Thank you for your reviews. I live for them! Now that you have taken your cold showers, let us continue with Gabrielle and her wonderful "damaged genius" (thanks PMEL).
Re-cap: Gabrielle shows Erik yet another way to enjoy her charms. They return from London. Life goes on...
Ch 39 A Proposal
Paris and the surrounding countryside birthed a springtime of pastel watercolor beauty, fragrance and warmth.
If not for the occasional difficulties of using 19th century conveyances, I could have nearly forgotten all about my 21st century life. In my world, there was only Erik.
We spent our days exploring the grounds of his estate on horseback, teaching one another our favorite songs, or in the library reading, often aloud to the other whenever we came across a passage of interest.
There were many moments of personal discovery too. I learned that Erik was at his best in the late afternoon and into the evening, in this way, we were compatible since I too was a bit of a night bird. During his travels as a young man, he'd been enamored by the sensuous beauty of Spain and longed to experience her ancient charms once more. America was another country Erik dreamed of visiting, even though he'd heard that the Yanks were a crude lot, he admired our bold spirit of perseverance and ingenuity.
And, like many fine Frenchmen, Erik was a master at fencing, a skill he sharpened by fighting his shadow. I offered to be his partner if he taught me. At first I received a resounding no; Erik argued that it would be too easy to hurt me since I was a novice, but relented later when I suggested that I merely assume the role of student.
The elegant Monsieur Dupuis also got a buzz out of learning and using some of my 21st century American slang too. He often made me laugh when, on rare occasion, he used words like cool or awesome. Once, just to be ornery, when Monsieur Khan visited, Erik kept referring to his old friend as dude. I laughed so hard at Erik's speech and the Daroga's perplexity that I cried.
Most of the time I adopted Erik's terminology, because he had difficulty distinguishing when I was teasing and when I was serious, and not just because of our linguistic differences. Living a solitary existence most of his life, Erik never learned the subtle nuances of communication. True, he watched enough Opera rehearsals to comprehend plots and the actions and intentions of an actor's character, what he didn't realize was that real life was not so cut and dry-there were no scripts.
Tenderly, and with much patience, I was able to help him understand the variety of ways to interpret one's words and motives.
Erik's earnest curiosity made me smile. Although he was a very proper gentleman when it came to matters of etiquette, he made no bones about playing tricks on people if the mood struck.
His favorite trick was to throw his voice.
The first time he did that to me, I was in the stable chatting with Henri when Erik's stallion, Dante, stretched his neck over the top of his stall to nuzzle my shoulder. When I turned to pet the beast, he appeared to be speaking to me, "Madame, would you mind terribly if I nibbled on your shoulder, or have you brought me a sweet today?"
Henri burst into hearty guffaws.
I whipped my head around to look at the horse, and then back to Henri.
Dante then nipped at my shoulder and spoke again, "If you do not give me a treat, then I shall have to take a bit out of you!" The horse's mouth appeared to move with the words.
I was stupefied, and I must have looked quite surprised by the way Henri was falling over himself with laughter.
"Huh? What in the…"
"Madame Gabrielle," said Henri, "I fear you've been had by the master illusionist."
"What on earth are you talking about?"
Erik entered the stable, appearing non-pulsed. "Gabrielle, what is wrong dear? You look as though you've seen a ghost."
"No, but the strangest thing just happened. Dante appeared to be talking to me. Either I am losing what is left of my faculties or someone is messing with my mind. I mean, he's an intelligent horse, but…"
"…A talking horse? Does he speak French or English?"
"Ha, ha smart guy, French, of course."
"My dear, have you gone daft on me? I've met many a horse, but have yet to hear one speaking anything other than-well-horse!"
Then I remembered. In the Leroux book, Erik was a master ventriloquist and he could throw his voice too, an activity he engaged in whenever boredom struck. He regaled me with tales of his fondness for scaring the heebie-jeebies out of the opera staff.
"You!" I pointed at him and whopped him playfully on the shoulder. "I know you're behind this. How did you get Dante's lips to move along with you?"
"It's an ancient secret. If I tell you, your very life will be in danger."
"Yeah, whatever-you probably used peanut butter on his gums like they used to for tele…um…show horses." I nearly blurted out television and movies in front of Henri.
"Peanut butter?"
Since I couldn't remember whether or not peanut butter was a staple in any 19th century household, I dropped the subject.
"Oh never mind."
Both men enjoyed a great laugh at my expense.
As spring progressed into summer, Erik's dark moods all but disappeared and he no longer vanished for days into his subterranean hideaway. On occasion, he even accompanied me to Paris for the weekly market excursions. As always, Marie Roux went along and Henri drove the carriage.
The outings proved to be a means for Erik to re-engage himself with the sights of his beloved Paris. Keeping his left profile to the carriage window, he liked to peer out from behind the velvet curtain.
Once we arrived at the livery, he and Monsieur Roux wandered off to a nearby inn for a bite to eat and a glass of wine or a pint. The inn was dark and therefore suited Erik better than walking about Paris in the daylight.
Besides Erik's paintings, designs and compositions, he enjoyed another great passion--his rose garden. For a man who had lived three quarters of his existence in darkness, the freedom to create while the sun shone was an appreciable privilege, one he obliged by planting the most exquisite rose varieties available.
Erik adored a challenge and had even taken to creating his own hybrid of roses, but had yet to achieve any success from his horticultural experiments.
From spring to early fall the tiered area behind the manor house became a palate of colors found only in a Monet or a Degas; brilliant blooms in every conceivable shade of coral, yellow, pink, white, lavender, and red.
Dressed in faded breeches, boots and a linen shirt, shears in hand, Erik would lead me from one bush to the other and tell me the names of each variety of rose and what sort of care they required.
I made particular note of an enormous bush bearing many blood red roses with long stems and enormous thorns. As I admired it's beauty, Erik cautioned me to be careful. Although breathtaking the bush bore and over abundance of large sharp thorns.
"What is its name?" I asked.
"The Royal Christine rose," he answered sourly.
"I see. Hey, who takes care of your roses when you are traveling?"
"When I am called away for my work I normally leave the care of these beauties to Madame Roux, but I do not believe she loves them as I do," he smiled while haphazardly scratching his head.
"But you Gabrielle, have an eye for beauty, you could care for these in my absence."
"I once planted wildflowers in the front of my apartment in Chicago, but I've never had the spare time to devote to real gardening, I'm not sure I'm the person for the job, Erik."
"Of course you are, and now you have plenty of time too."
"So true…but if one your rose bushes croaked, I would die. I mean…your roses are so breathtakingly beautiful."
I stopped walking and stepped in front of Erik and claimed his lips for a brief kiss.
"They are but a reflection of the man who tends them."
Erik stroked my arm and contemplated me for a moment.
"Gabrielle, if true beauty still reside within this carcass of mine it is because one beautiful rose has nurtured its growth."
Erik's sweetness both flattered and humbled me. No appropriate words came to mind so I smiled up at him.
Eventually Erik slid his hand down my arm and held my hand in his, "Come, the weather is turning windy and cooler, let us return. We'll have a brandy and then I'll play you an aria from my new opera."
We walked back through the rose garden through the double doors that led into the back sun porch and up to Erik's music room.
He seated himself on the piano bench, shuffled through some sheet music and took a sip from his snifter.
"When is this work to be finished, Erik?"
"The Lyric's managers have contracted for it to be ready for production by August, three months."
"I see. Are you near completion then?" I draped myself over the chaise and pushed my slippers from my feet, letting them flop on the floor.
"Nearly, I have only this last bit to perfect and it will be finis."
Erik slid the music into place on the staff and began to play. I watched as the master and the music became one. Eventually, Erik ceased reading the music, he closed his eyes and began to dip and sway with the notes. His movements mirrored the emotional highs and lows of the character for which the piece was written.
When Erik finished, I was crying. I recognized the bitter sweet aria from his opera La Femme du Nord, the story of a man who falls in deeply in love with a woman he knows he cannot posses. In the end, the tables turn when she realizes she cannot go on without him, but it is too late, the man had moved beyond her siren's grip, leaving the poor woman heartbroken and alone.
Erik swiveled toward me on the piano bench. "There is still much to be done before the final composition can be submitted. I have decided to re-write the ending."
"Whatever you do, I'm sure it will be the right move."
"How can you be so certain, Gabrielle? You've not even heard the completed score."
"Trust me when I tell you that this opera will go down in history as one of your finest works, Erik."
As always whenever I hinted at the future, Erik responded with a mixed expression of curiosity and amusement.
That's how most of my days went at Dupuis Manor. Spring became summer and the days dawned warmer.
One particular hot afternoon Erik and I sat in the sunroom reading. I was not reading as much as lamenting not being able to go swimming, or if I did find a place to swim, I'd be required to wear one of those idiotic bathing suits worn by ladies of the 19th century.
"I mean, a woman could drown with all that material swirling around her body," I groused at Erik, who was attempting to read Le Figaro.
"It's not fair. It's hot. Fans are but a great idea and air-conditioning a good sixty or seventy years away, and I can't even dunk myself in cool water without putting on a clown costume! It's shit, I say!" I pounded the table once with my fist.
The rustling of crunching paper startled me. Erik threw down his newspaper with a hard sigh and said boisterously, "I fear I shall get no peace whatsoever until I can find a way to appease the fair Gabrielle!"
"Forgive me. I don't mean to be a pest, Erik. It's just that I must make one more compromise in adapting to your time. It's not so easy you know, well, I suppose you really don't do you?"
Erik's features softened as he looked at me sympathetically, "Go, dress for a ride, and wear whatever you like. I was hoping to take you on a picnic this afternoon; we might as well get to. I'll prepare a lunch for us."
I sat there staring at him.
"Well, go now to change into riding clothes. You do not wish to sit at this table all afternoon do you?"
"Yesss," I did a little happy dance then raced down the hall and up the stairs to my bedroom. I couldn't change into my jeans t-shirt and riding boots fast enough.
Erik packed some sort of picnic lunch, complete with wine, no doubt. We followed our usual route from the stable through the field and to the edge of the woods. Here, Erik choose a trail we had never taken before.
"Are we going on an adventure today?"
"Most definitely."
"Awesome, where?"
"Shush," he placed an index finger to his lips, "You'll see."
We trotted along through the lush June green following the trail for a good hour, when suddenly we approached the edge of a clearing.
Twenty feet from the edge of the woods there was a lake with sunlit ripples winking across its surface.
"Are we still on your property, Erik?"
"Yes. I hadn't given much thought to the lake until today. You may swim here if you like. My land continues beyond those trees on the other side for another five acres. Another property backs up to it. No living thing found in these woods will care about what you do or do not wear to swim in."
We dismounted and Erik removed the blanket and foodstuffs he'd brought along for our impromptu picnic.
"I love swimming in lakes and ponds. I can't tell you how many times I did this as a girl during the summer school break at my cousin's place in Wisconsin." I quickly shed my jeans and ran down to the lakes edge. "Are you going to join me?"
"Momentarily… Gabrielle," Erik shouted from the shore, where he was sitting on the blanket opening a bottle of wine. "Please be careful, the lake is very deep. Tell me you know how to swim well."
"Like a porpoise," I yelled in mid-dive from a rock into the lake.
The water was soothing. I swam underwater, burst upon the water's surface then swam to the opposite shore. The exhilaration of swimming hard had me winded. I floated on my back, luxuriating in the feel of the cool water on my back and the warm sunshine on my face.
Eventually I swam back to the shore and emerged dripping and happy. Erik followed me with his eyes as I walked up to where he sat on the blanket.
I stood before him and shook like a wet dog.
"You little minx," Erik grabbed a corner of my t-shirt and pulled me down on top of him.
"You think a little water bothers me, eh? I think not Mademoiselle!"
He rolled over and captured my wet body with his fully clothed dry one. He pinned my arms down over my head and I struggled and giggled in vain for him to have mercy on me.
Erik swallowed up my pleadings with his mouth. He kissed me with the longing of a man who had been at sea without women; deep and hot with passion. I responded with equal zest, surrendering to him with a sigh.
When we parted, the front of Erik's vest was soaked. "Make yourself comfortable Monsieur DuPuis. Shed some of those stuffy clothes, why don't 'cha?"
"A splendid idea, Mademoiselle," off came his vest and boots. He unbuttoned his lawn shirt but left on his riding breeches, which were mostly dry.
"We pasty people can use some vitamin S. Open your shirt and let the sunshine in Erik."
I removed my T-shirt and lie wet in my underwear, thoroughly enjoying the rays kissing my body. Both Erik and I were blessed with light olive skin, the kind that rarely burns and like everyone else in the 21st century, I was mindful of skin cancer, but for this moment in time, nothing else mattered but this rare pleasure.
"I thought women considered a lily white complexion the height of feminine beauty."
"Yes, so much so that my many of my 19th century sisters will die of quinine overdoses in their zeal to become ghostly pale."
"Perhaps I spent too much time among the dark skinned beauties of Persia, but I find too pale a woman rather sickly."
I always imagined his Christine as one of those milky-skinned maidens. But, like me, Scandinavian blood ran through her veins. Perhaps her family also hailed from the farm islands; those hearty folks with dark hair, eyes and olive skin who toiled in their sunlit fields were known as black Norwegians.
Erik stripped off his shirt and took the spot next to me. There, under the French sun we lay in serene silence, drinking up the sounds and scents of summer.
Erik's smooth voice pulled me from my cozy daze, "Gabrielle, you could be happy here could you not?"
"Um, I suppose I have to. Why do you ask, Erik?"
"If you had the choice to return to 2005, right now, would you?"
"Definitely."
Erik became silent. I turned my head to the side to look at him. He stared at the cloudless sky. He was sulking.
"But not without you." I lifted my face over his and stared into his clear jade eyes. "I could never go anywhere without the man I love." I punctuated my words with a kiss. Erik responded by wrapping his arms around me and holding me to his chest.
"I would follow you anywhere, Gabrielle."
We lay together for a long time; so long, I dozed in Erik's arms for a while. When I came to, Erik was humming a tune of some sort. I imagined him composing another masterpiece.
"Hey you," I rose to greet his eyes. "We ought to eat, don't you think?"
"Yes, one must I suppose."
We both sat up and began unwrapping the packages of bread and cheese Erik had packed. He poured the wine into glasses and handed one to me.
"I admire a man who remembers to bring along real wine glasses to a picnic."
Erik eyes me curiously, "Would you have us drink straight from the bottle?"
I giggled, "Not that it would bother me. I forget, in 2005, people often used plastic containers to drink from when they go on picnics and such. They make the wine taste funny."
"How terribly gauche."
We ate our delicious mid-day repast and sipped the exceptional Chenin Blanc that Erik had managed to keep cool by wrapping it in several rags.
For some reason, I felt self-conscious sitting in my bra and panties, and slipped back into my nearly dry t-shirt. Erik furrowed his brow, but made no comment.
"Gabrielle, I have something of supreme importance to ask you and I desire an honest answer."
I shifted on the blanket to face Erik so I could give him my full attention, "Of course, sweetheart, what's on your mind?"
He gazed out toward the water then continued nervously, "I-I'm not certain how to go about this. I have conjured many grandiose scenarios in my mind, none of which rang true. But then, many important endeavors seldom go as planned, do they, darling?"
"So true; where are you going with this? Is something bothering you Erik?" I became a little anxious.
Erik moved closer to me and took my hand, "Look into my eyes, Gabrielle. Do you believe me when I tell you I love you?"
"I do. Why else would you go to the lengths you have to help me, to make me comfortable and to befriend me? Men don't just do those things because they feel sorry for some fair maiden."
He flashed me a sincere smile, "You are my muse and my friend, my lover and my very conscience. Would you-ah, close your eyes Gabrielle and do not open them until I say so?"
While I sat in wonder with my eyes closed, I could hear him rummaging around in one of the saddle bags he'd brought to convey our picnic supplies.
"Hold out one of your pretty hands."
Eye still closed, I held out my right hand. Erik placed a small velvet bag into my open palm.
"You may now open your eyes."
When I did, I saw an anxious Erik. What could be making him so uncharacteristically off kilter?
I looked at the blue velvet bag and back to him.
"Go on, open it up…please."
I picked up the little bag and shook it slightly. Something small rattled around inside.
Because of a sudden bout of nervousness, it took some minutes to untie the small ribbon holding the bag closed. Finally, I freed the knot and dumped the contents into my hand.
There in my palm was a small ring of white gold set with a perfect oval ruby surrounded by diamonds.
I think my mouth dropped open, at least I felt it had. I could not utter a single sound.
Erik was now kneeling on one knee. He swallowed hard, took both of my hands in his and said somberly, "Gabrielle, I wish to make you my wife. Would you have me as your husband?
What I mean to say is; will you marry me Mademoiselle Thomassen?"
- O -
OMG, could it be? (Marilyn knew)
Thank you for taking the time to drop me a review.
As always, a big THANK YOU for Amy, my wonderful beta!
-Leesainthesky