Dear faithfuls:
So very much has been going on in my life, much to much to explain. I am humbled that so many have reached out to make sure I was o.k. you truly are the nicest people I have ever encountered in the world. Do not worry, I promised from the beginning I would never abandon the story until it was finished, and I continue to make that promise. I will update at least once next week. I've slotted four hours on Sunday to dedicate to celebrating this great love of one of the most special couples in all of literary history (in my opinion) Christine and Erik deserve to have resolution…and so…I promise…they shall.
Take care, and God bless until next week!
John Paul unlatched the heavy iron as they arrived at the door. He looked down into Nicole's eyes. He had not expected this privilege of carrying her across the threshold that night, as his wife, though now in his arms he knew it to be fate. For how he would have been disappointed if she'd had to cross it in the light of day with no sense of love or formality. But then again, he'd not expected that the newness of their marriage would be sanctified that night…the night of their union, and certainly not for months to come. He did not want to divide nor compete with the attentions Nicole needed to dedicate to her mother. "I love you Nicole," he paused, "Nicole Perdue…" he smiled at her drawing her closely he whispered it again into her ear… "I love you…welcome home."
Tenderly he kissed her jaw, and then her cheek before setting his lips against hers. Slowly he pushed the door open with his shoulder, crossing the threshold, altering forever the lives of those that passed if not formally, then certainly symbolically into the next chapter of their lives. His head jerked slightly to the side as he lowered Nicole to her feet. He'd expected the rooms to be dark, for he'd not recalled being so careless as to have left a lamp burning. Instinctively he drew her into his protective embrace. He looked down at Nicole; she was smiling up at him, leaning her head into his chest.
"Do not worry my John, it was Katherine…some day I shall explain…" At once regret seized her…she'd left the garment box her mother had given her at the flat. A look of disappointment swam across her face.
John Paul ran his hand along her chin, "whatever is it Nicole…" inside he hoped he'd not rushed her…was it too soon…this thing that was so new.
"It is just," she blushed, glancing downward, "a box, nothing really," inside she ached. How it had come to her she would never be certain, but she knew it had been at great cost, and now not to have such a garment for what was surely to come…saddened her. Though he'd not have expected that she have such a thing, under present circumstances, but she was sad that she'd been so careless as to forget such a gift.
"Do you need me to return for it?" He looked on at her disappointment. He'd do anything to please her.
"No…." she sighed slowly, looking up into his eyes. They were so warm, so loving, so reassuring. It did not matter what she wore. What mattered, as that by some mystery they had found one another, and that night, that very night, she embraced a life she'd thought to have passed her by. "No…" she lowered her head, reaching out for his hand. Silently she took it, leading him on toward where she could see a faint glow. She knew Katherine had been there before them, and could only imagine what she would find, once she passed through the doors to his bedchamber…their bedchamber.
John Paul leaned down, pressing his chin against her temple, inhaling, the very scent of her hair was exhilarating. He'd followed Nicole to the door.
She hesitated, turning to look up at him, a slight pleading in her eyes…she was suddenly frightened. She'd not prepared, she'd done nothing to be ready for that night, and secretly she hoped he'd not sense it…though her hesitation would certainly betray her.
He glanced down into her eyes, smiling he bent at the knee pulling her up into his arms once more, placing a tender kiss on her lips. "Mrs. Perdue…I love you…" he himself hesitated before he said "have you any want to wait?" his heart ached at the mere uttering of it hoping she did not think that he did not want her in all of her fullness as his bride.
Nicole's heart was leaping, it was all so close, her senses heightened, she felt a rush of warmth on her cheeks. Silently she shook her head no, nestling it into his chest as she looked up into his eyes.
He smiled, lowering his face slowly until his lips joined hers. With his shoulder he pushed at the door that separated their room from the remainder of the house. It gave way easily, as if it was expecting them.
Nicole's face turned toward the room as they entered. She smiled. Katherine had not missed a thing. The bed was covered in rose petals, every corner was lighted with a hurricane lamp, a bottle of wine and two glasses adorned with white ribbon sat at its side. The bed itself had been covered in a sheer white covering from the four posters, drawn back with satin ribbon and crowned with bunches of white hydrangea tucked neatly in the folds of the ribbons that reached down to the floor. The room was completely transformed, looking as if it were awaiting royalty.
Her eyes suddenly caught on a small chair in the corner, not far from a dressing screen that had been brought in from another room. There on the chair, lay the delicate garment her mother had given her. It was draped and awaiting the bride.
As John Paul allowed Nicole's feet to alight once more on the floor, she turned into his arms, kissing his cheek. "May I have a moment…"
He smiled at her, kissing the end of her nose. Whatever she asked of him that night, he would surely give to her. "By all means my wife…whatever you have need of, you've only to ask."
Nicole's hand slowly slipped from his, walking to the chaise, lifting the garments into her arms, she disappeared behind the dressing screen.
John Paul inhaled, exhaling, his eyebrows raising as he loosened his cravat. The night had been a surprise, though it is exactly where his heart had led him….he smiled…oh how right his grandfather had been.
He removed his jacket, laying it aside on the chair, he sat to remove his shoes. He smiled, he could hear Nicole behind the dressing screen moving about. All this would one day become familiar to him, but to this point in his life, he was unaccustomed to hearing anyone else in his bedchamber as he readied himself to retire. Her sounds would become his, and the two would blend into a wonderful routine. He smiled again, his eyes aglow. He was a husband…a husband… He sat there pondering the thought, his eyes cast toward the floor in deep thought until he sensed something…sensed her. His eyes wandered slowly along the floor toward the screen that had separated them. He inhaled slowly as his gaze reached the trail of a long white lace garment. His eyes traveled up from her feet toward her waist, her shoulders, her face. She was blushing, and secretly inside he said to himself…what he had always wanted…a blushing bride. "Oh Nicole…" he stood walking toward her slowly so as not to frighten her. She took a few tentative steps forward of her own until at last they met, their hands quickly intertwining. They stood looking into one another's eyes for a great while. Then, without a word, John Paul lifted Nicole from her feet and carried her off to their wedding bed. It would truly be a night to remember.
XXX
The shopkeeper walked toward the carriage house. In the hours before morning broke, the field was alive with every manner of life chirping, hissing, buzzing, trying desperately to take its place in nature. The man's footsteps decidedly interrupting the nightly rhythm of things as he made his way.
He stopped, thinking for a moment, then shaking his head. If his mind had not deceived him, he would have thought to have heard the neigh of a horse that was not his own. He was causing himself fright just from the mere circumspection that some foul act or another had take place in the abandoned house. He laughed at his own folly as he reached the door, finding it too to be unlatched. "Most unusual," he said under his breath, fear anew creeping up his spine. Perhaps there had been an intruder…
His breathing grew shallow, his heart pounding as he lifted the barrel of his gun with one hand, propping it across the other wrist as he walked closer to the door. If there was indeed an intruder, they would not be getting the best of him that night. Immediately wishing he'd already lit his lantern, he could smell something, hear a buzzing sound. He moved in slightly inside the door, he moved slowly, listening…listening….listening…but there was no sound. He breathed a sigh of relief. Surely if someone had been there, they were not there now.
He'd go about latching the fence and the carriage house door, and be on his way. He hoped to get a few hours rest before the excruciating hour came when he had to rise and begin to prepare his mercantile. He moved toward where a ledge would normally be to sit the lantern down so as to light it. As he took tentative steps forward he heard a creak beneath his feet. He paused, listened…still nothing. He reminded himself that he was all alone, and he'd nothing to fear. Taking yet a few more steps forward his foot caught on the edge of some large object. He kicked at it with his foot…was that a boot? Slowly he lowered himself toward the ground, reaching out with his hand. Inside he was angered that he'd worked himself up into such a state, it was most likely something left behind when they'd left. His hand reached out, coming to rest on a boot. His brow furrowed as his hand wandered in the darkness up from the sole. He gasped, standing and stumbling backwards in his horror. Indeed, it was attached to a human leg. He scrambled out the door, nearly impaling himself with his gun as he flung the doors of the carriage house wide open.
His hands shook with such great fear that he nearly dropped the match as he lit the lantern, the flame immediately casting an eerie glow in the yard outside the building. He gasped again, raising the lantern high above him, turning frantically this way and that. He'd heard it again, he was certain, a horse neighing, but his eyes fell on nothing that was within the expanse of the light cast from the lantern. He shook his head, turning once more to focus on the carriage house doors. He'd no idea who or how many might be inside, but he'd have to venture within if he'd want to know the answer.
Slowly he took small steps, his heat beating in the temples of his head, he nearly thought he would lose consciousness. His eyes were wide as he entered the carriage house, the walls of the structure confining the glow, focusing it to a brighter state. His eyes grew wider still when he looked down at the large man that lay bloodied and dead at his feet. He'd never seen the likes of such a man in all his recollection, and it was terrifying. His breath came in stuttered shakes as he lifted the lantern above his head, nearly too afraid to look at the rest of the carriage house for fear of what he might find. Though there was no evidence of any others, the very presence of such a quantity of blood would give rise to wonder.
Slowly he backed away, hearing the mysterious sounds of a horse again, he dropped the lantern and made haste to his own, leaping upon its back he dug his heels into the beast's sides as he thrust the horse forward towards Chauesser. It had not been the imagination of the passers by, a heinous crime had indeed taken place there. The third death in association with the man or his property. Perhaps the undertaker, before his removal, had been on to something.
XXXXX
Nicole's mother lay awake, her face relaxed, her mind wandering. Tonight she breathed a bit more normally. Perhaps it had been the wine, or maybe it was the inner peace that she felt knowing that Nicole was happy, that she was married, that she was loved. What a blessing it had been that Katherine had been there, that John Paul's father had arrived, and that all had been able to seize that moment, together.
She smiled, rolling over on her side to glance out the window. The sky was beginning to take on a faint pink hue, just as it always did before the fullness of morning set in. Oh how she remember that night that she was married. What wonder it had all been. She closed her eyes. There was nothing quite as beautiful as the beginning of a happily ever after.
XXXX
Misty's head jerked once more erect. "Erphan?" crossing her lips before her eyes were even open. She looked down. His head was resting peacefully in her lap. She'd told Monsieur Courtland that she'd go off to bed when she'd returned to the lower floors, but she'd not been able to resist returning to his side. Confused or not about her newly revealed feelings from and for this man, she cared about him as a friend, a companion of as many years as she had been there. His wellbeing seemed to have taken on a new significance.
Her hand reached down brushing the wisps of hair from his brow. Her palm roaming his forehead. It felt cool, normal. He looked so peaceful, and save for the red mark on his forehead, and the blisters about his lips, he looked to be no more than resting. His body had fought a good fight, and if she were to guess, she would say he was well on his way to mending. Indeed those first hours were the critical ones, and he'd weathered through them….neigh, they'd weathered them together.
She blinked, she refocused her eyes, had his lips moved? She leaned down even closer, looking at his mouth. She shook her head. Surely it had been her imagination. "Erphan?" Her fingers running lightly through his hair. She watched for a response, but none came. She shook her head; it had been a foolish thought.
Her eyes roamed the room. The inflowing sunlight announced the breaking of a new day. Through the coverings on the windows in the room where they sat, the light was a muted pink. With the dawn would come the opportunity to see what damage had befallen Courtland Manor; there was certain to be a great deal of work to do. She looked once more down at Erphan. Today he would be spared from his duty. She turned her palm toward her, running her forefinger across his cheek. She leaned down whispering to him, "I've delivered the books to the Monsieur," she paused, thinking again to see movement of his lips. "Erphan?" Her eyes grew wider, she could not bring herself to blink, lest she miss it.
Erphan's chest rose, trying to draw in air, it stopped abruptly under the palm of her hand that now rested on it. He began to cough.
Misty's eyes grew even wider. She slid her arms beneath him, pushing with all of her might on his back until she'd turned him enough that she could cradle his torso, laying his head on the rolled cushion of the divan.
He wrenched several times, his hand flying instinctively to the red mark on his forehead. His eyes not yet opened, had began to spring effusively, his salted tears running down the sides of his face.
Misty rubbed her hand along his shoulder as she reached out for the glass of water that sat all night in wait for him. Stale though it may be after such time, it would still be a welcome wetness to his surely parched throat. "Here, drink," she commanded, carefully pressing the glass along his lips.
Erphan drew in the first small sip of water, and slowly is hand raised to grasp the glass. The water tasted like nectar to him, so great was his thirst.
"Erphan, be careful…you'll choke!" Misty said, tugging at the glass.
He let it easily slip from his hand as he looked up a where he was, and with whom he was. He began to relax back into he lap. He felt like he'd been thrashed by a harsh wind and barrel of sand. He looked up into her eyes, slowly blinking, she was smiling…she was smiling for him.
XXXXX
Lady C sat at the small table in her room. She'd sampled from the small platter of preserves and brioche that had been brought to her. She'd not much of an appetite. The woman from the night previous…aside from her manners, there was something even more disturbing about her. Disturbing enough that it had kept her up the vast majority of the night.
She closed her eyes, she wanted nothing more than to be back in Chauesser, back in the comfort of her own home. She leaned her head back against the tall back of the chair. Dickens passing had been a difficult one for all those that appreciated his work, and had waited for the arrival of his next. She was disgusted by the worry she'd paid her own discomforts. She sat up, straightening her dress a bit, and took a sip from the cup that sat on the table just to the right of her. She'd kept a stiff upper lip all of her life…she inhaled, closing her eyes. This would be no different.
XXX
Erik had returned to the bedchamber. His earlier haste to remove them had proven to be hasty, for certainly now they'd have a bit more time. If the javelin had been found at the winter house, there was a certain but good chance that they'd not been followed all the way to Courtland Manor for if they had, he knew the beasts methods, and she'd have delivered a killing strike before morning light. She was never one to plot or stake out, she preferred a clean kill, swift and sure when she was directly involved. He was certain now they'd at least have the day to plan, but he was certain, by first morning light on the morrow, they would be en route to their next destination…and that would be Paris.
He climbed back into the bed, nestling against the warmth of Christine. She moaned slightly as he put his arm around her middle. A compassionate looked washed over him as he began to slowly caress her protruding mid-section. She never complained, but when he watched her sleep…he knew her discomforts. He kissed her shoulder. "Not long now my love…soon this will all be over, and those babes will be in our arms." He nestled his cheek against her neck. He would continue to lay his hand on his family, for though he knew yet only one…he loved them all.