The chilled passages of the opera house were thick with dust and mold as Jade walked in the darkness. Now that she was acquainted with the Opera Ghost, she no longer feared these stone corridors.
As she approached the dim light ahead, the temperature dropped further. She wound her scarf snuggly around her throat, and pulled the cloak closer. Then she slipped on the warm gloves that Manette had given her, and stepped into the stable.
The morning's twilight dampened her senses as she walked through the central corridor that passed the stalls. Occasionally a hoof struck the floor and broke the stillness with a sharp sound. The closed stall doors protected the horses from the night's chill, and muffled the emphatic sighs of the sleeping animals.
She stopped outside the stallion's stall, and leaned against the wall. It's been two weeks since I last saw him, she reflected. The Saturday before last the horse had been uninjured and whole. But when she'd left the stable, before her illness had taken hold of her, his wounds had been fresh and raw. She remembered him as she saw him last—standing alone, with his head down, looking fragile and broken.
Jade dreaded what she would find and hesitated. Finally, she took in a deep breath, touched the crimped wood of the stall door, and swung open the upper part.
The stallion was standing inside with his head held high, and watching her with steady eyes. After a moment, he stretched his neck forward with his nostrils flaring, as he sought her scent.
She watched him as he slowly walked to the door. From the front, the wounds on his left side were barely visible. He was still beautiful.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out three lumps of sugar, which she lined up on the edge of the door. Then she backed away while humming her favorite childhood song, just as she had done two weeks before.
After a vigorous nod of recognition, he delicately picked up the sugar with his lips. Then he looked at her with soft eyes, and whinnied for more.
She smiled, and lightly touched his nose. As he looked down at her with his large, intelligent eyes, Jade shivered with pleasure.
Releasing the latch, she stepped into the stall. With great care, she moved past his side, and avoided the crisscrossed pattern of wounds. Glancing at them, she suddenly stopped, and stared with astonishment. Instead of the pearly pink of fresh scars, the wounds showed the beginnings of healthy new skin.
Without thinking, she touched one of the patches. The stallion trembled but didn't move away. Quickly, she looked up at him, and saw that he was watching her without fear or concern.
Amazing!
Someone had been there in her absence working with the horse so that he had lost his fierce wildness. Also, medicine had been applied to the wounds, and they were healing at an extraordinary rate.
Erik.
After carrying fresh water and oats to the stall, Jade watched him eat while she stroked his tangled mane. Erik hadn't groomed him. If he had, that would have given him away, she mused. She marveled at his entering the stable to care for the wounded animal and the risk that he took each time he was there.
At that moment, a new feeling for Erik arose: affection.
0000
The music from the auditorium rolled down the corridors, and lapped at the edges of the management offices. However, the workers inside were oblivious to the melodies. They were too busy moving to their own rhythms of the shuffling of papers and the scratching of pens.
Jade pushed her chair back from the small desk and stretched her back. She'd been hunched over the desk for the last few hours as she dealt with the hill of letters in front of her. Earlier that day, she had sorted and stacked requisitions and prioritized what would be dealt with first. Then she'd written replies until her hand became numb. Mme. Truffaut had done a heroic job of managing without her assistant but the workload had been enormous. Her new assistant, Michelle, was doing her best to deal with the paperwork, but she was still learning.
By the end of the workday, Jade's desk was cleared and stacks of paperwork were neatly arranged in boxes next to a pile of letters for the shops and suppliers. Mme. Truffaut had lost her sour look, which had been replaced with a satisfied air. She was even humming when she put on her cloak to leave.
As she was preparing to leave the office, Jade looked up as M. DuChant entered. He stopped, gave her a brusque nod with a penetrating look, and then passed by. As she watched his stiff figure disappear into his office, it was clear to her that she had lost some of her employer's good will.
Stepping out of the offices, she nearly ran into Pierre.
"How are you Jade?" asked Pierre as he took her hands and smiled broadly. He'd been waiting for this moment all week.
"Very well, Pierre. And how are you?" She smiled back at him and studied his face. In spite of his warm smile, he had a worried look about him. She squeezed his hands a little to reassure him.
"Much better, now that I see that you are yourself again. I came to invite you to join me for supper tonight."
"Of course. Gladly," she replied.
At the opera café they joined Manette, Jean, and Gillian. The café roared about them with everyone talking at once and people shouting back and forth. It was a warm bedlam of noise as the opera folk wound down from the hard work of the day.
Manette and Jean entertained them with stories about the ridiculous and laughable mishaps at rehearsal that day while Pierre joked with them, and tossed in anecdotes about his village and his day at the market. Jade listened silently as she held the little girl on her lap, and stroked her hair.
After dinner, Jade and Pierre strolled back to their quarters. Pierre was spending the night in Paris and would leave early in the morning. They stopped at his door.
"Jade, would you like to come in and have a glass of wine with me? We can keep the door open if you'd like. I'd like to talk with you a little longer."
He was looking down at her with warm eyes and a disarming smile. They hadn't talked privately yet, and she knew he was waiting for an explanation. He had glanced at her several times during the meal.
Nodding, she followed him into the room, and closed the door behind them.
Over a glass of wine, they talked about their week. Pierre had mentioned at supper that his brother was having trouble with the grape blight. Having seen first hand the devastation of the disease, she wondered if that was the reason Pierre had looked troubled before they went to supper.
"My two nephews are working for me now, and minding my home while I'm here, so that's why I can spend the night." He finished the last of his glass and poured another.
Jade was feeling very relaxed from the wine. Her fingers stroked her glass as she slowly traced Pierre's high cheekbones with her eyes. She noted how his unbound hair softly curled about his shoulders and gave him an appealingly, nonchalant look, like he had been lying in the grass.
Pulling herself out of her reverie, she focused on his concern. "What will your brother do? Will they come to Paris?" she asked.
"If he has to, Lucien will try Paris first. But he doesn't want to spend valuable money or time here if it doesn't show immediate promise. He's thinking about going to America, and starting a vineyard there. We've a distant relative in California who is buying land, and Lucien may be able to join him."
"America!" So far away, she thought.
Pierre sat back with his eyes half closed as he gazed at her. He had wanted to ask her about the man that she had been hiding from. But now he was content to simply sit with her and say nothing. Looking down at his glass, he idly swirled the deep red liquid.
Jade finally broke the silence.
"Pierre, I'd like to explain to you why I left the opera house."
"Yes. Please do." His eyes sharpened and he leaned towards her.
Carefully, she explained about the man who visited the opera house and who had been watching over her. She told him that she had kept her visit to Manette a secret because her benfactor might decide to visit her there, and she had wished to be alone.
Pierre watched her closely. She had told him a simple story but he knew that she had left out important details.
"Jade, is he the one who sent Jacque DuChant the letter about your needing time away from work?"
"Yes. He felt strongly that I needed to rest, and decided to take matters into his own hands and contact M. DuChant directly."
Nodding, he then gently asked her, "Is he forcing his attentions upon you?"
Giving him a steady look, she replied in a quiet voice, "He is a friend, Pierre. He was concerned about my lapse of judgment that caused me to become ill, and he decided to act as my temporary guardian."
Please, let it rest, she silently prayed. She felt compelled to protect Erik, but she wouldn't lie to Pierre. She owed him honesty.
Pierre studied his friend. It was clear that she didn't want him to press the issue. Something else was going on between Jade and that man. Perhaps she was simply protecting his identity. If so, it was selfish of him to put her in that position.
Covering her hands with his, he looked at her earnestly. "Jade, I hope that you will confide in me if you ever need my help, or my friendship."
He poured the remainder of the bottle into her glass. As she sipped it and felt its warmth flow through her, she felt a strong affection for Pierre bubble up. His friendship has given me a new life here, she mused. Tonight, she wanted to give something back.
Shifting in her chair, she fixed her eyes on his.
Noticing her intensity, Pierre set down his glass in expectation, and leaned towards her.
"Pierre, I'd like to tell you about my home…"
0000
An hour later, Jade was back in her room. She was sitting on her bed wrapped in her robe with her feet tucked under her. It had been a long full day and she was content. She was thinking about how good she felt whenever she was with Pierre. He had asked her if she would like to visit him in his village sometime in the next month. He wanted her to meet his family, and see his home.
Leaning back against the headboard, she smiled. It would be wonderful to return to the countryside, which she missed terribly. She daydreamed about what it would be like to live there again where the air was fresh and everything was green. She could see the stallion running through the grassy fields in the sunlight, with plump mares scattered about him.
She was deep in the image of him flying across the fields when she heard the lock move in the door. Quickly, she unfolded her legs and sat up straight as the door swung open and Erik strolled in.
He looked at her briefly, and then seated himself by the table in his customary spot.
Erik placed a book on the table, and looked up at her. Curious, Jade inadvertently leaned forward as she tried to see it better. Had he brought her another book to read? She wanted to get out of the bed and look but then decided that it would be better if she stayed where she was. She didn't want a repeat performance of last night. If there was the remotest possibility that he would have to pick her up again, she would rather stay in bed.
Since the stable, she'd been thinking about what she could give him as a token of her gratitude for taking care of the stallion. She knew so little about him and his tastes. Nor did she have much money. Her illness had cost her more than a week's wages and nearly all of her meager savings.
Erik sat silently for a minute, and then lit the remaining candles on the table. He picked up the book and thumbed through it. Without looking up, he asked, "Jade, do you by chance read English?"
Giving him a puzzled look she replied, "No, Erik. I only understand and speak French. Why do you ask?"
He was smiling, but so slyly she could barely see it. He looked a little smug sitting there and that only increased her curiosity. What is he up to tonight? Since he was busy asking her questions, it hopefully meant that he would not be playing any more tricks on her.
"Well, then I will have to read this instead of lending it to you. Do you like poetry, Jade?"
His dark hair appeared especially sleek and sparked the idea of a clever crow sitting in front of her, as he offered her a shiny piece of his world.
"I have heard so little of it that I can't really say. Are the Psalms from the bible a sort of poetry?" she asked.
Erik's smile grew slightly. "They are songs, but they have a poetic rhythm. In a broad sense they could be viewed as poetry." He thumbed through the book and appeared to be considering a selection.
"This poem is by Walt Whitman."
With a resonant voice, Erik intoned:
There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he looked upon, that object he became;
Jade watched his face as he read. His eyes were intently fixed upon the page but his jaw and lips softened and the sternness vanished from his face. The words he recited were like a song. And they were beautiful, as was his voice.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass, and white and red morning-gloried, and
white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird
The images of the poem piled upon each other as snowflakes upon the ground, and Erik's voice was an angel's gliding on the wind.
And the fish suspending themselves so curiously belowthere—and the beautiful curious liquid,
And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads—all
became part of him
While listening, Jade felt something powerful well up inside of her that blurred the boundary between them. His voice joined the song in her head, and pushed the melody aside. It silenced her music.
He continued to read, and she lost track of time as she drifted through the spell that he created.
Erik's reading of a simple shopping list would have been beautiful because of the richness and depth of his tones. Coupled with the poem, his voice was exquisite. She wondered what life would be like to awake each morning to it and to fall asleep at night with it whispering in her ear.
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests,
slapping,
---the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The poem ended, and the book closed with a snap. Jade opened her eyes.
Erik was watching her intently and there was an unreadable expression on his face.
Returning his gaze, she let her guard down. Her face was young and innocent, as she quietly waited for what would come next.
Erik picked up his chair, carried it to her bed, and set it down a few feet away. He sat straight with his legs casually crossed but his eyes were smoldering with curiosity.
"Jade, would you tell me about the music that you hear in your mind?"
Jade's eyes widened and her mouth opened. Then she quickly looked down at her knees that were hidden beneath her robe.
She swallowed hard. No one had asked her that question since Jean-Luc. Those who had thought her mad hadn't wanted to know. The few who had tried to manipulate her had assumed that they already knew.
Closing her eyes, she collected her thoughts. Then she looked into his eyes and commanded his attention.
"Tonight, it's a slow song that is like a waltz but with a somewhat different rhythm." She thought a moment, and then added, "it's soothing."
Erik nodded and then asked, "Is it a melody that you have heard before?"
Seeing that he was genuinely interested, she relaxed a bit more and replied, "No. I haven't heard this song before. Sometimes they return but usually it's a different song than the ones before." She thought for a moment, and then realized that maybe he was asking a different question. Jade offered, "The music that I hear isn't music that I've heard others play or sing."
Erik's eyes widened slightly at that revelation. The music is her own composition.
"And the instruments, can you tell me about them?" He was leaning forward and there was a hint of excitement on his face.
Jade closed her eyes and for a moment swayed to the rhythm. "There are strings and woodwinds, and cymbals. There's another instrument that I don't know the name of."
An unknown instrument? Erik was fascinated.
Opening her eyes, she gave Erik an intense look. Then closing them again, she turned her head away from him. It was hard for her to focus on the music in this way, and she wanted to stop.
Erik sat silently at her side. Even when seated, he was remarkably taller than her and he loomed like a sentinel beside her bed. They had crossed into unexplored territory with his questions, and Jade was feeling vulnerable again.
At last he rose, and walked over to the table where he picked up his book and extinguished the candles. She heard the swish of his cape as he put it on in the dark. The door opened, and his silhouette momentarily filled its frame. Then the door closed and the sound of the key turning in the lock was the last she heard of him.
Jade got up and pulled out her cloak, and laid it on her bed. It was cold tonight. She had been completely caught up in Erik's reading, and hadn't noticed that her nose was getting chilled. Erik had also apparently forgotten the cold. He usually wore his cloak when he was in her room but tonight he'd laid it aside. It seemed as if he had been reading for an hour but it was probably less. The sound of his voice had made her a little drunk. The longer he had read to her, the more deeply relaxed she had become.
She lay on her side and stared at the wall for only a few minutes before sleep came hard and fast to her. Before she tumbled into unconsciousness, she remembered Erik's eyes looking at her with a touch of wonder, and she knew that her gift to him had been well received.
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Erik guided the boat across the black lake with long, sure strokes. He stared ahead, feeling the excitement coursing through his body. He was reliving tonight's triumph.
He had succeeded. She had opened up to him completely. The trust had shone on her face and at that moment, she was his.
Seeing her receptivity, he had seized the opportunity and gently explored her secret. What he had discovered was exhilarating: an original mind akin to his own.
The boat touched the shore and he jumped from it. He entered his home and lit dozens of candles to replace those that had burned out in his absence. Then he walked about his rooms, and took stock of his dwelling. His home was beautiful. However, it was buried beneath the opera house, without a trace of sunlight.
Standing in the door, he peered into the black cavern. He loved the darkness. The first time he had brought Christine here, she had loved it too. He had seen it in her eyes. But that wonder had been destroyed when she had torn away his mask.
I will not allow that to happen again, he thought grimly. When I bring her here, I will be on my guard against foolish curiosity.
His rival lived where there were sunlight and green fields. He and Jade shared a kinship of being raised in the country. As Erik had stood by the mirror and watched, he had not been able to see her face when she told the man her story. But he had heard the longing in her voice as she talked about her home. If the farmer offered her a new home in his village, she might accept.
Touching the books that lay on his work table, he glanced at the organ. He had many ways to capture her imagination. He could make this a place of wonder for her. It would be easier with her than it had been with Christine. Jade was not a child who feared what she didn't understand. Her spirit was bolder, her imagination deeper. He simply needed time to convince her.
Staring at his reflection, he considered how his face had scarcely aged in the last year. Christine had once found him handsome.
He knew how to play his advantages. He would take every scrap of understanding, every ounce of emotional warmth that was generated between them and would use it.
He would keep her here, in his opera house.
Pulling out music paper, Erik scribbled a pattern of notes, crossed them out, and continued. He worked the puzzle for an hour before he went to bed. Woodwinds, strings, and cymbals and an unknown instrument, he reflected. A melody that sounds like a waltz but is not. Soothing. Yes. That is the key.
By the time he was finished he was ready for sleep. He rolled up the papers, and stacked them in the corner. Then he walked to his bedroom and disappeared into the darkness.
A/N: dear readers, to those of you who are regularly reviewing, I'm happy that you're taking the time to leave a comment. Your encouragement and critiques do help. I'm new to writing fiction and each chapter takes time. It feels great when I get one done, and even better when I get reviews.
Special thanks to readers who are posting my story as one of your favorites. It helps new readers find my story.