Nicole and the doctor had put her mother to rest in the cool of the darkened room at the back of his office. The building itself was in part tucked into a hillside, thus keeping it fresh and crisp most months of the year. His grandfather had, for that very reason, found it a favorable place to perform surgeries. The woman grew more restless with each passing day. The hot and humid air made it all the more difficult for her to breathe. A time was close at hand when Nicole might no longer leave her mother to work at the tavern, and though she worried for an income, John Paul had assured her she'd no need to. This was the eventuality for which he'd been grooming her, though nothing of the reality of the pain in watching someone die a slow and agonizing death could truly be prepared for.
He had been trying in his own way these last months, to bring this young woman some comfort, and the elder woman relief. It was the very feeling emanating from his gut now, in due relation to his efforts in their regard, that led him to a deep appreciation for the wise words of advice bestowed on him some years before by his grandfather. The man had seen in him what he had been unable to see in himself. His innate gifts were made far better use of as a physician in the preservation of life, than as a gatekeeper in tending to the morbidity of post rigor mortis.
"Nicole come, let us sip some tea. She shall rest now until the supper hour. I think the cool cucumber soup you've prepared for tonight shall be a welcome change for her." He pulled out the chair for Nicole as she dabbed at her brow coming to rest in the seat offered her.
"John, sometimes it is unbearable to watch." She stared down into the well of tea that was filling in her cup as John poured from the pot. It was a standard Earl Grey, all frivolity of lemon and cream forgotten on the hot afternoon.
John closed his eyes as he came to rest in the seat opposite Nicole's. "If only there was some way to alter the outcome my dear Nicole. I've written my professors, and they in turn have written to several in the America's who have had some marginal successes in treating respiratory failure. Though I've no doubt that they will respond, I've read of nothing in the medical journals of any new progress in this area."
He poured for himself a cup of tea, resting the pot between them. "Nicole, these months have been a test of endurance for your mother. Her admirable, steely tenacity, is the only explanation for her survival." He glanced up at Nicole as he leaned back in his chair, loosening his collar just a bit. He was as warm and discomforted as Nicole.
"I know my motives are entirely selfish. She's come to terms with her life, and the extent to which she can continue. I am not all that certain that she clings to this world instead of passing peacefully into the next for reasons that are beyond her own will to live. If there was some way to reassure her that it was alright, that she needn't worry, that like she, her daughter was built to survive." Nicole said, deep in thought.
John Paul looked at Nicole as she stared down into her tea. He'd admired this woman from the first, but each day he came to admire more deeply, the genuineness of her character, her steady resolve, her practicality. He smiled.
His mind insisted he stick to the strict letter of the agreement at which they'd arrived some months before. He tried solemnly to convince himself that the close physical proximity in which they had all lived this last while, would skew the reality of his growing affections for Nicole.
He glanced away from her. Yet his heart waged persuasive argument with his mind. She had been everything he'd ever wanted in a woman. She was strong, independent, yet deeply vulnerable when she felt she could trust someone. She made no pretenses, nor hollow promises. She was a woman of her word, and a hard worker. And yet on top of all of those things that made for a good life mate, she was a beauty in her own right. She'd grown a good deal in the time since her grandmother's death. A maturing of mind that by sheer chance coincided with the maturing of her physical strength and stature. She'd grown into a lovely young woman, and perhaps her sheer ignorance of her beauty made her all the more beautiful. He glanced up at her again. She was staring out the window into the gardens behind his office.
"The iris will soon be in bloom." She said smiling at him. "It is mother's favorite. She spoke often of the bearded iris that her own mother had planted all around their house when her father had gone off to war. They were symbolic of peace and the hope that her love would one day return to her." Nicole was staring out at some infinite point, utterly lost in the story swimming in her mind.
"The women in my family you see John, have grown quite accustomed to being alone. My mother, her mother, and her grandmother before her. Not one had their husband for any great length of years. For what wars did not claim, some insidious turn of health had. Perhaps that is why I've been thankful, in some immeasurable degree, not to have gone through such heartbreak myself." A sudden melancholy tone turned in her voice. She'd not really meant to begin this cheerless diatribe, it had, as so many other conversations before it, just grown in her thoughts spilling over her lips into the vast expanse of the air around her. It would have been the same had John Paul been there to witness it or not. She stared and stared, little if any expression crossing her face. She'd not even blink to interrupt the thought.
"Nicole," John Paul said, reaching out to put his hand over hers as it lay on the table.
She jerked, shaking her head, blinking as her eyes returned to him. "I implore you to forgive me John, my ramblings have little value in present circumstances. I know." She glanced at him, a blush on her cheeks, lifting her cup to sup from it. "You must think me a bitter and ungrateful sod." She laughed slightly, glancing over the rim of her cup at him.
John's gaze was as steady and reassuring as ever. Unlike Nicole, he'd not thought of marriage in the negative construct. In fact, until he'd met her, he'd not really thought much about it at all. There was simply something about her that afternoon, something he could not put his finger on, but something that beckoned him in a way that he could not fully describe.
He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, smiling at her. He glanced down, and then up again, into the depth of her eyes, and in that moment he knew what it was that he was feeling. He glanced at the door that lay some long feet away, behind which her mother lay fast asleep. He glanced back at Nicole, and without hesitation he carefully slid his hand from atop hers to beneath it, carefully taking hers up into his.
Nicole smiled at John Paul, he was, as he had been since she met him. Comforting and assuring.
"Nicole, perhaps it is, as you suggest, your mother's stubbornness that causes her to hang on long after most would have given up. I too sense that she is waiting…waiting for something." His gaze never wavered. In the heat of that June afternoon, in what little bit of coolness the two could find in the center of his office, there they sat, he holding her hand in his. Unlike most other afternoons they'd found themselves in similar situation, this afternoon would end quite differently. He squeezed her hand. "Perhaps your mother waits for what she knows in her heart to come to fruition."
Nicole felt as John Paul began to stroke the palm of her hand with his thumb. She'd such an admiration for this man, and yet there was something more she felt…something she tried to push aside for the sake of all concerned, and yet, this afternoon she felt it in spades.
"Nicole, perhaps your mother waits for you to find comfort in the arms of someone who will pledge to love you, and care for you." He looked at her with a warm sincere smile. "Perhaps she wishes for you to have the happiness she so oft speaks of having with your father."
He glanced down at their hands just briefly, slightly turning in his chair to face her more fully. He reached out taking her other hand into his. In that moment all question in his mind was somehow dissolving. It was the situation, the time, the things they'd been through thus far, the memories they'd in common about his grandfather, this City, it was as if everything had mysteriously fallen into place.
Nicole cocked her head slightly to one side. She was hot, she was in her work clothes, she was at her worst, and yet her heart was fluttering. To what point was his conversation leading?
"Nicole, you know so very much about me now…so many conversations spent up talking into the wee hours, my preference of meal, the organization of my library, my finances, the history of my family…" his voice trailed off. He swallowed. "And I….I've come to know your family, of your past, of your trials…." He hesitated just slightly, "of your sacrifices." He glanced down and then up into the vulnerable glow of her glance. "Nicole, I believe I know what your mother waits for….it is what you and I…" he blinked, was she crying?
Nicole's lower lip began quivering. In these days, weeks, and months spent in one another's company, could it be possible that had he grown to feel what she had been trying so desperately to deny? She blinked, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly, reassuring John Paul.
"Nicole, why have we danced about this issue pretending not to notice how we've both grown to feel?" He inhaled, she'd not respond, knowing full well it was a rhetorical question. "In normal circumstances a long period could take place now, something deemed to be suitable, but my dear Nicole, the hour of the day grows late, and time is of the essence for a woman for whom we both care."
John Paul looked at Nicole; he breathed a small sigh of relief, her eyes held no fear nor reticence. Before Nicole could gasp, John Paul was on his knee in front of her, taking both of her hands into his. He looked down, inhaling deeply only once before he looked up into her eyes.
Nicole was smiling widely, a tear running down either side of her cheeks. She tightened her grip on his hand.
John Paul smiled, his eyes twinkling in the beaming shafts of afternoon sun that made their way through the windowpane.
Just beyond them, they'd not noticed a door, opened just a sliver. Behind it, Nicole's mother kneeled on the floor, tears running freely down her cheeks and dropping onto her chest. She'd risen for a drink of water for her parched tongue. What she would bare witness to now would satisfy the deepest longings of her soul. Perhaps it was God Himself who'd woken her from her slumber, for in that moment she would witness His gift to her…a prayer finally answered. And she would be like Lazarus, finally having seen that which she prayed for, she would now be ready to make her way peacefully to the hereafter.
"Nicole," John Paul said.
"Yes," she replied in a nearly breathless tone.
"I've something that I must ask you."
The pair locked eyes, and in that time and place in the infinite continuum, there existed nary another thing on this earth, except that man and that woman, in that place.
XXXX
Raoul and Meg were laughing heartily as they came to rest on the divan in the library. They'd danced up an enormous thirst, which was to be quickly satiated by the sweetened tea that was even now being carried in on a platter with a large plate of grapes and cut melon. Raoul nodded as Madeline smiled at him sitting it on the table in front of the pair.
"Better now, each day better." Madeline said as she turned to leave the room.
"Yes, I am feeling better, thank you Madeline." He smiled at Meg, "perhaps it is Meg's good care that…"
Madeline interrupted, turning around to look at them both with a slight grin and a twinkle in her eye. "Not health…" she laughed, "dance better, every day little more." She smiled and nodded, as she turned to leave.
Raoul and Meg blinked as they looked at each other, and then they began to laugh again, each taking a long drink from the refreshing liquid in the crystal glasses. It was good physical activity, at the behest of the Barron for both of their sakes. If it provided some amusement for those who happened to witness it, then so be it. It was indeed something that they could honestly say that they had neither known before, and was something they had discovered together. Yet a bit of living mortar that fused their future memory, by created memory.
Raoul smiled at Meg, "are you tired my dear?" He laughed just slightly as the question was a bit unnecessary. Meg was trying to hide the pant of her breath.
"Not tired Raoul, a pleasant sort of expended perhaps, but tired not of any sort!" She said teasingly smiling at him as she took a small bunch of grapes into her hands and began to carefully pluck them one by one from the small vine that held them. She reached out pressing a plump scarlet fruit to Raoul's lips. "You simply must try them, they are succulent!" She smiled as Raoul opened his lips just slightly allowing the fruit, and the tip of Meg's finger to slide easily into his mouth.
A bit of mischievousness ran through him, and as Meg attempted with apology, to reclaim her finger from his lips, he tightened his teeth around the tip of her finger. He grinned.
"Raoul!" Meg began to laugh.
Raoul sat down his glass and slid across the divan, taking Meg into his arms, releasing his grip on her finger once she was safely in the grasp of his arms. "My dearest Meg, you are as sweet as this fruit, and far sweeter!" He kissed her cheek before guiding her head to his shoulder so that they might embrace one another fully.
The pair closed their eyes. There was something fulfilling and soothing about the embraces they shared. Each one led to a greater feeling of unity and assuredness that the feelings they'd had back at the winter house, and then at Raoul's and the time they'd subsequently spent at Plum house may have been born out of tragedy and circumstance, but had grown into something very real. A little more every day it became apparent to the two of them, that they would likely return to Paris two very different people, and perhaps more coupled than when they'd arrived at Plum house.
Raoul sighed, releasing Meg just slightly so he might gaze into her eyes. "What would you like to do with the remainder of our afternoon my love?"
Meg blushed, she so loved to hear those words roll off of Raoul's tongue. She'd not care what they did, as long as they were in one another's company.
XXXXX
Nadir and Madame Giry enjoyed the cooling of the afternoon as the sun had begun to decline in the Western sky. Sunset was yet hours off, but the temporary heat of the high summer sun was beginning to wane. Nadir thought about asking the carriage driver to lower the top of the carriage slightly allowing in more light, but had decided against it as it protected them against the whipping of the branches of the orchards in full bloom that they now traveled through. It was the final leg of their travels through the gardens, and it provided a splendid variation to the normal flora they'd been sampling of the last hour as they'd ridden through the gardens. There was little else like the heady scents of flowering plum, apple, and pear.
As the carriage meandered on Nadir felt guilty for even thinking of spoiling the afternoon with news of his departure on the morrow. He sighed. If he'd not tell her of it now, his abrupt departure would be even less welcome. Nadir glanced over at Madame Giry who smiled at him.
"This has been a most pleasant distraction Nadir, thank you for the arrangement of the carriage and…" her brow raised, "whatever is it Nadir?" She'd spent enough time with the man to know there was something which he had need to tell her that he was most uncertain she'd want to hear. "Go on then Nadir…" she said nodding at him, reaching out her white-gloved hand to pat his.
Nadir looked down and was about to speak when he heard in the distance the tolling of the bell in the church tower. His brow furrowed as it rang a fifth time. Whatever was it? He withdrew his pocket watch flipping open the face. It was three fifteen.
"Something is wrong." He said sitting up straight looking up at the carriage driver that had turned to glance at him for instruction. "Let us return straight away good sir."
The driver turned round, taking the reins in his hands quickly urging the horses on at a more rapid pace. They'd be abandoning the remainder of their visit. Something was indeed wrong for the bells only tolled at odd hours with the death of someone of importance or the sighting of an invasion. Whatever it was, they'd return post haste.
Madame Giry slid over into Nadir's embrace as the pair sat silently for the ride back into the heart of Paris. Whatever it was, they'd face it together.
XXXXXX
The man held in his sweaty grip the rope that attached to the bell. At the behest of those in government he'd toll the bell a dozen times. He himself a literary novice had admired the work of the man. He'd eagerly anticipated the final work which he knew the man had been struggling to finish. Now the world would never know the ending to the story…it would forever remain unfinished. The death of such a genius would be a sad loss for reader and aspiring writers alike. Though he were a tormented man his brilliance was unmatched. The death of Charles Dickens that fateful day in June would forever change the literary world, and bring to a close an era of writing that would be read with great fascination for years and years to come.
XXXXX
Erik stretched just slightly, a chill made him shudder. He looked down exhaling. Christine was still nestled in his arms. Sometime after she'd fallen asleep in his lap he'd closed his eyes, leaning back against the bench. He remembered being comfortable and content and little else after that.
He looked beyond the vine that formed a protective covering from both light and weather to see that the sky had grown dark gray and that even now he'd seen what he thought might be a flash of lightening. Perhaps the heat was giving way precipitously to a summer storm. He sat up, moving Christine slightly. It would be a welcome relief, for after a storm would come the cooling evening breezes and the fresh scents rising from the earth.
He kissed Christine's forehead. It was time to take her inside. He smiled looking down at her, then glanced around thinking about the moment they were in. There in that candle-lit haven he sat with his pregnant wife in his arms, paying homage to her parents, and basking of the glow of the promising life that lay before them. He closed his eyes for just a moment, raising a silent prayer.
"Thank you Lord, for all you've graciously bestowed on us. Let us never forget your generosity or kindness, and forever be thankful to you in all things." He kissed Christine's temple once more sliding his arms under her knees, the other under her shoulders standing to glance at a shadow that appeared at the entrance to the vine covered haven. There was Misty, standing dutifully with a wide umbrella.
"Come Monsieur, before the rains come. The sea grows angry, and the clouds are heavy, it shan't be long before the skies open and spill forth."
Erik looked at Misty who was now hanging on tightly to the umbrella as it began to waiver in her hand. The wind had come up tugging at the fullness of the fabric. It would indeed be a bit more of a storm than a gentle summer rain. It was indeed time to move indoors and hunker down. He looked down at Christine who'd woken just slightly looking up at him with groggy eyes.
"Erik?" she said in a hushed tone.
"It's just a storm my love, do not worry, we'll be indoors soon. He carried her over, leaning down to blow out the candles they'd lit for her mother and father, then he turned to go out to join Misty.
Misty raised the umbrella as far as her arm would allow providing cover to Erik.
He crouched as low as he might, the pair running toward the house. He glanced over his shoulder but once as they crossed the lawn. The sky above the sea looked angry, in the fullness of the rolling clouds he could see the sporadic burst of light. It would be a good storm indeed. In the morning the grasses would be greener, the foliage shiny and prolific. There was one surety after a storm…whatever survived it was a bit tougher, and more full of life than it had been before it.
They'd barely made it indoors when the skies opened and the rains fell so heavily it looked more akin to sheets of water falling from the heavens than drops of rain melding to make momentary rivers in the lawn rushing down to join the churning waters in the sea below the craggy cliff beyond the house.
Erik stood with Christine wrapped in the protective expanse of his arms as they looked out at the light show that nature provided as the currents of light moved across the darkened sky. There was something powerfully beautiful about watching a storm. Though it could rage with such ferocity, mother nature herself somehow provided protection to all those things the surges of the storm produced. It was pruning of sorts, the weakest elements being purged and removed with rain and the accompanying winds.
Christine turned placing a tickling kiss on Erik's neck. She smiled as he turned down to place a delicate peck on her nose.
She turned wrapping her arms around his waist. "I love you Erik."
"And I love you Christine," he said placing a kiss on the top of her head, as he turned to the side so they might both gaze out the window at nature's display.
They watched a long while as lightening traveled along the sky, emerging in brilliant bursts from time to time, it's fiery tongue lashing out at distant points on the water. The storm moved ever closer, causing Erik to finally retreat with Christine to their bedchambers. Yes, she'd napped, he'd napped in the grotto, but it would not suffice in his opinion. She'd need to recline, he needed to stretch. There was little else to be done on a stormy afternoon when one was sleepy. He could think of nothing more pleasant than to spend a stormy afternoon with Christine in his arms in the privacy of their quarters.
As he carried Christine up the stairs he nodded as Misty opened the door and retreated. Erik pushed the door open just slightly to notice that a small fire had been drawn in the hearth, no doubt to ward off any chill that might come from the storm. Several large candles had been lit, further pushing aside any resulting gloom that might come from a prematurely darkened afternoon sky. He smiled. Misty had thought of everything. As he closed the door behind him, he took note of the small pot of tea and plate of chocolates that lay off on the table not far from the bed. She'd grown so very accustomed to Christine's cravings, she'd anticipated the request so they might have privacy.
Erik sat Christine down on the side of the bed, turning to remove his jacket. He smiled as he heard Christine's shoes drop to the floor. He turned to find her reclining on the bed, smoothing her hand over the covers patting her hand. He smiled at her as he came to rest next to her, taking her once more into his arms.
One tender kiss leading to another, until they found themselves tenderly sharing themselves with one another. Though their passions burned a bit more carefully now, it did little to dim the joy they found in one another's affections. Though Erik worried, both Christine and the doctor had assured him they would know when the time came that they could no longer lie together as they did now. That day had not yet come, and through the careful surrender they loved one another as they had since the day they married, completely and without reservation.