If you read the last 9 Giver of Life chapters then you know what an important event meeting Amelie was to Erik as a young man. With how that story ends, you also know that Erik spends a lot of time in misery. Here's to some long-awaited Kire happiness! Well, at least as happy as Kire can be while still highly irritated. Thank you for all of the reviews. Love hearing how everyone perceives the stories.
Kire11
Julia stood over me, a look of concern on her face as she waited for me to read the old letter from Amelie Batiste.
"She doesn't matter," I protested. "I met her once and it was only for a day. Not even a day," I corrected myself.
Julia's shoulders dropped. "You are being far too defensive."
"I am being precisely the correct amount of defensive," I gruffly replied.
"Then open the letter," she suggested.
My greatest fear was opening Amelie's letter and finding some phrase or indication that I had embellished my perfect memory of her. I stared at her carefully scripted letters, of the way her handwriting curved, and wondered if I had created my own fantasy.
Surely Amelie had not existed, at least not as I recalled. Most certainly there was not a single night of my life that could be described as wonderful, not until I met Julia. I feared my anticipation would end in disappointment, that this experience I had refused to acknowledge was not as ideal as I first thought.
"I should check on Meg," Julia said after a long silence. "And see if she and Charles have given the babies names yet."
I took a deep breath and returned the letter to the bottom of the box, which earned me a concerned look from Julia.
"You're not going to read it?" she asked.
"I will," I answered, which I knew was too vague an answer for her. "Later. Perhaps after our holiday."
She sat beside me once more and studied my expression closely, her eyes narrowed.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I grumbled.
"I remember when you sent out Upon the River."
"Upon the River? That was two years ago," I pointed out. That damned opera had taken me over a year to finish the score. Alex had been ill through the winter, stricken with fever and so congested he could barely breathe. Rather than compose, I had stayed up half the night with a rag on his forehead.
"Yes, you were concerned about your son. You would visit me for ten minutes, take your cookies, and return to his bedside."
I scowled at her. "And when I did finally send it out and have my opera accepted, Testan was the first to review. Do you know what that tone deaf idiot said? He said he loathed every damned note," I said loudly through my teeth.
Julia chuckled to herself. "Well, he has yet to find any of your work suitable for the stage," she reminded me. "But as I was saying, I remember for weeks you were nearly beside yourself worrying no one would buy your work."
"Such is the life of the artistically inclined," I huffed.
"And the terribly impatient," she added. "And surly composers, for that matter."
I shrugged, as there was no need to argue. Every time I sent out my work, I found myself unable to sleep or compose. I had confidence in my work and my ability to write, but not an ounce of faith in ignorant old men hunched over their desks, reviewing my music. I doubted most of them would recognize a decent score if the notes flew off the page and into their ignorant, pretentious feeble minds.
"You were so worried your work would be rejected," Julia said to me.
I looked away from her, knowing that when it came to my music, no one would ever quite understand how submitting an opera or symphony for public scrutiny was deeply personal.
Every arrangement came from the very depths of me, rooted in my sorrow and what little hope I had clung to in my lifetime. Always there were melodies in my mind, songs that expressed how I felt listening to Alexandre tell his observations of the world, the way Meg stirred her tea in the parlor, the manner in which Madeline slowly climbed the stairs each day to ask if I needed anything.
No one heard the music I felt all around me. It was my duty to deliver these sounds to their unsuspecting ears. Deeply personal in every way, I feared rejection of my work.
I always had. I always would.
"That opera was purchased three times," I boasted. Testan was clearly a complete and utter fool, as he swore the opera would close before the second act. He would have fallen over dead if he knew what the Austrians had paid for my music.
"Yes, I remember all three conversations of it being sold," Julia said with a smile. She leaned in closer and placed her palm against my cheek. "And I remember this look on your face when you brought over the letter from the theater saying whether or not they wanted to purchase your music."
I drew back from her. "What look?" I snapped.
Julia didn't immediately reply. She searched my gaze and smoothed her thumb along my cheek. "You're worried about what this letter contains," she said.
"That's ridiculous," I said as I turned my face away from her.
All of my life I had struggled for understanding, and now that I had someone in my life who not only knew me, but knew my tone of voice and mannerisms, I felt she looked straight through me.
My heart belonged to her, and every secret as well. I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about this new arrangement as I had never been one to divulge much. Still, there had never been anyone in my life quite like my dear wife.
Julia sat in silence while I grumbled to myself. "What would you have me say?" I growled. "That I worry what she would have said to me? What does it matter now? I'm not that…that ignorant, foolish boy I was thirty years ago."
"I doubt you were ever an ignorant, foolish boy," she said at last. "But yes, I do think you're worried about what she said. I just don't understand why you are concerned considering you've spoken so highly of her." She paused and narrowed her eyes. "Or is that exactly what bothers you? You've already imagined what she's written and you're worried about the content?"
"Worried," I said sharply as I proceeded to pluck the letter from the box. "I am not worried, I assure you."
Julia shook her head. "Presenting yourself as callous and uncaring of the world must be daunting."
"Why should I care?" I countered.
Julia didn't offer a reply, which left me to sit and stare at the unopened letter. I didn't want to ruin the perfectly preserved envelope, but I wanted to know what Amelie Batiste had said.
In silence I broke open the seal with my finger and pulled out several neatly folded pieces of paper. They had been creased for so long that the pages easily came apart, the writing on the line where she'd folded the letter difficult to read.
I inhaled deeply, half-expecting some whiff of fine pastries or even hay to waft up from the pages. Somehow I thought this would make my memory turn alive, sharpen the dull edges of a time I had attempted to forget.
"I'll come back in a moment," Julia promised. She placed her hand on my shoulder and bent, kissing me softly on the cheek. "I should see how everyone is doing."
I nodded and glanced at her briefly before studying over the pages, noticing bits and pieces of words and phrases. Oh, that Moon. Your dear uncle. My intolerable sister. I miss you.
Only a handful of words and I knew that night had been real, the feelings I had experienced, the hope I had briefly held so tightly…that had been the most beautiful night in my life.
With the letter in hand, I moved to my desk and turned up the light. Aria joined me, deciding I was in need of a purring companion draped across my shoulder with her whiskers brushing against my cheek.
Dear Erik,
I have been waiting for another note or even your return for almost nine months. My mother said she was very worried at first, but assures me you are preoccupied with music in Paris. I know she is correct as I'm sure someone has realized your genius and has asked you to apprentice.
Moon is doing wonderfully, just as I stated before. She has learned several new tricks. Naturally my intolerable sister says she has not actually learned new tricks and that donkeys aren't as smart as dogs, but I think she's smarter than some of the children in town.
When she wants more food, she will kick over the pale. One kick means she wants an apple. Two kicks means she wants a carrot. I also taught her to lift up her front feet on command. Sometimes she looks like she's dancing! Oh, that Moon! You would not believe what a smart animal she is! Even Jean-Marcus admits she is one of a kind. Once in a while I will hear him whistling to her. She does enjoy her music. I'm certain you kept her entertained while she was in your care.
I hope you and your dear uncle are enjoying your stay in Paris. I still do not know how you managed to find my mother's jewelry. I know what your note said, but my mother insists this cannot be true. She has no idea how her jewelry traveled so far. What a mystery!
My mother cries when she talks of your kindness and prays for you and your uncle. She thinks you are both angels and that God sent you to return my Father's gift to her. Jean-Marcus believes you found the jewelry for sale in a fair, but he insists none of the items would sell for as much as you claim. He is truly impossible and believes he knows everything.
When you come back to Lavre to visit my family and take Moon to Paris, I hope you remember our bargain. As a reminder, I am returning the comb you accidentally sent back to me. This belongs to you now.
I cannot wait to see what you bring to me from Paris. I miss you,
Your Friend,
Amelie Batiste
P.s.
Moon sends her love. She cannot wait to see you again and show you her tricks. We are working very hard, but she is not as good of a dance partner as you!
I placed the letter on the desk and sat motionless for a long moment, absorbing her words. Only a swan princess could have delivered such a note. Even thirty years later, her words still managed to bring me a sense of peace I didn't know I needed. The jewelry had gone back to its rightful owner and Moon, the stubborn donkey I had considered family, had been taken care of and not sent to slaughter as I had once feared. My beloved Moon had even won over Amelie's older brother.
I had wanted a safe place for that inexorable creature and she had found one. Alone in my bedroom, I felt profoundly grateful for the box Joshua had delivered to me.
"Erik?" Julia said softly, her voice muffled on the other side of the door.
I stood and met her at the door with Aria still hanging off my shoulder. Julia gave me a quizzical look, which I assumed was due to the cat draped over me like a mink scarf.
"How are you?" Julia warily asked.
I brought her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles. She seemed surprised by my gesture and smiled as she looked me over. I couldn't help but smile in return and feel as though a moment left painfully unanswered had finally been resolved.
"I'm well," I answered honestly. For the first time in too many years, those words seemed fitting.
