September 8th 1892: Philippe
Looking around everywhere for the letter was very easy. The cook was cleaning pots and pans in the kitchen, and Jacques was nowhere in sight. So nobody paid attention to what we were doing. Still we sneaked around on tiptoe and talked in whispers. It made everything even more exciting. "We have to find Maman´s handbag.", I told Antoinette as we walked through the corridor. "That´s where she put the letter." "That doesn´t mean anything.", she gave back. "She can have taken it out in the meantime."
Yet since the place where all the coats and bags were kept was quite close anyway, we ended up checking it first. My sister grew terribly cheerful when we could spot neither a handbag nor a letter. "See?", she said. "Nothing´s here. I bet it´s in the bedroom." I knew one couldn´t argue with her when she was that certain of something, so I didn´t even try it and we made our way up the stairs. Antoinette was so fast that I couldn´t keep pace with her. "Wait!", I called, panting slightly, but of course she didn´t. She never did.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs she was gone. With all the doors closed the corridor was very dark, and the excitement gave way to an unpleasant feeling: fear. It was one thing to be in the dark with Uncle Erik, who was big and strong and could protect me. But being here all alone was entirely different. There were at least ten doors on either side, and they all looked the same. Of course I usually knew where my parents´ bedroom was, yet at the moment I couldn´t remember it. This huge fear inside me didn´t leave enough space for anything else.
"Antoinette?", I called, my voice shaking. "Where are you? It´s not funny…" There was no reply. Nobody answered, and none of the doors opened. This was too much for me. I sank down on the soft carpet and started crying. "Where are you?", I wailed. "Come out… please!" After a few moments I heard footsteps rushing up the stairs. Then a female voice asked: "Philippe? Are you up here?", and Larisse, our new cook, appeared.
Maman had often told me stories about angels rescuing people in danger or visiting them when they were sad. Larisse was such an angel now. When she spotted me on the floor she smiled all over her round face. "What are you doing here all alone?", she wanted to know. I tried to reply, but all that came out of my mouth were sobs. Quickly she kneeled down next to me and pulled me into a hug. Usually I didn´t like it when anyone except my mother did this, yet now I snuggled up to Larisse closely.
"Antoinette… she…", I mumbled. The cook understood me at once. "So she´s here as well.", she said. "Antoinette? Where are you, child?" And suddenly a door opened and my sister emerged, smiling as if nothing had happened. "What have you done in your parents´ bedroom?", Larisse asked sternly. "I was just looking for the parasol because we want to play in the garden, but it wasn´t there.", Antoinette lied. She didn´t even blush.
Larisse shook her head, frowning. "I don´t think I´ll have to tell your mother about it.", she decided. "But you shouldn´t stay up here. Why don´t we go to the kitchen and I´ll check whether we have any biscuits left?" My sister nodded eagerly. She was always very friendly after lying. Still I didn´t want to be with her now. Maman said that one had to tell the truth unless it could offend somebody. And surely Larisse wouldn´t have been offended, would she?
Pulling myself out of the embrace I muttered: "I don´t want any biscuits. I´ll go to my room.". The cook looked puzzled, and my sister even tugged at my sleeve. "Don´t you want to know if I have the letter?", she whispered into my ear. "No!", I gave back. "It was a stupid idea anyway." She shrugged. "Go then! Your door is the third on the right.", she added, sneering at me. Though I wouldn´t have known it without her help, I didn´t thank her. I just stood up from the floor and walked to my room.
With some difficulty I managed to shut the door before I had to cry yet again. Why was Antoinette sometimes so nice and sometimes not? I couldn´t understand her, no matter how hard I tried. And when we argued she always won. She could run more quickly than I, jump higher and talk faster. It wasn´t fair. Why couldn´t I be the older one? Then I could have laughed at her and called her ´baby´.
After a while there were no tears to cry left in my head. My cheeks were all wet, and my eyes ached. I was cowering on my bed and felt that I needed someone to talk to, someone who would understand me. Marielle had been that someone for a long time, but she was gone, and I didn´t even know why. Maman or Jacqueline could not be that someone. When I tried to talk to them they always wanted me to see things from Antoinette´s point of view as well. But sometimes I simply wanted to be angry at my sister.
"Uncle Erik!", I whispered longingly. He would have been just the right one. He always let me complain about Antoinette without saying that it wasn´t nice to talk in such a way. If Uncle Erik had been with me, she wouldn´t have been able to frighten me. He would have taken me by the hand and led me to the right room, just like he had shown me what to do so many times. Maybe Uncle Erik was another one of those angels Maman had spoken of.
I closed my eyes and wished with all my heart that he would visit me. He had done so before, so why shouldn´t it happen again today? I repeated the wish over and over in a whisper, hoping that wherever he was at the moment, he´d hear me. Sometimes wishes came true, didn´t they?
ChristineThe appointment at the seamstress´ had been over sooner than I had expected, so I decided to walk home. It was a wonderful day, not quite as warm as it had been in the previous weeks. Still the streets weren´t very crowded, probably due to the fact that most people were at work. This was good for I didn´t feel like meeting someone and having a polite conversation anyway. There was something I still had to think about.
Erik´s letter was always on my mind. Although I had only read it a few times, it was as if every word was engraved into my very heart. He had talked about so many things, but they could all be reduced to a few important facts: He loved me and he hadn´t tried to hurt or humiliate me. He also liked Philippe and didn´t want to lose him. Parts of the letter had shocked me, yet I didn´t question that Erik meant what he had written.
The question remained what the logical conclusion was. Should I let him continue teaching my son, despite the things he had exposed the boy to? Or should I take the necessary steps and forbid any contact between them? By the time I opened the door of my home I still hadn´t found an answer. There were too many factors to consider, and they seemed to grown in number the longer I pondered about my problem.
I found Antoinette in the kitchen with our new cook. She was sitting at the table, a half-empty plate of biscuits in front of her, watching the woman scrubbing a saucepan. "Maman!", she called cheerfully. "You´re already back? Did you buy anything for me?" I shook my head. "I can´t buy something for you every time I leave the house. But the seamstress has a very pretty new fabric. If you want to, she can make you a new skirt.", I offered. "Thank you!", she said, beaming at me. "That would be great."
Larisse turned around and greeted me as well. "I didn´t know if it was all right for the girl to be here in the kitchen, but the children were playing upstairs and seemed to be bored.", she informed me. "Of course that was all right.", I assured her. From the first moment I had been sure that this woman was very thoughtful, and her words only stressed this positive character trait. Still something was strange about her statement. Looking around in the room I asked: "Where is Philippe?".
"He preferred going to his room.", my daughter replied quickly. "But why? Did the two of you have yet another argument?", I inquired, glancing at her suspiciously. I wasn´t a fool; I knew how rude Antoinette could be at times. But she shook her head defiantly. "Anyway, I´ll better go to him.", I decided. "It´s not nice to let him stay all alone up there." Besides, my chances of getting an honest answer from him were far higher than from her.
So I made my way to Philippe´s room. I knocked at the door, but when he didn´t answer I simply went inside. He was lying on the bed, and for a moment I thought he was asleep. Seeing his swollen eyes and red cheeks I felt my worst suspicion about a possible argument come true. I wanted to leave again, yet then he opened his eyes. "Maman…", he said in a dreamy whisper. "Yes, my dear?", I muttered as I sat down next to his little body.
With surprising speed he seized my hand and gripped it firmly. "You have to promise me something." I was puzzled about how serious his voice sounded. "What is it?", I asked, giving him a kind smile. "I miss Uncle Erik.", he told me. "Promise me that you allow me to meet him again whenever I want!" The smile vanished from my face. I couldn´t say a word. "Please, Maman…", Philippe begged. "Uncle Erik is my best friend, and I miss him so much…" What was I to reply? I couldn´t deny my only son something he seemed to long for… could I? No, I couldn´t. "I promise.", I said almost solemnly. Erik would have been proud of his student´s persistence.