It was cold out, so Bella made sure to wear the soft fur-lined cap her friend Katarina had knitted for her. There were gloves, but her hands were clumsy in those, so she chose a thick black wool muff instead. The basket over one elbow was smaller than the one she'd used for so many years before.

She didn't need to bring as much food home anymore. Not many necessities at all, really. Klaus had been away at university for over a year and had recently written home to tell her about this girl he'd met at a local cafe. He didn't need anything from her now except the rare care package that a mother couldn't help but send her grown child. She didn't find herself as hungry as she used to, so that meant even less food in the house.

And Erik …

Bella's chest burned in a throbbing pain as if her heart had been torn out at the wound was still healing. It hurt every single day that she had to remember her husband was gone. Buried beneath a beautiful headstone that Klaus had designed himself. A simple rectangular cube served as the placard and base for an androgynous child statue. The child had rounded, almost cherubic cheeks, eyes at half-mast, with wispy hair that brushed the back of the neck and the top of the shoulders. The clothes were essentially just as gender-less as the body of the child, except for the fact that it wore a set of trousers over bare feet. The waif held a violin under his or her chin, and had a look of utter bliss on its' face as it stood forever drawing the bow across the strings of its' instrument.

It had cost an absolute fortune. Especially since the engraver of the plaque charged by the latter. But Klaus had insisted that if his father could not be sent home to his birth place to rest, then he would have a stone suitable to the man he'd been. Bella (with a substantial amount of money she had been saving through work over the years because Erik had invested wisely and earned a large but not massive fortune for her future) could not deny her child his last desperate desire to honor his father. It seemed like the decision on her sons' part had been his final step towards manhood.

She walked along the quietly bustling city street and paused at a florist in order to purchase a tiny wreath of flowers. It was almost a joke that she would buy these little wreathes and hang them on the scroll of the violin or about the statue's head like a crown. It was just a touch of disrespect that Erik's humor would have appreciated.

She could remember waking the previous spring to find the other side of the bed shockingly cold and still and quiet. At seventy-nine, Erik had lived a long and full life. His health had been slowly deteriorating even if it never reached a stage that left him utterly helpless and bitterly enraged. His problems had never served as more than a moderate annoyance. And that left his death all the more sudden and shocking to her. It was a good thing that Klaus was away at school, because her hysteria would have utterly shamed her if he had been there to witness it. TO see his mother crying, wailing, shaking the body, and then collapsing over it in a weeping moaning wreck.

Eventually she'd calmed and felt peace; as if Erik's soul had sensed her distress and come to stand by her side and brush her cheek with the back of his fingertips. Bella in no way believed this had actually been the case. Erik was not the type of person who would linger near the world that had at one time been so cruel to him. Perhaps he was watching over her somewhere and supporting her emotionally … but he was not like she had been. She knew this, simply and with no bitterness. But … she had known by then that the feeling of Erik remaining nearby existed in her heart.

That didn't make the funeral or passage of time any easier. She still felt the need to sit by his grave site and talk to him regularly, wearing dark clothes completely unlike her usual style. Her only concession to color was often a dicklo – something very few had ever seen on her over the years, since she had given up many of the gypsy practices she'd grown up with. The shock of canary yellow, rose pink, or royal purple often turned scandalized heads. But her position in the community was solid enough where she was forgiven the oddities.

She made it to the cemetery and, this time, laid the wreath at the base of her son's well chosen words.

Erik Sauveterre

1831-1905

Loving husband and father

"Music expresses that which cannot be put into words;

and that which cannot remain silent." ~ Victor Hugo

Erik and Niklaus had loved Victor Hugo. Although not brilliant like his father, Klaus had been very fond of music, art, and literature. He'd been quite the advanced reader, and it had given father and son hours of time together to read and laugh and debate whatever came into the house. That particular quote had been her husband's absolute favorite.

"You see? Hugo understands! This is why I play for your mother so often. For words no longer suffice. I simply lack the proper vocabulary now!"

Bella swallowed thickly with a bittersweet smile.

"Good morning, miri ves'tacha." she whispered. One of the only gypsy practices she still clung to was the necessity for a name of a loved one never to be spoken aloud. She wanted to say more. To talk to the statue as though Erik were listening on the other side of it. She had been in mourning for a long time. Nearly a full year. Erik would have detested that; and he would have railed at her for following societal norms. But Bella did not mourn for those reasons. She was in her forties – nearly the age Erik had been when she'd returned to him. That was a very long time to love someone. Nearly thirty years of a living life, and then thirty more from beyond the grave. Grief was not so easily released.

For several minutes she stood resisting the urge to pace, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer that simply didn't exist.

"I know what you're thinking." she blurted out suddenly. "I should not let myself grow into a bitter, lonely old crone forever mourning your loss. I should move on and be happy. And I want to. Really... I'm not avoiding my life! I just … I … haven't quite figured out how..."

Sighing, she shook her head.

"I … I guess I'll come back in a few days. ...Maybe tomorrow."

Arabella kissed her own fingertips and then caressed them against the cheek of the statue child, as if caressing Erik's cheek.

"Akana mukav tut le Devlesa, miri ves'tacha..." she breathed. It was a Roma funereal saying. Something she always said to the tombstone.

'I leave you to God, my beloved.'

"Vatcho drom."

She decided not to do any actual shopping that day. But going directly home wasn't an option. She was chilled almost to the bone due to the winter cold, and the bakery was on her way. Just being in its' vicinity made her feel tempted to step inside and feel the warmth of the ovens. Already she could smell sugar, cinnamon, yeast, and hot honey. How could she not go in and maybe find something delicious to snack on and warm herself?

A bell hanging over the door clanged almost angrily as she went in, and a head poked out of the back where the ovens were. Martin Ortner was around Bella's age, and she had known him since moving into the neighborhood. Back then his father had still been alive and Martin had been his underappreciated apprentice. The young man who was told to clean the shop and deal with the customers and keep his hands away from the recipes and ingredients. It turned out this had all been for public view, while secretly Martin had been learning how to master the art his father was only mediocre at.

Martin had married in the time Bella had known him. She and Erik had even been invited to the wedding – since it took place out on the street where the bakery was and anyone in the vicinity was welcome. Martin's father had made a beautiful but simple cake to celebrate and given free honey rolls to all the wittnesses. Bella remembered thinking how lucky young Constance was. She was marrying a man who made food for a living. She would never go to bed hungry. And Martin seemed extremely affable and was reasonably handsome with dark, wet-beach sand colored hair and green-blue hazel eyes. He had sharp cheekbones, a wide jaw, and a tiny cleft in his chin just deep enough to notice.

He was definitely a catch for the right young lady.

The marriage had only lasted, sadly, four years. Constance had been with child three times, miscarried twice, and then died along with the third baby due to complications in childbirth. It had devastated Martin, of course, and the bakery had been closed for nearly two weeks while he recovered from the worst of his grief. No one had been there by then to open the shop, because Martin had yet to acquire an assistant or apprentice, and his father had been in the ground for seven months.

Since then, Martin had found himself again but chosen to dive headlong into his business rather than finding love again. From anything Bella had noticed over the years, he had not been avoiding life or love. He simply hadn't found it.

"He's waiting for you." Erik had teased her once. For some reason, Erik really liked the baker. He often joked about his jealousy of the mans' good looks and youth … but he'd never been bitter in his opinion that Martin liked his young beautiful wife. It wasn't as if Martin never flirted noticeably with her – even in front of Erik. But that was just it. He flirted in front of all women's husbands. He claimed jealousy and love-sickness in a way that seemed charming and inoffensive. Bella didn't believe for a moment Martin was sincere. She just saw it as his way of showing everyone he was all right, and well recovered from his insurmountable loss.

"Frau Sauveterre!" Martin exclaimed, showing her a wide smile. "Look at you, all rosy cheeked and glowing!"

"It's the wind." Bella waved off his attempted compliment. "It's close to freezing out there."

'well, I'm glad to see color back in your cheeks regardless of the cause." he chuckled. "What can I get for you today?"
Bella perused the options already lying out for immediate purchase.

"I thought perhaps some of that bread with all the seeds in it. The poppy and sesame."

"All right." Martin held up a hand to indicate she should wait. "There's a completely fresh loaf coming out of the oven in about twenty seconds, if you'll give me a moment."

"No!" Bella protested, laughing. "What's already made will be fine!"

Martin ignored her and disappeared into the back room, leaving Bella to huff in exasperation. When he returned carrying a steaming loaf of bread in a towel, she shook her head at him in disbelief.

"I take care of my best customers, Madame." Martin explained. He placed the bread on the counter to cool a moment while Bella took out the amount she knew the bread cost. She was surprised, though, when he selected multiple mixed berry tarts and placed them in a small bag to place beside the bread.

"Herr Ortner-" Bella tried to protest.

"Please, call me Martin, Madame." Martin insisted. "How long have we known one another now?"

A twinge of unease went through her at his friendly, eager expression.

"All right … Martin." she slowly conceded. "But you don't need to keep giving me these free sweets. I know what they cost to make!'

She did, too. She'd learned a great deal about cooking since Klaus was a baby. Not that she was particularly good. But the ingredients were quite pricey.

"I like to see that such a little sacrifice puts a little light back in your eyes." Martin pressed. "Please. It is good to see even a tiny smile from you, Frau Sauveterre. Let me have the honor of just a little one. Even if only due to a free sweetie."

Sighing, Bella accepted the bag, fighting the way her lips tried to draw upward.

"You are utterly incorrigible." she accused. "If I am to call you Martin, then you should call me Bella."

Martin bowed in gratitude.

"Have a lovely day, Frau Bella. Come back and see me very soon, yes? I want to see that smile again by the end of the week!"

Bella thought he was half insane, the way he acted. But she still felt as if something was different this morning. He often went out of his way to give her fresh bread or expensive sweets for free. She had rarely seen him do things like that for other customers.

Not that she stood there all day watching him do business.

He is just being kind. She thought to herself.

But was he? It wasn't as though she only noticed Martin looking to her in the bakery. They passed on the street, saw each other at church … He quite often went out of his way to clasp her hand and ask how she was doing. More than most people did. Even the priest.

What if Erik was right about Martin having admired her? Perhaps Martin hadn't been waiting for her husband to die so he could swoop in and take the older mans' place … They'd had long discussions together after church or in the bakery about their lost loved ones. Martin had deeply respected Erik – although God knew why. Erik hadn't been anything more than civil to Martin their entire acquaintance. But … now that she was free, perhaps he was allowing himself just a little bit more freedom to show his admiration of her?

She glanced over her shoulder towards the bakery, wondering how insane she must be to entertain any thoughts of being admired by another man. Entertaining thoughts that she, in her own way, admired him back.

Martin had not gone back into the area where his goods were baking. He stood in front of the counter. He was needlessly arranging and re-arranging a pyramid of delightfully decorated cupcakes on display in the window. His eyes on her. She knew they were on hewr because their gazes nearly met and he hastily looked away while color suffused his already ruddy cheeks.

A slight giddiness and lightness started in the pit of her stomach, and Bella slowly turned back around to walk home in a near daze.

Well … Maybe she would be ready soon enough to move on with her life and find love again as Erik would have wanted. For now it was enough to entertain the pure fantasy that just a little more happiness might lie in the future for her.

Just as Erik would have wanted.

~Fin

Translation:

Vatcho Drom – Safe journey

Author's Note:

Thank you for taking this incredible journey with me! Although Arabella of course lost Erik in the end, she will never be truly without him. And she will be able to find some semblance of happiness without him just as he once did without her. All we can do is trust that they found each other later; in another life, and that their love is truly the love of soul mates.

If anyone is interested in alternate universes, let me know. E.M.K.81 and I have been playing with these characters for a long time now. Without her help I never could have completed Bella and Erik's journey. And we have so many thoughts on how things could have been different … if Bella had never died … if they'd met in another era... oh all kinds of ideas!