Hey everybody! I'm sorry for the wait. I've been preoccupied with college applications. So here's my next chapter.

Erik slept on the floor of my bedroom that night in some old blankets. I felt terribly guilty. He should have been in my bed, and I should have been on the floor, but he said that girls do not belong on the floor.

When I woke, the first thing that I heard was, "Shut your eyes," said by Erik as though I should not see something. A few minutes, then, "All right," in the same English voice. I opened my eyes. Erik was fixing his tie in my mirror. He smiled, finished, and as he walked to my door, he said, "Just because I sleep in the same room as you do now does not mean you can see me put my clothes on." And he opened the door, walked out and closed the door behind him.

I sprung to my feet and then to the door but stopped midway to put my robe on. After that, I walked out to the kitchen, my bare feet slapping the bare floor. How could he be so… sick?

"Erik Harold…ooh… What is it?" I started. His laughter doubled. "Don't you laugh at me, whatever your full name is! I should slap you! Slap you so hard I'll blow you all the way back to London, making despicable jokes like that!

"I would like to see you try!"

"Oooh!"

"Oh, and by the way, my full name is Erik Harold McEndrick Deveroux," he said, mischievously grinning.

The front door opened.

"Oh, just…!" but Erik's teasing look made me stop.

Two people walked in.

"You sound just like Eve."

"I do not!"

"You do! She always…"

This time Erik paid attention to the two people. I, in a mood to yell for the fun of it, did not. "Eve is a stubborn brat. You yourself said so!"

Erik looked at the door. I did, too, finally.

Michael and Meg were there, standing in my house that they had deserted.

Raoul and Thomas came in from wherever. Raoul looked happy, as usual, Thomas did not. Michael was angry, somewhat. Meg was, well, different. She looked more mature. And shocked.

"Wha- what is she doing here?" Michael asked. "And-"

"I came home," I announced after gaining control of myself. I also supposed that they had been here too, after I had left.

"Why?"

"I live here."

"Who is he?" Michael asked. "I think-"

Erik walked around the counters to Michael and held his hand out. "You know me as Sixth Officer Deveroux. Erik Deveroux."

Michael shook hands. "Good to see you again, Mr. Deveroux. Coming here from England, aren't you?"

"Seventy-five percent English, twenty-five percent German, too," Raoul added. "And he can say 'shut up' in German." Erik put his hands over his face as everyone else turned heads to Raoul. He put is hands carelessly in his pockets and shrugged.

"And what brings you here, Mr. Deveroux, with my sister?" Michael inquired.

"I gotta leave," Raoul said. "I am on the verge of laughter." Then he went out back.

"A tragic accident," Thomas blurted sarcastically. Now I did not expect him to believe my story anymore. Thomas would tell Michael what I had told him, and then they would laugh later.

Which was just what happened.

"What sort of tragic accident?" Michael asked.

"James shot Christine in the foot and Erik was her knight in armor and saved her," Thomas said, biting his lip.

A confused smile grew onto Michael's twenty-eight-year-old face. Meg's expression darkened. I shook my head in distaste and left to bathe.

When I got out of the bathroom to go to my room, I heard everyone talking together in the dining room. It was obvious that they were eating breakfast. I did not enter, but I heard:

"So, she just comes home with that wealthy Brit?" Michael asked.

"Yes," Thomas replied. "And he is constantly waiting on her. If you asked me, I don't think that she deserves him."

"Do you really think that they think of each other like that?" Raoul asked, "Christine doesn't know about…love and all that. She only knows how to cook, and that's good food, may I add, but she can't have some man pop out of nowhere."

"Well, look at the good side." Michael said. " If she wants, she'll go back to London and stay out of our lives. She never belonged, anyway. What do you think, Ann? Should we marry her off to an Englishman?"

"As Thomas said," Meg began, "I do not think she deserves him. She is less than he is, just as we are less than he is. He does not belong here. He should be in some fancy New York hotel drinking expensive champagne and acting snobbish."

If I did not bring myself to leaving at that moment, I would have rushed in and screamed in their faces. How dare they? How could they talk about Erik in that manner? Erik was anything but snobbish and if he were it would be as a joke. Such rudeness should not be tolerated. And yet I could not go in there and protest. Not while I was only in my robe, and I originally never had a say in anything. I would completely embarrass myself. Instead, I went and dressed.

Inside my room, I found a note, written in Erik's scribbled handwriting, as though he had been rushed.

I have gone out. I will be back by noon.

Erik

Excellent, I thought disdainfully. I had to make breakfast for myself and eat it alone.

After I was fully clothes without my stockings, I examined my month-old scar from James' bullet. Even if this wound ever disappeared, I would have another scar, for my brother caused this wound. My heart was scarred as well.

The wound was reddish brown and shape like a circle-dot. It hurt so much, whether I touched it or not. I was, however, used to the pain. The clot was like a small knife settled in my foot. I had been walking on my toe for the time I had not used the crutches. I put on my slippers and walked out to the kitchen. My brothers were still at the dining table with Meg and Raoul, talking and laughing. I took some bread out of the basket and as I buttered it, Michael said, " Oh, your boyfriend left." Then the four of them laughed at the mockery. But when I turned around to look at them, I saw that Raoul was sulkily frowning. Well, something must be wrong with him, I said to myself.

"Hey," Thomas said, hitting Raoul on his arm. "Why aren't you laughing?"

Raoul shrugged his shoulders. "Wasn't much funny." Then he set his fork down and left the table, with food still on his plate.

"He must be sick," Michael noted. "Physically, I mean. He hasn't touched his food."

"He must be jealous of Mr. I-Love-Christine," Thomas whispered. The three laughed. I, still fuming, took my bread to my room and slammed the door.

"Well, you don't have to shake the house!" Thomas shouted. I heard Meg's joyous giggle and the clattering of plates.

"Shh," Michael commanded. "Don't shout like that. The house is too old to tolerate it." But that brought more laughter from them.

"Then why didn't the house collapse at Christine's door?" Thomas asked.

"Because Christine's door, like Christine herself, is as weak as that ugly gray cat sleeping on the counter," Michael informed everyone in between laughs. I remained in my room until I realized that Michael had said 'that ugly gray cat on the counter.' I rushed out of the room. There was Magic, sleeping where the sun hit the counter. That was his favorite spot, if not the desk chair in D-30 on the Magic.

"Get it off," Thomas groaned. He got up. "Do you really want cat hair in our food?"

"Are you the one making the food?" I asked bitterly. Then I took Magic off of the counter and set him on the floor. He shook his head, stretched and walked away.

"Is that Raoul chopping firewood?" Meg asked. Michael got up and pulled Thomas outside with him. Meg came to the kitchen. I gathered the dishes from the table and put them in the sink. Meg watched me. I cleaned the table and returned to the sink.

"You have changed, Christine," Meg spoke quietly.

I ignored her.

"Really, you have. Why do you limp like that as you walk?"

"I was shot in the foot," I whispered.

"So, it's true? Thomas wasn't being--"

"No, he was not!" I snapped. I turned the faucet on. Meg sat at the counter.

She looked uncomfortably at the counter. "So, who is Eve? The girl you were talking of before as we came in?"

"Erik's sister."

She looked down again. "Are you upset by my marriage to your brother?"

I have a half chuckle, half sigh. "That is a stupid question."

"So you are?"

"Would you be?"

Meg sighed. "I do not know. I do not have a brother or sister to know."

I shook my head in disgrace.

"Do you need my assistance?" she offered.

"I would prefer most to be alone now."

"Did James shoot you?"

"Yes, he did." But now I doubt that you believe me.

Meg fell silent. I hope that you are sensing the tension that I am, I thought. She seemed to.

"Would you have any idea why Raoul is chopping firewood in mid-March?"

"No."

"He looks angry," she commented as she gazed out the window from the counter.

"Why so?"

"He is not laughing with our brothers."

It occurred to me then that with Meg married, she had brothers and I had a sister.

The dishes washed, I wiped the counter, especially where Magic had sat.

"The cats grew," Meg said.

I suddenly wanted to ask where they had come from, but my anger at Meg held my tongue.

"Where is Bright? Do you call him that? And Magic?"

Bright would have most likely been on my bed. Magic would be there next to him, having been abruptly kicked out of his counter spot.

"You are not answering."

"I do not see the need."

"What has gotten into you?" she demanded. "You are pouting like a child! That is not acceptable!"

"Well, Meg," I spoke heatedly and quickly, "we all can't be as mature as you, you know." I put the cloth down and walked to my room, ignoring the look of stabbing pain on Meg's face.

I stayed on my bed for a minute until I decided that I should unpack my things and resettle. I noticed I had lost a blanket due to the fact that I had to empty space for Magic and Bright in my 'scraggly thing' to flee James' hideout. I would need another.

It took me great time to do the task of unpacking. I also rearranged the places of some of the things in my room, trying to change. I reorganized my closet, changed my sheets and fixed my crookedly placed desk by aligning it with the wall. I noted the dust that had coated over the three books and the small jewelry box I had left behind to go to England. While walking to the door to get a cloth to dust with, I realized that I was kicking dust along the dark floor. All right, maybe I shall get a broom. There is no harm in doing that.

When I was in the kitchen, Meg looked at me from outside. They were all sitting at our wooden table, darkened by mold, dirt and age. They seemed to be prying information out of Raoul, and he seemed reluctant.

The front door opened. I realized that there had been knocking and I had not responded. It was Erik, and I was relieved. I eagerly told him everything my brothers had said about him. To my surprise and amusement, he laughed. I asked why he had done so, and he said that he had anticipated this sort of reaction, after all I had said about them. Nonetheless, I was upset.

Michael and Meg spent three nights at my house in Michael's old bedroom. Raoul took the couch in the living room. Erik still bunked on my floor, while the words guilt, guilt, guilt would run through my head.

"Do you know," I told Erik on the Friday after Meg and Michael had left, "it hadn't occurred to me that you could have used the couch."

"Well, if you want me to, I'll go there," he said.

When he took some blankets to the couch that night, he did not look the slightest bit relieved. He obviously liked sleeping in the same room as me. However, I was relieved when I woke up on Saturday morning and Erik was not dressing himself.

We could not find a church that Erik would go to on Sunday, so we did not go. For the whole day, Erik was terribly depressed, thinking he was not being faithful. On Monday, he told me during breakfast that he had to leave that day. He had not signed on, and the train ride to New York would take long.

"Should have gone yesterday," he mumbled while packing in my room.

"Well, you were so busy moping about not going to church that…"

"How humorous!"

"I am being serious!" My smile shrunk when I saw Erik's frown. "Do you need anything from me?"

"Just be careful," he murmured.

"Just be careful? You do not want anything else?"

"No." He locked his trunk and picked it up. I followed him into the kitchen where he set the trunk on the floor of the counter. "Well," the smile returning to his face, he said, "I guess that I will need a bit of help on how to get a carriage."

I gave him directions. "Anything else?"

"No." After a moment, he said, "You sound very much like a waitress."

"Do I?"

"Yes, but I should imagine that you are used to it, correct?"

"I think so, waiting on my brothers since birth, almost."

"Oh, yeah," Raoul sneered, entering through the back door. "You've worked so hard." He put his hand on the counter and leaned on it.

Erik sighed, and remarked accusingly, "I hope you have noticed that the whole time I have been here, I have been ignoring your cruelty to Christine and myself. I have tried, at least."

Raoul opened his mouth to speak.

Erik continued, "You could at least give it a rest. She has had a lot of trouble."

Raoul did not speak. He closed his mouth.

Erik picked up his trunk and walked to the door. With his grin, he said, "Good-bye, for now." He glanced at Raoul, who was still at the back door. "Maybe I'll see you soon."

I was the one to open the door for him.

"Good-bye," I said, closing the door as Erik walked down the street to find a coach.

Little did I know that by letting Erik go back to work, I was increasing Thomas' anger at me. I did not know why he was mad, but he was as he always had been towards me, grouchy and silent as a rat. He avoided my look and me for two weeks, in which I got used to my old life, cooking and cleaning for everyone, bit now everyone was just Thomas and Raoul.

In two weeks, I realized, Erik had finished his voyage to England. He was home, having arrived by the first or the second of April.

Raoul's mood was more cheerful by April. His appetite went back to normal, and his jokes and his eagerness to work around the house increased, too. He seemed to… appreciate me more. He often tried to bring joy to Thomas' face, but every time I walked into a room preoccupied by the both of them, Thomas' laughter would stop. In a way, Raoul and I were in a tug of war to keep Thomas in one mood; Raoul pulled for happiness, and I pulled for anger. Not that I did it intentionally. My mere existence annoyed Thomas, but he seemed to know that he could not throw me out because I would have nowhere to go and live. I certainly had no money for ship travel to Europe again, although I did think of that option. And if Erik came again, I would not use his money.

As far as I was with busying myself, that did not go all too bad. I did my chores and found myself spending time with Raoul. Yes, Raoul. Well, I tried to talk to my cats, but Raoul overheard me and then settled me down to tell me some gruesome stories about insane asylums. After that, my conversation was made only with Raoul if he were at home.

On the third day of April, a Thursday, Thomas opened his mouth to me, an action that shocked me, in a way. Because I had not anticipated him to storm through the front door that day after work at the furniture store to say, or actually yell, "That is it, young lady, you and I will talk right now!" As though it had been my fault that we had not been speaking to one another.

Raoul, at the dining table, was trying desperately to figure out how something worked for his job, and was quietly complaining to himself that he knew of no such thing and would never have the proper knowledge.

"What would you like to talk about?" I timidly inquired, putting my needlework materials in my basket to make room for him on the couch. Thomas did not sit on the couch next to me, though. He took a seat on the other side of the room and said, "Where did you get the money for England?"

"She pick pocketed the newspaper man," Raoul called to us sarcastically.

"You imbecile!" Thomas called back, annoyed. "It's called a newspaper boy, not man!"

"I told you I don't have the proper knowledge about these things. Don't jump on me."

I let out a giggle. Thomas turned to me and shot a glare: shut up.

I did.

"So, where did you get the money from?" he asked again.

"I took what I saw," I replied.

"FROM WHERE!"

Raoul jumped in his chair. "You don't have to jump on her, either."

Thomas turned to Raoul and said, "Rather than sitting there and wasting time, get up and do something constructive."

"Such as….?"

"Make supper."

I laughed at this one. Thomas did not stop me, though.

"And I am doing something constructive. I am desperately trying to decipher this odd system."

"Keep to yourself then."

Raoul added in a Southern twang, "And it's Christine's job to do the cooking 'round these parts." My laughter continued wildly while Thomas still maintained his 'Man of the house" attitude and groaned, "You said last night she should have a break, so why don't you give it to her?"

He did?

My laughs desisted completely. Both men fixed their stares on me. Thomas returned back to me and his interrogation.

"Back to why I am speaking to you. Whom did you take the money from?"

"Nobody in particular. I took all the money in the house," I told him.

"Oh," he breathed. "So you snooped around our rooms while we were gone?"

"Yes, I did. Do you mind?"

"Very much," Raoul cut in.

"You will close your mouth before I throw those papers into your mother's outhouse," Thomas ordered.

"Aww, you're too paranoid."

"Don't make me have to get up," Thomas threatened.

Raoul fell silent.

"And yes, Christine, I am quite disturbed that you poked around our bedrooms and took our money," Thomas informed me.

Raoul feigned a cry. Thomas and I took no notice of him.

I tried to defend myself. "Well, no one was home, and I presumed nobody would come back…."

"And James shot you?"

My expression froze; I felt it.

"He-"

"Tell me about it."

Raoul stopped what he was doing to listen. He stared down at the papers in front of him.

I told Thomas everything. From the last American newspaper I read to my second boarding of the Magic. And Thomas neither laughed nor struck me.

When I was finished, Thomas stayed silent as he had for the half hour it took me to tell him what he asked of me. I looked at Raoul. He was in the very same affixed position as when I had started speaking, as still as the papers on the table.

"Do you believe me, or not?" I asked.

"No, of course not." I immediately sighed and let my shoulders down from tension. "I want you to know that I don't believe you," he continued. He was not being sarcastic or wise. "I think that this is a stupid concoction of a story, a lousy excuse for some of my sympathy and attention. Now, I give you permission to clean up your things and make supper."

He gives me permission to make supper. I got up and did as I was told, not wanting to incur my brother's anger once more.