Chapter Three

It had been two weeks since Sabine's brother Laurent had met the three women at the port and welcomed them into his home. Their arrival was in perfect time to get a flat of their own in his building and to make auditions for the relatively young Metropolitan Opera's production of Faust. Laurent's position as lead oboist gained Meg and Christine a chance to audition and they were immediately snatched up into the ballet and chorus respectively. Had they arrived just a few days earlier, Christine may have landed the lead role of Marguerite. As it was, Marie van Cauteren had landed the role and Christine was cast as her understudy. She was content, however, because for the first time, she was without her teacher and she was nervous.

Rehearsals for the day had just ended and Christine was chatting amiably with Marie when Meg finally appeared.

"Did you see the new stagehand, Arthur? He's positively a dream!" Meg gushed.

Marie laughed. "Christine, you better keep your eye on her! American boys are notorious flirts!" With that, Marie excused herself and Meg flopped down on the stage to take her ballet shoes off.

"She's so nice! What a difference from that old sow, Carlotta! And she can actually sing, too. I'm so glad you two get along. That must be such a relief for you, Christine. I know the girls in the ballet are all really nice here. Mother has been helping Miss Viola with choreography and while she's still strict, even she's getting nicer! I love New York! It's so much less stuffy than Paris." Here Meg took a breath and then laughed. "I'm sorry to talk so much! I'm just so much happier than I've ever been. But what about you, Christine? Are you happy?"

Christine looked down at her hands as she answered, "I'm happier than I was."

"But not happy?" Meg asked quietly.

"I don't know, Meg. I feel as if something is missing. I feel...alone."

"Do you miss Raoul?" Meg asked, frowning.

Christine looked up at that. "No. And I actually feel a little guilty about that."

Meg's frown deepened. "So if you don't miss him but feel alone, you must be missing someone. Maybe you're still thinking about your father?"

As Meg spoke, Christine's thoughts were drawn back to Paris and how, shortly after she had arrived at the opera, she never genuinely felt alone: as if there had always been a presence with her. It wasn't until only a year ago that she had discovered it was her "angel" watching over her all that time. In the few months' turmoil that had transpired with the arrival of Raoul, she had been terrified of that constant presence, feeling as though she couldn't escape and was trapped. But it hadn't always felt like that. And that, she realized, was why she felt so alone. She missed that first presence: the one he had been before the jealousy. She missed him. And that shook her to her core.

"Christine? Where are you? I've been talking for two minutes straight and you haven't heard a word I've said!" Meg complained.

She shook her head as if awakening from a dream. "I'm sorry, Meg. What did you say?"

Meg sighed. "I said a bunch of the girls are going dancing tonight. Why don't we go? It would be fun and maybe we'll meet someone that will help with you feeling so alone!" She giggled.

"No, Meg. You go ahead. I really just want some time to myself, if you don't mind."

"You feel alone but want time to yourself? You're not reading more of Mr. Poe's writing again, are you? That's probably not a good thing to be reading right now!" Meg scolded.

Christine laughed. "No, but that's actually a wonderful idea! I do love his poetry. Maybe I'll take my book and sit in the park to read."

Meg rolled her eyes and let out an enormous sigh. "Always so darkly romantic with you! You and he would have made a good pair if you'd only been born sooner!" Meg leaned over and gave Christine a quick kiss on the cheek and then scurried away to meet her friends.

Christine stood up and gathered her things into her bag. As she left the opera house and made her short way to the park, Christine felt a bit more at ease. She had been unhappy in Paris after moving from the countryside because she loved trees and plants...all of nature. Paris had very little in the way of parks and none were close to the opera where she spent most of her time. New York's Central Park was amazing...so much of nature right in the middle of the city and so close to her! It felt as though it was her backyard and she went there as often as she could. Today she opted to walk a little farther north so she could sit near one of the lakes in the park. The early summer evenings lasted almost until nine o'clock and she could spend the next two hours in her favorite spot under a beautiful willow tree.

She made herself comfortable and retrieved her book of poetry and opened it to the poem, "Alone" and re-read it for the tenth time, its words speaking volumes to her. Two lines, in particular, always drew her attention: "From childhood's hour I have not been as others were-and all I loved, I loved alone." She had at first felt how the lines seemed to speak of her, but more recently, she began to think of how truly they spoke of him. She thought of him then, allowing herself the luxury of not feeling guilty or scared to do so. Poe's poetry had opened her eyes..her mind...to how powerful passion and love could be. Madame Giry had started her journey of self-discovery and this book had cemented it. She had once had within her grasp a passion so rare that few had ever truly known what it was like to experience those feelings. It had terrified her because she'd had no idea what it was. She'd acted like a child and instead of following her heart, she had listened to what society said. Raoul was young, handsome, titled, and wealthy. He was older, disfigured, and hiding underground. What would any young woman do? Christine had been immature and felt that she was more grounded now. She was beginning to realize what she'd had and hated herself for how she'd so totally destroyed his trust...his heart. She doubted he could ever forgive her and she wasn't sure she could fully forgive herself. And who could she confide in? Surely Madame Giry would be upset and Meg would never understand...not when Raoul was so handsome in comparison.

She sighed and turned to some more poetry, marking another one that spoke to her: "Annabel Lee". "We loved with a love that was more than love," Christine read aloud quietly. She felt her throat tighten and tears begin to form. "You did love me like that...I just didn't understand; I didn't know…" Here she trailed off. Taking a deep breath, she closed her book and stood up, brushing her skirts off. It was getting late and she knew how Madame Giry worried about her. As she turned to go, she noticed two young lovers holding hands and sharing a kiss just off the path in front of her and she wondered if they felt the way she had the night of his kiss.