Chapter 210 Racing Hearts

Dear Faithfuls:

Thank you for taking time out of your days to stay with the story. I've come to rather enjoy the longer chapters, and I hope that the twice a week updates have kept us on the same path. I wanted to take time to mention that anyone who is so inclined to pray, do so for one of our phamily members who lives in Australia. I've not heard from her, and I pray that the cyclone that has ravaged Australia has not caused her any loss or heartache.

Thank you to all of you again for reading, and being patient with me!

XXXXX

Christine was wandering in a forbidding fog. She was on a most curious path of rock, jagged and tumbled alike, pressed down into a deceivingly smooth surface. One wrong move was certain to produce pain of the most severe kind. The towering pines on either side obscured view of everything else, save what little she could perceive ahead. A cold wind howled about her, a chilled harsh, slivered moon, the only light. She knew she walked this path alone, utterly alone.

Though she was wary, she felt simultaneously compelled and drawn; her good conscience would have bid her turn and run. The further she traveled the thicker the fog grew until she could not see but an extended hand's length in front of her. She stopped abruptly, turning about this way and that for she felt she could no longer breathe. Swallowed whole by the surrounding miasma, an aura of mystery of the frightful kind filled what was left of the air.

A sudden inclination seized her that she must but swim through the fog until she rose to the top; for no other way out of the odious mist presented itself. Her arms and legs began to move about of their own volition. Indeed her thrashings propelled her through the masses of white come gray clouds, until she breached the surface in one great thrust of her feet.

Once above the clouds, she beheld the most elegant moon and stars, gracing a sky of the deepest blues of midnight. Here too there was a path. The trees had been replaced with long wooden spindles, so thin she could put her hands round them with little effort. She glanced forward. As far as the eye could see was a straight and seemingly infinite line of the same, each bedecked with silken cloth of the finest purple she'd ever seen. Christine saw herself walking the path, now inlaid with great stratums of opulent mother of pearl. It was smooth and inviting; deceptively mesmerizing and assuring, no hint of its odious treachery. She glanced from side to side, and just beyond the rows of beautiful spindles was a dark abyss on either side, threatening any who slip to fall into an uncertain but assured fate.

Christine oddly did not feel the ordinary fear; somehow knowing if she stayed the path that all would be well. The further she traveled, the more glorious the sight became. Something about the journey was hypnotizing. She began to perceive a glow, nay, a glorious light at the end of the path. The closer she grew, though still a great distance off, the warmer, and lighter she felt, until she realized she no longer walked of her own accord; she was floating. She winced, somewhere, she could hear a voice calling her. At first she tried to pay it no heed, and then it became far too strong, too pitiful to ignore.

"Christine….Christine…."

"Erik?" she felt herself turning on the path, running, sliding, and nearly slipping until the darkness turned into the familiar fog, she leapt into the thick of it as soon as she began to see the tops of the trees. She found herself falling, and falling, far further than she'd ever climbed, and then, as if from out of the sky, a pair of arms reached into the clouds, grasping her. Her chest felt as if it had caved in so great was the release of her breath. She felt as if she'd been ripped directly out of a womb of some kind, thrust back into the world she was a part of.

"Oh Erik!" Christine said piteously when she opened her eyes. A great sob wreaking her heart and mind. She grasped onto him with all her might, pulling herself as close to him as she could.

Erik kissed her forehead, rocking her back and forth in a comforting embrace; the strength of his arms imparted such safety. "Shh….Christine, shh…" His hand unconsciously traveling to her mid-section. The children were thrashing about so madly that he feared her flesh would tear from the movement. His eyes grew wide, all he could think of was laying her flat on the floor, loosening her garments, and propping her head.

Christine looked at Erik with such pleading eyes. She did not fear what she had seen, for that had been harmless enough. It was the unknown that it most assuredly represented, that terrified her. For the first time she'd been the only one in her vision, but perhaps had it not been interrupted…now she might never know.

As Erik laid her down gently, he began to tug at the ribbons at the sides of her dress. He removed his jacket, propping it beneath her head. He simply held her hand, and soothed her brow without a word until her breathing began to shallow, and the children began to calm. It was minutes only he was certain, but it felt like an eternity. All had been pleasantly devoid of visions since they'd arrived at Courtland Manor, now he feared it was but a momentary reprieve that had lulled them into a false sense of security.

"May I, may I, have a drink of water?" Christine said pleadingly.

Erik nodded and was on his feet and moved as if chased by a fire. Christine had barely time to inhale twice and he was once again at her side, assisting her to a sitting position so she might partake of his offering. After she'd drunk nearly half the glass, Erik moved it away from her lips, setting it at the side as he took her into his arms. He sat cradling her as he had so many times before. He wished to ask, but he'd learned of her, she would tell him as soon as her calm had returned to her.

Christine nestled her head into his chest, taking one of his hands into hers. "Erik….I fear that it was a vision…a glorious vision…but I've no idea what it meant. For I was alone in the dream, walking paths of stone and pearl, trees surrounding me, a chilly wind and foreboding moon….but the fog…I began to swim in the fog until I came to the top where the trees were no longer trees but fine polished wooden spindles."

She turned her head to look up into Erik's eyes. They were ever steady and reassuring. "Yet still there was no one in my dream but me, and rows and rows as far as the eye could see of the wooden spindles." She sighed. "It was such a curious vision…I was afraid but drawn, curious by reticent. What puzzles me most is why the two paths, why the fog, and the trees turning into spindles, their heads adorned with purple silken flags…"

Erik stiffened, a sudden shrill pain pounded in his head, his chest seizing in a gasp. "Christine…."

She turned again to look up into his eyes, the former calm now gone, replaced by what she was certain was fear. "Erik?"

He turned her about in his lap so that he could look at her. "You must tell me all that you saw, every detail, and when the dream was ending, what did you feel, what did you see?" He grasped both of her hands. It was possible that it was mere happenstance, but he'd come to trust that the visions had never been without purpose. He'd never told her of the beast, nor of any of her treachery. The javelins employed for waging revenge….and yet she described them with utter precision. His heart pounded. She'd have to describe every detail before he'd make his decisions about where or if they would have to flee.

There was a knock at the door. Erik called out, "not now, I beg of you some privacy." Erik knew full well it was likely Nadir. But until he'd understood Christine's vision, he'd not trouble his friend with the matter.

Another, more insistent knock led Erik to his feet. His ire had not been raised in a great long while, and he'd control it, but he'd not tolerate interruption when he'd begged not to be disturbed. He opened the door with such force, it nearly sucked the visitor inside. "What is it that cannot wait…" Erik said as he looked out at a terrified Erphan. "Has there been some problem that could not wait?"

"I've to inform you sir that Nadir did not make the journey from Paris today sir." Erphan stammered in reply.

"Did not make the journey? What know you of his delay?" Erik said, now walking out and closing the door behind him. "Has something happened to the man?" Erik's heart began to pound.

"No Monsieur, I believe him to be well. He'd sent this letter for you sir." Erphan handed the envelope to Erik. "The driver further wanted me to share with you that Dickens was found dead sir, the night before last I believe. His devotees have caused a stirring in Paris, and as Nadir has been appointed the official historian of the Opera Populaire sir, there may be the cause of his delay."

Erik gasped. A man so young as Dickens…gone…the world deprived of his genius far too soon… "Dickens gone….." he muttered to himself. He stared at the ground for a silent moment before he realized that Erphan still waited. "I'm sure…I'm sure…Nadir must be attending his services…." Erik's voice trailed off. He shook his head slightly. "Thank you Erphan, and forgive my hostility when first I greeted you."

"Not at all Monsieur." Erphan was slowly relaxing as Erik's tone improved.

"Is there anything else at all…did the deliveries arrive from Paris?" Erik inquired, his mind already retreating to Christine.

"Yes Monsieur, the deliveries arrived and are now being unloaded. We stopped at the winter house and gave the yard a proper grooming." Erphan said.

"Well then sir, you best see to finding yourself some supper. Perhaps later we might all enjoy some sherry…" Erik's hand was on the door leading back into his bedchamber, he could sense that Erphan had yet something more to say. "Whatever is it Erphan?"

Erphan walked back several paces and retrieved what he had leaned against the frame of the tall window that ran nearly from ceiling to floor. He turned as he spoke. "Whilst we were grooming the yard, we found this lodged in the ground just beyond the…." Erphan was yet again afraid. Not because he felt threatened by the Monsieur, but because, for the first time he could recall, he saw fear in Monsieur Courtland's eyes. He stammered, "it took two of us to remove it from the ground sir, and we'd not known what to do with it, or from where it had come. I felt it most prudent that I bring it to you sir."

Erik's face had gone white, his breathing rapid and shallow. He flipped the letter from Nadir nervously in his hand. Perhaps he'd not been detained by the funeral at all….perhaps it was something far worse… Erik looked at the shaft of the javelin, it was indeed long and pointed, the knot of fabric tied tightly at the top as a flag. He'd seen some like them countless times….though he tried to forget every one he'd seen. He inhaled, looking down at Erphan he began a rapid succession of questions; blunt and concise.

At the end of the one-sided discourse, Erik spoke most frankly to Erphan. "Young man, we must make haste. I've no want for you to tell anyone more that what is necessary. When the full of darkness has fallen, you are to ready the carriage. Make certain it is comfortable, and several pistols placed beneath the seats. Then make my stallion ready. Be certain he has been well watered and fed, and a small allotment of additional food and water readied for him." He looked at Erphan most seriously. "You and JP shall wander the woods along the perimeter of the property, making note of stampled ground, broken tree branches, and the like. When this is finished you are to report back to me for further instruction."

Erphan nodded. "It shall be done sir." He'd ask no questions.

"Erphan, this night might very well be a long one. Do see to finding a good meal and some rest. We will ride after midnight sir." With that announcement, Erik took one more look at the pole before he took it into his hands. He simply must show Christine, though he'd little doubt that there was a mistake in her vision.

XXXXX

Pytor crept back beneath the grain bin door. His brow sweaty, his heart racing. Had it been only Monsieur Courtland's staff, that would have been one matter. That would not have frightened him so, as he'd anticipated this complication. What terrified him so that his chest felt tight and heavy, was watching as the most familiar of the man's staff had carried the rather large pole stowing it beneath the carriage. It was that sight that sent him to a hasty retreat. His heart pounding viciously below his flesh.

He'd never seen one, but knew well. The pole represented all that he feared most in the world. It was a promise of the most treacherous kind. It meant he had been found. The pole was indeed a javelin, harmless alone. It was its combination with the purple silk that gave it ability to send shrill terror into the hearts of those who knew what it was. Pytor had heard stories of it, and in all his life had hoped never to have seen it firsthand.

The account was given of a man who crossed the Sultana. Though he'd thought to have found his way to the farthest end of the earth, far beyond her grasp, his belief had been dreadful folly. He'd gone missing one evening and been found on the eve of the next. A pole run through him, driven to the depth of his chest, all but a half-meter remained exposed, the flag fluttering in severe warning. Written in the man's own blood below him, was the script that had turned rumor to legend. ""Mors ultima linea rerum est" (Death is everything's final limit)".

Pyotr sat beneath in the dark, simply trying to breathe. He'd no hope now of leaving until the dark of night, if that were even possible. His lone horse and wagon were sure to be gone, or would be an elegant little trap if he'd be foolish enough to try to return to it. The best he dare hope for was to be able to escape with his life.

Poor Sebastian. His fate was most certainly now sealed. The longer he sat contemplating, the more nauseated he became. The pain in thinking of what may have been had they left when he'd had the first inclination to do so, perhaps now his situation would be far different.

He closed his eyes leaning back, the pain in his chest growing ever stronger. He inhaled heavily, attempting to exhale. He felt as if the room was closing in around him, though he was the only one in the space. He could hear the sound of the sickles, thrashing the long grasses. He needed to calm his nerves lest he lose consciousness. His hand rose to his chest, a dull aching pain had begun…radiating now to his arms. He tried to swallow, to shake himself from this feeling, but he could not. He tried to inhale, but it made his chest all the more tight. He leaned forward trying to breath….

XXXXXX

Meg and Raoul strolled back up the path to the house. The rain had subsided long enough that they'd enjoyed their tea in the gazebo in the center of the small flower garden. They so enjoyed their time in that place. Though Plum House was considerably smaller than his house near Paris, it did still have an air about it that was reminiscent of something his mother would have enjoyed. The several marble sculptures of water sprites graced the ivy-clad center, giving it a feeling of an intimate cove of nature. In the middle was a smallish structure of five marble pillars, a parquet floor, and a space for several small table and chairs, or as was so oft the case, a table of size sufficient to seat eight people most comfortably. Today, the service staff had set the larger table with a rather elaborate array of flowers, perhaps as a congratulatory gesture on their newly engaged status. Madeline had taken care to see that they weren't disturbed, and but a brief visit by Raoul's father, they had largely been at their leisure for three hours.

Raoul had been reading from books of great poets such as Robert Burns and Sir Walter Scott. Meg favored such poets as exemplary flatterers, though in life they were hopeless flirts and ruthless cads. Raoul had most eloquently read 'Red, Red Rose' penned by Burns. Even as they now walked, Burns creative verse, delivered in Raoul's velvet voice, resonated in her mind.

"O my Luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O my Luve's like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry: Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun; I will luve thee still, my dear, While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve, And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it ware ten thousand mile."

Save for the crunch of the gravel beneath their shoes, and the chirping of birds, the out-of-doors had been idyllic and placid. They walked silently now, hand in hand, Meg's head resting comfortably on Raoul's shoulder. The carriage would soon be ready, along with a number of items they'd be returning to DeChagny Manor as long as they'd be venturing passed on their way to Paris. Their departure had been delayed by all manner of things. But it was to their greatest advantage as their arrival now would be much under the cover of darkness, and therefore apparent to far fewer a curious eye.

Meg so longed to see her mother so that she might also share in the joy that had most recently come to them. It had been a pleasant afternoon indeed. In recent weeks, Meg found herself worrying less and less about the past goings on coming back to haunt and claim their present happiness. Raoul was content, they were betrothed, his father approved, she'd come into a knowledge and grace suitable to his pleasing. All seemed headed in a most favorable direction.

Meg's thoughts wandered hopelessly to Christine and Erik. Though she knew very well it were so, she prayed that Christine was enjoying a parallel happiness. She would think long and hard on how she would convey appropriate sentiment in addressing the most delicate news of their engagement in a letter to her most beloved friend. Such verse must be employed, so as to soften the announcement lest it smack of boasting. Though Christine would rejoice in her love found at last, there was part of her that yet hesitated. For it was a convolution of what might have otherwise been just a year previous. Oh but a year had changed both women and circumstance, thus proving one could not so hope to perceive the truth so far in advance. A marriage secured a woman's future to be certain, and Christine would find pleasure in that fact. Whatever terms Christine must come to in her own mind in this regard would have to be hers alone. Meg's happiness would be paramount in Christine's heart and Meg knew full well this would be her final sentiment should she ask her directly for her opinion.

"My dear," Raoul said, lifting Meg's hand as they arrived at the veranda leading into the house. "I love you Meg," he leaned down placing a tender kiss on the tip of her nose, his index finger running along her jaw, lifting it that he might look into her eye. "Burns would indeed have been inspired had you been his paramour my love, and oh how happy a man am I that you are but mine."

Meg's smile joining Raoul's as he slid his hand behind her back drawing her to him. A kiss, a proper kiss shared between them. No longer would there be hesitation or reservation in their embrace, for once betrothed, a discrete display of affection was oft expected. A gentle mist rolled in across the lawn, a hint that the rains would soon be returning. Love had blossomed in this place, a bloom in full beauty now for the world to see.

When the time came for their engagement to be announced in Paris, they would be ready to reply. They'd discussed every possible question and reasonable response likely to be needed. They were a united front, prepared, and ready to face the challenge ahead. Though most would be placating and pleasant, there would be the variant disdainful detractor that would subject them to unmerited derision. And yet again, perhaps nary a word would be said in their presence. But if it were, they were ready.

XXXXXXX

There was a quiet rap on the top of the carriage. Andre blinked as he woke, realizing that the sky was still gray, and he'd no inclination to the length of his sleep. Surely the carriage would be stopping, most likely so that the horses may rest and feed. He inhaled, a slight yawn, and a stretch, his long legs feeling a bit stiff, even though there was more than ample room to have rested in comfort. He glanced out the window. All that he could see were lines of trees on either side of the carriage. He knew they must be coming into a hamlet, for on the sides of the road was evidence of recent grooming. He inhaled once more before he looked across the carriage at Lady C. In the quiet, he assumed she still slept. He smiled as he realized she was awake, staring out the carriage window, a bit of pleasure on her face.

She did not need to return his glance, she sensed his stirrings. "I'd nearly forgotten how pleasant a journey this was, though I dare say some things have changed considerably since last I passed this way." She sighed, rubbing her hand slightly on the window, clearing from it the vapor of her breath. "My mother had several friends we visited not far from where we are now." She smiled, looking over at Andre, "you'd certainly have thought that being this close to Paris we'd have ventured in, but we did not, save when I was a girl too young to remember such things with any clarity." She sighed, stretching slightly herself.

Andre inquired, "how far have we yet to travel?" He resettled himself, straightening his jacket, smoothing down lapel.

"We've but several more hours beyond here if my memory does serve me, but I am certain the carriage driver would be more than able to oblige once we've stopped. I do so desire to stretch my legs a bit."

No sooner had she uttered the words than there was a break in the trees. They now found themselves descending upon a tidy collection of buildings, divided by lamppost and cobblestone paths. It looked like a quaint village so oft painted dabbled by painters working at their craft in the large squares. It was a small town; neither the likes of Paris or Chauesser to be sure. Yet there was something homey and inviting about it. A hot cup of tea and a suitable supper were most certain to be found somewhere in the midst of the city. The carriage meandered down the dirt turned cobblestone path leading into the heart of it. The mist now darkening a bit as the sun fell beyond the clouds. A rest, dinner, and they'd be on their way again. Their next stop would be Paris itself.

XXXXXXX

Lucien startled when he heard the knock on his door. He'd been expecting her, that was true, but after he'd settled all manners of dinner on the stove, and lit the candles on the table, he'd nestled into his chair with a book. He'd been doing a bit of research on the props that were to be made for the premier production of the Opera House. Many had already been done, but he'd wanted to be certain that every period detail had been carefully attended to. There were likely to be guests at the production who were if not expert, then decidedly aficionados of that period of history, and he'd have no part in causing undue embarrassment to the production by blatant inaccuracy.

He laid the book on his side table and walked, a bit lighter on his feet, to the door. Opening he smiled, a honeyed greeting rolling smoothly from his tongue, "come in dear lady, do come in…"

XXXXXX

Sebastian sat quietly on the singular piece of furnishing in his cell. The light from the window was fading and soon it would be even too dark to read. He'd been penning a letter to his family, though he did not know if it would ever get to them. If they had been contacted by Pyotr, and all gone according to plan, they'd be long gone. But if not, he'd wished to convey what was likely to be his last thoughts for a number of years until his time was due. He sighed. Given his age, and the notorious treatment of those held in the prisons of Paris, he rather doubted that he was ever to see them again in this world. Oh how he hoped that Pyotr had been able to carry on, and that even now that he might be enjoying a bit of wine and a good meal.

Sebastian looked up as there was a bit of skirmish at the end of the long row of cells. He heard both angry words, and a final reticent confirmation of a change in orders. The guards had been removed, and several prisoners were now being taken in shackles from their cells. Then all went silent.

Sebastian's breath caught as he realized with their removal he was now the only person in that entire block of cells. He listened intently in the silence. Then, as if from his imagination, a small clattering of keys, nay chains, or some manner of metal on metal grew in the distance. There was the sound of heavy foot on the stairs leading down from the upper levels. His heart pounded as the sound grew and grew until a form appeared from the shadow. It did not speak but sat with a loud thunk on a stool it produced from the corner.

Sebastian could not tell, but he thought he could see several large objects lay on the floor next to the massive man who now sat leaning against the wall. The man uttered not a word, but took out a long cigar and went to the lone torch that burned at the end of the row, barely stretching to light it, so great was his height. Sebastian could see more fully the man's silhouette, and the sheer size gave good reason for the fear he felt creeping up his spine.

Sebastian coughed, causing the man to turn abruptly, though he uttered not a word as he rested once more on the stool. It was there, in that faint light of the glow from a kindled cigar that Sebastian saw what nearly caused him to faint. A distinctive plume of purple rising out of the pocket of the man's jacket. Sebastian sat back down, so great a fear seized him he thought he'd be sick. There was only one explanation for this sudden change of guard, the removal of all prisoners. Witnesses were far to costly a price to pay. It did not bode well for him, nor he dared say, anyone whom he'd ever loved.

The guard sat puffing on his cigar. He rather enjoyed this work. Seldom did he ever have to employ the weapons he carried with him, for his primary objective was to instill fear, of the gravest kind. He did so….with an unsettling ease…and sadistic pleasure. His only directive was to sit there three days and three nights for his next order. To this point all he need do was be present, and make certain that the purple scarf was visible at all times. Other than that he could do as he pleased. Read, write, eat, sleep. It was a simple task, far less onerous than the one that had been assigned his traveling companion. He was even now on the hunt for the other man who'd swindled money and property from her. His orders were to deprive the man of everything he had, up to, and including his life if he could not produce for him what he sought. He leaned back closing his eyes. Three days of peace and quiet, it would indeed be most simple to swallow.

XXXXXX

Nicole and John Paul arrived at her flat after having spent a most pleasant afternoon sitting in the park. They'd nearly decided on the details for the wedding. A small affair, on a Sunday evening after the tavern closed. They'd have the most privacy there, and Nicole was certain that the innkeeper would be more than willing to oblige. They'd no reason to delay more than several weeks, but they'd reserve final decision to after they'd told his father.

There would be no honeymoon, nor large celebration of any sort. A time would soon come when they'd have all the privacy in the world. For now, they'd only want to have every reason not to be separated, and to remove the angst they'd both been feeling. They knew they desired to be married, and if they did not delay, they could indeed provide a bit of pleasure for Nicole's mother. She would take great comfort in the knowledge that she was not leaving Nicole alone.

They walked the stairs up to the door, the discussion changing to what they might enjoy for dinner that evening. Once at the door they were first greeted by a curious smell. And then by a most curious sound.

Nicole turned to look at John Paul, then back toward the door. "Mother?" she said as she pushed it open. She gasped. The table set with her grandmother's finest china, and her great grandmother's finest tablecloth made in Scotland at the turn of the century. It was the palest of peach linen in the finest quality. It had been her great-grandmother's wedding present. A bottle of wine, she knew her mother had been saving for a special occasion sat on the table. What gave her the greatest pause was that the table had been set for eight. She turned and looked at John Paul, and his expression was as quizzical as her own.

He slid his hand into hers, kissing her brow. He leaned whispering into her ear. "We shan't know what it is until we go in Nicole." He put his hand reassuringly on the small of her back, pushing the door fully open. It was then that they saw what manner all of this had risen from. There in the front of the flat near the fire stood a collection of people, all turning to smile at them.

Nicole's mother's face held more color that night than it had in months. There was Katherine, a man most likely her fiancé, her father, the pastor of the church, and beyond them, a man Nicole had never beheld before.

"Father?" John Paul said in a nearly whispered breath over Nicole's shoulder. He did not let go of her hand but moved forward. The man at the back of the group moving forward to embrace John Paul.

"What wonderful friends you have made in this City my son!" He said to him, hugging him tightly. He leaned away, looking at Nicole, and then back at John Paul. "And this is she…the one that you mentioned in your last letter?"

John Paul blushed slightly, nodding his head. "Father, may I present Nicole…"

His father did not wait for the finish of this most proper introduction. He moved forward, embracing Nicole. "My dear, my son spoke of you so oft in his letters, and I can see why he has such high opinion of you my dear, you are a beautiful creature."

Nicole blushed heavily as she nodded in acknowledgement. "You son is a most wonderful man sir, I can see where he has come by his good looks." Nicole was unaccustomed to giving or receiving such flattery. She'd once read the words in a story, and it seemed to roll out unconsciously. She'd not intended to seem clever, though it did cause the group to laugh.

Soon the room was abuzz with all manner of conversation. Introductions seemingly evaporating as the group found themselves conversing as if they'd all known one another for a great many years.

Nicole followed Katherine into the kitchen where she was tending to something on the stove.

"Katherine, however was this planned?" She leaned forward giving her dear friend a gentle yet excited embrace.

Katherine began stirring as she spoke. "You see our dear pastor had been in Paris visiting relatives when he received word just this morning that one of his parishioners had taken quite ill. Since he'd vowed to be with her for last rites, he had need to change his departure. He'd planned to return on Monday's carriage. The arrangements it seems placed John Paul's father and the pastor in the same carriage to travel to Chauesser on Monday. The carriage driver, knowing full-well that he could not make the round trip twice in one day, contacted his father to see if he might be so inclined to travel a day earlier or delay his arrival yet another week. Since he'd been readied in advance, he was certainly able to leave on a moment's notice. And so the pair arrived just an hour passed the time the other deliveries from Paris left Chauesser. During their ride it seems, our pastor and John Paul's father had opportunity to become acquainted. One thing led to another, and when they arrived, my father was waiting at the mercantile to retrieve the pastor and take him straightaway to dinner as the woman had since taken a turn for the better, and no longer needed his immediate presence. Well to his surprise, he found himself introduced to the John Paul's father who would be finishing the apprenticeship of the young man at the undertaker's offices. Your mother had wandered over to the tavern in hopes of securing some sort of meal for this evening, feeling it was a most special occasion and she'd not want you to have to worry for supper. Nicole, as things turned, your mother told John Paul's father of your engagement, and his father was most amiable about it, as he'd rather imagined that would be the contents of his next letter from his son."

Nicole looked over her shoulder, John Paul was smiling at her from across the room. He sat next to his father, and on his other side was her mother. Nicole returned his gaze thoughtfully.

"You see, before anyone had intended it, the dinner for three grew to a party, and since the tavern had been torn apart for a good cleaning, your mother invited us to move the meal here. So here we are all here my dearest friend, to celebrate your engagement!"

Nicole embraced Katherine once more. "My dearest Katherine, how can I ever thank you for your kindness. You have been a most trusted and faithful friend during all of this. I hope that you might find what I am about to ask of you to be impertinent."

Katherine placed the lid on the pot, moving on to the next, lifting its cover and stirring. "Nicole, I think I know of what you speak," she glanced up from the steaming pot. "I know of your mother's health, and I know further of your wishes for her happiness. There is no reason you should feel you must delay a wedding so as not to interfere with mine. Time does not permit you such luxury my dear, and I shan't have you feeling the least bit badly." She set down the spoon, returning the cover to the pot. She turned to Nicole. "My dear there is little else that matters but happiness in this life. It is only those who are too proud to embrace life in all of its messy glory that deprive themselves of what happiness they might have found. We are not so formal in our fair City that we must wait for all matters of proper society. Those who know and care for you most will understand."

Nicole exhaled, what a wonderful friend Katherine was indeed. "My dear friend…" Nicole began.

Katherine interrupted her. "Nicole, I do believe that John Paul is staring a whole right through us. You must look."

Nicole turned, glancing at John Paul. He was smiling at her, he nodded his head just once in silence, just as he so oft did when her mother was dozing and he needed to converse with her. He wanted her to move to the platform just outside the door leading into their flat. Without a word, she released Katherine's hand, and moved quietly toward the door.

John Paul politely excused himself as the conversation between the eldest two men in the room grew into raucous laughter. Some story about travels between Paris had intrigued them.

Nicole's mother sat listening intently, pretending not to notice that the pair were slipping outside the door.

Once the door was closed behind them, John Paul took Nicole into his arms. The most ardent kiss he'd ever given her, and eagerness in his very embrace. He pulled himself reluctantly away from their kiss. He smoothed his hand over her forehead, placing a delicate kiss upon it. He looked down into her eyes. "Nicole, it is but a wonder that our families have found one another in such a place, seemingly joyous at our impending union."

Nicole's heart was beating so fast…everything was transpiring so rapidly.

"Nicole, if it were in our ability to have the glorious wedding that you most decidedly deserve, I would will it to be so. We've discussed how all we truly wished for was our closest family and friends to be with us." His hands were trembling as he took hers into his.

Nicole looked up into his eyes, he had indeed been thinking what she herself had been thinking.

"Nicole, have you the dress of your grandmother's that you spoke of?" His breath was a bit shallow now.

Nicole nodded, pressing her head against his chest. "Yes, it is in the wardrobe."

"Then Nicole, with those we care for most already in this room, and a decision not to wait beyond several weeks more what say you that we…."

Nicole smiled, wrapping her arms about John Paul tightly. "Yes John Paul, I would so very much love to become yet before the sun sets fully….your wife."

John Paul lifted Nicole into his arms, embracing her so securely he nearly drove the air from her lungs. "Then let it be so." John Paul looked down, a bit of hesitation in his voice. "Nicole, I've no want for you to worry for the validity of my affection for you….for I love you most ardently…..I've no inclination as to when we might share a wedding bed Nicole, and that is a matter for which I am more than willing to wait."

Nicole blushed profusely. A wedding bed….two weeks ago she'd not even thought a marriage was in her near future. Tonight, in that small hallway they were discussing wedding beds. "John Paul I…"

The door opened. It was Katherine. "Do excuse me, I've left the most important part of our dinner at the tavern. I shan't be more than a half-hour. I've already set the salad course if you should so desire to start before I return." Katherine did not wait for a reply but bounded down the stairs and was gone.

John Paul turned to Nicole once more. "Let us wait until after the meal, and then at its conclusion I shall take the pastor aside, you may change into your gown. Just as they surprised us with a dinner, so we might we surprise them with a wedding!"

Nicole was nodding her head in agreement. She inhaled, the happiest a woman could ever be. A wedding, no matter how short the preparation would be a most glorious occasion as long as all those they loved were with them.

The pair joined hands and walked back into the flat. Everyone would join at the table for the salad course. Nicole knew Katherine was not fond of this course, and she shan't mind missing it. The wine was poured, grace was offered. And several toasts were made before they began.

Katherine was running as fast as her feet could carry her. It was her fortune that having helped Nicole on several occasions, she knew of the location of John Paul's keys. She'd make quick work of setting a bed from linens she'd retrieve from the inn. Several pedestal candles, a bottle of champagne, and a fire set for kindling would be waiting. She'd find some other excuse to leave before they, lighting candles and the like for their arrival. She tingled from the tip of her head to her toes. A wedding….and happiness for her dear, dear, friend. What more could she ask for. Next year at this time, if all went according to the dreams she'd been musing, they might both very well be with child…and now, she was certain, they'd be spending their lives together.