the hopes and dreams of so many good, decent, hard-working people!" Marie's voice was raised, her expression furious - she had been saving these words, these emotions and she would not be deterred. "And you killed people! Real people with real families who loved them! And why? Why! Because the woman you loved fell in love with someone else? What kind of a reason is that? What kind of love is that? Why could you not do like a real man would have done and accept that she loved someone else and let her go? A gentleman would have done so!"
"I have never claimed to be any such a thing," Erik told her, trying to keep the tone of his voice neutral.
"No," Marie agreed, her eyes narrowing, "and you are not one now! What kind of a man seeks out the widow of the man he tried to kill? What were you hoping to gain?" Marie took a step forward, powered by the angry energy flowing through her body. "You nearly cost a woman her child! The only child she will ever have from the man she married – the man you wanted dead," a nasty smile crossed Marie's lips, "the man she loved! Is that why you came? Is it?"
"What kind of monster do you think I am?" Erik could feel his anger growing. "Why would I want to harm Christine in such a way?"
"Then why are you here? Why did that … that … ballet mistress …"
Erik took two steps into the room, no longer willing to hide his own anger. "Have a caution, Mademoiselle," he warned. "I would advise you to speak gently of Madame Giry."
"Are you going to kill me?"
"If you continue to speak of the only person who has never wavered in their friendship toward me in such a manner, then yes!"
Some of Marie's anger deflated. "I liked and admired her," she admitted. "She was always stern to those of us with less than a modicum of talent but she did it with an underlying grace and compassion." Marie stared into Erik's eyes, refusing to back down. "Why did she send you here? What do you hope to gain?"
Erik's eyes strayed to the simple cross about Marie's neck. "You are a religious person?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Does your God not teach that everyone deserves to be forgiven?"
Marie looked at Erik thoughtfully. "Only if they are truly repentant."
"Do you not think even one such as I can change? That I can truly see where I have done wrong and wish to right it?"
"I do not think you did it all on your own," Marie humphed.
"Touché, Mademoiselle," Erik replied softly.
"And while God may forgive you," Marie continued, "you must also seek forgiveness from those whom you have wronged." She walked to stand before Erik, looking up at him. "I do not think you will find such a thing easily given from the Vicomte," she told him, wiping at her tears and storming from the room.
Erik stood silently, balling his hands into tight fists, breathing heavily through his nose as Marie left the room. He closed his eyes and began counting to ten when a voice interrupted his silent count.
"It seems I have a champion," Christine said.
Erik opened his eyes and looked across the kitchen to where Christine stood in the doorway from the garden. She was dressed in the ever present black gown that only highlighted the new bulge in her middle. Her hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a matching ribbon and her cheeks were warmed from the summer sun. In her arms she held a basket full of different, brightly colored lilies; it was a startling splash against the drab colors demanded by mourning. Erik watched as she walked into the kitchen, placing the basket on the huge table that separated her from him. Christine turned and retrieved a vase from a cupboard, filling it with water from a nearby ewer before returning to sit at the table, hands sorting through the flowers.
"Are you going to stand all day?" Christine asked, her eyes never leaving the flowers. "Or do you wish to sit and talk?"
"I should like to sit," Erik said as he lowered himself into a chair. "But I do not know what good further talking will do." He grimaced. "We have been talking for nigh on these last ten days; yet we talk round and round that one thing we both know we need to confront."
Christine picked out an orange tiger lily and slipped it into the vase, raising her eyes to look at Erik. "And whose fault is that?"
"I do not wish to upset you."
"I begin to agree with Marie," Christine told him, a look of amazement on her face. "You are a fool!" She sighed loudly. "My husband was murdered. His sisters would take my child from me if they could find me. The life I knew, my dreams of the future," tears slipped at the corners of her eyes, "my hopes of growing old with Raoul and having him love me even when I would be wrinkled like a dried prune are gone. Everything is gone!" She wiped at her tears and sniffled. "I am going to be upset for a very long time."
"I do not want to upset you because I do not wish to harm your child," Erik said between clenched teeth.
Christine sighed angrily. "I am sad and lonely. I feel as if I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am distressed over the pain my actions have surely caused Philippe for he did not deserve any further grief." She fixed Erik with a steady glare. "But understand this – I am not the weak little girl you so easily manipulated any longer for the anger that would consume me should I so wish it has chased her away." She managed a slight laugh. "It amazes me the strength that bitter feelings bring to a person." Christine's expression grew soft. "Yet that strength is what surely saved my child; I am determined that nothing shall happen to her …"
"Her?" Erik interrupted.
"When Raoul and I would speak of children, his one desire was to have a daughter that looked like me," Christine told him, her gaze drifted away into memories that broke and comforted her heart in the same moment. "Now when I dream of my child, I see a little girl with his bright eyes and gold hair." A gentle smile transformed her face, chasing away the anger and grief. "She has long curls and my smile. She has that silly little laugh that belonged to her father and when she speaks it is with the voice of an angel." Christine's voice lowered to a barely breathed whisper. "She will be the daughter of Raoul's dreams."
"She sounds beautiful," Erik replied softly.
"She is," Christine told him in an equally soft voice as she returned from the well of her memories. "And my desire to keep her safe is the only thing that compels my actions. I will not permit you – or any other person – to hurt her. So say what you will and be done with it."
Erik ran a hand over his face. "Would that it were that easy."
"Look at me," Christine commanded waiting until Erik's eyes once again met hers. "Say 'Christine, please forgive me.' – such words can surely be spoken."
"And if I were to say them, would you forgive me?"
"Why should I?" Christine wondered. "Do you truly wish to be forgiven? Or is this just a poor salve to place upon your wounded heart in the hopes that it will cure all that ails you?"
"I no longer know you," Erik spat out, unable to keep the venom from his voice.
Christine picked two more flowers from the basket, placing them in the vase; her hands lingering over the calla lily. "You never truly did," she breathed. "You only knew the girl you fantasized about in your dreams." She raised the lily to her cheek, her eyes closing. "You tried to mold me into a doll with which you could play, a doll that was everything you wanted and nothing I wished." Christine raised the lily to her nose and sniffed at it. "Raoul," she breathed before lowering the lily and slipping it into the vase. She crossed her hands, placing them on the table before her. "You never asked me about my dreams, about my wishes, my desires. You never took the time to know me!" Christine held up a hand as Erik opened his mouth. "And listening to my private prayers and watching from the shadows does not constitute knowing me."
"What would you have me do, Christine?" Erik wondered, his exasperation with the woman seated across from him coloring his tone.
"I want you to know me," Christine told him. "I want you to see the woman you refused to acknowledge – the woman who loved another." Christine picked up another lily and stuffed it into the vase a bit harder than was necessary. "Why is that no one can believe that I loved my husband? Why is that I only ever heard the whispers that I married Raoul because he was rich or safe or second best? Why is it that no one can accept that he was my best friend and that I simply loved him for the truly good and gentle person that he was?" She looked at Erik. "Why is that you cannot believe I loved Raoul?"
Erik was silent for a long moment. "I do believe that you loved Raoul," he knew he would need to say the name for Christine to trust his words. "I think – no – I know that is what drove my desperate actions; I wanted you to love me the way that you loved him. I wanted you to turn to me for comfort. I wanted your eyes to gaze softly upon me. I wanted your arms about me, your lips clinging to mine with passion. I wanted everything he had."
Christine let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair, one hand rubbing gentle circles over her child. "At last. You can finally speak the truth and not just to comfort me. You speak the truth for the sake of the truth." She eyed the man across from her with a dawning knowledge. "She must be very special."
"What?" Erik blurted out.
"This woman who now commands your heart," Christine told him. "She has done something I could never hope to do." She gave Erik a genuine smile as his puzzled gaze met hers. "She is turning you into a human being."
Erik, too, leaned back in his chair, his eyes closing. "She loves me in way you loved Raoul." A small smile graced his lips. "She loves me for the person that I am."
"Then you should return to her," Christine told him.
Erik opened his eyes. "But …"
"I am not yet ready to forgive the world for what it has taken from me," Christine said, "and I am not yet ready to forgive myself for allowing it to happen. How can I possibly forgive you?"
"I thought that …"
"We have made a beginning," Christine admitted, "but that is all we have done. There is much work we must still do before I am ready to forgive you." She leaned forward, reaching across the table, finding Erik's hand reaching for hers. "But it shall come," she assured him. "I am certain of it."
Assurances were also forthcoming for the woman who was transforming Erik from a ghost into a man.
"I am certain of it," Antoinette told Tallis as the young woman absent-mindedly dusted a shelf of books for the fifth time. "He shall return."
"I am not as confident as you," Tallis replied, waving her cloth back and forth over leather bindings.
"My dear," Antoinette tried and noticed that Tallis paid her no heed. "Look at me," she ordered, using her best ballet mistress voice, waiting until Tallis had turned around. Antoinette held out her hands. "Come and sit for a moment."
Tallis quickly shoved her cloth into the waistband of her apron and crossed the room, taking Antoinette's hands and sitting next to her.
Antoinette searched her companion's face, the emotions she saw breaking her heart. "Do you love him that much, then?"
"Yes," Tallis nodded and broke into tears.
"Oh, my dear child," Antoinette sighed as she drew Tallis to her side, resting the young woman's head upon her shoulder. "It is a long and difficult road you must travel. Take my words as wisdom learned over a lifetime of caring for that same man whom you love."
"I would not care and I do not care," Tallis insisted through her tears. "If only I knew he could love me at least a little."
"I think he does love you," Antoinette smiled and patted the arm about which hers was wrapped. "I think he loves you more than he realizes." Antoinette smiled at the sniffles coming from the woman she held. "But you must understand that Erik is a complex man – in many ways he is little more than a spoiled child. Some of that is my fault for trying to protect him all these many years and some of it is just his nature. He is intelligent and expects all those around him to equal him in such things. He is talented and expects to be adored for his abilities. He is stubborn and willful and can see nothing wrong with such behavior. Yet he can be sensitive and beneath all the complexities beats a gentle heart that has been broken one too many times."
Tallis grimaced, grateful that Antoinette could not see. "A heart that still belongs to Christine."
"Part of it will always belong to Christine," Antoinette replied, startled when Tallis sat up abruptly.
"I knew it!" Tallis said as she wiped at her tears. "I knew it! I knew he would never let her go! I knew I would never be enough for him!"
"There will never be any woman who will ever be enough for Erik," Antoinette said simply.
"Then why do I even care?" Tallis shot back.
Antoinette smiled at Tallis. "You care because you have a heart that is as gentle as his." She shook her head. "Loving Erik will never be an easy thing for you will not be enough for him just as Christine could never be enough for him. There will never be any woman who will be enough for Erik, who will be able to settle his wandering thoughts and his restless heart." She laid a hand over the ones that Tallis clasped in her lap. "But there will a woman who is wise enough to know such a thing and love him in spite of it."
"I do love him in spite of himself. I love everything about him and it would not matter if I did not know that he still thought of Christine, if he would only think of me first." Tallis heaved a great sigh. "How can I ever hope to compare to her? She is beautiful and elegant and …"
"And not the woman Erik loves," Antoinette finished for her. "That he may have loved her once, I will grant. That she will always hold a place of affection in his heart, I will also allow."
Tallis turned her head. "I am not strong enough to allow him such things."
"Then you must learn or you will surely lose him," Antoinette replied harshly, relenting a bit as Tallis turned to face her. "There is a bond between Erik and Christine that will exist far beyond the death of either." She smiled softly. "You know that he needs her forgiveness before he can begin to move that bond from his heart to his memory."
"But what if he … what if she …" Tallis stuttered. "What if they do not wish to break that bond? What if they both want something more?"
"Then you must make the decision to fight for him or to let him go."
"God grant I never need to make such a decision," Tallis whispered and thought, "For I love him too much to think upon what I know I would do."
Antoinette's own thoughts echoed her spoken words.
Echoes of another kind bounced off the mountains high above the city of Grenoble. They thudded forth from the open door of the barn, reaching for the surrounding slopes, flying up them and into the clear summer sky. The sounds danced around the closed courtyard and into the open windows of the house.
"What the hell is he doing out there?" Francois wondered. "All this damn pounding is making my headache."
"Are you sure it is not the wine?" Louis asked as he sniffed at an open bottle, his nose wrinkling in disgust.
Francois shook his head. "No, it is definitely Nico and that damn pounding! What the hell is he building out there?" He looked angrily at Louis. "And why are you letting him?"
Louis held up a hand, his fingers spread wide; he pushed down one. "I have no idea what he is building." He pushed down another finger. "You are not the only one tired of Nico's incessant pounding." Another finger pushed down. "I gave him the wood and the hammer and nails to work out some of that energy he seems to possess in boundless reserve." And another finger. "And I gave it to him so that he would stop pounding on our guest." The last finger went down as Louis nodded toward the ceiling. "We need our guest miserable but alive and we need him on the mend."
"Why bother?"
"I can think of twenty thousand reasons – each - to bother," Louis reminded Francois as he rolled his eyes.
"But why do we need him on the mend now? What is the point? His family thinks he is dead," Francois ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, they buried Edouard thinking it was him. Why not just let Nico have his fun?" He glared at the barn. "And stop that damn pounding!"
"Your shouting is not helping!" Louis sank into a chair. "Would you rather the pounding or the screams?"
Francois sank into the chair next to him. "Point taken," he said and reached for the bottle, taking a healthy swig, grimacing at the slightly bitter taste of the wine. "At least our guest is now quiet and has been so for these last two weeks," he snorted, "and on the mend. When I checked him this morning, those wounds were definitely looking better. But I still do not understand why?"
Louis grabbed the bottle and downed a large swallow of the stale, bitter wine, wiping his hand across his lips. "Because our friend wants to get our guest out of the country and he has not exactly been in a condition that would allow him to be moved. All we need to do is get him strong enough to survive a journey …"
"To where?" Francois interrupted.
Louis shrugged. "Hell if I know. I am just following orders and I am sure we will know when the time comes." Once again he raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Just hope he likes where is going to be spending the rest of his life."
And life was what the angel desperately struggled to bring back to the man seated before her. "Raoul," she whispered, reaching out to place her hands on his upraised knees. "Please," she begged. "Speak to me!"
Raoul just blinked his eyes and drew his arms tighter about his chest.
The angel reached up to run a finger lightly down his cheek. "I am glad they shaved off that awful beard."
There was no response from the man who sat silently on the hard floor, arms and legs unbound for the first time in over two months.
The angel touched bare feet. "Your toes are healing." She laid a gentle hand upon his chest. "And your ribs." She took his arms. "And the knife wounds." Cool hands went to his forehead to trace down to hold his face. "And your fever has broken and I know that the ache in your head has ceased."
There was still no response.
The angel grew desperate. "Raoul! Please!" she pleaded. "You know they were only words! Words! Not deeds! Not actions! How could you ever think I would do any of those awful things?" Her thumbs lightly caressed chapped lips. "I have loved you all my life! Even when I did not know that I loved you, still I loved you. You pulled me from the darkness! You saved my life, my soul, my very heart! You gave me everything for which I could ever have wished," the angel leaned forward, staring deep into eyes that had lost their sparkle. "You gave me your friendship, your love and I have never betrayed them. You know I would never betray you!" The angel bit back her tears. "You gave me your child. You have entrusted me with your future – how could you ever believe I would endanger our dreams or jeopardize something so precious!"
The angel watched silently for a moment, a small smile growing on her face as a single tear escaped to trail down Raoul's cheek.