Epilogue
February, 1879...
Had it really been ten months since Erik and I were joined in marriage—eight since I'd given birth to our son? I shook my head at the stealth of time.
Snow drifted past the library's etched windows and a substantial fire crackled in the hearth. I sat on the floor sifting through mementos from our wedding celebration in the gardens of DuPuis Manor. I'd come to think of the event as "Erik's coming out party".
It really was the perfect day—a winning combination of good friends, fine food and pleasant weather; why, I'd even averted the wedding cake crisis. Erik marveled at the rich chocolate cake Id baked for him in the shape of a baby grand piano. If he suffered any discomfort that day, it was in the small twinge of not knowing how to accept this new feeling, a lightness of being while in the company of others.
"Lovely wasn't it, sweetheart?" I said without looking up from my task. I'd learned long ago to anticipate Erik's cat-like entrances.
"Wonderful, one of my best ever, darling," I heard him reply from the doorway.
I turned to him and smiled. "I'm thankful to Monsieur Mangeot and his new camera. It's awesome having all these photographs of our special day."
"The man's film cost me the labor of another opera, but your happiness was worth the price."
Erik joined me on the floor. Together we reminisced over the photographs: The bride and groom in the garden dressed in their wedding finery; one of a mother and father smiling at their son during his christening, and another of the manor house façade. He picked up a formal photograph of me wearing my beautiful silk wedding gown.
"You looked stunning," he commented.
"I did, didn't I? And ditto, by the way. When I walked down the garden path and there you were in your fine black tails and white silk cravat, I nearly swooned. As the saying goes, 'every girls crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man'."
"I am an abnormally handsome man indeed, am I not?" he snorted, sweeping a hand unconsciously over the right side of his face.
"You are to me. Erik, someday a noted French artist by the name of Anaïs Nin will declare that 'the only abnormality of man is the incapacity to love.' Love is one thing you have a vast capacity for, sweetheart."
"Pah."
"Don't 'pah' me, DuPuis; there is not another man in the universe whose hips I would care to wrap my legs round," I demurred, and leaned forward to meet his gaze. I'll hear no more of your negativity, Monsieur.
"Our son is down for his nap." He studied me, his pirate's eyes smoldering with obvious intent.
Needing to complete my task, I steered his attention back to the photographs. "Oh, look at this one where you're playing the violin. Remember how much fun we all had?"
"I daresay, I do remember how you enjoyed a tad too much champagne."
"I beg your pardon, I did not."
"What was it you asked Nadir for during your waltz? Oh yes, it was 'a dip.' I shall never forget how his eyes pleaded with me. He attributed your caprice to being from another time and culture, but Mademoiselle Caruso, well, I found it necessary to turn from her lest I burst into guffaws. I doubt I've ever seen a more shocked countenance on a girl."
"Don't be so smug, she's always an easy source of amusement. Poor girl, I'll never forget the day she caught in the kitchen. You had me bent over the kitchen table; I believe she thought you meant to draw and quarter me."
"The idea had crossed my mind."
"I was stuck with explaining the facts of life to her. She'd no idea women actually enjoyed doing 'it' with their husbands."
"Did you explain to the girl how it was you who initiated our impromptu encounter?"
"I'm saving that shock for our next 'woman to woman' therapy session. She's a good girl and wonderful with young Erik. Because of her, I was free to dance and party with our guests," I replied.
Erik stared into the fire. "One of our best gifts was the news from Nadir that Signor Vincenzo had left his post at the Lyric Opera and returned to the States."
I nodded. "I know I did the yippee dance. What a huge relief, the dude gave me the willies."
"Peremptory news indeed. Evidently, the man's odd behavior had more to do with flirting and less to do with mystery. The audacity of that stupid yank, why, you were an engaged woman! I should have taught the Lothario an unforgettable lesson when I had the chance," Erik glared, his lips curling into a dangerous sneer.
"He's lurking about another continent now and won't bother me again."
I motioned to the pile of mementos. "Are we really closing in on one year since all this?" I marveled at how quickly time had passed.
"It seems that when you are truly enjoying life, it insists on rushing by to become your past," he answered, caressing the length of my arm affectionately. "So, have you chosen which items you wish to include in the time capsule?"
"Yeah, I have," I exhaled a decisive sigh. It's been difficult. I'd like to keep them all, but then I think 'I want dad and Michael to see, to know what happened to me. The pictures will go along with these," I said, gesturing to a selection on the floor that included my Chicago driver's license, an official copy of our wedding license, our son's birth certificate, one of Erik's scores, autographed by the composer, and a newspaper article with my by-line and signature on it. I figured dad could conduct a forensic analysis on the lot of it for authenticity.
"What do you think, Erik?"
"A thorough selection, darling. Do not forget to include the letter detailing your phenomena," he reminded me gently.
"Got it right here." I waved the parchment for him to see and placed it in a brass box for safekeeping. Erik and I planed to seal the letter with the other mementos for interment in the underground cavern. We would tell our children about their unusual lineage and request they pass along this extraordinary family secret to their most trustworthy and faithful offspring. We mailed a second letter to the Bank of New York for safe keeping in a lock box with strict instructions for the presiding bank manager to contact my father in July 2006.
The rest, as they say, is history.
"It is the best plan we can hope for," Erik said, and closed the lid of the box.
March, 1881...
Over the next two years, life at DuPuis Manor steamrolled right along. Erik won a bid for a private project in London and completed his most radical opera to date, "Temps, l'Anveger", earning him accolades as a maverick composer to a new generation of music lovers.
I continued to write and campaign for women's causes, occasionally lecturing at various suffragette gatherings and Dr. Garrett's New Hospital for Women and Children in London when I wasn't tending to my happy little family. We planned an excursion to America and I also gave birth to our second child. Naturally, my husband delivered her. Suddenly I was the number two girl in Erik's life.
The Rouxs, Nadir and Mademoiselle Caruso remained with us at the manor and
Erik even acquiesced to add another pair of hands to assist Henri, a hard working and humorous young man who insisted we call him Napoleon. I took it one step further and deemed him Napoleon Dynamite, which he adored and I had to explain to my green-eyed husband.
The chief sadness in our life was the loss of Mary Ann Evans. My friend and mentor, known to the literary world as George Eliot, succumbed to a fatal illness only two years after the death of her longtime love, George Henry Lewes.
Of course, I occasionally grieved the impenetrable void between my father, brother and me. Hell, I even missed my absentee mother. Perhaps if dad had been more available for her and less consumed with his work, she wouldn't have needed to capture his attention by pulling crazy antics. I don't suppose I'll ever know. What I do know is that of all the dreams and plans born of my future past, none compare to the reality of my present life today in the nineteenth century, where I love an extraordinarily beautiful and complex man, the composer, architect, inventor, husband and father who also happens to be the former Phantom of the Paris Opera.
The end.
I hope you have enjoyed this tale. It was a pleasurable experience writing it.
I apologize to those who may feel I have left a loose end or two (author's prerogative). Maybe there will be a sequel!
Big thanks to Barb and Amy, my betas, for hanging in there with me, their assistance was invaluable.
Now please let me hear from you one last time with a review, comments, or a simple final shout out. Again, thanks for reading.
Long live Erik!
-Leesa