Hi everybody, thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, following and adding to favorites! I am almost done with chapter 7, so I decided I would give you another one.
There is still no Erik in this chapter, but I suspect you will be able to guess how our two lovebirds will meet again, once you have read this one. I might be nice and give you chapter 4, the one where Erik makes his first appearance, in a few days, although with chapter 7 I have now reached a point in my story, where the slow burn phase between our favorite couple comes to the foreground. That means, I have to really think about how soon they will get how close, which might slow down my writing a bit and I do not like to post everything I have written already at once. I had planned to publish a new chapter only once the next one is ready. But if I see enough reviews I might consider making an exception and post number 4 sooner than that.
And please keep in mind that I do not own the POTO-characters. Aunt Ingrid yes, she is mine, but not the others!
Now on to chapter 3!
Chapter 3 – Music
Christine was working in her aunt's little garden. She could not believe that she was back home for slightly over a year now. Time had flown by so fast! She had learned how to care for the cow and the hens, she had become an expert gardener and helped her aunt with the household chores. She had really gotten used to this simple life, here she finally felt at peace.
Wasn't the world beautiful, especially now that spring had come again, that the ground was covered by fresh green grass, that the bushes and trees were growing their new leaves and the first flowers were opening to the rays of spring sun!
Christine smiled, while preparing the soil for the beans they would plant later. Who would have thought that your home-grown vegetables could taste so good? She looked around. The sun was bright already these days, though not as warm as in summer yet. But it was apparently enough to lure the animals out of their hiding places. A ladybug was sitting on a leaf, bees were humming around the first few flowers, and over there, in the apple tree, a bird was singing.
The bird's chirping sounded so happy, so full of joy, that it spoke to Christine. Her long-suppressed love for music was reawakened by the little creature's song. Instinctively she began to hum along, her voice at first weak and hesitating, but after a few minutes she became more confident and her voice grew stronger and finally she began to sing for the first time since that fateful night at the Opéra Populaire.
It felt good to sing and suddenly Christine did not understand how she could have gone without music for so long. True, music had reminded her of the worst experience of her life, of the Opéra and the two men that had hurt her so much, one of them a musician, the other one a patron of the arts.
But didn't music also mean a connection with her father? Ever since she had come back home had she felt particularly close to her dear pappa, was it therefore really a surprise that here she had found music again? Maybe Gustaf had sent her this bird to remind her of this all-important element of her life, the invigorating spell that was music.
Xxx
Ingrid thought at first she was dreaming. There was something going on outside her open kitchen window, an unusual sound that while not exactly part of the awakening nature still perfectly blended in with it. She looked out of the window and smiled. Christine was humming while raking the soil, and she looked so happy, at peace! Was the child finally healing?
And then Christine began to sing - a simple folk-song that Gustaf had taught his daughter, but never had this song touched Ingrid so deeply. Christine's voice was warm and clear, and she obviously poured her soul into this song. The child definitely had talent – a very special gift to touch people's hearts with her singing. A gift that should be shared with the world.
But would Christine want to go back into that world? And if so – how could she herself bear losing that child again? Over the past year the two women had grown very close and Ingrid loved her niece as if she were her own daughter. Somehow she had hoped that Christine would stay with her forever, but would the child really do that, now that she had found music again? And would she herself really expect her to stay, now that she knew how very special her niece's singing was?
"The decision will be hers," Ingrid promised herself. "If she wants to go back to the stage – as I think she should with that kind of a gift – I will not hold her back."
Once Christine had finished her song, Ingrid joined her in the garden. She hugged Christine and told her how much she had enjoyed her singing.
"I had no idea you could sing like that," she said. "You were absolutely marvelous! I wish Gustaf could have heard you now. He would have been so proud of you, my dear! And since you have apparently found the music in you again, I hope to hear you more often in the future."
Christine nodded. "Of course I will sing for you whenever you want to hear me," she promised, then added, "I, too, wish that pappa could hear me now. I am sure that I can finally sing again has something to do with the fact that this village is his old home, and that in a way here I feel so very close to him. So much reminds me of him here, it was probably just a matter of time when I would turn to music again, here in this place, where he taught me my first songs and played the violin for me."
xxx
From that day on Christine sang for her aunt almost every evening. Ingrid enjoyed those little performances immensely, especially since Christine seemed to get even better the more she sang.
Late one night, after Christine had sung a rather lengthy ballad about a Viking prince and his lost love, Ingrid finally approached the question about Christine's plans for the future.
"Do you miss it?" she asked.
Christine looked at her questioningly. "Miss what?" she asked, her voice slightly trembling.
"The theater, performing on a stage, an audience applauding you, all that," Ingrid explained.
Christine closed her eyes, as if in pain. She had asked herself that same question every day since a bird's chirping had made her sing again. She knew the answer was yes, she would like to work as a singer again, but she was also certain, that this was not an option for her anymore.
"I couldn't," she whispered. "Not after what happened in Paris, with my name featuring so prominently in that scandal, the fire... also I am not sure I would still be good enough, I have not practiced in such a long time, and so far I have only sung simple folk-songs and ballads, I have no idea if I could reach the high notes now..."
"But if you could...?" Ingrid insisted.
Christine nodded. "If I could I would love to sing in a theater again. But as I said..." She sighed.
"Maybe you cannot go back to Paris," Ingrid agreed, "I can understand that this would be awkward. But why not in another city? I am sure nobody here in Sweden has heard about Paris. I definitely would know nothing about a fire at a theater in France, had you not told me about it. Maybe you could sing in Stockholm?"
Christine shook her head. "You live in a small village, aunt, news do not reach you easily here. Things are a bit different in the larger cities. They do get information. And many theater people travel a lot, perform in different cities, thus word about this affair has probably reached all the major theaters in Europe by now."
"What about smaller cities?" Ingrid suggested. "Maybe they are more like our village and have not heard about Paris yet?"
Christine thought about it for a while, then she shook her head again.
"That would not work either," she explained. "First, because there is no guarantee they would not find out about it. Among other things they would see on my resumé that I have worked in Paris, and then they would ask me why I left a theater in a place like Paris in order to seek employment in their little province town. And if I don't mention Paris I will be considered inexperienced, and even if they hired me I would always live in fear that they will find out about my past. Also, where should I go? There are no opera theaters in small towns here in Sweden, and I cannot go back to France, because there the whole affair has been in the newspapers and even people in the smaller towns will know about it."
"I see," Ingrid nodded. "I guess we will have to think of something then, in order to make it possible for you to return to the stage. I will help you in any way I can, for I am sure Gustaf would want that for you. You just work on your voice, see if you can get those high notes to perfection again and I will rack my brain and see if I can find a solution to this dilemma!"
Christine hugged her aunt. "Thank you for your support," she whispered. "I will try to get my technique back, if for no other reason than to sing some of the arias for you that I sang at the Opéra Populaire!"
xxx
Ingrid stayed true to her word, she spent most of her time thinking about how she could help Christine to get back to where she obviously belonged – the stage. Christine had begun to seriously work on her technique again, and while Ingrid felt bored by the endless scales and arpeggios her niece was singing now, she had to admit that these seemingly tedious exercises obviously yielded the desired results, for Christine could now hit incredibly high notes and her voice sounded better and better.
"How do you know what you have to do in order to improve your voice even more?" Ingrid asked Christine one day. "Your singing was great to begin with, but you are sounding exceptional now. How do you know about all these exercises?"
"I did have voice lessons," Christine reminded her. Then she quickly looked away, so as not to let her aunt notice the sudden sadness that had overcome her. Her teacher. When he had taught her these exercises she had still believed him to be an angel, none of the terrible things had happened yet, she had still trusted him, had not known of his violent nature, his crimes, yet.
"He was a good teacher," she finally said, her voice still slightly shaking. "Jealous, manipulative, condescending, and violent in his jealousy, yes. A terrible person, but a good teacher."
Ingrid bit her lip. How stupid of her to ask such a question! Of course, the teacher. And Christine's sudden uneasiness confirmed once again her suspicion that this man, as truly terrible as he seemed to be, was dear to Christine, whether or not the girl was aware of that fact or in denial. She quickly changed the topic asking Christine to sing her favorite song for her.
Xxx
Two weeks later Ingrid suddenly had an idea how to solve Christine's dilemma. It was such a simple, logical solution that she was surprised she hadn't thought of it right away.
"Would you mind changing your name, if this meant you could sing again?" she asked her niece.
„Change my name?" Christine was not quite sure what her aunt meant by that question. „Are you suggesting I should get married? I have already told you that I have no desire to do that, that the experience with those two men, the disappointment they both caused me, has cured me from the wish of getting married! And those two I thought I knew and understood well, but they were nothing like I thought them to be. They were disastrous."
Ingrid shook her head. „No, of course not," she assured her niece. „I know your opinion on that well enough. But what if I adopted you? You could then get documents as Kristina Johannsen instead of Kristina Daaé, and I am pretty certain that your full name is Kristina Ingrid Daaé anyway, since you are my goddaughter. Therefore you could claim that everybody calls you Ingrid at your godmother's request and you could perform as Ingrid Johannsen."
Christine laughed.
„Oh, auntie, you think this is so easy! Even if what you are considering worked out the way you hope, I would still look like the Christine Daaé from Paris, and people might eventually recognize me!"
„Not, if you changed your appearance slightly," Ingrid suggested. „There are ways to make your hair look lighter, if not exactly blond, I know of a tincture made of chamomile, that should help. You would also have to adopt a hairstyle different from the one you used to wear in Paris. You are also a bit older now, you really have grown up those past months that you have spent here. When you came you were a lost child, now you are a lovely young woman. I am certain that most people would not recognize you as the former prima donna at this Parisian theater. It could work. If you allow me to adopt you, that is."
Christine was not certain. True, she loved her aunt, and she appreciated what the latter was willing to do for her. But could she really give up her father's name in order to pursue a career?
"I understand your concerns," aunt Ingrid assured her. "But remember, I am a Daaé as well, despite my name of Johannsen. Thus these two names are already connected. The name change would be for the world only. In your heart you would still be the same Christine Daaé you were in Paris, but for the world you would be Ingrid Johannsen. And you would be my daughter, not just my niece and goddaughter... Don't you think Gustaf would approve of this little trick if it allows you to do what you want to do most, to return to the stage?"
Christine was not entirely convinced yet.
"But where would I sing?" she asked. "There are no small theaters here in Sweden, and in France the whole affair is probably well known and still rather fresh on people's mind. But French and Swedish are the only languages I truly know, thus the only countries I could survive in without an interpreter..."
"How about England or Germany?" aunt Ingrid suggested. "Norway is probably out, since like Sweden, they do not have small theaters, although you would be understood easily there, the languages are pretty close. But English and German are supposedly not too vastly different from Swedish either?"
Christine shook her head. "I do not think so," she explained. "There was a girl in the ballet whose parents were English, but when she talked with them, we could not understand a word. And German is not that easy either. We once performed a piece by a German composer, and during rehearsals we had no clue what we were singing about. In fact, we were told that our pronunciation was a catastrophe and finally they decided to translate the piece into French and that's the way it was performed."
But then Christine's face lit up. "Italy!" she exclaimed. "I am fairly certain there are lots of smaller theaters all over the country. And while I do not really speak Italian well, I have a basic understanding of that language, my teacher... he thought it would come in handy if I had to perform in operas by Donizetti, Bellini, Mercadante, Verdi etc..."
She bit her lip. She did not want to think of that man anymore. He was a murderer, a criminal. It was his fault that the Opéra Populaire had been so badly damaged by the fire, that all her colleagues had become unemployed from one day to the next, that people had gotten injured, maybe died in the fire... He truly was a monster. Not because of his face, but because of his actions.
XXX
Christine finally agreed to aunt Ingrid's plan. She would continue to work on her voice, while her aunt would take the necessary steps for her adoption. They would prepare that chamomile extract that would slightly change the color of her hair, and she would buy a Swedish-Italian dictionary and try to figure out how to say simple things in Italian.
Of course it was easier to make such plans than to actually carry them through. There were a lot of bureaucratic hurdles they had to overcome in order for Ingrid to adopt her niece. When Christine finally became legally her aunt's daughter and had her documents issued under her new name of Kristina Ingrid Johannsen, it was almost winter again. Both women agreed that this was not the best time of the year for Christine to travel. She would wait till next spring. That would also give her a bit more time to brush up on her voice as well as on her knowledge of the Italian language.
But when spring was here again, Christine began to pack her bags. She would pass by the larger cities in northern Italy like Milan, Venice, Florence, and head to the central or even southern part of the country, trying to find a small town with a small, local theater, that might have never heard about a Christine Daaé and the fire at the Opéra Populaire in Paris.
"I will write to you at least once a week, mamma," Christine promised. She had begun to call her aunt that, ever since her adoption had gone through. Yes, she had agreed to the adoption because she wanted to sing again, but having somebody now that she could call mother, was at least as important to her. "And once I have landed an employment, maybe you could come and watch a performance?"
Ingrid smiled. "You just find a nice theater, where they appreciate your talent. We might be far apart, but you will always be in my thoughts, in my heart. And either you will come to visit, if you get some vacation time at your future job, or I will check on you. And of course there are letters. We will always be connected, even if we are hundreds or thousands of miles away from each other."
Christine nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "I will take you with me in my heart, and I will stay with you, in your thoughts. Neither of us will be alone that way."
They hugged one more time, then Christine was off, on her way to music and work on a stage.
