Kire15
Glass orbs and porcelain figurines glistened from the store window as we approached Papa Milo's. The dark skies parted as we neared the storefront and sunlight made the delicate displays sparkle.
By all accounts, we had reached the pinnacle of perfect gifts. I could see the allure of bright trinkets pulling Lisette closer, her lips forming a circle of pure astonishment.
Without a doubt, this would have been the very last shop I would have cared to step foot in, given that the contents of the window were whimsical, sentimental nonsense.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Lisette marveled.
There was no arguing with an awestruck young girl such as Lisette. I nodded in agreement and followed her to the entrance, where she paused as though bracing herself for the garish interior, which I had no doubt would delight her.
I tucked my umbrella under my arm and hoped to God Papa Milo's last name wasn't Leach.
The store was surprisingly small compared to the display in the window and much more cluttered than I could have imagined. Shelves lined the small space from practically the floor to the ceiling, crammed with dolls, figurines, marble statues, small paintings, and displays of jewelry and vases.
The overpowering scent of rose water made the store smell like a perfume bottle, which Lisette either didn't mind or failed to notice.
"Where should we start?" Lisette asked.
As there seemed to be no rhyme or reason for the placement of content within the store, I momentarily chewed on the inside of my cheek.
"Wherever you would like," I answered.
"Hummingbirds," she answered without thinking over the question. She pointed a small, delicate finger toward the front of the store where there was an entire selection of items dedicated to the most popular bird of the era.
I stood back and allowed Lisette to scan the shelves and various displays. She was apparently as infatuated by the small avian as everyone else and seemed quite delighted by the selection.
While she browsed, I examined the tall shelves beside me filled with wood carvings, which made me pause. At eye level was an old man beside a young boy. Though they were separate pieces, they aligned perfectly with the old man gazing at the child and the boy looking up at him as though for reassurance.
I swallowed hard, reminded of my uncle and our brief travels. I recalled our final night spent together, of how I had set out to make a most wonderful piece of artwork and came up short. Frustrated by my lack of skills, I had wanted to discard my lop-sided creation carved from wood, but my uncle would have none of it.
His body betrayed him, sickness overcoming his wavering health, yet he still had the strength to empower me. I had been too ignorant to realize how ill he had been at the time and thought we would spend years together. Little did I know that by morning he would be exhausted and unable to stand, that the years I expected to have would be reduced to only hours.
I grabbed a wooden statue in each hand and looked them over, impressed by the details. Now that I held the two figurines, I remembered each detail of my uncle's final night, of how he had shown more concern for me in a matter of weeks than my own parents had done in thirteen years.
I had started to carve a statue of Amelie, which I intended to give to her upon my return. Instead, my attempt at artwork looked more like a troll. Taking his turn, my uncle had made a statue of an angel for me.
As I stood holding the two figurines, I noticed another wooden figure on the shelf just above eye level—the statue of a lithe angel with her arms held over her head. In one hand she held a dove.
From the corner of my eye, I watched a decrepit old crone with silver hair and a deep-set scowl weave her way through the cramped store with a wooden cane in one hand. The cane appeared to serve no purpose other than decoration as she carried it under her arm, much like I held my umbrella.
"Make certain your child does not break any of my hummingbirds," the old woman hissed.
I looked from her to Lisette, who had turned into a life-sized statue.
"Whatever she breaks, I will purchase," I assured her.
The old woman grunted. "Keep an eye on your child."
Her words made me bristle and I had half the mind to pick up some delicate figurine and simply drop it on the ground. Lisette and her calm demeanor prevented me from doing anything asinine as she placed her hands behind her back and walked toward me.
"I think Mother would like one of the green hummingbirds," she said.
"You may pick it up," I assured her, speaking louder than necessary. If the old woman interjected, she would be silenced immediately.
"The shelf is too high," Lisette said quietly. She pointed to the top shelf and a lime green porcelain statue of a small bird in flight.
I plucked the delicate bird down from the shelf, handed it to Lisette, and turned to find the woman scrutinizing our every move. Ignoring the old crone, I crossed my arms.
"You may hold onto your mother's gift," I told her as I placed the statue of the older man and the boy in one hand and reached for the angel.
"Did you find something as well?" Lisette asked.
"I believe I did," I answered. "Did you find something for yourself?"
Lisette pursed her lips. "A doll," she answered after a moment of hesitation.
"Which one? There must be a hundred different dolls in here," I commented as I looked around the shelves.
"Oh, but it's far too expensive. I'll take a hummingbird," she said.
Alex would have jumped at the chance to grab whatever he desired, but Lisette was too timid and practical to indulge in something extravagant.
"Whatever you want, you may have," I assured her.
At last she nodded and weaved her way through the store. I watched her tiptoe past displays until she reached the front of the store and returned with a doll dressed in a pink embroidered gown and ribbons in her long, black hair. She hugged her new toy to her chest and waited for my approval.
"Very well," I said with a nod.
We walked to the counter where the old woman stood with her hands on her hips.
"Where is Papa Milo?" I asked when she failed to properly greet us.
"Dead two years now," she barked in the most hideous tone possible for such a brightly colored store. I couldn't tell if she was upset by his passing or indifferent.
"My apologies," I said while I watched her wrap each gift and place I them into separate small boxes.
Without a word, she motioned for Lisette to hand her the hummingbird, then placed all the items into a large bag and mumbled the purchase price of two hundred and fifty francs, which seemed overpriced for three pieces of stained wood, a doll, and a porcelain bird.
Begrudgingly I pulled out my checkbook from my coat pocket rather than cash and swiftly handled her a scribbled bank note. She stared at the check for a long moment, eyes narrowed, lips pulled down in an expression befitting a bulldog.
"Kire?" she said.
"Indeed," I answered tightly.
"Like the composer?"
With her tone being impossible to gauge, I feared if I said I was the composer she would refuse to sell me the figurines she had just boxed up.
"Similar," I said warily.
"He is the composer," Lisette chimed in. She eyed me curiously, perhaps wondering how I had forgotten my own identity.
"Well, which is it? Are you the composer or are you not?" she grumbled.
"He is," Lisette assured her quite valiantly. She was far too helpful for her own good.
"If you have enjoyed my work then by all accounts I am Kire, however, if you despise every last note then I am not the same man."
With her hardened gazed pinned upon me, the woman began to chuckle in a way that seemed fitting for a troll.
"My husband," she said. "He liked frivolous nonsense."
"Papa Milo?" Lisette asked.
"Yes," she answered. "Figurines, music boxes…nights at the opera. He enjoyed that sort of merrymaking. Waste of time, waste of money."
Clearly she didn't share his sentiment and found my music to be nothing more than frivolous nonsense. How absolutely galling she was, the ancient cow.
I reached for the bag and had every intention of storming out and not looking back.
"What do you enjoy?" Lisette asked politely.
Why she insisted on continuing the conversation I had no idea. The store keeper clearly wanted us to pay for our goods and exit immediately.
I suspected she would ignore Lisette's question, but instead the woman's eyes softened. "Life has not been the same since he passed," she said. "We used to enjoy your father's music together."
I knew the feeling all too well of no longer enjoying an aspect of life due to mourning. Her words came unexpected, a reminder of the anger I had felt for so long.
"My apologies," I said quietly.
The old woman looked appreciative. "Some days are worse than others," she said with a sigh. "Perhaps I should attend another opera one day."
"I will have a box ticket delivered," I promised without thinking it over.
At last she offered a sincere smile. "That is very kind of you," she said. "Enjoy the rest of your day, Monsieur Kire."
With my hand on Lisette's shoulder, I ushered her out of the store and back onto the street where we were met by a steady drizzle.
"She's very sad," Lisette commented.
I opened the umbrella and held it high above her head. "That appears to be true," I replied with a sigh.
"I wonder how many other people enjoy your music?" she asked as we walked toward the corner where a young man waited outside of a cab. I waved to him and he nodded.
"I have no idea," I answered, more preoccupied with getting her out of the rain than conversation.
"I bet many people enjoy your music," she said, a whimsical tone to her voice.
We reached the cab and I glanced across the street, sensing someone watching us. A man stood with his hands in his coat pockets and his hat low over his eyes. I stared back at him briefly before paying the cab fair and muttering our destination. Closing my umbrella, I took a seat beside Lisette, who smoothed her hands over her dampened hair.
"Mother said the most romantic thing about your music," Lisette said once the driver shut the door.
I peered out the window and saw the gentleman across the street still watching the cab. He didn't seem to notice the rain pelting the Paris streets nor the swell of people skittering past him with umbrellas in hand and coats buttoned to the top.
"Did she?" I commented absently.
"She did."
The cab lurched forward and the man turned and headed in the opposite direction. At last I sat back and acknowledged Lisette. "I do hope you intend to share this information," I said as I raised a brow and chuckled to myself.
She tilted her head down and looked up at me with a curious smile. "She said when she heard your music, she fell in love with you."
"I suppose I should write a piece of music for her," I replied.
Her eyes widened. "What is it like when you write music?" she asked.
No one had ever asked me much about my music and Lisette was the last person I ever expected to inquire. She was timid yet maintained a pleasant way of speaking, a sort of soft nature in need of my protection. Whenever she looked up at me, I felt as though she saw me differently than anyone else.
"For the most part enjoyable," I answered. "But there are moments when I find composing absolutely irritating."
"Such as when Alex interrupts?"
"No," I answered. "Well, yes, on occasion, but I meant more when an idea stays just out of reach. Sometimes I will stare at the same notes for an hour and I cannot finish a score."
"An hour?" Lisette gasped as though this was the worst possible fate.
Sometimes I would sit idly for an entire evening simply reviewing my work or playing the piece repeatedly on the violin. In my younger days beneath the opera house when I lost my sense of time, I would sit for such long periods of time that when I abruptly stood I felt as though I would pass out.
"An hour or two," I answered.
"You weren't bored?"
"Never," I said confidently. Frustrated, angry, and at my wit's end were more fitting descriptions. Rarely if ever did I find myself bored with music.
Lisette sat back and folded her hands. "I hope one day I find something I love as much as you enjoy music."
"One day you will," I assured her, hoping for my own sanity she would have no interest in boys for at least another decade or two.
The cab rolled to a stop in front of my home and I grabbed our bag filled with gifts.
"Would you teach me how to play the piano?" she asked.
"If you swear to me you will not follow in Mademoiselle Leach's footsteps," I replied dryly.
Lisette merely blinked.
"If you wish to learn, I will gladly teach you."
The cab door swung open and the driver helped Lisette out of the carriage where she managed to barely avoid a puddle. With our purchase in hand, I stepped onto the street and opened the umbrella over Lisette, who stood with her shoulders hunched and eyes squinting in the steady shower.
Once we reached the steps and the cab pulled away, I glanced back and saw a man standing across the street, hands in his pockets, hat low over his eyes. I stared back at him, my heart suddenly racing. He looked exactly like the other man I had seen in front of the store, and yet…this seemed impossible.
"Hurry inside," I instructed Lisette.
I remained a step behind her. Once she was inside, she tossed her coat onto the hook and proceeded to stand on the tips of her toes. She examined her reflection in the hall mirror and smoothed her hair into place.
I closed my umbrella and peered through the crack in the door. The man had disappeared, but he left me with an uneasy feeling.
I locked the door behind me and stood for a moment listening to Alex speak excitedly to someone—most likely Ruby—in the kitchen.
"Lisette? Erik? Is that you?" Julia called.
"We're home, Mother!" Lisette announced.
Julia walked down the hallway from Meg and Charles' room and greeted Lisette with a kiss to the forehead and me with a chaste kiss on the cheek.
"Did you have a nice time?" Julia asked.
Lisette readily nodded. "We did, but I cannot tell you where we went."
As charming and trustworthy as she was, Lisette failed to notice the store name on the side of the paper bag I left beside the door.
Julia seemed amused by her daughter's words. "A surprise, then?"
"A very nice one too," Lisette assured her.
"Are you expecting anyone?" I interrupted suddenly.
Julia shook her head. "Should I be?"
I bit the inside of my cheek. I feared if I elaborated on the man I had seen across the street that I would upset Lisette and Julia.
"Visitors for Charles and Meg," I suggested.
"I'm afraid Meg isn't feeling up to visitors today. She's quite preoccupied with the babies."
"Mother, may I see them?" Lisette asked suddenly.
"Knock first," Julia suggested. "Madame Lowry needs her rest."
Once Lisette tiptoed quietly down the hall, Julia looked me over. "What is it?" she asked softly. "Did something happen?"
"No, no, not at all," I assured her.
"Then why do you look so worried?"
I knew if I told her it was nothing, she would continue to ask until I gave in. Answering honestly seemed like the most viable option. Inhaling sharply, I answered with caution. "There was a man across the street in the rain," I replied nonchalantly.
Julia turned her head to the side but didn't speak.
"The same man I saw when we were shopping."
"Who was he?" Julia asked, suddenly sounding concerned.
"I have no idea," I answered. And that worried me immensely.
