(Warning for rude language)
CH 56 Allies…"You, young woman, are a tenacious survivor," astute words from Dr. Burns, my wise psychologist from back in Chicago.
My tenure upon his couch began shortly after Tony and I started dating. Dr. Burns took me through childhood regression, scrutinizing my relationship with a loving but perennially preoccupied father and my absentee fruitcake of a mother, and then through the entire three-year saga of Tony.
After one particularly dark weekend, I mentioned that the idea of checking out had appealed to me. Of course I would never really kill myself, at least intentionally, I mean, there just had to be a pony somewhere in all that pony crap.
Dr. Burns would smile, shake his head and then he'd say, "Gabrielle, life may suck from time to time, but you never allow the devil to win; why start to now?"
Yep, that's me, Gabrielle, the survivor. Unfortunately, Dr. Burns hadn't made the time jump with me.
But he'd been right about the tenacious survivor part. Distraught though I was over Erik, I vowed not to let the difficulties of living among the people and traditions of this age dissuade me from making my way.
I lamented the fact that only last year George Sands had passed. Now that's a woman I would have liked to know; a woman with real moxie, a celebrated author who, as a matter of comfort, wore men's clothes, went wherever she wished sans-chaperone and shunned the traditional bindings of Victorian age marriage.
My new friend, the esteemed Mary Anne was also one of the most celebrated authors in the world. I'd birthed an idea to write her of my troubles here at the manor and to ask if she knew of a place where I could take refuge and obtain honest employment should things not work out with Erik.
Not an easy letter for me to write, but I needed to be logical. If anyone could help me, it would be Mary Anne and her circle of avant-garde friends. She was a champion of the strong and independent woman, and she liked my writing.
I am woman; hear me roar. She would have liked that song, at least the lyrics.
I'd long since picked myself up from the floor of the water closet and slid into the bathing room for a soaking bath. Marie checked in on me once, rapping lightly on the door to see if I were still among the living.
"I'm fine Marie; I'll take a glass of wine and retire to my room if you don't mind."
Which she shouldn't have, the supper hour had long past and if she'd had a heart to heart with her employer, she knew I didn't want company.
"I'll bring you up a tray dear. Are you certain that you are alright?" she asked with concern.
"Yes Marie, we'll chat tomorrow if you don't mind."
"Of course."
I heard the sound of her shoes clicking down the upstairs hall.
More relaxed and looking like a prune from my lengthy soak, I now lay on my bed with parchment and pen in hand and a book beneath them for support.
I sipped the wine Marie had graciously brought me, along with an untouched cheese pie, and began to pen one letter to Mary Ann and another to Erik's dear old friend, the Daroga.
I felt I could trust the Persian. If anyone could shed light on how best to handle Erik and the Christine situation, he could. Perhaps he would even talk some sense into me. When he last visited the manor, I got the sense that the man was never very fond of Christine as a love interest for Erik; to young, too naive. He appeared to approve of me robustly (or was it merely my cooking?).
Maybe, just maybe, that would turn out to be an ace for me. The hour was late and my eyes began to blur. I'd have to wait to send the letters until tomorrow morning.
The way the mail ran, the post to Paris would take three days, four to London.
After spending my formative years in a household where my mother's favorite evening recreation was to scream, cry, yell and break things against the walls, I was a master at sleep during wartime.
I may be brokenhearted over Erik's indecision, but by golly, I could still shut down and sleep. Enough wine and it was off to sleepy-bye land.
"What the fu…" I popped up as if my butt was on fire. The door, someone was knocking loudly at my door. Being pulled from deep sleep into the land of the living, I felt disoriented and I forgot where I was. Then I heard the familiar sensuality of Erik's tenor. Even when ticked off, his voice mesmerized.
"Gabrielle, have you retired dear?"
"Ummm, and you just woke me too," I croaked.
"Oh…so sorry, may I enter?"
No, get lost. I did not answer hoping instead that he would think I'd fallen back to sleep.No such luck, I heard the click of the door and a muted shaft of light cut a slice into the room. I couldn't hear Erik, but I knew he must be moving toward the bed.
Burying my face into my pillow, I acted as if I were slipping back into twilight sleep.
The mattress depressed when he parked his frame next to me.
"You choose not to sleep in my bed tonight, Gabrielle?" He sounded genuinely hurt.
I moaned into the pillow and turned over; shielding my eyes with the back of my hand against the small candle Erik had placed next to the bed.
"I'm tired Erik. I only want to rest, if you don't mind."
"I shall miss the warmth of your soft body next to me. Your presence helps me to sleep," he placed the candle holder on the edge of the bed table and bent over me, gently brushing the hair from my face.
"You'll live." I replied dryly. I was not in the mood.
He raked a hand through his hair and blew out a substantial sigh, "It is what I said earlier today, that I wanted to postpone the wedding until next month, isn't it? The time will pass before you blink, Gabrielle. I, I am simply befuddled…a momentary affliction no doubt. Bear with me and all will be well."
"Erik, you probably don't realize how your decisions and actions affect others, but they do. It's not all about you; it's about me too. You threw me a sharp curve ball that I couldn't catch and it hit me on the noggin."
He cocked his head and frowned.
"Sports analogy; look, you surprised me greatly today and I feel led to think you're having second thoughts about marrying me. That's a heavy weight to bear, Erik. I'm sad and I'm hurt."
"Whatever for? A few additional weeks are not too long a wait for what shall be an eternal bond. It is imperative that my wits be about me before we become one in marriage. It is of the utmost that you comprehend the issue at hand, Gabrielle."
I looked into his eyes with difficulty, "What I understand is that until that letter arrived from Christine you were all set for our wedding. Then, poof, your mood changes, you are no longer so sure of me, of us. Forgive me if I find that suspect, Erik." Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
He shifted in the bed and placed his warm hands over mine. The affectionate gesture caused my blood to freeze. I pulled away from him for fear I might disintegrate into a heap of wet rags.
"Gabrielle…"
I cut him off, "I am not finished! You told me I was the only person ever to touch your soul, to make you feel that you were not a beggar; that even Christine made you feel like a beggar. On the night she kissed you, that last night, even in her final act of compassion; there was hesitation in her eyes, as if she needed to shore up courage to put her lips upon yours. Erik, have I ever hesitated in such a manner?"
"Never." He turned away from me to stare into the candle,
"The reason I chose to sleep alone is because of your indecision, Erik. If you have another woman tearing at the corners of your mind, then I cannot in good self-esteem allow you access to my body until I know that you will not discard me."
"Dearest Gabrielle, I would never discard you! And I did not say that I was leaving you for Christine. Why, how absurd. The prospect of a friendship with her has caused you to become delusional with jealousy."
"Ha!" I sat straight up I bed and jabbed a finger at him, "I'm not stupid enough to be jealous, but I am savvy enough to know when another woman has planted doubt into a man's mind.
"I daresay; you've no clue as to what you speak of woman."
"You may be a genius Erik, but not when it comes to the intricacies if love. I've been through hell and back; I know what this devil looks like." I raised my voice and balanced on my knees so I could look directly into his eyes.
"Do you not love me?"
"Of course I love you, why would you say such a thing Erik?"
"Then you would not cut me off from your affections."
"I'm not!"
"But you are!"
"I have chosen to refrain from fucking you or being fucked by you until we are wed. Putting the cart before the horse only causes pain Erik, and at the moment, I'm already knee deep in it. If you think I'm going to pleasure you while you pause to purge your mind of doubt, then you truly are a madman."
I was disarmed when his face turned red. All at once, I felt that watery sensation in the back of my throat, the sort that travels to the mouth. I started to perspire. Oh my lord, I was going to yack.
Making it down the hall to the water closet was out of the question. Frantically, I glanced around the room for a useful receptacle. Thank the graces there was no water in the porcelain washbasin. I sprinted from the bed to the washstand, clutched my hair in one hand, held onto the washbowl with the other, and threw up.
How I deplored doing that in front of others.
"Gabrielle, what's wrong dear?" Erik sounded alarmed and rushed to my side.
I shooed him away, "Bad cheese I suppose; I'll be okay. Let me take care of the carnage, freshen up and get some sleep."
"You're ill, Gabrielle. Would you like for me to stay with you? Whatever you require, anything at all, please you must alert me, even if I am sleeping."
"No, Erik. Please go to bed. We'll talk in the morning…if I'm up to it."
"Yes, naturally," his eyes were bereft with concern, worry or perhaps the lost promise of sex. He looked pitiful, the only bright spot in my otherwise horrific day.
I tottered off to the water closet and Erik slunk away to his cold, lonely bed.
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Don't Punjab me for the angst; after all, you'd be bored with constant bliss. The reviews are much appreciated; keep them coming.
-Leesa