Oct 30, 1876
Manuela knew it was scandalous, but she could not stop thinking about M. Erik Bordeaux as she undressed the next evening. Why would a young man, especially one in the prime of his life, sentence himself to the life of a hermit? True he was not as handsome as Alejandro or some other men she had met. He certainly was not as built from sports or gentleman games. His physique was built of a different nature...slimmer, agile...like a cat.
Speaking of cats she took a moment to pet her cat Midnight asleep on her bed. Her thoughts drifted back to the Frenchmen like her eyes drifted to the window where she happened to seek out the back of his house at the bottom of the hill. It was his eyes, she concluded. He had eyes that dove into the depths of her soul and lingered there. He had such haunting, passionate, pain filled eyes. Yet just underneath there was a layer of joy and hope trying to surface. It all mystified her.
She thought of his hands and the way they moved on the keyboard. She bit her lip and giggled at the thought of those hands giving a repeat performance on her body. Then her face fell when she thought of his reaction towards her. It was almost as if he was afraid of her so he puffed himself up to scare her off. But Manuela was a smart woman. She could tell when she was being tricked. But why was he afraid of her? Had some other woman driven him into the shadows to hide? Was it because of what laid under that mask of his? That had to be it. That mask was the key to the whole puzzlement that was Erik Bordeaux.
Downstairs, Maria was putting the finishing touches on one of her costumes and Don Ricardo was watching the night skyline at the window. He stood feet apart, shoulders back, hands clasped behind him, regal and erect. He could hear the faint catcalls and whooping and hollering of the young men of Heaven's Corner. He harrumphed,
"Hmm! When I was young, Los Dias de Los Muertos was not a time to get drunk the night before. These young men have no self control and nothing better to do!"
Maria shivered slightly,
"They scare me sometimes...Remember last year when that young woman was compromised and everyone knew one of those boys was the father but none would come forward? I'm glad Manuela is in here. Do you see why Manuela won't marry any of them?"
Ricardo sighed,
"I just want her to be happy. I pray to the Virgin that she would send Manuela a man of God and of substance. But where is that man to be found Maria? Where?"
Erik sighed and sputtered his lips as he crumpled up his fifth draft of his letter. He took up his pen, a fresh blank sheet and began again,
'Dear Mlle.Montevilla,
I apologize for my rude and inappropriate behavior when you came into my house unannounced...'
"No!" Erik said crumpling up his sixth attempt. He truly was a monster. He couldn't even write a note of apology. Curse his weakness for beautiful women! He hadn't stopped thinking of her long wavy black hair or her full rosy pout all day. He didn't know what he hoped to accomplish with one letter, but he had to do something.
Erik frowned in annoyance when he heard the young bucks of the town carry on practically beneath his window. Erik didn't think he'd be moving to a place where a graveyard was a gathering place for a pint. Then again he didn't think he'd own a house with it's own graveyard but it was somehow fitting and it had been the only house for sale in Heaven's Corner. He stood to stretch his legs, absentmindedly looking out the window at the house up the hill. He saw but one light on and wondered if it were hers.
It had been a moment of insanity. Sheer brilliance and utter insanity. She wanted to be a good Christian and prove her forgiveness of Mr. Bordeaux's actions by inviting him to the fiesta. After all everyone else was invited. It wasn't because she wanted to dive into those beautiful pools that were his eyes again. Before she knew it, the card stock laid before her, the ink drying and the wax growing hot beside her. She bit her bottom lip wondering when she should have it delivered. Tomorrow morning would be too late to be polite and now it was too late to have someone else deliver it. Someone else.
Before the wax seal even cooled on the paper, Manuela had taken up a cloak and fastened it tight. She peeked out the door, listening for the servants and finding her parents candle had yet to be extinguished as proved by the crack of light under their door. She waited an eternity of a minute before it vanished. She stepped out cautiously, shut her door quietly and finding no other spot, tucked the invitation securely in her bosom. She cursed every creak on the stairs and dashed out into the dead of night.
The night air was cool and crisp and Manuela actually thought it refreshing and invigorating. Until she reached the border of her parent's property. She looked back towards the darkened villa in the distance, biting her bottom lip and considering going back. But one thought of Erik Bordeaux's gemstone eyes made her turn her back on her house and her fears and march forward. Her boots gave off a confident crunch crunch crunch along the dirt and gravel road down the hill. The desert flowers were tucked away in their flower beds for the night, covered with a blanket of twinkling stars that comforted Manuela. She smiled and sighed in content, happy to keep her eyes on those stars when she suddenly heard before her,
"Buenos noches Manuela."
She gasped in fright as several of the young men from town, whiskey and tequila on their breaths, formed a semi-circle around Manuela. Alejandro Garcia chuckled and said,
"How about joining our own little fiesta Manuela? You can be the...entertainment!"
Erik was feeling drowsy, but he blinked his eyes open as he sat before the fire, pen and paper in hand, determined to write a proper apology to the young Mlle. Montevilla. Suddenly, he heard a woman's scream from outside followed by several whoops and hollers of the drunken young men. Sensing something horribly wrong, Erik sprang to his feet, suddenly wide awake as he out of pure instinct went to investigate. He grabbed his black hooded cloak and draped it around his shoulders as he went into his kitchen and out the back door. His backyard was surrounded by a high brick wall, meant to block the view of the graveyard. He had to climb on the four foot wall to get a good view of anything. The graveyard was on a slight incline, the moonlight bathing the stones in shadows. But it also brought to light the scene of Manuela Montevilla running from a wild bunch of drunks like little boys wanting to tie tin cans to a dogs tail. She screamed again, her terror evident. Then she tripped on a small child's headstone and fell to the ground her skirts wrapping themselves up on her thighs. The men slowed down, leering their eyes at the sight of her soft, white flesh. Manuela tried to get up, but a pain in her side refused to cooperate. She tried to scoot away, but that only made the men chuckle. Alejandro said cheerfully,
"Time to play Manuela." Manuela gasped when back collided with a tall headstone, the meager shadow doing nothing to hide her. Then out of nowhere, the men looked up and gasped as a tall figure in a black hood and cape jumped down from the headstone, the fabric blowing up and illuminating his dark appearance. The men gasped and Alejandro was the first to be knocked down with a bloody nose. Snapping out of their stupor, the others lunged for the figure, punching and reaching, only to succeed in getting gut checked, elbows in the face and stomachs, punches across the jaw and busted lips. Too drunk to realize they outnumbered him and too dumb to put up much of a fight, (or was that the other way around?), they began to run off, clutching their injuries and tucking their tails between their legs. The last to leave was Alejandro. He was far more sober and clever than the others and declared to the figure with hate in his eye,
"This isn't over." Alejandro limped off leaving Manuela to tremble in the sight of her rescuer. The figure turned into the moonlight, illuminating his dark blue green eyes and white leather mask.
"Senor Bordeaux!" gasped Manuela. He nodded and then stopped short at the sight of her thigh. He had seen little of women's thighs or any sort of flesh in his lifetime so it was understandable when he immediately began to physically react. She looked so vulnerable that moment. Then he shook himself and asked her,
"Are you alright?"
Slightly disappointed he didn't act on the desire she had seen in his eye (So he isn't that much of a hermit! she thought) Manuela nodded,
"I think so..." she tried to sit up but she hissed in pain and shook her head, "But then again I could be mistaken. Ow..."
Erik immediately knelt beside her and examined the place where she was clutching her side. She relaxed with his hand and when he spoke saying with authority,
"You may have bruised your side badly. I won't know anything until I can examine you at the house. Can you walk?"
At this point Manuela evaluated that she could get up and limp with a little help, but she couldn't resist the wicked impulse when she looked up at him with big, innocent eyes and said meekly,
"I don't think I can...At least not for the moment."
Erik, completely unaware he was being set up, nodded his head and hooked one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders,
"Then I shall have to carry you then."
He stated it, Manuela realized along with the fact it didn't seem to occur to him like any other gentleman to ask her permission before touching her in such an intimate manner. As if he didn't fully grasp the proprieties being men and women. Not that Manuela was complaining. She delighted at the feeling of being lifted in his arms, the muscles in his back tensing and moving under her fingertips. She merely let him carry her all the way back to his house. She allowed herself the fantasy of pretending to be bride for a moment as he carried her across the threshold of his kitchen door. And she surprised herself at liking the idea. He carried her out the kitchen and down a dusty old gallery hall lined with abandoned paintings from the Fairfields. He shifted her in his arms to open the door of his parlor, where his fire still blazed with life. He set her gently on the settee and placed a few pillows behind her back. He straightened, allowing Manuela to see how tall he was as he said,
"I'll leave you a moment to undo your...garments...so I can examine your injury."
"Oh there's no need. I'm not wearing much beside my blouse and my skirts." Manuela stated before blushing at the way that sounded. But none so more than her host who turned his masked half to her to hide his own reddening. But she merely smiled and shifted, pulling her shirt out of her skirts and pulling it up to a decent level to show him her left side. Concentrating on the large red bruise he saw, Erik kneeled on the floor beside her and gently poked and prodded the sensitive skin. She shivered in delight at his touch but he didn't see. He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and told her,
"I don't think anything's cracked or broken...I'd just keep an eye on that. I'll get you a ice compress to make any swelling go down." He stood and went to his liquor cabinet and opened it, allowing her to see little spirits but some fine Merlot, port and brandy. He pulled out a half melted bucket of ice and took out his own handkerchief from his breast coat pocket. Wrapping and twisting the ice inside of the cloth, Erik continued to tell her,
"Massage it when you can...but only if it doesn't hurt..."He stopped when he turned back to her, his actions halted by the smug smile on her face. "What?" he inquired. She shrugged,
"It's nothing...Well except that over twenty four hours ago you acted like a rampaging lion towards me...and now you're being a little lamb. Such an interesting contrast you are Monsieur."
Erik looked down and cleared his throat,
"Well now that you mention it I was trying to write you a letter of apology when I heard your cries for help." He walked over to her casually and handed her the cold bundle without another word. She took it and allowed her index finger to brush his,
"I suppose saving my life is apology enough."
He gave her the smallest lift of the upper corner of his mouth before becoming a nervous pile of bones again. Manuela placed the ice pack on her side and continued,
"Sincerely M. Bordeaux...Gracias for saving me. The last man on Earth I want touching me is Alejandro Garcia let alone any of his lackeys!"
Intrigued by her sudden outburst of emotion, Erik asked,
"I take it you do not tolerate his presence even when he is sober."
Manuela smiled and said dryly,
"I cannot stand men who think they are God's gift to women and the world should be handed over to them. It's why I'm not married yet."
Trying to not sound overjoyed over this new information, Erik commented as he sat in an armchair across from her,
"Oh?"
"Of course that causes nothing but grief to my father." Manuela said examining her bruise herself.
"Speaking of which, does Monsieur Montevilla know his daughter was roaming around outside at this time of night?" Erik asked with a smirk, already knowing the answer. Manuela grinned,
"Of course not. He's in bed like all good fathers are suppose to be."
"Would that make you a bad daughter?" Erik asked folding his fingers together and slumping in his chair. Manuela grinned. Was he flirting with her? Did he even realize it? He looked so relaxed and sure of himself. She replied,
"Only if he catches me in the morning."
Disappointment evident, Erik straightened and said,
"Of course...I'll escort you home."
"Oh no! No one in the house gets up till dawn. I'll be fine to stay the night." Manuela protested. Erik gulped and asked,
"Stay the night?"
"If you'll allow it...Truly...I'm exhausted and I can see the house from the window. No one is up and nor will they be. Besides, I fear what would happen if we should venture back out there. They could return. I don't want to risk either of our necks for something that can wait till dawn when all those fools are passed out drunk and nursing hangovers. Please...may I stay with you?" Manuela asked nervously. Erik was stunned to stay the least. Did that just happen? Did a woman ask if she could stay? With him!? He glanced up and caught the fire light dancing about in her eyes. What color were they anyway? They seemed blue, but they looked more like a winter's sky. And he always loved winter.
"You seem to be making a habit of welcoming yourself into my home, Mam'selle." Erik said with a small smirk. Manuela smiled, figuring that was a 'yes'. She told him,
"At least this time the reception was more receptive." They sat in silence a moment or two, Erik not entirely sure what to do now. He never really had guests before. Unless you count that one night in Paris. But he knew that guest. Manuela Montevilla was a puzzle to him. Then it occurred to him she might not be comfortable sleeping on the settee so he asked,
"Would you like to be shown to a room? Obviously I have no use for them all."
"Do you not have any relatives coming to visit you for the upcoming holidays?" Manuela asked, trying to sound innocent and not prying. Erik's eyes darkened and he stood up, occupying himself with the poker and the fire.
"No." he said simply. Manuela had read the story of the little girl Alice and her Wonderland. If that story taught anything beyond the nonsense, it was that curious little girls could easily get in trouble. Despite this warning, or perhaps because of it, Manuela asked,
"So...Will you be going to visit them?"
Erik's poker paused,
"I don't have any family."
"Oh, my condolences." she said with sympathy. Erik glared at her and snapped at her,
"Why? Not that there was anyone to mourn anyway. So you needn't feel sorry for me losing a family I never knew."
"You're an orphan?" she asked.
"I suppose that is what you'd call it." Erik said refocusing on the fire.
"Well, that mean's you should mourn all the more." Manuela stated. Erik looked at her incredulously,
"What the devil for? My mother disowned me as her parents disowned her. I don't even know about my father. Why should I mourn people who cast me aside?"
"For the sake of their immortal souls of course. That is what Los Dios De Los Muertos is all about." Manuela stated.
"Dios de los...Am I rusty on my Spanish or did you just say 'Days of the Dead'?" Erik asked.
"No you're right. I suppose not too many people know of it in Europe. It's sort of sprang up from the native people of Mexico when they were converted to Catholics by Spain. It's our annual festival for the spirits of those who past on. We pray for those who were lost before they knew the Christ, we remember loved ones, we have feasts and games and dancing..." Manuela explained.
"And it's all in celebration of...death?" Erik asked skeptically.
"It's a celebration of life! Both in the here and now and the eternal life that await all those who follow Jesus Christ. Here in Heaven's Corner, my family hosts a huge fiesta for the whole town. It's starts tomorrow night! We dress in costumes, we visit the graveyards..."
"Whoa...whoa...I'm not a superstitious man but the people who, if you can call it that, 'raised' me always taught me that tomorrow is All Hallow's Eve...a day to be feared because the dead return to Earth to prey on the living." Erik interrupted taking a seat before her.
"The dead do return to Earth...but to reunite with their loved ones for just a short while until they are all together in Heaven again. We go to the graveyard every year to visit them and bring ofrendas. We also build alters to the dead in our home to honor our loved ones and bid them welcome if they feel like stopping by for a visit."
"Alters? Offerings? Graveyard visits? At night?" Erik asked with a pause after each question to which Manuela nodded enthusiastically each time. Erik raised his eyebrows and blinked in confusion as he took it all in.
"In France, you would be considered a very morbid young lady." Erik finally said. Manuela giggled,
"I am merely doing what I have been raised. You know...everyone in Heaven's Corner has picked up on the traditions of the Day of the Dead...You can too." Manuela hinted. Erik cast her a skeptically side glance. He knew she would say such a thing.
"And how is that pray tell? Dress up as a rum soaked, half baked Caribbean cockney pirate and lead the parade down main street?" he asked sarcastically. She giggled at the image he created and said,
"As entertaining as that would be, I think you might start off by putting up an alter."
"Alright, I give. How does one build such an alter?" Erik asked dryly so as to humor her.
"Well you take some pictures of the Saints for All Saint's Day of course, that is the second day of the festival...Then you take some flowers, some calavera dolls, pictures and mementos of those who have moved on..."
Erik interrupted her,
"Ah, but you forget Mam'selle...I have no one to mourn."
Manuela nodded and then looked up above the fireplace,
"Perhaps you could mourn the Fairfields."
Erik looked up at the old portrait of the old couple in the painting. A petite elegant old woman and a gruff looking but frizzle faced gray fellow with a beard. They almost looked comical. Their eyes did hold a lot of warmth though.
"Who were they? The former owners?" Erik asked.
"Oh, they were so much more. They were the backbone of the town. Mr. Fairfield ran the railway station you see. Every family in Heaven's Corner has a story about how Mr. Fairfield convinced them or their immigrant ancestors looking for a home to settle here. He was so kind and treated everyone as equals. Mrs. Fairfield could never have children you see, so they just...treated the whole town like family. My papa said Mr. Fairfield knew that the secret to Utopia was to include everyone and exclude no one and to celebrate each others cultures. Mrs. Fairfield was the same. They brought the whole town together. When Mr. Fairfield didn't come into work one morning, we soon found out they had both died the same night...in each others arms. And they were smiling!" Manuela finished with a warm laugh looking up at the old couple.
"To die in the arms of the one you love...a dream I dare not even entertain..." Erik said looking up at the portrait in thought. Instead of asking, 'why', Manuela chose the safer route and suggested,
"You know, as much as they loved the whole town, they always wanted a son. Maybe if you mourn them, you could be the son they never had."
Erik looked at her,
"But they're dead."
"During the Day of the Dead...that isn't such an issue." Manuela shrugged. Erik looked up at the portrait again, then to his guest,
"So how else would I celebrate the Day of the Dead?"
"Well...now that you mention it..."Manuela started nervously. She pulled out the crumpled and forgotten invitation with a blush and handed it to him. Erik audibly gulped this time, trying not to think of that heavenly corner the invitation had come from. He broke the wax seal, read the contents with a frown and looked up at her in confusion,
"You...invited me?"
"Well...I did say everyone in town was invited." Manuela said.
"Is this why you risked going out tonight?" Erik asked holding up the invitation.
"I foolishly thought there was no risk involved...except incurring your wrath." Manuela quipped.
"So...this invitation was your way of trying to apologize?" Erik asked knowingly. She hadn't wanted to admit it before, not even to herself. Her pride wouldn't admit it. But cornered now, she nodded and said,
"I suppose it is."
Erik gave a small smile and tapped the letter in his fingertips as she awaited judgment, rejection or both. He sighed and said dejectedly,
"You realize you've crashed my home once with an invitation and once without. Now I have my invitation so this simply means I shall have to crash your home once to make us even."
His playful comment brought a beaming smile to her lips,
"It's only fair."
Erik glanced at the clock and saw that over an hour had passed. Where did the time go? Did he really just spend an hour having an animate conversation with a woman? Talk about walking on foreign ground. He cleared his throat and said,
"You must be tired...I'll show you to a room."
"Oh no I'm wide awake now. Besides I wouldn't dare impose." Manuela protested.
"I think we're past that point." Erik quipped.
"Besides...I'm rather comfy and cozy here before the fire...I imagine all your other rooms are freezing. Not that I mind I sleep better when it's cold. But I wouldn't mind sitting up a while and talking." Manuela said.
"Talking? With me?" Erik asked with disbelief.
"Well I could talk with the Fairfields but knowing Mrs. Fairfield she'd scold me for leaving you out of the conversation." Manuela said earning a rare short chuckle from Erik. Then she stunned him by reaching out and taking his hand,
"Stay and talk with me? Unless you are tired yourself?"
Not believing this beautiful creature truly wanted his company and not wanting to ruin it by walking out, Erik shook his head and said,
"I've always been a night person anyway..."
They talked for hours after that, even when sleep threatened to claim them with droopy eyelids and fearsome yawns. The last thing Erik remembered clearly was Manuela yawning quiet comically and the thought that this had to be a dream.
He did dream in fact. Of his house, only the gardens were tended to and the curtains were drawn open letting warm candlelight from each room shine out sending a feeling of warmth and welcome into Erik's soul. He walked in the house and found the house decorated with thousands of marigolds and candles. A short man with a frizzled gray beard, warm brown eyes and a delightful smile stood in the hall adjusting the old Grandfather clock. He smiled at Erik and cried out, his voice in a near ethereal echo,
"Erik my boy! Right on time! Mother has been cooking up a feast for you!"
Looking down at the man who was nearly two heads shorter, Erik asked,
"Mother?"
Then a petite elegant old woman in a black dress and a silver bun waddled in from the kitchen, her apron covered in chocolate icing and her forehead smeared with flour.
"Erik! Oh my dear is that you? Oh we've been waiting so long to finally meet you! Welcome to our home! We hope you'll like it here!" She said standing on her tip toes to kiss Erik's left cheek and hug his neck a bit.
"I'm sure I will..." Erik said with tears in his eyes and the smell of warm fresh baked bread filling his nose.
A rooster crowed outside and Erik was pulled from his fantasy world by the bright blinding sun. He sat up in the plush wingback chair and his back immediately protested. He rubbed the offense and looked up to the portrait of the Fairfields before casting his eyes to the settee. Manuela Montevilla was nowhere to be found. Just another dream. He stood to his feet and sighed, ready to live out another lonely day, when the smell of fresh baked beard reached his nose. He followed the scent to the dining room he never used and found a wondrous sight waiting for him. Every surface was dusted, the candles were all lit and a collection of bright paper flowers, crucifics and pictures of the saints, marigolds, old pictures of the Fairfields, and tiny and large skeleton dolls with silly grins and sillier garb sat on the dining room table at various heights and levels, propped up by books and boxes under a draped piece of old velvet. There were also two bowls of steaming baked bread on the table, each loaf cut into slices. Beside them were two open jars of cherry jam. And Erik smirked when he found a note written in the same handwriting he saw on an invitation last night.
'Senor Bordeaux,
Never have I been so refreshed after so little sleep. I spent the better part before dawn cooking one loaf for your breakfast, the other for the Fairfields and any other 'guests' that decide to visit. Eat and hurry to the market when you can, for I could use a man's opinion in planning the last few details before tonight. Besides you do want your handkerchief back don't you? Thank you again.
Sincerely,
Senorita Manuela A. M. Montevilla'