A/N: Okay, so at the prodding of a friend (and of Erik, haha) I am posting this chapter a day ahead of the schedule I planned. This chapter and the next one will go together, so I hope that it confuses no one. You're all smart and observant readers anyhow, so I know you'll be great:) Next chapter will be up hopefully in a week or so. Thanks, everyone for your reviews!

Chapter Sixty-Seven

My Son,

I trust that all is well with you and your sweet wife. I promised you that I would write when I arrived, and I am making good on that promise. I have come into a very difficult situation, unlike any that I have known before. It appears that I was not fully informed about the situation here. Father Tomescu is glad to have me, but he was surprised to learn that I had not yet been told about the state of affairs.

The Church is reluctantly allowing this orphanage to remain open, at the persistent urging of Father Tomescu. It seems that in the past twenty-five years of operation, it has become overrun with "undesirables." Neither Father Tomescu nor myself have had any success in securing men to help with the repairs to this facility. They refuse to help us, because of the origin of most of our orphans. Though the Rroma people have been declared free for nearly thirty years now, there is a dark cloud that seems to hang over them...they are hated, Erik. Despised. And yet, when I look into the eyes of the children, I can find nothing there but innocence. We are even forced to pay medical doctors outrageous sums of money to come and treat the young ones who are infirm. I am appalled and disgusted...and I find that I cannot turn away from the need.

The necessary repairs are vast. Much worse than I anticipated. The structure is becoming unstable due to poor upkeep. Father Tomescu has done his best, but with no others to share the labor, there was little that he could do. There are four sisters of charity who reside here as well and care for the young ones. They also have done their best to aid in repairs when not soothing those who cry for their attention.

Just twice this week, we have had infants left on our doorstep in the night...they are from the Gypsy bands...roaming through, looking for work in the nearby villages...I can hear them as I toss and turn in my bed. I haven't had a full night's sleep since I arrived, Erik. My mind has been so restless... We named the first child, a boy, Joseph. He must be no older than three months...he has resisted taking the bottle as he was not properly weaned. The other, a girl, we named Esther, for surely she has come into the world for such a time as this. The sisters tell me she is likely past six months. She cries often...day and night...like many of the others. There is a purpose for them under Heaven. I must believe that.

No one comes here seeking children. This situations seems so impossible...yet I know that with God, all things are possible. Please, my boy...both of you pray for the work here that is to be done. I know that Heaven will hear.

Your Father,

Eugéne Michel

Eugéne? His Christian name is Eugéne? Why did I never know this before? Erik folded the letter and placed it in his Bible, planning to share it with Christine the next morning during their time together over breakfast. This is horrible! Lord, why have you sent him into such an awful situation? He had tried to come to terms with Father Michel's absence in the only way he could over the few weeks since his departure...by turning to his wife and friends in conversation, and to his God in prayer. He had even composed a new piece, and was proud that something good had come of this pain. Yet he still had no clear direction, and the waiting game was growing more difficult day by day...

"Erik?" Christine came into the study without knocking. He had purposely left the door open a bit, hoping that she would come and join him.

"Mon amour," he murmured, standing and placing his Bible on the ledge by the window, bathing it in the light from the setting sun. "Come with me...I need you to sing for me."

He led her to the piano in the sitting room and she sang an aria that he had taught her years before. He accompanied her on the piano, smiling as she finished. "Still beautiful as always," he cooed softly. "Sit with me."

"Sit with you? There?"

He patted the bench beside him. "Come," he breathed, a hint of desire in his voice.

She raised an eyebrow but did as he asked. As she sat, he wrapped his arms around her waist, which had thickened slightly over the past weeks. He kissed her curls, burying his nose in them, inhaling their lavender scent. He began to sing a song to her in an unfamiliar language. His voice beckoned, calling to her with a sweetness, and yet...a hint of the darkness and danger that she once knew in him. She leaned into his chest, her stomach tightening at the thought of being with him...it has been too long.

As if sensing her emotion, he stood, lifting her from the bench into his arms, never faltering in his song. It continued to repeat in an intricate pattern, weaving a fabric of desire into her soul. She refused to fight it...she had missed her husband and his touch, and the oneness that she could not live without.

"I need you," she whispered.

And he answered her without words...

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Christine sat, her lip trembling, as Erik read Father Michel's letter aloud at the breakfast table the next morning. He finished, and she still said nothing, simply chewing her tongue to keep herself from bursting into tears.

"It sounds like an impossible situation, I know," Erik remarked, his voice low and sorrowful. "How are they to get anything accomplished without the help of people from the nearby villages? I can't believe that they won't help...they're only children--"

"Gypsy children, Erik," Christine added at last. "To many, even here in France, they aren't people...just a wandering nuisance."

"I realize that all too well, cherie." Erik stated grimly, pursing his lips in thought. "I need to go to the firm today to see how things are progressing with a few of the newer projects. I may not be home until dark...you don't need to prepare a meal for me tonight. I'll just eat something before I travel home."

"Oh. Well, I suppose that's alright...if you promise to bring me something sweet...perhaps a pastry or some chocolate." Christine's eyes went wide at the word "chocolate," and Erik laughed.

"Ah, yes! Your favorite. Well, mon amour, I shall do my best to procure something sweet for your palate tonight. You just make sure to get some rest today."

"Actually, I've been feeling better...I haven't felt ill for several days now, and I thought I might do some cleaning. The drapes are getting dusty, and--"

"Oh, no you won't! You're not to be climbing up on anything, do you understand me?" Erik scolded her with a furrowed brow. "Rest. Do as you're told, Madame Durand," he said,winking at her as his expression softened.

Christine rolled her eyes and sighed. "Let me be useful while I still can be...before I become too large to accomplish anything aside from lying around all day due to exhaustion!" She huffed. "I'm not an invalid."

"No," he said softly, kissing her forehead. "You're my wife...the woman that I love. And you're carrying my child. No drapes, Christine."

His grave expression caused her to hold her tongue from any further argument, and she nodded in compliance. He tilted her chin upward with a finger and smiled as her eyes met his. "I love you, you know."

The sudden tenderness in his eyes made her stomach flutter. "I love you, too, Angel," she smiled. "Be careful traveling...and have a good day at the office today."

"I will." He leaned down to claim her lips in a tender kiss. "And I won't forget your chocolate," he teased her.

Hours later, she was alone and began to feel a familiar exhaustion sweeping over her again. As she lay down on the bed, she felt an uncomfortable twinge in her belly.

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her lower abdomen in surprise. Immediately she laughed at herself. I never know what to expect with this little one! Without warning, she felt an urge to urinate and rushed to the lavatory. My goodness...is this normal? As she finished and stood, she gasped. Red. Oh, God...blood? "What...what is happening?" she said aloud, her whole body trembling. She felt a chill rush through her as a pain radiated across her stomach and into her back. She cried out in pain, bending over at the waist. She raised her skirts quickly to sit down again, and felt a warm liquid running down her inner thighs.

"Oh, God...no...no!" she screamed before she felt blackness engulf her, and she fell to the floor, her head nearly hitting the side of the door as her legs gave way. "Erik..." she moaned groggily, before succumbing completely to the clammy darkness of unconsciousness.

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"Christine? Christine!" the voice seemed to be miles away, calling her name... "Christine! Mon ange, where are you?"...growing closer...louder...

Erik?

"Oh, dear Jesus! Christine! Oh, God!"

She heard her husband's voice distantly, as if he were in crowded room, yet she felt his arms around her as she was lifted from the floor. Her head was pounding and her entire body ached.

"Oh, Jesus...God!" Erik's voice was laced with panic, and she felt the soft bed beneath her before she drifted back into the blackness...grateful for it.

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Doctor Farzin stepped out of the bedroom into the hallway and closed the door softly behind him. He sighed and slowly made his way to the sitting room, where Erik was perched uneasily in an armchair, head in his hands. He heard the small man's footsteps and looked up sharply, his eyes reddened. "Christine?"

"She is resting comfortably. She may be asleep for some time…I have given her a small dose of laudanum for the pain."

Erik swallowed hard and stumbled over his next question. "And the…the baby?"

The doctor frowned, his sorrowful eyes peering over the rims of his glasses. "Erik, I'm...I'm so very sorry. Sometimes...it just happens."

Erik stared at him in disbelief. He spoke, but the words did not fully register in his mind. "I need to see her."

"Of course. I've left some laudanum with instructions on the nightstand if she should need it for any pain. If she begins to run a fever, you must not hesitate to send for me at once."

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor," Erik remarked vaguely. He stood and walked away from him, not bothering to see him to the door. The doctor took his cue, understanding the sorrow of the moment, and left, closing the front door behind him.

Erik slowly approached the bedroom, trying not to wake Christine. She lay on their bed, covered to her chest with a blanket, resting peacefully. He slipped noiselessly across the room and knelt down by the bed, gently reaching for her hand. It was warm, and he pressed it to his cheek. In a harsh whisper, he poured out what was in his heart. "Oh, Christine, my darling. Oh, God…oh, God, why?" He sighed raggedly, letting the reality of his loss penetrate his heart and mind at last. He began to release his sorrow, wetting the blanket with his tears. "Our baby! Our child! Why? Why? Have you not forgiven me for my wrongs? Was I mistaken? The least You could have done was take it out on me alone, not my wife and child! Oh, God!" He sobbed for over an hour, glad that Christine was sedated and could not hear him. He cried out in anger and sorrow until he was utterly spent. When he stood at last, he rounded the bed on aching knees and lay his large frame upon the blanket, turning toward Christine. As he stroked her hair, he fell into a deep and haunting sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

From somewhere in his emerging consciousness, Erik was keenly aware that he was being watched. He slowly opened his eyes and looked, blinking, into the face of his wife. She was rubbing his arm and gazing at him solemnly, her face slightly pale and her eyes reddened from weeping. He reached up to caress her cheek and moved his head closer to her own, so that their foreheads were nearly touching. I have no idea what I should say. He was so overcome with his own grief that he could not offer any proper words of comfort to Christine, so he simply lay there with her, stroking her face and gazing at her until she closed her eyes again in sleep. After several minutes, the first rays of dawn began to appear at the window, and he lifted himself gracefully from the bed, being careful not to jar her from her slumber. Turning to look upon her once more before he left the bedroom, he closed the door silently behind him.

He lumbered heavily down the hallway, passing the study and the music room without a glance, headed toward the kitchen. Slumping into a high-backed chair at the small breakfast table, he put his head in his hands. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed his black, leather bound Bible resting near the corner of the table, its edges beginning to show wear, none of the pages clinging together. It had been well read, every morning over coffee. Much of the time, Erik read by himself until Christine rose a short while later, joining him at the table, where he recited to her certain passages he considered worthy of discussion. They always prayed together afterward, and then he spent the day at his desk in the corner of the study, where he kept his architectural drawings, working steadily.

But today was different. Erik stared at the Bible, looming before him. He was furious at God, for the first time since his days at the Opera. The words mock me, he thought, though he knew deep within himself that it wasn't true. He sat for a few moments in blankness and confusion, before he abruptly stood from his chair and strode to the stove to make coffee. The house was quiet…too quiet. He was completely alone with his own thoughts, aside from an unspoken presence that he had come to know each morning. Even today, of all days, he still felt it. He knew that once more, he was being watched by the One who sees all things. He sat down in his chair again with his coffee, and made mental excuses as to why he should never pick up his Bible again.

"How can I ever believe what You say anymore?" he wondered aloud, angrily slamming his coffee cup to the table surface. Some of the hot liquid leapt from the side of the cup, landing on the back of his hand. He hissed sharply and drew back in pain. "You have taken my child from me, and You have broken my wife's heart! There is nothing that You can say that will atone for this grievous error!" he growled. He picked up the Bible, fully prepared to throw it to the floor, but found that he couldn't. He closed his eyes and held it tightly in his left hand.

"I can't do this," he said more softly. "I can't…I don't understand why You have done this, but I…" He found himself unable to finish as tears flowed silently at first, but slowly his gasps increased in their frequency, and he could no longer contain himself. As he began to sob, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Then from the depths of his being, a torturous wail pierced the otherwise silent house. He was amazed that such a sound could emanate from any grown man, let alone himself. He slid from the chair and dropped to his knees before prostrating himself on the kitchen floor. Brokenness and humility flooded his being, and he was unconcerned with his appearance as he cried out to God for understanding. Suddenly, he was reminded of David from the Psalms that he had read so many times before. He lost his son, as well, he thought. His first child. But that was because of his own sin, wasn't it? So what have I done to warrant this, Lord? Have I not tried to serve you with my whole heart? Have I not also given of my income and my time as well? Have I not done so cheerfully? Why? Why has this happened to us? He wept silently, then, praying for an answer, and after a time, he sensed a peace in the room. He fully expected that if he were to look up, he would see God Himself standing before him. Then, like a whisper , came again a Voice in his heart: What did my Son do to warrant so much pain?

"What?" Erik whispered bitterly. He knew that he had clearly heard the question, but he had no idea what the voice was really asking. "What do you mean by this?"

As if in response,a Scripture verse penetrated his mind: "In this world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world."

"Be of good cheer? Good cheer, at a time like this? You are cruel, as I always believed!" His voice was cold, and trembled with an increasing anger.

"There is no cruelty in Me…only goodness. It was My will to crush my Son and cause Him to suffer. Are you not grateful that He took your punishment?"

Erik was stunned. "You know that I am! But…"

"My Son did not deserve the pain that He suffered. He did so to fulfill My perfect will. And My will is perfect, though you may not always understand. Trust in Me with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Me, and I will make your paths straight."

Erik waited, feeling the trembling of his body against the cold floor.

"Your child is with Me and he waits for you until the proper time. He will not return to you, but you will go to him, even as David has now come to his son. All things will be restored and made right in My Kingdom...there will be no pain or sorrow. You will see him soon. Remember that He was My child even before he was yours. Comfort your wife with My words."

Erik's leg jerked as he woke with a start on the kitchen floor, wondering if he had really been dreaming. It was too real, he marveled. He sat up on his knees, shaking and weeping, allowing the words of comfort to begin to heal his heart.

Standing at last on wobbly legs, he made his way to the bedroom where Christine lay.

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A/N: Okay...I'm almost afraid to ask for reviews. I can't apologize to those of you who may be disappointed in the direction of this story, though...I wrote it as I envisioned it. I can say however, that you shouldn't worry...the story's not over yet. :)