Raoul woke, his neck sore from being crooked in the chair, his feet asleep. The fire was gone, the room was dark, his head was throbbing. Raising the liquor decanter it in the failing moonlight he could see that it was half empty, or was it half full? Tonight the pulsing in his head told him he was a pessimist, the decanter was indeed half empty. The first half residing within him, flowing through every fiber of his being. "Uhhh." Raoul said setting it back on the table, putting its cover in place.
He rose, carefully side-stepping the broken glass. Walking over to the window, he peered outside once more at the freshly falling snow. Rest was a necessity, yet his soul refused to be comforted, to let go long enough to allow him peace of any kind. Though his body cried out for it, his mind would have none of it.
Tomorrow would bring yet another search of the city, and yet, somehow, he knew his Christine was gone…if not in body…then in spirit. Though she was gone, his love for her would never die…he knew it. It would simply fester like a deep splinter in a raw wound. While flesh may grow over the gaping fissure in his heart, he would never be whole again. He might have every worldly pleasure, every comfort money could buy, but the one thing he longed for he knew with near certainty, would remain just out of his grasp….forever.
Raoul shook his head fighting the muddy haze that was now his consciousness. Setting the decanter back on the shelf, he moved toward the heavy oak doors, pushing them open. The warmth of the other rooms spilled in. It was the light in the kitchen that drew him.
"Who on earth would still be awake at this hour?" He mumbled under his breath. Pulling back his hair, straightening his waist jacket. The hall was long and dark, as he walked near silently in his stocking clad feet. He imagined it was a cook or maid preparing something for the next day. He rubbed his eyes, preparing to give a curt greeting and to admonish them to put out the lights and retire. As he passed into the kitchen, nothing could prepare him for what he saw. There was his father, head resting on the table, a cup of cold coffee at his side, a half eaten sandwich lain on the plate. Raoul gasped.
Raoul had not seen his father, not in his house anyway, for some time. The last he'd really spoken to the man was during the holidays, and that was months ago. The letter he'd sent to him by footman yesterday was the first time since then that they had any communication.
Raoul couldn't decide whether to wake him, or to go back to the study and pretend he 'd never seen him. Yet, it tugged at his mind why his father would come all this way in the night and not disturb him before now. His father was nothing, if not a deliberate man.
Raoul walked to the end of the table, standing across from where his father's head lay. He replayed in his mind the last argument that they had before he stormed out of his father's house on New Year's Day. Raoul gritted his teeth, his father's bitter words still stung in his ears. "She's not of any society, her father was a violinist, although respectable, hardly of the caliber that my son should marry….break off your engagement quietly so as not to embarrass her, or our family."
Raoul squeezed his eyes tightly shut, clenching his fists. He inhaled sharply, turning away from his father, staring yet again out a window. "Why had his love for her not meant more to his father than social standing? Did his happiness mean nothing to him? Their father's after all had been friends…was a famous violinist's child only acceptable as a playmate, not a life mate? Raoul remembered storming out of the study yelling back to his father "love means more to me than this, you cannot choose whom I will love!"
His father had tried to come after him, to talk to him, but Raoul had rebuffed him. Now his father sat at his table. He had come for a reason.
Raoul steeled himself. Turning around he walked over and placed a hand on his father's shoulder gently shaking it. "Father, father, wake up." His father began to mumble, and started to blink as his eyes opened.
Raoul walked around taking the chair across from him. "Son…." His father said, trying to straighten himself to a sitting position. "So much to tell you…" Raoul glanced over at the stove. A small flame still flickered under the kettle that was on it. "Coffee?" Raoul said, pointing towards the cup on the table. His father nodded. Raoul took his cup, pouring out the old, filling it with the new, and pouring a hot dark cup for himself.
He walked back to the table, placing the cups down, sitting himself once more in the chair. "Son" his father began. "I've much to say, but let me begin by saying I am sorry. Sorry for not listening, for not accepting...her. That day in the study…" his father paused, "I knew that you loved her…she was beautiful, she was as sweet as I remembered her from her childhood." His father trailed off.
Shaking his head he continued. "Raoul, I regret you did not know your mother well. She was a beautiful woman, full of life, and in an odd way, much like Christine." Raoul turned his head towards his father, brow furrowed, question marking his face. "I know you were only ten when she passed, and had little time to really know the woman."
Raoul recalled his mother in his mind. Fair skin, blonde flowing hair, frail frame. She spent much of her time reading to him, in favor of more lively activities. He always knew his mother had not been well. Her death had nearly crushed his spirit when he was a child. Raoul looked at his father, begging in his eyes to know more. "Raoul, a good many years we kept a shameful secret from you and your sister. Though it pains me to tell you this now, I must. We shan't speak of it again, but you need to know why I've had a change of heart about your Christine. Your mother's family…." he swallowed hard, "they were not dead as we told you…told everyone…" Raoul was confused, why this ruse? "Father?"
The gentleman rose from the table, pained expression on his face. His graying temples bulged with grief. He walked clumsily to the window looking out, trying to regain his composure before he could continue. "Her family was alive" looking down now at the floor, raising his eyebrows, he continued "very much alive." He turned to face Raoul.
"She had three sisters, and two brothers. Her mother was a seamstress, her father a blacksmith." The reality of what his father was telling him, hit like a frigid gale force wind. "She had to leave them behind.." A sob ruptured from his father's chest. He raised both hands to his face, trying to control the emotions that were overtaking him. "My father…..my father…would only permit the marriage….only permit the marriage if she agreed to…" He slumped back into the chair, head in hands sobbing uncontrollably. "My father never minded my trysts with woman of nobility, he often encouraged it…but this, he would not allow…without a price."
Raoul slumped back in his chair, his chest heaving. Suddenly he understood everything. Though he hated him for the deception, he could understand. He reached out and grabbed his father's shoulder. He raised his head, "son, I didn't know what to do with you…with Christine. A family's shame had destroyed your mother…she was so lonesome for her family….I would hear her crying at night on the balcony. Though she would never tell me of it….I knew she missed them terribly. You never knew of your cousins, your grandparents….it killed her I know it."
Raoul's father reached out and grasped his son's hand. "I wanted to spare you and Christine….she would have had to leave everything she loved behind…a Comtess could not be employed as an opera singer…it would have been undignified, and you embarrassed by it."
Raoul pulled his hand away from his father, standing defiantly. "I never cared about that!" Raoul spun on his heels. "I loved her father, and I wouldn't have cared if she was a wash maid, I loved her!" His eyes now ablaze with uncontrollable fury.
"I am sorry son…sorry that it came to all of this." He stood, walking over to Raoul, resting his hand on his shoulder. "I will be here at first light to help with the search. I will do this for you my son. But, after a third days' search, if we find nothing, we will have to focus our attentions on rebuilding the Opera House….I will need you to help me." His father looked Raoul in the eyes, searching for confirmation. Raoul though angry and reticent, nodded in agreement.
His father lifted on his cloak, grabbed his hat, walking toward the back door. "Father?" Raoul called out. "Why did mother ever agree to such an arrangement? How could she…" "Leave her family behind?" His father said, finishing the question for him. "She said she loved me…wanted me for a lifetime…she chose me over them for the future we might have together. I loved her Raoul…I really loved her." Raoul's father's face wet with tears. He looked briefly into the mournful pain of his son's eyes, then turned and passed through the door into the blackness.
Raoul fell to his knees, there in the kitchen, he sprawled himself on the floor, being seized by fits of tears, for the gut wrenching truths that he had never known. His own mother had chosen the painful fate of leaving all behind for the man she loved…..is that what Christine had done? It was too much for his weary mind…too much. The decanter in the study beckoned him, and he, his resolve desperately weakened, obeyed.