The little girl in the red cloak bobbed in rhythm with the horse that circled the pen. A ruby bloom flooded her cheeks, as she grasped his mane and clung to his back.
"Jade," Gillian squealed with excitement when the chestnut gelding gently picked up the pace.
Jade stood in the center of the pen, and firmly held the lead line. Her steady gaze carefully followed the horse's stride. The chestnut gelding was moving slowly and deliberately, as if intensely aware of his tiny cargo. His burnished coat rippled over his muscles, and flashed in the noonday sun.
When the lesson was finished, they returned to the stable, with Jade leading the horse and child through the arched door. Paul Rascon looked up from the harness he was mending, and watched them enter the stall.
A smile of approval slipped from him as Jade removed the horse's halter, and brought the little girl's hand to his nose. All the while, she spoke to the animal and child in a low and gentle voice.
Her quiet movements appealed to Rascon. He'd been around horses most of his life but he hadn't seen anyone work with animals as she did. At least half of her time was spent watching and listening before she laid her hands on a new one. When she finally touched the horse, it was with certainty and tenderness as if they were already old friends.
Lately, he'd been thinking of bringing his boy over to watch her work. It couldn't hurt for him to learn some of her ways. And it would be good for the boy to get out of that dismal house.
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Jade and Gillian walked down the bridle path, as they carried their lunches. Now that the day had warmed, the lawn in front of them was an inviting carpet of green. Unfurling the blanket, they unpacked their food, and sat down.
The child ate ravenously. Jade noticed that Gillian's skirt was hiking above her thin calves as she sat cross-legged. She was rapidly outgrowing her clothes and needed an entirely new wardrobe. The cape Jade had given her today was just a start.
After their meal, Jade lay on her side, and watched the little girl run through the grass as she chased large, flying insects. Her flaxen hair flew out like sparks against the fiery red hood as she twisted and reached for bits of iridescent color.
It was funny how things worked out. This child that she loved was six years old, and it was nearly seven years ago that Jean-Luc had left her. If she'd had a child with him, she would be about Gillian's age.
Life and death, she thought. Shutting her eyes, she recalled her trip to the cemetery earlier in the day.
The carriage had been waiting for her after Mass as Erik had promised. It gave her extra time to visit Meley's grave.
The single flower that she had placed next to the headstone softened its bleakness. As she stared at the whorl of velvety petals, its beauty eased her distress. The man beneath the stone was dead, and was already fulfilling a new purpose. His disintegrating body would replenish the earth and foster new life.
Jade pondered over the significance of Meley's lost life. What had he accomplished? What had he struggled for and loved?
Those unknowns bothered her. If one takes another's life, one should at least understand the value of that life, she thought sadly. That was the problem with killing. To act as if one has the power of God, but in the end, to know nothing.
The dull ache of her knees changed to a burning pain with tiny jabs slicing through her skirt. It was time for her to go. A few people were walking in the cemetery, as they visited ghosts and polished head stones that gleamed hollowly in the morning sun. They scarcely noticed her as she stiffly climbed to her feet, and leaned on Meley's head stone to get her footing.
Suddenly, Jade was pulled back to the present. Gillian's hand was grasping hers as she thrust a handful of seed heads and brightly colored insects close to Jade's face.
Later, as they returned to the stable, she looked down at the child by her side, whose pockets were brimming with this afternoon's souvenirs. The little girl merrily kicked stones along the path and further scuffed her worn out shoes.
If Jade had a more substantial income, she could adopt her. It warmed her heart to think of Gillian becoming hers. She could care for her, and give her the love that children needed to feel whole. She would protect her from a cold world that damaged those who lacked a loving family.
She didn't have enough money, at least not yet. But somehow, she would find a way to get it.
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The rest of the afternoon they spent walking in Paris. It was a chance to study the various styles of architecture, and stroll along the famous boulevards of the city. The calm, autumn day was perfect for exploring. The sidewalks were peppered with Parisians enjoying their great city and its abundant attractions.
Gillian was a pretty sight in her bright, red cloak. Couples would pause and admire the pale haired little girl, who skipped next to her companion. She was chattering continuously about the dresses of the older ballet girls, the excitement of opening night, and about everything that she saw at that moment.
They were in a part of the city where musicians and street performers staked out street corners to take advantage of the Sunday foot traffic. Some of the artists stood quietly between their performances, leaning against any available post or wall. Then suddenly, they would come to life with bold gestures and ringing voices, as their eyes darted through the crowd. A lanky, harlequin clad juggler enchanted the child and woman with a display of spinning balls and flying objects. Jade gave Gillian a coin for him, and she clapped her tiny hands excitedly when the man smiled, and bowed deeply to her as he pocketed his wage.
Keeping a firm hold on Gillian's hand, Jade walked along the busy streets and watched the people. Occasionally, they passed a raggedy child with sharp, hungry eyes who was looking for work or a quick theft. It hurt her to see them, as she recalled her own desperate introduction to the city. She gave two of them her last coins, and said a silent prayer for the rest.
After a long, full day, they returned to the opera house in time for Gillian 's supper.
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The staff quarters were quiet when Jade finally climbed the stairs to her room. Her clothes were laid out on the bed, waiting for tonight's event. Manette and Jean would be picking her up in about an hour, which gave her enough time to get ready for the meal with Monsieur and Madame Verdi.
In the end, Erik's comment had swayed her. If a man who hid himself from others thought it was a good idea for her to have supper with a famous composer, then it might be wise to do so. After all, she needn't say much. She was good at keeping her mouth shut and making only an occasional comment, and that would probably be all that was needed. Perhaps there would be other things to interest her there that would make the trip worthwhile.
She was combing her hair in front of the mirror when there was a knock on her door. Opening it, she recognized the young man she had met on Friday night.
"Good evening, Mademoiselle Bouta," said Michel Aubert with a hoarse voice. She watched as his pronounced Adam's apple rose and dipped while he spoke. He looked tired and agitated as he hung at her door.
"Good evening, Michel." Jade tried to keep the surprise from her voice. What was he doing here?
Michel fidgeted on her doorstep until she invited him in.
He slouched wearily into the chair, and followed her with his eyes as she approached, and then looked at her intensely when she sat down. Her flesh began to creep and she caught her breath. Something was clearly wrong.
"Why are you here, Michel?" she asked softly and slowly, as she stared at him.
Quickly, he spoke, eager to be finished with his mission. "Mademoiselle, my uncle Pierre is not well, and my grandmother sent me to ask for your help." Then he let out an explosive sigh.
"What has happened?" she asked calmly although her heart began to race. Whatever Pierre's illness was, it must be bad if a stranger was asking for her help.
Michel looked into her eyes and explained.
His uncle had returned to their village on Friday after his business trip to a nearby province. Several days before, his leg had been cut while he was out in the fields, and he'd developed a mild fever the last day of his trip. His grandmother had given Pierre herbs, but the fever had rapidly gotten worse. This morning, it was high, and they could do nothing to bring it down.
"Uncle Pierre told us about how you cared for two horses that were very sick, and healed them. Grandmother wants you to come tonight, and help him."
It was seven o'clock, and most of the trains had stopped running. The trip would take several hours by horse.
Jade got up and immediately started to pack.
While Michel carried her bag down to the horses, Jade slipped into her breeches and tunic. It would be a long ride and it was pointless to wear a skirt. Her cloak would cover her from prying eyes. She packed the last of the botanicals she had been collecting for such an occasion. Ever since she had recovered from her own fever, she had been buying herbs and other medicines in case of another fever or illness.
Sitting at the table, she wrote three letters. The first was to DuChant, explaining her absence. She wasn't worried about getting his approval to leave work. He was a good friend of Pierre's, and he'd understand.
The second was for Jean, who would be arriving at any moment to collect her.
The last was for Erik.
She wished that she could wait for Erik's visit tonight. He'd be able to help her formulate the best medicine for the fever. His knowledge was deeper than hers. And since he had assisted her with the horses, she was confident that he would be able to help her friend.
But there wasn't time to wait. She would have to make do with what she already knew.
Propping Erik's letter against a candlestick on the table, she gathered the last of her things and left the room. She tacked Jean's note to the door, and then walked quickly down the hall.
Michel waited for her at the management offices with a letter of his own. After slipping their letters under the door, they rushed to the stables.
The horses were saddled and ready. Michel tied her bag to the saddle, and she climbed onto her mount.
It was nighttime and the street traffic was sparse. They moved along quickly as they worked their way through miles of streets towards the city's edge.
Pierre had once described to her his biweekly trip to Paris. After his wagon was loaded, it took about four hours to get to the market place. On a good mount, it would be faster. Michel had ridden slowly to Paris so as not to wear out his horse. Now they pushed on as fast as their horses would tolerate.
She didn't like the description of Pierre's fever. It sounded like blood poisoning. In her pouch was the last of the salve that Erik had given her for the roan mare. It would help the wound, but not the fever.
Glancing at the tall man who was her guide, she noticed that the fatigue had left him. He was sitting straight with his chin up and head jutting forward. His determined air cut through the darkness, and her fear.
The thought of Pierre lying in pain and confusion maddened her. She fought the sense of desperation that had been riding her since Michel had given her the news. He must not die, she repeated over and over as a mystical mantra to keep him alive.
Dear God, she prayed. Please let me get there in time.
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Erik leaped from the catwalks above the stage, and worked his way through the multitude of ropes that hung there. He was passing the time with exercise as he considered one of his projects.
There was a ridiculously rich man who had come to Jules and wanted a plan for a home in Russia. He was determined that the design would come from Paris's 'hidden' architect. The commission had caught Erik's interest. Some aspects of the design posed a challenge, and he enjoyed architectural puzzles. The time Erik had spent in Russia gave him the experience to develop a regional style for the building so that it would not look like a foreign transplant. And there was a special request that the slant of the windows allow maximum penetration of winter sun. He remembered the harsh Russian winters where sunlight was scarce, and grimaced as he reached for the rope.
Barely sweating, he twisted the rope in his hands and rapidly pulled himself along its length. His arm muscles knotted, and his powerful legs wrapped around the rough fiber as he snaked up to the ceiling. He grasped the batton of a nearby backdrop and swung across the backstage as his cape twirled behind.
He was looking forward to seeing Jade tonight after her supper with Verdi. What would she think of Paris's musical elite?
His lips tingled as he recalled Jade sitting on the bed last night with her eyes closed while he briefly caressed her face.
In spite of his undeniable passion for Christine, he had decided to pursue Jade. She was too precious to let slip away. Fate had brought her to him, and he would accept the gift.
He would not deny himself another chance for happiness.
As for Jade's feelings for him…
His jaw tightened and his eyes blazed. She will come to love me, and I will make her happy.
Balancing upon the shifting backdrop, he lunged for the rope and spiraled down to the empty stage below.
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It was nearly seven o'clock when Erik entered the back passages of the staff quarters. He could not resist spying on her before she left.
As he approached the mirror, the soft glow told him that she was there. Stepping closer, he stood silently, and watched her run the brush through her dark hair. The steady, stroking motion soothed him, and he leaned against the wall with half closed eyes. The gaslight cast a halo over her hair that blended with its naturally healthy gloss. Her eyes were dreamily shut as she too enjoyed the firm stroke of the brush.
Her hair had grown since she had come to the opera house. It was noticeably longer. She was wearing her Sunday clothes, which were a cut above the usual.
He had enjoyed making the green gown for her. In addition, there was a pile of sketches on his worktable for future ideas. He found it entertaining to design clothing that suited her passionate need for freedom, and yet still remained in the realm of fashion. Half of the sketches were for unfashionable outfits that she would wear when she joined him in his home below. Some of the new fabrics recently imported from Japan and made in the style of a modified kimono would look charming on her. He could see her curled up on his sofa with a pattern of wild orchids and trailing stems flowing across her lovely breasts as she listened to his music.
The hard rap on the door pulled him out of his reverie.
A tall, young man stood in the hall and waited. Erik stepped closer to the mirror, and watched.
When the boy had finished his story, she quickly pulled out her travel bag. Clenching his fists, Erik watched her for a moment and then abruptly left.
The management offices were unlit, but he easily navigated through them. Once in DuChant's office, he went straight to the hidden cash box. Picking the lock, he removed what he would need. Then he strode to the stable.
The black stallion greeted him with a nudge to his chest, and he gave the big animal a loving pat. He saddled the horse, and then quietly led him out of the stable, and past the two horses that waited in the street. There he stood in the shadows until Jade and the boy mounted their animals and left.
He stayed far enough behind them so as to remain undetected. Once they got out of the city, there would be neighboring communities to pass through before they came to the open road. He could follow at a safe distance and still keep track of them. His horse had a fondness for the woman, so he would indicate if she moved too far ahead or left the road.
Erik's lips tightened as he thought of his rival lying in bed, and burning with fever. There was a risk that she would become more attached to the man as she nursed him back to health.
If luck is on my side, she will arrive too late to help him.
The city lights slipped behind him, as Erik settled into his saddle for the long ride ahead.