I didn't make an issue of Miri-ange's outburst. I understood she didn't say it to hurt; I was the last thing on her mind. It's a natural part of youth to be self-absorbed. That was the whole problem between her and Christine, really; Miri-ange was too involved with herself and her feelings to see another perspective. She was raised to think for herself, and now she was doing so.
Christine began to struggle with Carmen, too. It started with the archery incident at supper, but it was inevitable; Carmen had absorbed every word her mother had ever said about equality for women.
Christine tried to shoehorn Carmen into her first real woman's dress to go to a party–normally this was an event surrounded by much pride and excitement–but Carmen had never gotten the message. Carmen wasn't wearing a corset; she couldn't breathe. Carmen didn't care, her friends would be there, and she wanted to be comfortable. Then Christine started talking nonsense about how no young man would ever look at Carmen if she insisted on running out in the sun, practicing archery and riding horses astride. So what, pointed out Carmen, boys notice Miri-ange and you won't let her speak to them anyway. Miri-ange called Carmen a freak; Carmen called Miri-ange a moony goose (what?). I knew they could handle it when they started name-calling; in half an hour they'd be fixing each other's hair and throwing things at Gustave.
I tried to talk to Christine; from a different perspective (mine), it made sense that the girls might see her as inconsistent. It's difficult to speak as a radical one minute and a mother the next, especially if you don't announce your platform by saying, 'Daughter, this is parenthood–not politics.'
"What do you want me to do then, Erik? I can't let them grow up like savages; someone has to worry about them making good marriages and–"
"And they can't make good marriages if they're just genuine people? Didn't you make a good marriage?"
"Don't be silly. How many men like you do you suppose are out there?"
"Let's hope I'm a strictly limited edition," I worried.
"Look at Raoul; as dear as he is, he'd never stand for a woman like me."
True enough. If forced, Raoul will admit that he can no more control what Manon thinks and feels than he can walk on water; we've spoken of it. Still, he wants the illusion of control, and it seems some men do like a woman who pretends a bit. As well, I suspect there are deluded souls out there who actually believe they do control their women, but that is another story for another day.
"And yet you want our girls to act, and pretend, and find husbands like Raoul."
"I never said that!" Christine flared.
"No, you didn't, but it's what you mean when you dress them up and let them go over there for parties with admonitions about keeping their voices down, not discussing anything controversial and only nibbling at food. I'm not criticizing you, Angel; all I'm saying is that sometimes you act like any other mother, and sometimes you act like Suzy B. How do you expect the girls to sort it all out when you haven't sorted it out yourself?"
"They're not mutually exclusive, Erik."
"If you say so."
"I think we began arguing about child rearing when Masson was one year old, and we've never stopped. I, for one, am tired of it," she grumbled. "What are you doing?"
"Holding your hand," I smiled. "I like holding Christine's hand."
She sighed and pressed my bony hand to her cheek. "Oh, Erik; where will our girls ever find men like their papa?"
"Ew," I grimaced. "It sounds dreadful when you phrase it thus."
"You know what I mean," she scolded.
"I think you should have faith in them and let them be themselves."
"That might be well and good for Miri-ange, but Carmen? She's an Amazon–if I left her to her own devices, she'd stride into the party in riding culottes, bow and arrow over her shoulder!"
"She's just twelve, Darling. She's…unconventional. Quirky. She'll sweep some unsuspecting swain off his feet. You'll see," I mused happily.
"Scandalous!" she huffed.
"Darling. Do you hear yourself? Scandalous is walking out on your marriage and taking up with the Opera Ghost without a second thought. Scandalous is organizing Women's Rights meetings throughout the city."
"I knew what I was doing," she stuck her chin out.
"No you didn't. You took the bit in your mouth and ran," I smiled.
"I knew I wouldn't end abandoned on the street somewhere," she countered. "I always knew you'd protect me. I want them to be safe, Erik, is that so wrong?"
"Of course not; I want that too. But how will they ever be safe if they can't be happy? Christine, you know there is no safety in being untrue to yourself."
"It all sounds so simple when you say it. You don't worry about how they'll turn out; you're a marvel. You fret over every little sniffle, but you can't be bothered about their futures," she stated, baffled.
"Their futures are theirs, Angel. So long as they are healthy and happy."
Christine studied me silently. Finally, "You really are a marvel; how did I get so lucky?"
"I have no idea," I intoned gravely.
"So, Miri-ange?" she asked.
"I don't know either, Angel. Doesn't she have other admirers sniffing around at these parties?"
"She does, but she's not interested, Erik. She's as stubborn as you." I nuzzled her neck; she giggled.
"I'm a poor example, I'm afraid. I held out for the only girl in the world," I whispered.
-0-0-0-0-
As soon as we were alone, Masson blurted it out.
"Papa, I need to tell you something…not very good."
I turned from the piano, nodding. "Put your violin down then; let's sit." I indicated the sofa.
He was pale, brushing his mane from his eyes. I waited while he stared unseeing, trying to decide what to say, how to say it. "I can't; never mind," he shook his head. I caught Masson's arm as he started to go.
"Whom will you tell if not me?" I asked gently. "You need help."
"Not me, it's not me," he insisted.
"Come along now; let's speak as men, Masson. It's a girl, isn't it?" I frowned.
He nodded.
"Well then, it's damned cavalier of you to say that it's nothing to do with you."
"No, Papa, it mean it; it's not me," he swore.
"Alright then; I'm listening." I gestured again for him to sit.
"Papa, Miri-ange sees Etienne. They meet at the concert hall sometimes when I perform." He paused, clearly wanting me to say something. I simply nodded.
"He's a good man, Papa. I like him, and he's really devoted to her," he rushed to tell me.
"I liked him just fine when we met, Masson; your sister is just too young. If he'd come along a few years from now, I'd have no problem with him, but as it stands now, it's impossible."
Masson sighed and ran his hands through his hair again.
"How long have they been meeting? Do you know?"
He shrugged. "Weeks."
"What is it that makes you tell me about this now, Son?"
"I'm afraid they're going to run off!" Fat baby eyes, full of pain. "She hasn't said anything directly, but I heard them whispering about 'soon'. I don't know; it's just a feeling I have."
"You've struggled with your decision to tell me of your suspicions, Masson. Thank you."