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– Leesainthesky
Re-Cap: Erik freaks out and disappears after Gabrielle professes her love for him...
Ch 27- Loving Erik
Henri Roux was in the barn polishing tack and whistling a merry tune when I walked in on him, seeking the comfort of human companionship. I loved the smell of the barn: its hay, horses and fine leather. The old wood and beautiful animals satisfied something deep and natural within my soul.
"Why Henri, it appears you have some new friends to keep you company," I said eyeing the nest a mother cat had made for her new brood of kittens in a straw laden corner of the barn.
"That's Matilda. She's been with me for five years now, gives me a new batch of friends every winter. This is a petite litter; there are only four. Normally she has seven or eight kittens. Perhaps Madame Feline grew weary of so many little ones pulling at her teats," he chuckled knowingly.
"Where do they go, the kittens, when they are old enough to leave their mama?" I asked bending down for a closer inspection of the furry darlings.
"Here and there. They stalk the fields. Some stay around to catch the barn mice. Of all of these creatures, this little tabby has grown to be my favorite," Henri stopped rubbing saddle soap on an ornate black leather saddle and glanced over at the mewling brood.
"Erik doesn't mind having the place crawling with critters—er—felines?"
"Monsieur DuPuis? Ha, he is the one who brings out the scraps you save from our meals."
"No fooling," I grinned in amazement.
"Oui, our stoic friend has a soft spot."
"At least for the animals," I said sardonically.
Henri's aged face showed concern when he motioned for me to join him, "Please Madame, sit down and visit with me for a spell. A pretty lady is better company than the best of felines."
I pulled up a worn wooden stool and sat down.
"Henri, you need not flatter me for my company. I like spending time with you. You are wise and I like your saucy jokes. Besides, you don't treat me like a frail little woman."
"Because you are not. I have seen how well you ride the horses and I have witnessed you behind the barns. You wear men's work trousers while practicing some kind of martial art. You think no one can see you, but I often go back there to sneak a smoke. And there you are."
"Henri, I don't think your wife would approve if she saw me kicking and punching the air, much less wearing what we Americans call Levis. She already believes that I am an unruly Yank."
"Marie loves you like a daughter; she only criticizes what she cannot understand. You are different, Gabrielle. You are strong and brave and kind. That is why Monsieur DuPuis admires you."
"Admires me? Pah! He admires my…um…you know, cooking, Henri. He cares for nothing more than his music, architecture, and maybe these cats." The mama cat allowed me to pick up one of her children, a tiny black one with a white mask. She purred considerably as I scratched her chin with one finger. "Got the pleasure thing down, don't you little one?" I spoke to the kitten. "Sorry, what were you telling me about Erik, Henri?"
"Only that our Monsieur Dupuis is not so uncaring as he seems, Madame Gabrielle. He has always been in possession of a good heart; there was merely no one in his life to draw it out of him."
He should have heard our conversation four days ago, I seethed.
"Well, my experience with our Monsieur Dupuis is that he cares not for the trifles of love," I retorted, attempting to hide the pain I felt in speaking such thoughts out loud.
"What hides between your words tells me more than what you say, Gabrielle. What is wrong, dear? Has Erik wronged you in some way?" Henri inquired uneasily.
"Wronged me? No, Henri—exasperated, yes. May I confide in you monsieur? As a woman, I know should consult your wife, but I need someone to talk to who is so much less…"
"Judgmental?" Henri smiled knowingly.
"Well put monsieur. I know it's not proper to engage in personal discourse with men, but I feel that you are no ordinary man."
Henri considered me for a moment, his twinkling blue eyes showed compassion. "And you, Madame, are no ordinary woman. Please know that there has never been a more trustworthy confidante than Henri Roux. Your secrets are safe up here," he pointed to his head.
"It's Erik. Damn it Henri—I love him!" I blurted out, expecting to see Monsieur Roux's eyes widen with surprise. Instead his kind blue eyes exuded only sympathy.
"I know."
"You know? How, Henri?"
"A woman in love moves with a certain grace. The way she smiles and speaks is different. She also wears her emotions on her sleeve—happy one instant, forlorn the next. You forget I have a daughter, Madame Gabrielle."
"You see me acting this way? How embarrassing."
"Do not be embarrassed to love, Gabrielle. Besides, I am a watcher; it was my vocation in the war. I see what others do not."
"Then Monsieur Watcher, could you possibly tell me what you observe with Erik? He and I have shared a few intimate moments. Erik has treated me with tenderness and affection. He tells me how much he cares for me. Then, while in my laudanum haze I let the L word slip from my loose lips. He froze up faster than a chicken in a blizzard. He insists I don't know what I am saying, that he is not able to love…blah, blah, blah. Erik's denial both frustrates and saddens me, Henri."
"Erik aches to be loved, Gabrielle. Those few of us who know of his past know of this truth. Suddenly the fair Madame he adores proclaims her love for him—the only woman to do so in all of his 45 years of walking the earth. Well, what can he do but be a tad frightened?"
I stood and pushed the little stool back, "Frightened, why of course he is." I said slowly. "I never seriously considered the possibility. But what can I do, Henri? I am not demanding he love me back, I only want him to let me love him. Is this a bad thing?"
"Ah, dear Gabrielle, Erik has sealed his heart and mind to such emotions. If you lie to yourself long enough, when the truth comes to your door, you do not recognize it and turn away from it. Be patient, do not push or demand. Stay the course and in time, our Monsieur Dupuis will come around. He is a fool if he allows his stubbornness to rule him, and I may well tell him so!"
Henri, giving Erik a severe dressing down— wouldn't that be interesting?
"Have patience you say? Lordy Henri, you'll see a lot more of me behind the barn kicking and punching things, you know. Where is Erik, anyway? I haven't seen him in four days and the horses are still here," I motioned to the full stalls.
"Holed up in the manor I would say; the man has many hiding places. In Persia he designed palaces with many secret trap doors in them. He was known as the trap door lover."
Another truth from Leroux's novel; although many of his details were fiction, I wondered how many of them weren't.
"Do you have any idea where these secret places are?" I asked coyly, hoping to charm Henri into divulging them to me.
"No, and neither should you, unless you wish to unleash the wrath of the Devil. Gabrielle, if Erik is in hiding, it can only mean that he needs the solitude for thinking and making choices. That could signal good news for you my dear."
Mother Nature was throwing one last mad snowstorm at the French countryside before her submission into spring the day Erik re-appeared from the depths of his manor. I had been in the library, curled up in front of the fire with an afghan over my lap picking my way through Chaucer's Middle English translation of French poetry.
For the first time all week my spirit was calm. The heavy wet snow falling outside of the library's beveled windows was beautiful and peaceful. Jasmine tea and a roaring fire add to my cozy haze.
"Good day, Madame Thomassen," Erik's melodious voice interrupted the quiet.
Hearing his voice was so unexpected I jumped and spilled a few drop of tepid tea on my dress.
"Reading Guillaume's Le Roman de la Rose, I see."
"E-Erik?" was all I could muster. I gawked at him standing just inside of the library's massive oak doors with his hands clasped behind his back. He was immaculate in his black frock coat and double-breasted vest. The man had the maddening ability to take my breath away.
Erik advanced into the room and took the leather armchair by the fire so I had to turn to face him. He let his hands dangle over the arms of the chair and crossed one leg over the other before addressing me again, "An inexhaustible poem of endless longing, a rose, a kiss and rejection. A bleak truth indeed."
"An impermanent condition relieved in the end by Jean de Meun's amorousconclusion. If you remember clearly Monsieur DuPuis, the lover finally penetrates the inner sanctum of his rose, and the poem ends in awakening," I had regained my composure enough to refute his bleak interpretation of the 13th century poem.
The thing was 22,000 lines long; perhaps he hadn't read the entire prose. No, this is Erik I am thinking of, of course he finished it; probably read Chaucer's Middle English transcription too.
He laced his fingers together and touched them to the cleft in his chin.
Many thoughts of what to say filled my mind. Should I tell him that I've missed him, or ask him how he's been? Maybe I could launch into a diatribe on how I was sorry for being so difficult to understand. To him, I must be a terribly imprudent and strong-willed female. I wanted to ask him to imagine how vastly different my life was before Paris. Staying holed up in his mansion was not helping to acclimate me to this century. Shouldn't Erik understand this? There was so very much conflict, confusion and pain for me living in the 19th century. I could just tell him to forget the whole thing—forget about love and just plunge into a mindless succession of searing sexual encounters. Or I could simply sit and wait for Erik to make the next move, which is what I did.
"You look lovely, Gabrielle, that color suits you," he complimented my burgundy day dress.
"Thank you, Erik. I've missed you, enigma man."
The corners of Erik's mouth twitched slightly, itching to smile.
"Why?"
"You know why."
"Believing is difficult for me, Gabrielle."
"I know, Erik."
"Remember when I found you in Paris. You kicked me and called me a freak. Such an attack seemed out of character for you. Your words cut me deeply. Why Gabrielle? Why did you call me a freak?" His face mirrored the pain in his heart. I felt horrible.
"Oh Erik, forgive me," I whispered. "Number one, I was extremely angry and frightened; number two, in my time, calling someone a freak has many connotations: It stands for anyone acting in an unusual or extreme manner. My favorite expression is to say, you are freaking me out, which just means you are upsetting me. I meant it in no other way. Please, please believe me."
I put aside my book and teacup and rose. I walked over to where Erik sat by the fire and knelt by his chair.
"Do not kneel before me, I am not worthy of it."
I reached up to him, which he interpreted as a request for assistance. Erik took my hand and stood, pulling me with him. We remained standing, with the unease of shyness and words unspoken hovering over us.
"Put your arms around me, Erik
"Gabrielle, I don't—," he began to protest tersely.
"Just do it."
He obeyed and embraced me tentatively.
"Feel the pleasure of being held by another, feel the warmth of my body, and its contours." I returned his embrace and urged him hold me closer. "Let yourself melt into me. Smell my fragrance; touch my hair. Be still and know me. Look into my eyes and find my soul reaching out to yours."
Erik relaxed his embrace to meet my gaze. His lips were slightly parted. A look or wonder blazed in his brilliant green eyes.
"Now, kiss me."
"Oh Gabrielle," he whispered huskily, and then lowered his head to kiss me.
Ah, Erik's soft, lush lips. His kiss was gentle and lingering. I sighed and slid my hands up his neck and into his dark hair. I inhaled his musky essence.
He broke contact momentarily. Erik searched my face intently.
I smiled up at him. "My dark lord, you move me so," I whispered, my words encouraging him to taste me again. This time his kiss was unyielding. Erik urged my lips apart and slipped his tongue into my mouth. He grunted and sighed as our kisses deepened. Erik's large hands roamed over my back, slipping down to my hips where he caressed me, moving his fingers in light circles on my bottom. My body tingled with delight.
This time I broke away to look at him. I ran my palm over the visible side of his face. He closed his eyes and moved his head in accordance to my touch.
"Gabrielle, I want to be good to you. I want to give you all that I am capable of. Can you be patient with me? Can you wait for my heart to open up, for me to learn how to accept the kindness and love of another?" he implored, grasping my hand and bringing it to his lips.
"Yes, Erik. Trust in my love and in me. You know, I too have been injured by cupid's matchmaking. If we grow together, our wounds can be healed. Teach me what I need to know and I will teach you. I am far from being an expert, but that's what's so wonderful about being us. Ignorance is a blessing because we do not have any preconceived notions about one another. We know we are different. What we have in common knows no timeline or cultural bounds. You and I can create our own rules for living, our own place in this world for us and no one else."
Erik pulled me down next to him on the sofa and held my hands. "I am a master at designing my own world of unending night. Yet, I once dreamt I could create a world of light where I could be loved for me."
"And so you can. It can be our world, Erik."
He scanned the library, sweeping an elegant hand through the air at the expanse of the room. "My domain, it offers me many comforts, except for the one I have craved the most. Gabrielle, I know not where this journey will take us, but your willingness to embrace who and what I am endears you to me."
Erik's words comforted me with compassion and hope.
"My dearest Gabrielle, I have spent time in seclusion considering the shell that is my life. You are one of two people, the dear Madame Giry the only other, who has offered me uncommon kindness and bolstered my flagging self-esteem. If others would move beyond my appearance, they too would be privy to my genius and talent. I have learned to approach the world with cautious affinity and I am not fond of most social occasions, which require I rub elbows the bluenoses of humanity. However, I know that you are in need of such affairs; therefore I have made the decision to accompany you on a limited number of outings of your choosing."
"Am I hearing you correctly? Are you proposing a kind of courtship, Erik?"
"So then, what you are proposing is your custom of courting?"
"- Ahem -, perhaps. If you would like, we may call it that. It is the proper decorum when a gentleman wishes to spend time with a lady he fancies."
"We've lived in the same manor house for eight months, and now you wish to court me? This is rich."
He frowned, "Do you mock me, Madame?"
"Heavens no! I am delighted at your decision to put your comfort aside to please me. In fact, I am rather awed by it."
"I have considered that you might enjoy visiting London with me. It is imperative I return in three days to sign some papers for M. Mangeot. While there, you should shop for new dresses. I noticed you have plumped up a bit and are in need of new frocks. A pretty woman should have many, Gabrielle. Then we shall go to supper, and stroll through the streets of London if you wish."
"You would do that for me?"
"Only for you, darling."
"I'm not fond of these dresses, but I do need more things. And hey there buster, what's up with that plumped up comment? Are you saying that I have gotten fat?"
Erik looked slightly startled, "Fat? Whatever do you mean, Gabrielle? I never said you were fat. When you arrived here you looked emaciated, dear. I thought you might have been starving. You were skin and bones, now you have lovely round curves."
I began to laugh, "Finally, a feature of the 19th century that I can live with; I don't have to starve myself anymore. Whoo hoo, look out chocolatiers; here I come! So skinny women are thought of as low class, and plump, which is really normal for a woman, is beauty." I vaguely remembered reading about this in a fashion history class I once took in school.
"Come to think of it, your French ballerinas are petite, yet still have flesh on their well toned bodies. The famous 20th century choreographer and musician, George Balanchine, is to thank for the emaciated dancer look."
"How positively repellent."
"I couldn't agree more; some of them look more like boys than graceful swans of the stage."
"In accordance to a proverb of the Ardennes, there is no such thing as a beautiful skin on bones, and I must concur. I find your new ripeness to be a chief delight," this last part Erik said while he consumed me with his gleaming jade eyes.
He had such a way of making me feel positively naked.
"In my time thin is in. The television and pictures add ten to twenty pounds to a person's image. My producer at Chicago Tonight was forever harping on me to lose weight. In 2005, at 118 pounds, I was considered close to being too heavy for the camera. And here you think the twelve pounds I've gained since being here is beautiful? Another reason to love you, Erik!" I smiled at him gleefully. By the look on his face he must have thought me bonkers.
"Your healthy appetite is an agreeable condition in a lady, as long as you do not allow yourself to become stout."
Was he goading me?
"Yes Monsieur, I adore French cuisine and shall grow as big as your barn, then you will have more curves to ogle than you bargained for," I teased.
"A proper amount of calisthenics will be in order to keep such an occurrence at bay my, dear," he winked at me devilishly.
"You rogue!" I smiled back.
"Vixen."
Erik embraced me once more and nuzzled my neck. I brushed back a loose lock of hair and succumbed blissfully to his affections.
"Would you think me terribly forward if I were to carry you off to my bedroom this instant?" he purred.
"In the middle of the day? Erik, what a bold rascal you are. What will Marie think if she hears us while she is cleaning upstairs?" I squirmed with delight as he nipped at my earlobe.
"Who cares? I am in desperate need of female nurturing," he growled seductively.
Erik's silken voice sent icy sparks up my spine.
- O -
Author's note: Please do continue your reviews. A note to a reviewer who mentioned that Gabrielle has been in 19th century France long enough to drop her modern slang: An excellent insight, people do tend to adapt to the cultures where they live. I don't want Gab to lose her original personality altogether, though. My step-mom is a good example. She is from Australia and still says lollies for candy and bloody this and that when she's agitated. Thanks for the input. Keep them coming! Kisses to all – Leesa
French poem of eight-syllable couplets. It is in two parts. The first was written (c.1237) by Guillaume de Lorris, the second by Jean de Meun (c.1270-7).