A/N: the character Sasha is taken from Susan Kay's novel Phantom

Chapter 37 Hope

Pierre scowled as he ran his fingers along the branch of the fruit tree. The limb would have to go. If he were lucky, the surgery would save the tree. Pulling out a saw, he vigorously cut it off. Then with a dark face, he searched for more damage. By the time he was through, half a dozen branches lay on the pile.

Michel walked down the path towards the dull thump of wood hitting the ground. Freezing his face into a noncommittal mask, he angled down the hill as he watched his uncle below. The man was roughly shoving the handcart onto the path and growling to himself.

He's in a foul mood. The last time he'd seen Pierre this angry was the year before when he and Pierre were at the local fair. On their way to the refreshment tent for a glass of wine, they'd chanced upon a man and a woman behind one of the tents. The man was hitting her with his fist. In a flash, Pierre had knocked the man off his feet, and glared at him as he lay sprawled out on the ground. It had taken two bottles of wine to wipe the scowl from Pierre's face. Then on their way home, his uncle's anger had returned. "It won't do any good," Pierre had muttered as he frowned at the cart horse's backside. "He'll be beating her again as soon as his head clears."

Once again, his uncle was upset about a woman. Only now, Michel knew her name.

He fell in alongside of Pierre who was hauling branches down the path. "Will you be going to Joseph and Marie's for supper tonight?" he asked.

Pierre nodded curtly, and then ignored Michel. He'd been avoiding his family since returning from Paris on Saturday. It was obvious to everyone that something was wrong, and they had a good idea what it was. Claire had been the first to voice their concerns.

"Don't trouble him with questions. Give him a chance to clear his mind," she'd firmly stated on Sunday morning before their family breakfast.

At the time, Michel had dodged her pointed gaze. Since his uncle's return, he'd been eaten up with curiosity as to why Jade had refused Pierre's proposal.

Now he wanted to know who his uncle's rival was. Who was the man that Pierre thought of as he butchered his orchard?

They walked along the path in silence. As Michel stared down at the others large fists, he slowly smiled. Whoever the man was, he wanted to be there when Pierre knocked him to the ground.

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That evening, it rained heavily. The cold damp beaded up on Jade's woolen cloak as she laid it aside. Donning a heavy tunic, she moved to the feed buckets. At her urging, Paul Rascon had left the stable for home, and she was finishing their nightly chores.

Breaking bales of hay into pieces, she carried the sections to the stalls, and tossed them to the eager horses. When finished, she leaned on the stall door, and watched the Arabian stallion. His coat was covered in dust from the bedding at his feet. He made short work of the hay, and then with a soft nicker, shoved his head over the half door. Nosing her hand, he searched for the lump of sugar that she always brought him.

Jade smiled as his soft lips grazed her knuckles, and she offered him the treat. Stepping into the stall, she curried his back and hummed a tune. As she worked, the stallion occasionally reached around and playfully grabbed at her sleeve. In turn, she batted his nose. The horse had gotten attached to her, and sometimes acted more like a pet than an unruly stallion. The other day when she'd taken him out to the large exercise pen to stretch his legs, he'd followed behind with his warm breath tickling her shoulder.

Standing back, she admired his shining coat, and wondered if the horse's intense affection was typical for his breed. When she'd worked at M. Solari's stable, he'd told her wonderful horse stories. One was about the Bedouins of the African desert who cherished their Arabian horses, and regarded them as their family. They would bring them into their tents at night where their children played at their feet.

"Have you ever seen the desert, my friend?" Jade asked as she gently tugged his mane. She could see his chocolate coat flashing under the hot sun against a bare wasteland of pale sand.

Someday, she would enter the stable, and he would be gone—sold to recoup the cost of feeding him. If he were lucky, someone who wanted a purebred from a fine line would take a fancy to him. Then he could spend his days chasing broad-mares, and creating a new bloodline.

God help him if some foolish man buys him to pull a cart! She grimaced. The stallion would erupt into a savage mood when anyone but Rascon or she approached him.

She was in the middle of cleaning his hooves when a soft sound came from the stall door. The stallion sounded a sharp, excited neigh, and Jade swiftly moved away from his feet. Glancing up, she saw the dark figure towering above her and reaching for the horse.

Erik stood close to the animal's head, and placed his pale hands on his well muscled neck.

Stepping back, Jade watched the interplay between these two passionate males. Erik's hands inched down the horse's neck, and followed the firm line of muscles to the chest while he gazed into the stallion's eyes. Their breathing linked them with a weighted silence as Erik continued to touch the horse.

Jade followed his hands with half closed eyes. The pale, long fingers tenderly caressed the satiny coat. When he moved to the other side of the horse, and continued his ministrations, she couldn't help but think that he meant for her to see this. Was he showing her how gentle and sensuous he would be?

The white leather mask split his face into warm flesh and frozen concentration as Erik faced the animal. Bending down, he placed his mouth next to the horse's nostrils, and blew a soft, sighing breath into them. As he did so, he fingered the stallion's long, silky neck. Jade held her breath and watched the horse's ears swivel forward in acceptance. Erik is claiming him! she thought as a chill ran across her arms. Fascinated, she watched him hold the horse's gaze as he slowly stepped away.

Ending the session with a firm pat on the beast's neck, Erik turned to her.

"I am afraid that riding is out of the question tonight, my dear," he stated.

Nodding, Jade finished cleaning the stallion's hooves, and then went to the adjacent stalls where she collected the empty feed buckets. Finishing, she exchanged her tunic for the cloak, and followed the silent figure out of the stable into the passages beyond.

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At the lake, the slender boat sat partially on the shore with black water sucking at its sides. When Erik pushed the craft from shore, Jade's fear returned. Exhaling forcefully, she tried to counter the panic that squeezed her chest. Each trip across was the same—acute terror as her mind fixed on the watery grave beneath them.

Groping for a distraction she stared at Erik's mouth while gulping air. As she watched, his mouth softened and his lips began to move.

The first notes were low, blending with the sound of the paddle breaking the water. Nearly a minute passed before a lilting melody emerged from the cavern. The sweetness mounted and foreign words echoed around her as if the air itself were singing.

Jade raised her eyes to Erik's. He caught her gaze, and held her. Intense warmth spread through her as her fear melted, and her tight chest eased open. She stared back, acutely aware that he'd become her protector, her priest—the man who was banishing her demon.

Before she knew it, the boat touched ground.

She followed him to the house. When they were inside, he bent over her, and lifted the cloak from her shoulders. Then he said in a softly resonating voice, "There are warm clothes laid out for you on your bed. If you wish, you may change now, my dear."

Jade strolled into the rosy-lit bedroom where tiny flames spattered light onto the grotto's walls. The warm woolens on the bed were inviting and superbly comfortable once they were on. After brushing the stable dust from her hair, she moved languidly down the hall to the kitchen. Padding across the large front room in her fleece lined slippers, she settled on the couch and gazed at Erik, who was seated at the table.

"Would you care for some music tonight?" he asked graciously, as he handed her a glass of wine.

Charmed, she nodded, and smiled up at him.

As he sat on the bench, his long, straight back abandoned its tension. Stretching out his arms, he began to play.

The melody was a continuation of the song he'd sang to her in the boat. It was a beautiful, delicate refrain with variations in intensity and rhythm. After a half hour, she began to sway.

His singing had gently pushed her own music from her mind. Now there was stillness that his music filled. Receptively, she followed it with her body.

When the music ended, Erik joined her. His cheek was slightly flushed and his eyes held an intense spark. Jade looked shyly up at him as she handed him a glass of wine.

They sipped their drinks in silence. After a few minutes, he asked, "Did you enjoy the music?"

Smiling, she replied, "Yes, Erik, very much." As she fingered her goblet, she tentatively asked, "Is it your composition?"

His hand unfurled towards the organ and he smiled slightly. "Yes, it is."

When he spoke again, it was with delicacy. "Do you think you might wish to dance to my music, Jade?"

Her eyes dropped, and she slowly put her glass down. Then straightening her shoulders, Jade looked directly into his eyes. "Dance?" she inquired with an expressionless face.

Erik stared back into her solemn eyes.

"Yes, my dear. I have seen you dance to the music that only you can hear."

Her mouth fell open, and she flushed deeply. "When?" she asked hoarsely.

Holding her gaze, he waited for her to compose herself, and then calmly answered. "I was on the roof of the opera house when I first saw you dance. I was watching a sunset when you burst through the door. I expected you would soon leave but you remained."

Silently, she stared past his shoulder at the room beyond. Then she looked down at her hands and asked, "And was there another time?"

Erik's fingers brushed her knuckles, and she quickly looked up into his gray-green eyes. He was watching her carefully. She realized that he was trying not to upset her, and her face softened a little.

"One night, I was about to leave the opera house to go for a walk, when I had an urge to visit the auditorium. There was nothing there so I waited for a minute, and then you appeared on the stage."

This time the blush only stained her cheeks.

"Is that why you chose me, Erik? Because of my dancing?" she asked softly.

He hadn't expected to see pain in her eyes, so he watched her keenly for a long moment. Taking her hand in his, he held it as he had seen his rival do a half dozen times. This was unchartered territory and he proceeded carefully.

"The first time that I saw you was when you arrived at the opera house. You were sitting on the front steps, " he said gently.

"That was you on the roof!" she interrupted.

Nodding briefly, he continued. "The next time I saw you, you were riding the white mare for the first time." He smiled slightly as she stared at him, fascinated. "I expected the horse to unseat you, but she failed."

Jade interrupted again. "Why didn't you warn me, Erik?"

His smile broadened. "And what would you have had me do, my dear? Come out into the day light and introduce myself?" he said in a poking manner.

Looking down at the small hand in his, he held it possessively a little longer, and then released it.

"Jade, when you dance, you rival the stars."

The silence grew between them as he gently probed her eyes with his.

"Erik, I'm sorry that I didn't trust you at first," she finally said.

A gleam appeared in her eyes. Reaching out, she captured his hand.

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Erik lay in his bed, and stared at the door. She was asleep by now. They had spent the rest of the evening reading and discussing books. At that time, Jade had set aside her normal reticence, and asked him questions.

He smiled as he recalled them. They were philosophical in nature, such as: did he believe that animals had souls?

Erik had simply said, "Yes" without further explanation. Then, as he watched her dark head pour over her book, he thought of his beloved Sasha, the friend of his childhood. Someday, he would tell her about how much he had adored that dog.

But not tonight. It was all too new, this revealing parts of each other's souls. There was enough time ahead for them to slowly let slip the bits and pieces of their lives.

When it was time for her to retire, he had walked with her to her room. And like a callow, smitten youth, he had leaned against the doorframe, and ached for her to ask him in. As he stared down into her clear eyes, he wanted to swoop her up into his arms, and kiss her as she had never been kissed before. Then he would lay claim to her heart and that delightful body that was hidden below those mounds of loose woolens.

Turning onto his back, Erik folded his arms behind his head and shut his eyes. We are very near that moment, he considered with a restless joy. His heart sped up a little as he thought of her only a few feet away, resting peacefully. Just a little longer. She would come to him willingly, and want him the way he wanted her.

Perhaps not quite as badly, he thought with a wry smile. No matter. It will be enough.

Love was harder than it had been before. To steer a course devoid of manipulation and deceit had required him to take on a new skin, a new identity. Christine's farewell had challenged him to change or die in isolation.

He had risen to the challenge.

In return for giving up his brittle overconfidence, something sweeter and more resilient had taken residence in his heart: hope.

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It was Wednesday evening, and Jade had finished her work for the day. Shutting the office door, she walked quickly to the café. After her meal, she left her friends and went to her room where she retrieved the cashmere cloak. By the time she arrived at the storage room, it was nearly seven o'clock. She lit the lantern, sat upon a crate, and waited for Erik to arrive.

When they'd left each other yesterday morning, he had told her he would come for her this evening after dinner.

Earlier that evening, when she walked from the café to the opera house, snow had begun to fall. The huge, white flakes swirled down from the sky in fluffy, silent whorls. They clumped upon her dark hair, and covered her cloak with a lacey blanket as she detoured to the Place de l'Opéra. On that cold night, people of all ages were looking up and pointing at the sky. With child-like joy, they marveled at the white drift which gathered in the indigo sky.

It was a joy to be alive.

Jade looked about the dusty room, and impatiently tapped the side of a box with her foot as she waited for Erik. The first time they'd met had been in a storeroom. She laughed as she thought of the look on his face when she'd said, "Opera Ghost, I presume." In spite of his cool demeanor, there had been a glitter in his eyes. Had it been amusement at her sarcasm? Or was he still simply recovering from the physical blow she had dealt him?

What a strange life! The man she had feared had become very dear to her.

Getting up, she walked around the room, and poked into the crates to pass the time. She wished she had brought a book to read. Or better yet, to have a friend to share her feelings with. But with whom? Of her new friends, only Manette might understand. And what would she say to her? I have met an incredible man, and by the way, he's the Opera Ghost.

She sat on the crate and waited. After an hour, she rested her head on her arms. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep.

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When she awoke, it was considerably later. Jade got up, and stared at the wall that was the door to the passage beyond. There was no evidence that he had come while she slept.

Something has delayed him.

After an hour, she returned to her room. The clock on her dresser showed ten o'clock.

Slowly, she removed her clothes and dressed for bed. Then crawling under the covers, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and waited. He had come to her room later than this before.

The single candle burned low. By the time it sputtered out, she was fast asleep.

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Erik moved slowly away from the large house, and nearly slipped when he stepped on a slick spot on the street. He held his left arm close to his body, which eased the pain. His whole side was throbbing from the fall. Gritting his teeth, he lowered his head when a carriage passed by.

Once he got a few streets away, he hailed a cab. Climbing in slowly, he eased into the seat, and swung the door closed with his uninjured arm. Then he sat back, and wearily rested his head against the seat.

It had been a hellish night. Seeing Christine struggle in pain had nearly worn away his spirit. He had forced himself not to burst into the room and take her hand. That damned woman had not helped her enough! The husband had been a fool to leave her alone with that incompetent idiot until the doctor came.

He had watched in the shadows in agony until her labor was finished.

She has survived the ordeal, he thought with grim relief. He would check on her tomorrow. When she was past danger, Jules would be able to get additional information about her condition.

It was over, at least for now. "Until the next time," he growled to himself.

The bitterness had returned when he anxiously hovered near the tall window. His hatred and pain were alive again. He could not forgive the man for having touched her. If she had not needed a father for her newborn child, he would have slipped into the adjacent bedroom, and throttled the man as he sat by the fire.

"Damn this snow." He scowled into the storm.

The carriage arrived at the opera house, and skidded through the ankle deep snow that lay heavily on the plaza. After a sliding halt, Erik stepped out, and briefly held onto the side of the carriage until his footing was secure. Then he limped across the shimmering surface to the stark, gray building.

As he slipped into the black passage that led to his home, the silence welcomed him.