A/N: Yes, again, it's been too long for an update. My only excuse continues to be real life and utter mental exhaustion. LOL! So, here it is and I'm sorry I kept you all waiting for this update.

Chapter Seventy-Two

"Pass me that claw hammer!" Erik shouted from atop a ladder, leaning firmly against the side of a large wooden frame that he had constructed. Making architectural plans was one thing, but manual labor was something he hadn't done in a very long time. He chuckled to himself as Father Michel nearly tripped over his own feet rushing to bring him the desired object. "Thank you, old man!"

Father Michel planted his hands on his hips and glared up at Erik, unamused. "My boy, you may jest when we are alone, but when there are children and others in our presence, would you please address me by my proper title?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "Alright, Father. But it's not as if any of these children speak our language... or do they?" He second guessed himself. "Well, they're too young to understand anyhow." He looked down from his work to the grounds below. There were about a dozen children playing with a ball in the nearby field, running barefoot and laughing. He smiled to himself as he realized that after two months, he had lost some of his novelty among a select group of the older children. At first, it had been a fairly unpleasant scenario.

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Upon first arriving at the orphanage just outside Giurgiu, Father Michel had warned Erik and Christine that many of the older children still held some of the superstitions of their people. Erik had thought at the time that the children may be frightened of his appearance, but once he stepped on the grounds, he knew that there was no possible way anyone could be more frightened than he...and he couldn't explain it, other than the fact that he was revisiting terrifying childhood memories. When he saw the first dark-eyed, olive-skinned child, his throat instantly went dry. He had clung so fiercely to his wife's upper arm that she winced in pain. He could still recall the look of understanding in her eyes, however, as they made their way through the crowded orphanage, filled with the smells of soiled diapers, bleached floors and cooked cereal. Dear God...what have I gotten myself into?

The hesitant smiles from several of the Sisters did more to unnerve him as he passed them, doing his best to avoid their eyes. He felt as if he were on display once again...a circus act...the man with the face of death... He shuddered with an odd chill just as Christine placed her warm hand upon his own frigid one. She had spoken to him in that moment, but the buzzing in his head drowned out all else. He knew the feeling...he was beginning to hyperventilate. How long has it been? Ten years, at the least? Finally, just before the room began to spin, Father Michel had led them to their temporary quarters--which they were still living in. Leaky ceilings and all, they tried not to complain much...and it forced Erik to work even more quickly on constructing the new orphanage and staff dormitories. Father Michel tried to assist him all he could, but there was very little he could do other than make himself available should Erik call for help. Aiding Erik in addition to his other responsibilities was a larger burden than Father Michel was willing to admit, but Erik knew.

When Erik and Christine had been introduced to the children after a day of settling in, there were gasps and whispers. Erik gritted his teeth, trying to keep his composure. This is not what I wanted...I didn't need to go through all of this again. Father Michel had perceived the unrest among the children, especially the eldest, and attempted to calm them by explaining that Erik wore a mask because he had been hurt as a child. Unfortunately, it hadn't taken long for him to be exposed...

One day while giving one of the Sisters a short break, Christine had lifted an infant from a rickety wooden crib and immediately noticed the ripe smell emanating from the child. "Whew! Hold him...I need to get a fresh diaper!" Without any further thought, she passed the child into Erik's unprepared arms and left the room.

He held the boy at arms length for a moment before setting him back down again, bringing him to a standing position in the crib. As he turned to let go, the child reached up, catching his mask with a small, chubby hand. Erik was shocked, bending quickly to retrieve his mask, but it had not been fast enough. One of the older girls had followed Christine back inside and saw it--the reason for the mask. "Mahrime!" she had murmured, her eyes wide with fear. Unclean. The girl turned and fled to the grounds outside. Christine's mouth opened in surprise at the girl's departure, looking to Erik for an explanation of what had been said. The memories of his past clouded his vision, and he couldn't face her. He thanked God that she had not understood the child. Unclean. Like a dead body is unclean. I am like Death, come into the camp. Erik had cringed each time he heard fear in the voices of the children if he ever happened to be near them. It had taken nearly two full months of living there for some of the boys to begin to trust him...after watching him work, eat, and interact with others like a "normal" man.

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Snapping back into reality, he yawned. Father Michel raised an eyebrow at him.

"Couldn't sleep last night?"

"Hmm...no. Again." He rested his chin on his propped arm, staring at the framework. "I'm just not used to hearing every single cricket's song, nor to sleeping on a less than adequate bed. It has been many years since my childhood days of resting so uncomfortably."

"Well, I suppose you could've brought your entire house with you, but we would have had no place to keep you and all of your furnishings," the older man teased him. "Especially not the piano."

Erik turned on the ladder and dropped his hand to his side, scowling down at Father Michel. "A piano would be much more comfortable than what we've been sleeping on, I daresay. But somehow I think Madame would have objected to us taking all of the furniture in the house. She would have had little to look after...or to sit upon."

Father Michel studied him thoughtfully. "I think it's wonderful, what you did...asking her to stay there when you knew she had nowhere else to go."

"She couldn't very well travel with her daughter at her age. Madame's life with a ballet company has long since passed. And besides, I needed someone to watch over our home indefinitely. I wasn't about to sell it after I worked so hard to build it, and we have no idea how long the Lord would have us to remain here. I can think of no one I would trust more than Monique Giry. She kept my secret for years at the Opera...and she will keep our confidence this time, I'm certain."

Father Michel was puzzled. "Your coming here was a secret? I wasn't aware of that."

"I never felt it was necessary information, I suppose." Erik shrugged. "We left hurriedly, and did not wish for anyone but our closest friends to know our destination. The Laurents know, of course, and Madame Giry. No one else, not even my former employers or my banker...should le Viscomte decide to exact his revenge to the very ends of the earth." He chuckled to himself at the thought of the Viscomte hunting high and low for a man of his description. It has been so many months since the "ghost" has been seen...surely I am now more legend than reality in the eyes of Paris...

"Well, I'll leave you to get back to your work. I need to check on the older children. They have been giving their instructors a difficult time in school, and I am told that I've been entrusted with the Sisters' future sanity." He laughed. "And young Luca is the one causing most of the trouble."

"Ah." Erik smiled. "It's due to his boredom. I told you...he needs more stimulation. He is far too intelligent to be sitting in that classroom. So is Nicolae. And several of the girls, I must admit."

Father Michel eyed him seriously. "Erik, I've been thinking...you may be just the man for the job."

"What?" Erik's jaw dropped. "Oh, no, I don't think so. I'm an architect now, remember? I haven't taught a child in...in...well, since Christine was very young! And besides, I am far too demanding." He snorted. "I fear the poor children would be in tears by the end of the first day."

"Just think about it, would you? Now I have to go...the Sisters may have been treated to a snake in the desk again today." He shook his head as he walked away.

Erik turned and began to pound nails into the wooden frame, but found himself lacking the proper focus to finish the job. How can he think that I would be capable of teaching those children? Surely he doesn't mean for me to teach them every subject! But...perhaps...with the musical talent I already see in many of the young Lautari... He discarded the thought almost immediately. When would I even have the time to teach them? He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow. I wonder how Christine fares with the children's school clothing. Making his way down the ladder, he took the claw hammer with him and headed toward the main building just as thunder rumbled in the distance. He waved to the children, pointing to the sky. Looks like rain, he thought wearily. Another afternoon of work lost. And another sleepless night, I'm sure, from all the dripping water in our bedroom. The children seemed to take Erik's hint, scampering into the main building, where one of the Sisters ushered them inside.

Christine was toiling over the large sewing machine in their room when Erik entered, startling her. "Oh!" She put her hand over her heart. "Goodness, you scared me! I'm almost finished...I only have a few more pairs of trousers to make," she smiled. "How is your work coming along?"

"Fine. But Father Michel now thinks he's going to recruit me to teach some of the more difficult children...and I just don't think I have it in me to do it." He sat down on the bed, removing his boots. "There is just so much work here to be done. How will we ever accomplish it without help from anyone outside the orphanage?" Laying down, he stretched his long legs upon the quilt.

"I don't think we should worry," she replied after a moment, placing another garment in the machine. "We should just pray."

He grunted in reply, his eyes little more than slits.

"Are you falling asleep?"

When he didn't answer, she paused from her work and glanced over to the bed. He was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in regular rhythm. And here it is, only midday, she thought, shaking her head, as heavy raindrops began to pelt the roof. Rain...again. Things have got to change quickly around here. She snatched up a pot and put it beneath a stream of water that had begun to drip, predictably, in the corner by their bed. Very quickly, Lord.

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Old Friend,

You have caused me much inconvenience, as usual. I understand your need for privacy, but I told you that should you require my services regarding the Viscomte, you were to contact me. It seems that you have decided otherwise. I went to your home to call upon you as I had not heard from you in some time, and surely frightened the woman Giry. With a small amount of convincing, she granted me the address to which I have sent this letter.

I write to you with news of a few items of interest. It seems that the Viscomte, after discovering that you had left your architectural firm, inquired of your whereabouts for a short time before his nuptials. However, neither he nor any of his associates ever trespassed on your property (so says Mme Giry), and I am unaware of whether he received information from any other source. I have heard of no trouble from him since his marriage to the new Viscomtesse.

I also read in the newspapers that the Opera was sold by its managers. The new owner was not listed. Whether it will be razed or repaired is something that I do not know, and is the subject of the usual wild Parisian speculation.

Madame Giry appears well and as spry as I remembered her. As for your other friends, I have had no contact with them.

I hope that you both fare well. If there is anything you might need of me, I remain here in Paris and have no plans to depart. I am getting too old to travel without good reason. I hope this letter finds you both well. Take a moment to sit down and correspond with me when you can.

Allah protect you both...

Erik folded up the letter and placed it in his nightstand drawer. I should have told him...I deserve that slight rebuke. He felt guilty...he had been in such haste to leave Paris that he had indeed neglected to inform the Persian of where they were going. He made a mental note to write back to him as he opened another letter that had arrived the same day, from the Laurent household. As he unfolded the letter, he smiled.

Dear Monsieur Erik,

I hope that this letter finds you both well. My heart longs to see you again, though I am overjoyed that you are doing the Lord's work where you are.

I am sure you will be glad to know that I have been practicing all that you taught me. Mother gets very frustrated with me at times because I sneak away from my studies to practice piano nearly every day. But I do finish my studies each day, of course, and I wish to attend La Sorbonne, if all goes well. Mother and Father have commissioned a voice teacher for me and another young man comes to help me with piano. He is nowhere near your talent, but he is kind and never becomes cross with me when I make a mistake. His name is Monsieur Edmond Chenault. Often times, it seems that I surpass him in my skills! I tell him it is simply because my former instructor was a musical genius, and that seems to ease his mind a bit. He and I have a great deal in common, and he doesn't regard me strangely as most people do. To be quite frank, he smiles at me often and when he does, I feel very odd. I like him very much, but I do not wish to assume that he feels any real affection for me, for I fear it will dash my hopes.

How I long to find a love like you have found with your wife, Monsieur Erik. A real and true love, not a business transaction of sorts. I pray for it every day, even as I pray for you. Please write back to me. I greatly miss you and feel a void in my life from your absence.

Your Friend,

Amêlie Laurent

Exhaling slowly, Erik folded the second letter and placed it with the first in his nightstand drawer. How I miss that child...and it seems that she may now have a suitor. She is practically a woman now. He smiled to himself, pleased in knowing that he had aided, in some small way, in her journey thus far.

It had been a few days since he had begun the framework for the new building, and he was proud of how much he had completed alone in such a short period. However, he hoped that Father Michel would return later in the day with news of some hired help. Erik had offered to pay someone himself, as the orphanage could not afford it, and he was willing to pay generously for quality work. Surely someone will take the job, even if it means being amongst--

He was startled by a knock on his door. "Come in."

"Hello, Erik." An elderly gentleman poked his head around the door.

"Father Tomescu! What can I do for you?"

"I...don't mean to bother you," the white-haired man said sincerely, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I just wanted to thank you...for all you've done."

Erik smiled. "Father, no thanks are necessary." He stood, brushing off his trousers. "And speaking of what I've done...I think I should get started on the day's work before it gets too warm."

"Please, wait." The old priest approached him with a slow shuffle, his shoulders bent with age. "Father Michel has told me a small bit about you...of course you know I had to inquire as to your character when I found out that you were coming. He told me why it could be an unusual situation for you."

The look of surprise on Erik's face did not go unnoticed.

"Oh, please, don't be upset or angry with Father Michel! He meant no harm. He knew if he didn't give me some history about you, that I would not have allowed you to be around these precious children." He smiled again, more broadly. "I just wanted to say 'thank you' because...given your history with the Rroma people, I am quite moved that you would come here and give so selflessly so that these children can have a better life."

Erik managed to choke out a feeble response of acknowledgment as the man turned to leave. He could feel the onset of tears, and hoped the old priest would leave before they emerged.

"Oh, and just one more thing, if I may..."

"Yes?"

"I am so very sorry for all that you have been through, Erik. May the Lord bless you and heal all your wounds." With that, he closed the door quietly. Erik heard his footsteps fading down the hall as he eased himself back down to the edge of the bed, in disbelief of the old priest's kind words. He doesn't even know the half of it... He rubbed his forehead. But it doesn't matter now. Erik was not that man anymore. Only scars remained from the injuries once left open and bleeding.

After a few moments, his senses returned to him as he heard the laughter of children playing outside. A baby's urgent cry pierced the air, and then another. The Sisters were surely busy. Christine had gone to offer her services to them again, as needed, and they were grateful...but more help was needed in every area of the orphanage.

He said a quick prayer and headed outside in haste to complete the frame. He knew he had a deadline to meet, for winter was soon to come.

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A/N: Thanks to all of my kind reviewers! I'm so glad you're staying with my little story even though it's taking me longer than I intended to write it. Reviews are such an encouragement. :)