"Papa, I'm going to marry you when I grow up." Sofie was having a bath. She had become an independent lady, and I was expected to wait in attendance until she'd scrubbed the parts she was interested in scrubbing; then I was responsible for the rest.
"That's very flattering, Pickle, but you know I'm married to your Mother. If not for her, I'd be pleased to wait for you to grow up. Let's get your head wet, now. Ready? Dunk."
She spluttered (from the dunking) and frowned (from my refusal of her proposal).
"Mamaaa doesn't like to grow a garden, and she doesn't know how to make ice cream or waffles," the Pickle sighed. "Why ever did you marry her?" Shades of Carmen.
"Well, there's more to marriage than ice cream and waffles. Mama and I used to make music together at the opera, remember?" I smiled, lathering up my little diva. As I scrubbed her locks, she scrubbed her doll's locks in turn, singing a song. "Alright, rinse. Ready? Dunk."
"And Mama is your Princess, and I'm your Pickle," she smiled. Just then the Princess herself popped her head in.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes; it's customary for a fellow to see his wife once a day, hm?" I reminded her, good naturedly.
"Your wife has a meeting," she replied patiently.
"It'll keep then; at least I hope it will," I winked. "Seriously, we can chat later. Watch your step please, Madame." Christine picked her way across the floor littered with toys, clothes and puddles. She pecked my head and Sofie's cheek.
"Sleep well, Princess."
"'night, Mama."
-0-0-0-0-
Sofie snuggled in for a story, Marie Antoinette dozing placidly in her arms. Somehow we'd happened upon another marvelous cat; Marie Antoinette actually spent most days wearing a bonnet and a doll's dress and being pushed around in a pram or sitting for tea parties. She never uttered a sound at being poked and twisted and squeezed.
After Sofie was storied and snoozing, I made my way across the room to Jeanette. My little homebody was working on an embroidery sampler. She began speaking as soon as I sat down.
"Mama says that a girl can do any job a man can do, but I don't want to have a man's job. I want to stay home and have babies and take care of them, just as you take care of us." Her voice was softly determined.
"I'm sure that will be fine with Mama, Jeannie. All she wants is for you to be able to have as many choices as your brothers do, not for any choices to be closed off to you simply because you happen to be a girl. Do you see?"
"Mm. But still I think she'll be disappointed."
"Oh, no, Jeannie; never."
"I'm not like Masson or Miri-ange or Gustave or Carmen," she stated flatly.
"Of course you're not. Here," I scooted alongside her for a proper cuddle. "You are all to yourself, unique and precious. You have your own gifts and talents, and we do not compare our children."
"I can cook and sew," she dismissed.
"You could be a fine pianist anytime you wanted to, but your heart's not in it. You're a quiet comfort, my dear. You care about home and family and those close to you; so do I. That's nothing to be ashamed of, or disappointed in."
"I hope you'll tell Mama it's alright," she suggested, setting her needlework aside.
I drew the covers up and kissed her silky cheek. "I think she knows, but I shall certainly remind her," I promised, slipping a chocolate coin under her pillow before I moved off.
I looked in on my mathematician, but he was up to his elbows in scratch paper; he held up a silent finger that he'd be with me in a moment, but I've stood ten minutes waiting before moving on, forgotten.
"That's alright, Son; I'll see you tomorrow. Not too late, now." He nodded absently. Likely he'd pass out at his desk as he did most nights; I'd come in later and guide him to bed.
Finally I looked in on Carmen. Just as I suspected, she was locked in deadly chess combat with Bertrand, vicomte de Chagny while Erik kibitzed nearby. The composition of the Three Musketeers had changed slightly since Gustave had discovered maths.
"Gentlemen, I'm sorry to have to say it, but it's time you went home."
"Papa, just let us finish the game!" Carmen pleaded. We went through this almost every day.
"No, Mamzelle, that could take hours," I smiled, placing a kiss on her head. "Just put the board up until tomorrow, please. Good night boys."
-0-0-0-0-
I nipped downstairs and out the front door for a walk in the garden. I missed the dark; sometimes, it was nice to walk alone. I cut a respectful swath around the conservatory; Miri-ange and Masson were entertaining, and it wouldn't do to seem as if I was chaperoning. Since The Thing, as Christine called it, Miri-ange took everything very much to heart. If I appeared to be chaperoning, she would think I thought she couldn't be trusted.
I spied them briefly when I turned by the kitchen garden, nevertheless. Liselotte was there, and a couple of Masson's friends from the symphony. Alain was more Masson's age, and a student flautist. He had a quirky sense of humor and thought it was brilliant that Masson's father was the former Opera Ghost. Every time he visited, he found a way to pop in on me and make small talk. Christine called him my Not So Secret Admirer. Jacques, on the other hand, was a painfully shy cellist. He hovered silently around the periphery, basking in Miri-ange's radiance. He was utterly smitten with her, but for some reason she didn't seem to notice. It was something of a scientific inquiry to me to see how long it would go before his heart overcame his bashfulness and he declared himself.
Suddenly I remembered a jar of pickled onions that needed plundering, so I took a detour. I sliced a small hunk of Roquefort from the wedge for myself, and placed the rest on another plate for the young people in the conservatory. I arranged some onions and orange slices around it, picked up a loaf of bread and carried the snack out to them.
"I hope you'll forgive the intrusion, but I was feeling snackish and thought someone else might feel the same." My contribution met with great approval.
"Thanks, Monsieur Rouen!"
"This is wonderful!"
"Now all we need is a bottle of wine!"
As I made my way back to the kitchen, I called, "Come along, Jacques, and fetch back the wine for everyone." I didn't actually have a plan; it was just a moment of divine inspiration. A crafty old character like me knows when to seize an opportunity. As I pressed the cabernet on him, I murmured, "You should speak to her." Jacques' eyes flew open; I reckon he felt he'd been most circumspect.
"I couldn't; she's…" Poor boy.
"You've seen Madame Rouen, Jacques; do you really think your situation could be more impossible than mine was? You should give the girl some credit; speak to her," I sang, moving toward the parlor.
I try not to meddle in my children's lives, but that wasn't so bad, was it, giving Cupid a bit of a nudge? My Miri-ange was convinced no boy would ever look at her again, even when the evidence to the contrary was right in front of her.
-0-0-0-0-
"What the devil are you doing awake at this hour?" I demanded.
"I'm glad to see you, too, old friend. Or are you afraid that I'll raid your plate?" Reza chuckled.
"Touch those onions and perish."
"Good grief; don't you worry about indigestion?"
"Me? Never. Mmmm." I built a little tower of cheese and onions on a slice of bread.
"You're a bottomless pit," he marveled.
"Skin and bones, I believe it's called."
"So what are you up to this evening?"
"Waiting for my wife, as usual. She's at a finance meeting; house full of whores and no money. Perverse, really."
"Why don't you help her, Erik?"
"That's the point, you see, she must do it herself. If she asks me for money, it has to be a loan, and she insists on writing it all up officially and paying me back as soon as her cash flow improves." I chuckled.
"What a funny little creature she is," he marveled.
"I've given up trying to understand it all; so long as she's happy," I admitted.
"Erik, remember when she printed up those flyers with her name and address splashed all over the front?"
"She nearly did both me and Raoul in with that—first time he and I ever agreed, I think!" We laughed heartily.
"You've turned out alright," he noted.
"Thank you, Daroga. I'm glad you didn't let me hang myself."
-0-0-0-0-
"PAPA! PAPA!" Masson clattered in, sending two snoozing old men halfway to the moon.
"I hear you, Masson," I groaned. "Is the house on fire? Where's your mother?"
"I dunno! Papa, listen, listen!" He was shaking me awake, God bless him.
"I'm listening, Son, you needn't rattle the life out of me."
"I walked her home, and Liselotte said I could speak to Raoul! I'm going right now!"
Somehow, in my foggy state, I was still able to capture Romeo before he scrambled away. "Masson. Masson. What time is it?"
"Just about midnight," Reza called, drifting off to bed.
"He's still up; I saw lights all over the house!"
"Masson, no. You get a good night's sleep, bathe and put on your best clothes; comb your hair, for God's sake. You don't speak to a man about his daughter in the middle of the night."
"You're right. I'll wait til after breakfast," he nodded. "He knows me; it'll be alright, won't it?"
"Just be honest, remind him you've settled down. How's the savings going?"
"Um, I have twenty four thousand saved," he worried.
"That's fine, that's a start. Don't worry," I smiled.
"What if he says no?" Now the panic was beginning to set in.
"I find it hard to believe he'd say no, Son. He may say 'maybe' or 'wait awhile', but that's a long way from no. Remember that; don't lose heart."
"Oh, god. I don't know how long I can wait, Papa."
-0-0-0-0-
Christine slipped into bed and warmed her feet on mine. "Erik, feel my nose," she urged, poking her icy snoot into my neck.
"You mistreat your poor old husband; here I am all cozy. I'm nothing but a bed warmer to you," I whined.
"You're a bed warmer with privileges," she smiled.
"I have big news; if you're nice to me, perhaps I'll share."
"Oooh, what? Tell me…" Christine touched me in a way which suggested that she could be very nice.
"Your son is going to speak to Raoul about Liselotte tomorrow.'
"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!" she squealed. I can only imagine what the house thought. "Erik! It's better than Christmas! Oooh!"
"Right, now: pay up," I reminded her.