The sun shone with great intensity through the windows of the house high on the hill. The day would be warm, there was little doubt of it. The lady sat with her eyes closed, her face lifted toward the golden rays that flickered through the large drops of water running from the cascading icicles that clung heavily to the overhang outside the large windows overlooking Chausesser. She'd been doing this since she was a rather young woman, all those many years ago. Each time she poised her flesh to the bathing glow of this force of nature, it was as if she harbored the longings of a bird awaiting the first hints of spring. She recalled with great fondness the words of her mother. Too much light would cause her skin to go dry and leathery; too little would cause her to look sickly and sallow. It was, as it is with everything, a balance that must be struck to preserve that which is precious. To look upon the sun as it shone, was like looking into the face of God himself, warming and life-giving. If one tried to focus on it, their sight would be lost forever in punishment. If one glanced at it, treating it with much deserved reverence, it would willingly impart its blessing of warmth and comfort.
As she sat, her cheeks growing from barely warmed flesh, to a tulip petal pink, to the deep blush of a newly blooming sweet-heart rose, she relished it. Though her eyes were closed, they could not escape the light. The irises moved about beneath the amber imbued shroud of the lid that covered them with a veil of protection from that which lay just outside of it.
She wondered yet again at the odd correlation… she often felt this way with Chauesser and Paris……she and her lover…long lost now.
Chauesser had been the small City, hours from Paris, and she a young flower, in full bloom for the picking. Paris was the large, formidable City, laying off in the distance. Awe and power surrounded even the visitors that traveled from there, if only for a season, and he…he had been one such as this. The flower had innocently turned to the warmth of the sun as it rose from the distant City, in all of its wonder and glory. The small flower looked forward with trembling anticipation to the arrival of the sun every day, and mourned each night as it left her. Yet she smiled for the sun would return to her only to be disguised in the darkness, as the moon. Ahh…it was as the moon that the sun shone its brightest. For in the cool moonlight, the flower and the sun could share in their love…without fear that the sun would consume the tender blossom…scorching it with its intense rays…. But as the moon…yes…as the moon…he could embrace her…love her….caress every petal without fear. The flower could drink in the dew of the cool gentle shafts of moonlight as it danced all around her…embracing her. Then, as the wee hours of the night would wane…the moon would depart…only to return once more as the sun, glowing, formidable, to shine over her, warm her. As long as she did not look upon it with her eyes, she could bask in its warmth and love.
She sighed. It had taken years for her to fashion this thought in her mind…in her soul. In some inexplicable way, it helped her to harbor those feelings which connected her to the man she'd fallen in love with all those years ago. As with the return of the sun each morning, and the rising of the moon at night, every day renewed her hope that perhaps, if not in this world then surely in the next, they would find their way to one another.
Her cheeks were warm, nay, hot to the touch now, and in her mind, it was as if he was greeting her, embracing her, in the only way he could now. Oh why had it been forbidden that they love? Why had her father been so hell-bent to keep them parted? Yes, perhaps he was merely a boy, and perhaps of no particular breeding or standing in her father's eyes…but he did not truly know him. Did not love count for something? Did her happiness mean so little to him that he would part her with the man whom she would love forever?
A tear rolled down her cheek, her teeth gritting almost instinctively. Had her child not been parted from her, she would have seen to his every happiness, no matter the cost, no matter what polite society thought. For happiness, she'd come to understand through the seasoning of bitter decades, was far more precious than the opinions of men.
Happiness…true happiness, was for her an illusion now. Perhaps that is why she'd spent her life's work making others happy…caring for their needs. If one could not partake of happiness themselves, then there would be some reward in bestowing it upon others. She smiled though the tears flowed freely.
In her ears she could hear her mother's words. She reached her hand up touching the flesh of her cheek, it was warm. She inhaled, exhaling slowly as she lowered her face, turning her back on the sun. Her eyes remained closed, as they always did, as she made her way to her chair. It would be minutes before her cheeks would cool, and her sight fully return. It was the part of this ritual she never enjoyed, for as the warmth left her, and the amber glow departed from her eyelids, she was brought back to the cruel reality that faced her. Her life had become a mere reflection of a love long passed. In the present...this day….the sun was not the man, and she was not the small flower. They were destined, she was certain, to only be together in her mind. And though this process tortured her, she'd do it every day she could until she no longer had the will to do so.
She opened her eyes slowly. She saw out of the corner of her eye, the maid disappear behind the door. She smiled, surely it was an odd thing, nay many odd things that she did that would certainly cause them all to have wonder about her mind; but she cared not. She'd long since given up worrying about the approval of others. She need explain herself to no one. She half laughed, for surely if she did, they'd think her even more mad than they'd ever have been able to imagine. Some minds did not work the same, and many feared what they could not understand…what they could not wrap their mind around. She'd but known only one man who'd appreciated her for who she was…and he…he…had been taken from her, forever.
She stood, it was time, she'd have another task for Andre today. There was much to be done, the celebration was not far off now, and this year, it would be special. For even if the man would not be talked into being honored directly, perhaps, as the sun was the symbol for her of the man she'd love forever, perhaps there would be a suitable way to honor the heroics of a man, and perhaps even as much, with what humility he performed his duties. For a true hero never did any more than what he thought anyone ought to do, and thought so little of himself in the service to the greater good. That, she smiled, was the truest form of heroics. Yes, there must be something, some way of honoring him, some symbol that would inspire the citizens of Chauesser to do good onto one another. She would think on it…surely something would come to her…
XXXX
Erik woke, his chest was heavy and he felt as if he were burning with the rages of a fever. A gentle hand crossed his forehead, replacing a warmed compress with a fresh cool one. He felt the trickle of the chilled water run down the sides of his temples into his hair. He looked up into Christine's eyes, they had a worried and compassionate look in them. She leaned down, her lips tenderly embracing his.
"Good morning my love." She turned to dip a cloth into a basin next to him. Erik listened as he heard her wring the rag, the water dripping back into the bowl. He closed his eyes as he felt the cool of the fabric as Christine ran it over his chest, and down each of his arms. He shuddered involuntarily. His skin felt like it had been set on fire. He stared up at her watching as she continued until her hand placed on his skin felt cool. She took another cloth and blotted his skin dry before covering it with a thin sheet. Somewhere during the time that he'd slept, his nightshirt had been abandoned.
"Christine, what time is it my love, should we not be preparing to go, surely they will even now be waiting for us if it is nearing the time we'd agreed to meet them." Erik looked up at Christine as she slid her arm beneath his back, gently trying to glide him from his prone position. He lifted his shoulders, as Christine tucked several large pillows behind his back. She lifted a rather large teacup to his lips. He winced as he took a goodly sip, for it was not merely tea, it had been laced with something…he smiled, surely Christine and the woman had been in collusion once again, he recognized her old medicines, the bitter taste was unforgettable.
"Erick," she whispered, "You are not well enough to even rise from this bed. I know with what protest you shall meet this news, but you must save your breath, for it is already done." She slid next to him on the divan; perhaps her physical touch would soften her words. She ran her hand along his forearm as she leaned into his chest. Erik's arms circling her as they always did now without so much as a conscious thought.
"You must rest my love, if we are to venture back to Chauesser on the morrow then, you will have to be well enough to endure the ride, for it is long." She ran her hand along the exposed flesh of his chest, causing Erik to close his eyes. Christine smiled. She was just at the beginning of her understanding of what power lay within her touch. "I dare say, we may have to borrow the woman's carriage and return later for the sleigh, as it much altered outside today, the snow is retreating quite rapidly."
Erik leaned his head back into the pillows, relaxing into the comfort of it. "You've sent word have you?" Christine merely nodded. Erik sighed. "Do you not think they will find it strange that we agreed to meet and then went against our word….that they will not worry that something terrible has happened?" Erik said with great concern in his voice.
Christine smiled, turning her face just slightly to place a kiss on Erik's chest, and then lifted his hand, placing one in his palm. She held his hand close to her heart. "Do not think that I did not consider this heavily before I sent the boy out as messenger. The note, though simple, I am certain will suffice, even if it should be viewed by eyes other than the intended. Do give me some credit my dear…after all…I've learned a great deal from a rather clever mentor." She turned smiling up at him.
Erik's lips started to feel cold, a great shiver rose in him, causing him to shake.
Christine sat up; she knew this process well. His fever would crest and fall several more times before it broke, but she'd no doubt he would be well. Rising from the divan, Christine pulled several more blankets over Erik to cover him as his shaking worsened.
"I know my love, you are cold." Her hand brushing across his forehead pushing the hair from his brow. She turned and walked to the fire, placing deep within the hearth the several smaller logs that Erphan had brought in for her. When it was time for the larger ones, he would see to those himself.
She turned to see Erik's eyes boring through her. She smiled as she returned to his side, lifting the covers she slipped in next to him, pulling him down once more to his back. She ran her hand along his chest, and shoulder. He shuddered harder. She looked at him, though he'd not complain, she could read it in the pleading of his eyes…he was so cold. Gently she tugged at her own nightgown, slipping it over her head, pressing her warm flesh against his. He closed his eyes, the warmth seemed to soothe him from the inside. She nestled in as close as she could, continuing to run her hands over his shoulder and arm, until she could feel that his shaking had ceased, and his eyes were now closed. He'd fallen back to sleep, and she smiled, knowing she'd brought him some comfort.
She thought to herself that Erik would be unhappy that he'd broken his promise to Nadir on her account, having not met them as they planned. But she was now his wife, and had to think of what was best for him, even if he was unaccustomed to being cared for in this way. She thought rather sternly to herself, it would be in his own best interest to become used to it, for she was likely to continue doing so….for whatever remained of their life together!
She ran her hand along his chest; hoping that the woman's words were true. Several days rest, brewed herbs and lemon, and the love of a wife would mend him well. Perhaps she worried needlessly over colds and the like, but she'd seen him suffer a great deal…and she'd not want for that to ever happen again.
What had concerned her as much as anything this last day, was how red his cheek had grown, and how it had started to twitch again. The doctor's words haunted her still…he'd not finished his treatment. Erick still had need to be under his care. Now, the more she thought of it, the more Erik's decision to return them to Courtland Manor gave her less and less concern. Perhaps it was just as well they return there, for it was nearer the doctor, for both of their sakes. The winter house would remain a special place for them, and though it were closer to Paris, and therefore to Nadir, Meg, and Madame Giry, she had need now to think of her husband, and the children that grew within her. She'd always known she'd be making a choice when the day came for them to part…she could simply not have predicted just how difficult it would be to make. She nestled her head once more into Erik's chest. The note would be soon delivered if it had not already arrived. There was no turning back now…only moving forward…into the preciousness of what married life could truly be.
XXXXX
Meg was recovering on the divan, her eyes fluttering as her nose detected the most putrid of scents. The first she saw when her eyes opened, was Nadir's grinning face looking down at her.
"Miss Meg, how very lovely of you to join us!"
She blinked, it was Nadir, but something in his more than normal jovial tone, told her without looking that they were not alone, and she'd need to guard her words.
"What happened?" She asked innocently, knowing full well what had caused her to faint…Raoul had brought with him the cloak that belonged to Christine, and how and where he had laid claim to it frightened her to no end!
Her mother's face appeared above her. "You fainted child, no doubt at the surprise of finding Raoul here when you awoke." She made a faint move with her eyes as if to indicate to Meg that someone was just off to the side of her.
"Mother, is he well, the last I recall, I'd seen a bandage about his head…" she stopped in horror as she heard the voice that was just beyond her mother.
"He is being tended to by the family physician just now young lady. The fool thought himself well enough to venture into Paris on his own, now I dare say he shall pay in spades for his impulsiveness." The elder DeChagny's voice was rather gruff, no hint of compassion for his son's predicament in his temperament.
Meg lay very still. She'd not really know what to say or do, so for now, silence was her ally. She wondered, Nadir seeing it in her eye, brushed her hair from her cheek. "Do not worry Meg, he will be quite well, just a bit of repair to his stitches was in order." Nadir blinked his eyes slowly at her, nodding slightly, smiling. She knew it meant that she'd have to be patient, that he would explain all of it when they were once again alone. For now she'd need do nothing but rest herself.
There was a knock at the door, causing even Meg to turn her head inquisitively. DeChagny rose, walking to the door, through it and out into the foyer, and to the outer door. She could hear some muffled conversation, a bit of a chuckle, and then the door closed once more. She listened as his footsteps returned to the room, closing the inner door. He walked over to Nadir.
"A messenger has just arrived with this note. No reply is needed, that was his instructions, so I sent him on his way." He handed the envelope to Nadir. He returned to his seat, rearranging his long riding jacket. He himself was not long off his horse, having arrived not long after the doctor, who, as he now had come to understand, had arrived not long after Raoul. "I've further arranged for lunch to be delivered to us, and since there is not sufficient room in your quarters dear lady," he nodded to Madame Giry, "I've arranged for it to be brought to the great hall at the other end of the dormitories, that we might dine there together."
Madame Giry nodded her head politely, though her mind was immediately wandering to other things. First, the contents of that note, and to how they were now to ever steal away to go to Sara's grave.
Nadir had risen, drawing his spectacles from his pocket, feigning the need for additional light so he might move toward the French doors leading out onto the veranda, thus affording him some privacy, if not for the words, then surely his reaction to whatever he found within the body of the writing. His thumb slid easily beneath the wax, releasing the pages from the envelope, he carefully tucked it beneath his arm. Unfolding the parchment he read.
"My dearest Family,
It is with great regret that I must alert you to our rather unexpected change of plans. Stephan took ill during the night, and as the doctor had not accompanied us, I've need to return Stephan to his watchful care straight away. I'd have delivered such news myself, but there was little time. I think with several days rest, he might recover enough to travel on now to the summer house, he always seems to do so much better wandering in the gardens of the house by the sea. I dare say that is where we shall remain until the winds of winter come calling again…we've known such joy there, and though great changes will no doubt befall us whilst we are there, we shall make the best of it until such time as God decides to reposition us on this earth otherwise.
I do apologize that though we'd come with full intentions of paying our last respects to Sara, we shall have to rescind our agreement. I do so have hope that you've opportunity to visit us, once more before time changes us both into something we are now not, but we shall understand if circumstances do not permit it. At the very least, should all go well, please plan to join us in November once more at the winter house when the gales of November send us far ashore from the sea.
In our constant affections,
Elizabeth"
Nadir sighed, a bit relieved. Something had caused them to return to Courtland Manor, and now the worry of a chance encounter that very day, quickly dissolved. They were not planning to stay at the winter house, perhaps Erik had convinced Christine as to the prudence of moving to Courtland Manor. Nadir doubted that Erik was sick. Perhaps Christine had had another vision, warning them of Raoul's arrival. Whatever it had been, he was grateful for it, for now they had time to have a meal, and proceed to find out what had transpired. He had hopes that he'd have time alone with Raoul, to find out why he'd Christine's cloak. No doubt there had not been an encounter, or Christine would have eluded to as much in her note, and she had not.
"Nadir?" Madame Giry was gently touching his forearm. "Is everything well?" She tried to conceal the anxiousness in her voice. She'd had much training in it, having covered a great many errors in performances or production with the calmness of her voice.
Nadir nodded, "yes, though our dear Stephan and Elizabeth had to return home unexpectedly in the night. I am afraid that he is not feeling well, and that Elizabeth felt they must return to Courtland Manor, to where he can be properly attended to by his physician." He folded the paper and put it back into the envelope, tucking it into his breast pocket.
DeChagny asked, "Courtland Manor, is this the winter house that I've oft heard you mention Meg?" He looked at her.
Meg blinked, she'd want to converse as little as possible, lest she say something she ought not. "No monsieur, Courtland Manor lays quite far from the winter house. It is their residence proper. The winter house near Chausesser that the household retreats to when the gales of winter make Courtland Manor a less desirable place to be." Meg was pleased with her response, and wondered why her mother stared at her, and Nadir had his eyes fixed on where she was certain Raoul's father sat.
DeChagny had grabbed the back of the chair he now stood behind. He closed his eyes. "Chauesser…" he said so quietly beneath his breath that it was barely audible. He'd not thought of that City since last he and Nadir had spoken long before. He pressed his eyes tightly before he opened them again, his lip a bit stiffer, and his back a bit straighter.
"I shall go to check on the meal, do excuse me." With that he turned rather abruptly and made his way out into the foyer, and then to the outer door of the suite. He closed that door behind him, leaning heavily against it. He wondered….had any of them known the woman…had Meg's family known Claire? Perhaps she would have been known to Elizabeth, perhaps Madame Giry herself? He pressed his eyes closed trying to stifle the tears that now swelled within him.
It was his life's greatest regret…..he should have fought harder for her…. He shook his head. Surely he could not wish away the past he did have, he thought to himself as he walked passed the room where his son now lay being stitched up from his own stubbornness. For surely even now his son was a hero…how could he have deprived Paris of that? No he missed her…the memory of a woman he loved still. Perhaps when Raoul planned to pay a visit with Meg to Stephan and Elizabeth…he'd go with them. Perhaps walking the streets of that little City would somehow bring him comfort…somehow heal the hole that he bore for her still. He sighed, yes perhaps it would do well for him, though none would understand his sudden support for this girl who was not of noble upbringing to whom his son hand confessed his undying love. But at this moment, it was ironic. In embracing the happiness of his son, he might very well bring redemption to his own heart. For it had been in that City he'd found his first love…and to think that his son's love had roots there…gave him an odd pleasure…he could not explain. Perhaps in some ways, he and his son were not so different at the core…perhaps it had been the trappings of the world that had parted them, not their souls.
XXXXXX
At the edge of the City, in the cemetery just at the ridge, stood two men, a gravedigger and a Priest. They'd waited a goodly long while for the family to arrive. It had been over an hour now, and none had joined them. The gravedigger had heeded the nod of the priest and begun filling the hole with dirt, covering the casket that lay below. There was no explanation, no children, no friends, just a woman going out of the world as she'd come into it, alone.
The priest was saying a few prayers out loud softly as shovel after shovel filled the hole. He looked up, in the distance was a lone horseman, just having come through the gates of the cemetery. He watched, continuing to pray as the man maneuvered toward them through gravestone and monument.
Soon enough the mounted man was at his side, his hand extended. "Dear sir," he nodded. He himself was not Catholic, and did not know how to address this man in robes. "I've no note, but a simple message for you. The family is unable to come. Several have taken ill. Do not worry sir," he reached out his hand toward the priest, a small leather pouch was in it. The priest gave him a curious look. "From DeChagny sir." The man said, shaking it as if to entreat the priest to take it from him.
The priest scowled. "And what is this?"
"A little something for your troubles." The man said, looking around at the other graves that were freshly turned, no doubt still awaiting their permanent occupants.
The priest withdrew, taking a few steps back. "My troubles? This is a funeral sir, for one of my parishioners, think you that this is trouble to me…to do my duty?"
The man looked at him in disbelief. He'd never known any to turn down DeChagny's generosity.
The priest looked up at him resolutely. "Offerings are acceptable yes, but thinking of paying one in God's service for their troubles, as you so put them is deplorable. I'm God's servant, not a pawn of your employer."
The man looked down at him, he'd become as restless as the horse beneath him who neighed and whinnied. "Suit yourself…" he turned to leave, "even a man of the cloth has to eat does he not?"
The priest looked at him with great disdain as the man pulled on the reins of his horse, tossing the leather pouch down into the snow, giving the horse several sharp jabs to his sides.
The priest looked down at the pouch that lay open in the snow, several coins now peeking out. He looked at the gravedigger who was looking curiously between the pouch and the priest. He ventured, "are you a man of faith my son?"
The gravedigger shook his head, "you could say sir, I've put enough of them in the ground to know that what's dead is dead. I've never seen any of them come back. What I believe is that life ends when the body is in the ground."
The priest never flinched, kicking the pouch toward him in the snow. "Then it won't bother you to take this, if you are man of no conscience, at least you can make use of it."
The gravedigger smiled, snatching up the pouch, tucking it away before the priest thought better of it. He nodded to him.
The priest said one final prayer over Sara's grave and departed. He'd have none of DeChagny's money, not now, not ever. He'd been at DeChagny's wife's side when she died, and DeChagny? He had been with some visiting nobleman…..it was his duty after all, the guest couldn't be put off. He'd watched her cry bitterly for the man, her son and daughter her only comfort. No, DeChagny had been as busy at her time of death, as he had been all of their married life…and that sickened the priest…she'd been far too fine a wife and mother to be neglected.
The gravedigger finished what he'd been paid to do, and left himself having stamped the last bit down to cover it. He'd go home a bit richer man tonight.