44

In a month and a half Henry had grudgingly submitted to his superiors. He was walking better every day, even running for a few feet.

Katrina would have him walk with her to the post office and back when Andre was occupied with Raoul. Henry secretly enjoyed the trips with this strange young woman. They always had the air of a knightly journey, something noble and secret about them.

He would not have admitted at the time, but he loved hearing the strange things she'd point out to him. "Look," she'd say pointing, "that knot on that tree looks like a wood sprite. Or a cat."

Or else she'd point out the shapes shadows made by branches on the sidewalk. Sometimes she'd whistle back at birds, occasionally luring a few to come close. Henry was gradually learning to look for the hidden layer in the world around him.

On one such walk, he studied her face as she watched a gull fly. "You act like you've never seen the outdoors before."

She blinked and smiled at that. "Not very much of them, I'm afraid. I spend a great deal of time outside with my cousins and Uncle Stephan at Grandpapa's home. It's all still very new to me."

Henry thought that over, to live a life where out of doors was new, strange. He realized that the first thing Katrina always did was throw open the windows on fine days and take a few deep breaths. She would examine flowers in the garden and vegetables in their patch as if it were important to remember them perfectly. "Where do you live?" He ventured.

"In Paris."

"I know that, but where in Paris?"

"The Opera."

"How can someone live in an Opera house?"

"Very well." She said dryly, walking to the window to ask for her mail.

Henry looked at the stack of letters, a flat bundle, and one package. She always got something, and he wondered what it was like. "Would you read me one?"

Katrina raised an eyebrow. "If you'll carry the others."

He held out his arms, and she gave him all but one letter, written in a horrible scrawl. The seal was a skull, which he found very odd. She read clearly and easily, in spite of the blots on the paper.

"'Dear Katrina,

I have absolutely nothing to say on the matter you wrote me about last. My opinion is still the same.

Thomas wants you to send him an envelope of sand. I have no idea why.

Jacques is sending you some scores, please take note that there is a line in the second act where no harp should be. He will not believe me, but cross them out all the same. It is lacking in taste and makes their excellent solo later appear drab if they are overused.

Helen is expecting again and I confess the old demon pokes his head in the door at the news. It never ceases to terrify me, the thought of what the new child's appearance will be. I have learnt to control the fear by now, and had best keep the habit up as new Lefevres seem to be inevitable, and the fears are never founded.Stephan makes it worse by laughing every time I allude to our upcoming child.I shall hide my wife next time and put in an appearance only after delivery.I shall leave the details of this deception to your imagination.

Helen has sold a few paintings, mostly as curiosity pieces for opera patrons. Anne thinks she can paint, but like you she has no talent.Perhaps she can be taught eventually.Don't allow your Aunt to see this, or I shall be exiled to the boat for a week.

I have revised Don Juan Triumphant. Marie has agreed to put in a special appearance although I dread it. Her vowels are growing worse. I insist you help, or I will go mad working with this pack of fools. "Keep a lasso handy," Helen says, "you can hang yourself if things get too dreadful."She has no comprehension of the depth of details required.

Anne had begun to bake, a pastime that threatens to break all belts. I admit, in this she shows talent.

Roberto has sent a few essays to some papers. He thinks he shall run one someday.I've no objections.

Thomas puzzles me, though he seems to have a good ear for arranging music. I have been working with him, and next month should show something definitive.

We are all in good health, and are much as you left us. Everyone sends regards, even Madame Giry.

Always,

Uncle Erik.'"

Henry glanced through the names on the letters. "He's strange. Which of these are your parents?"

Katrina took the stack back and shrugged. "My parents drowned when I was a child. Uncle Erik is the only father I have had since."

"My father's dead. Everyone acts like Mother is." Henry looked somber at this admittance. "She didn't used to be like that. It isn't fair."

Katrina studied the sky intently. "No, it isn't. Here, let's sit on this bench. There's something I'm going to tell you.

"My Uncle Erik, he hasn't had a fair life at all. He didn't always make the right choice, but he didn't always have a choice either. He always tells me that our lives have patterns, something we can't see at the time. It doesn't help the pain while we're hurting but sometimes years after, it helps us accept the path we walked."

"You're telling me there's a reason I'm here? What good could I do?"

The young woman smiled at him kindly. "You have an Aunt and Uncle who need something bright in their life. Why not try and make their world a little better."

Henry looked at her closely. "Is that what you did for your uncle?"

"No, I didn't try, not intentionally. We just loved each other very much. Hurry, I smell rain."

They dove rapidly towards Henry's home, tea, and shelter.

Minerva glanced at the stack of letters grimly. "One would think you were a service of sorts. Have you so much family?"

"A close family." Katrina said vaguely, feeling that she had explained herself out for the day. "Henry, show your aunt the new piece you're learning."

Henry had eventually given up the pretense that he didn't want to play music. He became enamored with the piano, and would have chained himself there had not Katrina and Andre forced him out. He bounded over eagerly, and started to play.

Minerva listened thoughtfully. "I wonder what Fergus will say when he gets home. He hasn't seen Henry once."

"Is Fergus your brother?" Katrina asked, feeling that some response was needed.

The woman nodded. "I doubt he's really seen Lucy, even though he's bringing her back. I don't know what I'll do with two of them and him not likely to stay. What choice do we have?" Minerva smiled bitterly. "There was a time, I was good with children. I was a governess, until Fergus…well that's not my story to tell. I've lost sight of the young since."

"Watch their eyes." Katrina advised. "You'll start to see the way they see. At least, that's what my Uncle tells me."

"You have no parents?"

"No."

"May I ask what happened to them?"

"Oh, it is no secret. They drowned in a boating accident. I've lived with Erik ever since."

Minerva paused to hear a key change, and watch Henry's absorption. "This uncle of yours, he's done a remarkable job raising you. Perhaps he should come help us."

Katrina wasn't sure how to reply to that, and held her peace. As Henry finished playing and went to pick up a book, Minerva touched her arm.

"Come with me, I think I will show you something."

They went upstairs, to an office. It had been stripped of all paper and decoration. The desk was rigidly clean, the blood red rug the only color in the place. A brown clock sat clicking harshly against the bareness.

"This is Fergus' office," Minerva said, walking to a drawer, she removed a file tied with a faded grey ribbon. "Read this, and bring it back. I promised I would have it looked at before he came home, but somehow I never felt that the right person was available. It feels like you are correct. Don't tell Henry."

Katrina smiled brightly and inclined her head. "I promise."