Dear faithfuls:
Thank you for being patient yet again with me. My dear friend who had brain surgery is doing very well. His tumor was benign and he is now happily at home with his wife and family. During this difficult time, the mother of a dear friend from the same circle of friends, passed away. This past week has been a difficult and long one. I guess this is what they say about being friends. We are always, and in all things there and supportive of each other. Do cherish your friends, for one never really knows the day or the hour. Embrace life, and those things that make you happy. My hope is that this story, though long, has somehow added to your happiness.
Though I wish in my heart to return to the five chapters a week, as had been my general mode for so many months, I know that it is likely an unrealistic one. Life is busy not only for me, but for everyone in our Phamily. I hope to give you two chapters a week, thoughtful and heartfelt, and hope that this will be acceptable to you who have been so faithfully reading this story.
Until the next chapter…God bless, and take care….Angel.
XXXXX
Misty abandoned her bed, and now sat next to a sleeping Erphan. She was gently running her fingers through his disheveled hair; hoping it soothed him. She'd been keeping watch for the longest time, unable to give in to the tired that she was feeling herself. What if he needed her? His breathing was steady and strong, though the beat of his heart in his veins was much less so. He slept, though it hardly looked like resting.
She sighed, glancing toward the window. It would be morning in not that many hours, and she would be face to face with the light, and those that traveled in it. It was these few precious hours between dusk and dawn that she would have alone with her thoughts. She'd not known what to make of his confession so great was her surprise at his verbal utterances. It vexed her that her heart had been tugged by his words. What stirred within her, she could not understand.
Misty glanced down, brought back from some altered state she'd been wandering in. He'd begun to breathe a bit more rapidly, and a sweat was growing on his brow. Oh how she wished he'd not been out of doors. Then neither he nor she would have to wander in this wonder. She smoothed her hand over his forehead, no mind to the fact it was covered in a sheen from his sweat. She bent down lightly touching her lips to his forehead.
"Rest Erphan….rest," she paused, "but do come back to us Erphan…do come back to us…." She paused again, running her hand through his hair before leaning down to whisper in his ear, "do come back…to me."
XXXXXXX
The heady scent of a freshly brewed coffee greeted them as soon as the wood that had separated one room from another had been put behind them. John Paul's father was telling a story in rather animated fashion about when John Paul was a child. John Paul had abandoned his attempt at protesting, as his father would hear none of it.
"Nicole, you are just in time!" Perdue smiled walking toward her, taking her hand, "my dear I was telling of the time before John Paul left for college when he'd professed what sort of woman he was looking for in a wife."
Nicole's eyes flashed a bit of horror as she looked over at John Paul. He was blushing and his lips were turned up slightly in an embarrassed, if not hesitant smile. She exhaled. If he'd not seemed worried, then neither would she be. Her eyes traveled back to her new father-in-law. "Pray do tell," she said with a smile as she went to sit next to her husband of not even an hour, taking his hand into hers. "Do I look anything like what you'd imagined?"
Perdue's smile changing just slightly, he'd never felt such pride in the wisdom of his son. He slid his chair about sitting down now to complete the circle, "my dear Nicole, his first instruction to me before he said a word was that I must close my eyes."
Nicole's eyebrow rose slightly, she glanced at John Paul, "close your eyes?" John Paul was blushing even further. She looked around the room and everyone had let their lids slide over their eyes, as if awaiting the description of it. It was too late, the story would be shared, and perhaps she'd have some insight into her new husband.
"Yes you see my dear he'd told me if one chose a wife based on what one sees, you shall disappoint yourself, and do a disservice to her, for surely all things of the flesh change with time. But if you…" he paused, his vocal cords constricting slightly, "but if you choose your wife based on what you feel, what her words, her character, her presence do to your heart….then you are destined to love the woman forever, for even in the last moments of your life, when the light wanes, and you feel a draw to the after-life, you will feel her as you close your eyes, and know that you have loved the woman, not the flesh."
A general hush fell over the room, everyone embracing for their own the sage words of the new husband confessed years before.
John Paul glanced over hesitatingly into Nicole's eyes, squeezing her hand. His lips trembled slightly as their eyes danced with one another, and then, he did what Nicole would cherish in her heart forever. He smiled, slowly closing his eyes, his forehead leaning against hers. He said just loudly enough for the benefit of the others, "and I would say, that I've no doubt I was right…even that long ago."
A round of gentle clapping rose from the collection of them, as Nicole opened her eyes, tears welling in them. "Thank you," she whispered, then turned her head slightly at the sound of the outer door to the flat closing, she glanced at Katherine's chair; it was empty. She smiled, she knew well what her friend was up to, and it made her blush all the more.
XXXXX
Lucien bid the woman good night. He'd walked her to the upper floors to the hall leading to her bedchamber. They'd a most pleasant visit, and a bit longer than most. The halls of the opera house were quiet and dark, save the singular lamp that burned for those that roamed them after midnight. He'd told her he had need for some air, and he'd detain her no longer. He'd no want to shame her, should any observe their strolling on after dark. Strange and erroneous inferences were certain to be made, such was the rumor mill that circulated, nay, churned in such a place as this. The lot of them had taken pride that their theater was of the highest standards, above the reproach of other theaters open in Paris. He'd want no comparison to be made amongst them at all, not only for the woman's sake, but for that of the future of the Opera Populaire itself.
He strolled toward the side door he so very oft used, donning the signature cloak of those in the Opera House employ. A gentleman seen walking out of doors that time of night in formal attire could quite easily take in the night air, under the guise of securing the perimeter. All one need do was to check at a door or two, rattle the gates as one passed, to be sure that they were locked securely, and any observer would be certain to think he nothing less nor more than a night watchman making his rounds. He'd done this more times than he could count. Perhaps in his own way he was something of a night watchman, self-appointed.
As he strolled the walk around the large darkened gates, he could hear the bark of a dog far off in the distance. The City, in spite of the recent influx of people coming to pay their last respect for Dickens, was unpredictably quiet. He had needed to clear his mind, to set aside his jealousy.
Lucien walked on, the gravel crunching beneath is boot; a waft of cool breeze circled about his collar, ruffling his coif this way and that. He tugged at the sides of his cloak lest it take flight. He was lost in his thoughts, self-retribution swirling about in his mind. It displeased him that he felt such scorn for not being able to write or at the very least contribute in some way to the history of Dickens that would be on display. Perhaps it was that he thought the man to be something of a hero. Having shrugged off all constraints or need for the approval of the great whole of society, he wrote profoundly of the injustices that so many others chose to overlook. Perhaps it was the small bit of flattery that Dickens had bestowed upon him unwittingly when he'd make comment in the presence of mutual friends of the secret writer of the growing Bohemian revolution. Dickens' words still brought a swell of pride whenever he thought of them.
He recited in his head, "it is a brave work of such philosopher to make such associations with brazen straightforwardness. I thinks the man who penned this verse to be of the most brilliant sort, and indeed he has taken the most prudent route of a pseudo name to ensure his life in the odd chance he be discovered and reprimanded by those whom he's so aptly charged for their callousness to the hearts of those who comprise the majority of this fine City."
He shook his head as he carefully executed the sharp turns in the path near the back of the Opera House. There had to be a way, there simply had to be a way to contribute, to alter, to ameliorate the injustice of not including his insight into the man's life. He walked on. A look of epiphany appearing in his eyes, "why did I not think of this before?" He smiled, his pace quickened. Yes, there was a way, and he knew precisely how…he'd learned from the best.
XXXXX
Erik lay in Christine's arms. It had been hours since she'd lifted him from his knees, took him into her arms and held him until he'd cried himself dry. He'd quit trying to imagine what Christine now thought of him. He'd stopped allowing his self-doubt to ruin the beauty of her acceptance. He was certain he would keep in his mind as long as he had breath, her words of comfort of acceptance. She was his young beautiful bride, but her spirit was much older…much older…much wiser. She'd whispered she loved him. She whispered she would care for him forever. She whispered he'd no need of her forgiveness. All those things he'd most needed to hear. He felt loved, cherished…understood, perhaps for the first time in his life. He lay still just listening to the beat of his own heart against the firm roundness of her protruding vessel. She was a wondrous creature indeed, and he…was a most blessed man.
Christine's hands wandered over Erik's shoulders methodically. She'd felt nearly every emotion she knew she had within her, and several more she dared say she'd never felt before. She'd pitied, loathed, seethed, raged, cried, hated, empathized, loved….all in the course of a few hours of darkness. How anyone could handle even one of the burdens that Erik had endured, she could not know. But, to have gone through such tragedy, and yet still have the capacity to love, to protect, to be thoughtful and tender….that was simply a miracle. Had it been she….she'd not have made it even through the first of the trials. In his brokenness he'd found his greatest strength. She gently pulled him closer in her arms, squeezing his shoulders slightly.
"Christine? Is everything alright my dear?" he said, making him realize just how dry his throat was, and how very long it had been since last they'd ate or drank.
"Yes Erik, everything is alright." She smiled, running her hand now up and down the length of his spine.
His skin began to tingle. Her gentle touch soothed him more than anything else in this world.
"I just wanted you to know…." She smiled as he nestled in a bit closer.
"And what was it that you wanted me to know Christine?" He smiled, closing his eyes as he pressed his head against her.
She smiled again, "that I love you."
Erik smiled. Yes danger lurked, and he knew just where his sword was if it were needed. Yes he had need to get to Nadir. Yes, there were many things that screamed for attention. But these moments, this precise moment, there was nothing more important than being there, with her…in her arms.
XXXXXX
There was a gentle knock on the door. "Sir?" came a voice through the door.
Nadir walked over to it, opening it seeing one man, and in the shadows, another form he could only assume was Raoul's sister. "Do come in dear, do come in."
She at once was relieved as the man guided her into the room, and left her in Nadir's company. Nadir was smiling, quickly allaying her fear that something grievous had happened to her father or brother.
"My dear, do not worry, though I do apologize for having had the men call you out from your slumber so late in the night." Nadir said as he took the cloak from her shoulders, putting down the night bag she'd packed, not knowing what she'd find when she arrived there.
"Nadir, it is lovely to see you again sir, but pray do tell, where is my brother, my father?" she said to him kissing him on the cheek as he led her from the outer foyer to the rooms that comprised Madame Giry's suite.
Nadir smiled, taking her arm in his. He'd not be spoiling even one gram of the surprise. He was glad that the walk to join the others was so short, lest his own exuberance give it away.
He opened the door, revealing the laughter, the books spread out along the tables and chairs. Her father happily sitting between Meg and Raoul, gesticulating with his arms the size and grandeur of what he was describing.
"Sister!" Raoul rose, going to her side, embracing her.
Meg stood back blushing just slightly, nodding in her direction. She could tell by the look in his sister's eye that she knew, even though she'd not been told.
"My sister, how very good of you to come," Raoul said happily, leading her back to the divan that sat opposite his, joining her with Madame Giry.
"Madame Giry, how lovely to see you," she leaned in hugging her politely.
The group all sat, Nadir pulling up one of the chairs off to the side. A general hush fell over them.
Raoul's sister smiled at him. Everyone was waiting for Raoul to tell her.
"My dear, dear sister. How I so long to tell you of the most splendid news." He took Meg's hand into his.
She was smiling broadly. She'd come to appreciate Meg's gentle spirit, and her lack of pretense. There was something to be said for an elegant young woman who could hold herself with poise and presence, without the pomposity that was so common in the aristocratic families. Too many young women put on airs, never really revealing who they truly were until after they'd already wed. Meg had been a breath of fresh air in that regard. She smiled again, she could imagine no finer a sister-in-law that she.
She stood, embracing a surprised Raoul.
"But I haven't even…." Raoul said with a smiling surprise.
She leaned back looking him in the eye, "brother, how long have I known you, did you think you could keep such happiness from me?" She smiled embracing him yet again.
Raoul grinned as a schoolboy. He'd no real worry that his sister would be disappointed in his choice. But it pleased him immensely that she'd embraced the idea with such zeal.
She let go of Raoul and made her way around the back of the divan to Meg's side, embracing her tightly. "It will be so good to have a fine young lady in the family my dear." She squeezed her yet again before leaning away and standing closely next to her, eyeing her father and brother. "It will be far better than you know to have an ally when the two of these men begin acting up!"
Raoul's father smiled at the pair of women. One his daughter by birth, one to be his daughter by marriage. Yes, there would be whispers in society about her lesser rank, her inferior birth, but he'd not a care now. He glanced at his son. Raoul was beaming as he stared at Meg. For the first in a very long time, he saw light in his son's eyes. Of one thing he was certain now…that Raoul would have a loving and devoted wife, and that he would be undeniably, unalterably happy. What more could a father truly want for his son? He walked over to join the ladies, taking Raoul by the hand.
The four embraced, a general family huddle ensued. There was laughter and yes a few tears, but mostly relief. Relief that now there was something happy to plan for. Relief that a decision was now made; the secret could be revealed.
Meg reached out and took Raoul's sister's hand. "I would like it very much if you would be willing…." She led her over to the books spread out on the table, "to help me with such things…I would be most honored." Meg smiled politely at her.
She beamed, "it would be both an honor and a pleasure my dear Meg. Weddings are such pleasant things. But when one captures a prince," she winked at Raoul, "a wedding of this sort must be a celebratory occasion indeed!" She squeezed Meg's hand. It would be a glorious summer. Planning such an event was a most pleasant diversion from all things normal. There had been such a somber tone to the City since Dickens' death, that it would be just the thing to brighten up the mood of the City when it was announced.
She sat next to Meg. "Timing is everything my dear. First we will allow the proper respects for Dickens' burial and mourning. The following week, when those who traveled here have left, and the streets once more belong to the Parisians, you shall make your announcement." She squeezed Meg's hands once more. The excitement in the room…it was electric.
XXXX
Andre settled Lady C once more into her room. She'd had a startle in her sleep, and a bit of conversation and a pot of tea had soothed her nerves. He wandered back to his own bedchamber, standing just gazing out the window.
One day if he and Misty were to marry, as he was most certain they would, and build a house in Chauesser, as Lady C was determined, he would have to leave her. Then in the middle of the night when she needed comfort, a confidante…he would not be there. He knew it was the normal course of things, and the mere prospect of taking a bride pleased him, but he had no want to leave the Lady without a companion. He sighed, looking back at his bed. He needed rest, for who knew what the day next would bring. He returned to it, pulling up the covers, he reached over and lifted an envelope from the nightstand. He'd re-read one of Misty's letters. It gave an entirely knew meaning to the expression sweet dreams. He smiled as he unfolded the parchment.