CHAPTER 39

The next few weeks saw a new burgeoning fellowship between father and son. They were able to discuss many of the things that had been too difficult and painful before Lisa. Erik had spent many long hours confessing the past to his son, who had accepted and understood it all without recrimination. In turn Gustave had replayed all the happiness he'd lived with his mother, being able to relive and recall many of the treasured moments that had begun to fade.

They were finally finding each other and Erik had spent more time in the light than ever he had. One early morning he'd even braved the Coney Island beach. Although it had been too cold to swim, Gustave showed renewed interest in wanting to learn to swim and his father actually volunteered to teach him.

It was when they'd returned from that outing that they discovered the first package waiting for them. It was heavy, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. It had arrived via the Wells Fargo wagon and had only one stamp from Panama City, Florida to hint at its origin, but there was nothing to hint at its sender until it was opened and the contents spilled over Erik's desk.

"Sand, it's a box of sand, from a beach I think. It's white and soft like sugar, not like the beaches here. Where could it have come from father? And look at this." asked Gustave. He'd sifted through the powdery grains and retrieved a sundried sand dollar and star fish.

"From the gulf coast of Florida in the south, it's said to be one of the most beautiful places in the states. Look, there's something else." Erik pinched a corner of paper that had popped up as Gustave continued to rummage through the sand, and as he extricated it they saw it was an unmarked envelope decorated with drawings of colorful fish.

Without knowing why, he felt his pulse quicken with the anticipation of opening it. Inside was one thick piece of parchment, and when he saw what it showed he knew exactly who had sent it. It would be hard to hide the document from Gustave, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Look, there's writing on the back. I think it's in Lisa's hand!" Gustave bounded around the table to get a look at the paper, and when Erik turned it over they read it together.

My Dearest Friends,

I hope my parcel finds you both well. It might be a surprise to hear from me so soon, but I find I can't stop thinking of you. I was watching a sunset sink into the sea today and found myself wishing you were here to see it with me so I've sent you a bit of it. For me, I hear a very strange music in the setting sun. If I am intruding once again, I understand that you might want to destroy this modest gift. If not, I hope you enjoy a bit of Florida.

Lisa

Gustave could not repress a smile as he finished the letter. He took the paper from his father and turned it over to see a charcoal sketch of a sunset that had been accented with colored pencils. Erik wanted to be as angry with Lisa now as he had been on the morning he'd awoken to find her gone, but instead his heart beat warmly to know that she was thinking of them.

She was in Florida. Erik couldn't help mentally calculating the distance and time to arrive by train before catching himself. He would not go chasing after her. She had chosen to leave and now she was reaching out to them. He would let this play out.

Another two weeks had elapsed when another parcel arrived. This one was stamped with New Orleans postage. Inside were a small comical stuffed gator among handfuls of plastic beads and gaudy glass bobbles. Once again there was a drawing, this time depicting a long parade of outlandishly dressed partyers marching down a brightly lit city lane. The note read:

They'll use any excuse for a party in the French Quarter. I was lucky enough to witness this funeral and dance among the mourners.

Less than two weeks later they received the third package from Charleston, NC. It had a sketch of an old Victorian style mansion guarded by several white and blue iridescent peacocks. There was no note this time, but Gustave treated the package like it contained gold and priceless gems. But Erik, always looking for the angle, considered the obvious progression these deliveries indicated.

Lisa was heading north, and if he were to predict her travels she'd be in NY very soon. The letters and gifts might be more openly for his son, but she was also sending him a message. She was giving him warning of her impending return.

Erik didn't know how to take this realization. It would be terribly hypocritical of him to blame her for having done what she'd felt needed to be done, but could he or should he accept her if she tried to rekindle the relationships they'd had? Had it ever really ended anyway?

Gustave collected the three drawings from Lisa and kept them safely pressed in the pages of his music portfolio. As the collection grew he told his father that they needed to be properly placed in frames. Erik frowned at the suggestion, though he secretly yearned to see them set elegantly in silver or gold. The boy looked at him with those eyes which he found so difficult to refuse and acquiesced.

The next evening Gangle took them to a gallery in midtown to have the work done. The place was in the middle of an exhibition of local artists, so there were well to do people casually perusing the art displayed while sipping at an endless supply of champagne. Erik had grown leaps and bounds when it came to his ability to withstand such an environment, but he still felt remarkably uncomfortable among the populace.

Normally he would have sent his servant, but Gustave would not be parted with the drawings and had insisted his father come to pick the frame. He left it to the young man to speak with a worker on the subject while he absently strolled through the shop looking at the paintings and sculptures.

After a few moments of not really looking at the mediocre creations he approached the rear of the large room. A small group was gathered there, including Gustave who had been looking for Erik among the patrons.

There, on the center of the back wall, a place always used to display the best work, was a three paneled painted rendition of Coney Island. Erik and Gustave both gawked at the beautiful landscape that depicted their beloved island, and set as its focus were the attractions of Phantasma.

Erik especially noted the detail with which the boardwalk had been painted, even with a small black figure perched atop his theatre. There was no tag or moniker for the piece, but neither of them had to look for the artist's signature to know who'd been responsible.

Erik was filled mania, and turned to scan the small crowd of attendees for a pair of emerald eyes. Gustave too had begun to look about heatedly for some sign of Lisa. At that moment the curator, a short thin man who'd been meandering around the gallery and speaking to art enthusiasts, approached them.

"So, are you gentleman interested in putting in a bid for this piece? So far the bidding is up to $580, quite a success. What can I put you down for Mr.…?"

"I'll double whatever the highest bid is." replied Erik.

"Well, well, well, I don't think that will be necess…" he tried to say, but Erik interrupted him.

"I'm not concerned with what you think. I want the bidding closed and will give you my address for delivery." The small man tried to dispute, but when the sharp eyes of Erik's masked face pierced him he hesitantly agreed. He collected the information and payment from squelch, but before he could withdraw Erik called to him in a very different tone.

"It would of course be a special treat to know or even meet the artist. Do you think you could arrange that for someone very interested in becoming a sponsor?" Erik's voice was silky as he spoke, and the man stood rapt but took a moment to consider the request before answering.

"Well, the artist had asked to remain anonymous…" said the curator. It was a small movement, but when Erik shifted position he seemed to somehow grow taller and looked down at the little man with as commanding a stare as he could exude. The curator seemed to somehow shrink even more, and taking a step back ran into Squelches solid form. "Err, but perhaps I could arrange something for such a generous contributor." He squeaked.

"I do appreciate that." And with that the startled man scurried off. A few moments later he returned with a small paper.

"It seems we don't have a name for the artist, the exhibition was arranged through a lawyer's office, but I was able to acquire an address. Apparently they were part of a private collection the owner is trying to sell off."

He handed the slip to Erik who only glanced at it before crumbling it and depositing the remains into the curator's breast pocket. Without another word, he placed his hand on Gustave's shoulder to lead him out of the gallery.

The boy wanted to scream for his father to tell him what was on the paper, but held tentative control of his curiosity until they'd reached the curb. His father, wearing a vaguely amused look on his face, gave his son one small nod to acknowledge what he knew the boy was hoping for. They climbed into the notorious horseless carriage and directed the driver to a very familiar residence.