I've been toying with the idea of writing a very short story of Bessie's first day with Erik. I've thought about it for years and may write it as a short if anyone is interested.
Chapter 54
Long after the front door opened and slammed shut, I stood in the dark courtyard and attempted to recall every word Phelan had said to me over the span of two encounters.
Weren't you supposed to be dead, he had asked me.
Without Phelan, without my older brother, I would not have lived past infancy. He had cared for me, the screaming, deformed brat, as he had put it. When I asked where he was from, the man I thought was my cousin had stated from the same damned place as you. Now I understood what he implied.
In speaking of my father, our father, Phelan had used his given name-and he had described the way Bjorn Kimmer humiliated both of his sons by shoving them down and demanding they stand at once.
The very thought of another individual experiencing the same torment as I had made me shudder. For as long as I could recall, I had thought of myself as alone in that respect, and now that I knew another person had suffered in the same manner, I felt no sense of relief. The longer I stared at the spot where Phelan had stood, the more agitated I became.
My mind wandered back to the moment Phelan had nonchalantly described of me screaming in cold and hunger as an infant while he attempted to feed the fire. In the end, he had paid dearly for his efforts. The thought of my father-our father-hurting his oldest son for using firewood, sickened me.
"Would you like to return inside?" Joshua asked as he stepped into the courtyard.
"No," I snapped. I had no idea what I wanted, but I was quite certain nothing would quell the anger I felt inside.
Joshua remained at a distance and made no attempt to persuade me back into his home. He looked away from me and studied the trees rustling in the night breeze.
"Where did he go?" I asked. A tavern to drown his sorrow or fuel his anger, I wondered. Perhaps he was prone to the same habits as our father. I realized I had no idea how closely Phelan followed in the footsteps of the man he resembled as I knew virtually nothing of him at all.
"His hotel, perhaps," Joshua answered. "Unfortunately, I do not know where he is staying, and as far as I know he does not keep close company here where inquiring would be of much use," he added before I asked.
"Will he return here tomorrow?"
"I would not think so. It would not surprise me if he returned home first thing in the morning."
"You said he was visiting for two weeks," I pointed out.
Joshua sighed. "He comes and goes as he pleases."
I paused for a moment, mentally wading through myriad questions that had crowded my thoughts before I turned to fully face him.
"Why do you refer to him as your brother if he is your cousin?"
Joshua lowered his gaze and frowned. "An old habit, I suppose. We were raised together for so many years, and my father always referred to us as brothers. Unfortunately, Phelan stopped claiming me as his family many years ago."
"Why?"
"I am not sure."
"You are not sure or you have no desire to tell me?"
Joshua's eyes widened at my tone. "I apologize, but these are questions Phelan would be more apt at answering."
"Phelan is not here to answer my questions," I said tightly.
"Erik, I understand why you are upset," Joshua said.
His words threatened to unravel the very last of my patience. With my hand balled into fists, I turned and stalked away from him, the rage I felt deep inside seeking a violent release.
"Let me assure you, there is very little you truly understand about me," I growled.
Julia inhaled sharply from where she stood in the doorway, which pulled my attention off Joshua and to her. Although she said nothing to me aloud, I understood the warning look in her eyes.
"I apologize," I said under my breath. The words were meant for both my cousin and my wife.
Joshua held out his hand, palm facing me in a placating manner. "I hope you understand it was never my intention for the two of you to meet like this."
'What was your intention?" I asked. The edge in my voice remained, but my cousin did not acknowledge my tone. "If you do not mind me asking."
"When I wrote to Phelan and first told him you had found me, he did not acknowledge my words past saying he thought you were nothing more than a ghost."
I shifted my weight, and my gaze dropped to his shoes as I considered his words. The mask of the most famous ghost in Paris. He knew all of my faults, every damned one of them. Perhaps that was the reason he did not want me as his brother. Perhaps he was far too ashamed to to claim me as family.
"I assumed he wished to speak to you in person," Joshua continued. "Over the years he would bring you up on occasion, but eventually that ceased."
"Why?"
"I really cannot say."
"The Opera House," I said.
Joshua shook his head. "No, he had stopped asking long before that. Perhaps he gave up finding you."
"Or he did not want me to find him," I said.
"I cannot speak for him-"
"You do not need to speak for him, he has made his resentment toward me abundantly clear."
"You are not the only one unsettled by how my-your-brother reacted tonight. Perhaps in a few months he will feel differently and be more receptive to meeting you again."
"A few months?" I asked incredulously.
Joshua sighed. "By morning I am certain he will abruptly return home, and then it is quite typical that he will not answer my letters for several weeks or months. He will stew for quite some time before he decides to reach out. For as long as I can recall he has been this way, making situations more difficult than necessary."
"A family trait," I said under my breath.
"He is not an easy person to like," Joshua replied.
Neither was I.
"Months," I groused.
I had no desire to wait another hour, let alone months, to learn more about my own brother. Joshua seemed unwilling to speak on Phelan's behalf, which left me with no other options.
"It's getting late," Julia said quietly.
I nodded in agreement despite having no idea what time it was, and Joshua nodded, mumbling that he would show us out. He apologized for how the night abruptly ended and offered to send food home with us, but I declined.
Once we walked out the front door, I scanned the spaces between the lamp lights, half-expecting to find Phelan waiting in the shadows.
"He is not here," Joshua said. "That much I know for certain."
"Would you tell him…" I started to say, but my sentence remained unfinished. In truth I had no idea what I wished to say to Phelan.
Joshua put his hand on my shoulder and solemnly nodded. "It will be weeks before I write to him," he reminded me. "Plenty of time to consider what you wish to say to him."
Weeks to construct imperfect sentences, I thought as the carriage rolled up. Weeks to scribble down angry, resentful words and commit the pages to the fire before I started again. Weeks to wonder why Phelan felt so strongly and what I had done to earn such hatred. It could have been anything, I realized. If our roles had been reversed, I may not have wanted to claim the deformed ghost of a man who had terrorized a theater for years.
I was quite certain that even if I waited weeks, Phelan would not answer me. Strange how there was a space left behind by his sudden departure, how I longed for the answers he kept from me. I hated him for it, for shutting me out. I hated my own brother for being no different than anyone else I had encountered.
Lost in my own thoughts, I missed the last exchange of words between Joshua and Julia. I did not spare a glance at our driver or notice when we started home for the night.
"Walk with me," Julia said quietly once the carriage came to a halt.
I peered through the carriage window at the unfamiliar street and furrowed my brow. "Why did we stop?"
"I wanted to walk the rest of the way."
"We must be a dozen streets away."
"Two streets," Julia corrected. "And it is nice out."
Once we exited the carriage, I paid the driver, and together Julia and I started down the street. We walked in silence, her hand in mine, passing houses with lights on inside parlors and rooms on second floors.
For years I had roamed about the streets late at night alone. I had not dared to venture far from the Opera House for almost a year as I feared being recognized from the traveling fair and taken into custody.
As I grew older, I left for hours at a time to listen to street musicians and even played a handful of times on the corner, more for my own enjoyment than others.
It was not until Alexandre brought a squirming, droopy-eyed pup into our home and left me with the responsibility of caring for a dog that I had a companion for my walks. I could still recall how he brought her into my room when I was distracted with the newspaper. He left quite abruptly, and when I turned to address my son, I found in his place a long-eared ball of fur who was so excited to have attention bestowed upon her that she emptied her bladder on my bed.
"Why are you grunting?" Julia asked.
"Bessie," I answered. "When she was two months old, she would trot to the end of the street like a regal hound, then curl up beneath a street lamp and refuse to walk back home. I swore I would leave her each time, but I always carried her back. She is the only one who has ever walked with me at night."
Bessie had been a terrible walking partner as she stopped abruptly every few steps to sniff and investigate an ordinary blade of grass, which often led to me nearly fall over her. She constantly backtracked in search of a scent, rolled in spots that smelled horrendous, and sometimes waited until we returned home to urinate on the rug by the front door.
Julia gave me a sideways look. "Eventually I will be flattered by your comparison of me to your dog."
"I am not comparing you to the dog," I argued. "Unless you curl up beneath a light as well."
Wisely I did not mention Bessie and her excitable bladder.
Julia grinned back at me, and we continued on in silence for a while, listening to the sound of drunken singing and laughter several streets away.
"You and Phelan are very similar," Julia said once we rounded the corner and turned onto our street.
"In what way?" I carefully asked.
"Physically you are both relatively the same height and build," Julia answered. I wanted to tell her I was slightly taller, but I was certain she would simply roll her eyes. "And there is no denying you are both...complex."
To that I snorted. "Complex indeed."
"I'm being honest," Julia said earnestly. "And I do not want you to take my observation as an insult."
"You mean to say we are both surly and combative."
"I mean to say you are both stubborn and unwilling to back down no matter what. You both had an opinion formed of one another immediately and refused to deter from how you felt," Julia pointed out.
I came to an abrupt stop on the street. "His opinion was formed well before mine."
Julia frowned. "Yes, I understand that, and I am not defending his actions, however, I do not think his anger is directed at you. At least not fully."
I opened my mouth to protest, but instead shook my head. "He is angry with our father."
"Of course. He has every right to be. Quite honestly I am very angry at your father as well."
"If Phelan's anger is directed at a man who died some twenty years ago, then there is nothing I can do to rectify the situation."
"True, but-"
"He has made it quite clear that he does not want me as his brother. If that is his stance, then so be it. I have lived my entire life having no idea he existed and I most certainly do not want or need him now."
The clarity and power in my voice faltered and I looked away briefly. There was not a shred of truth to my words.
Julia pursed her lips. I took a step back and turned away from her in an attempt to harness my erratic breathing. Seconds passed, and my anger bubbled to the surface once more.
"I am nothing to him and he is nothing to me," I said through my teeth. "Forty damned years has not been long enough, if you ask me."
"You do not mean that."
"What do I mean then?" I snapped.
I fully expected Julia to walk home without me, but instead a gentle hand rested softly on my shoulder. Perhaps she had nothing to say or she realized there was nothing that could quiet what I felt inside.
"I did everything I could to gain my father's acceptance," I said at last. "I would not speak for days, for weeks, even. I stayed in the same spot for hours at a time, too afraid to make a sound for fear I would anger him. But he was always furious with me, always stomping down the stairs to find me. Long after I left his home, I still wondered what I could have done differently. And now I will perhaps wonder for the rest of my life why my own brother despises me."
"I do not think he despises you," Julia offered quietly. "And in time he may wish to speak to you once more."
"I have no desire to wait."
"I know."
Again I scanned the empty streets in search of Phelan, knowing full well he would not appear.
"Erik, listening to the two of you speak was difficult," Julia softly continued. "The extent of what your father did to his children is almost beyond comprehension."
Her words made me shiver. "It was a long time ago. I apologize if I caused you distress."
"I am not looking for an apology and time clearly has no bearing on the situation, just as Phelan said. Time has healed nothing."
"He is correct."
"I knew your father did not treat you well, but hearing Phelan describe how you were both cold and hungry, how he pushed you down…" her voice trailed away and she quickly wiped her eyes clear of tears. "I cannot imagine what it was like not simply for you, but for Phelan being a young child feeling responsible for a newborn..." She paused, her bottom lip quivering. "He is well aware your uncle barely mentioned him in the letters and I am sure when he looks in the mirror, he sees what you see."
"Our father."
The burn to Phelan's left hand was a constant reminder that our father had ruined him physically, while every glance in the mirror showed his reflection matched that of a violent drunk.
"He must feel terribly alone," Julia added.
"He does not want my pity," I said firmly. Yet another way in which we were quite similar.
"No," Julia agreed. "But in time perhaps he will want you to simply listen to him." She took my hand again. "I cannot imagine how I would feel if Louis took Lissy from me and disappeared, how I would mourn the loss of my daughter and time spent seeing her grow up."
I thought of how I had expected Christine to return for Alex, how I dreaded the thought of his own mother, a stranger to him, plucking him from my grasp. I agonized over my son forgetting me as he was far too young to remember how I held him night and day.
I knew Alexandre's erratic schedule, how he woke at four in the morning for his first feeding, how he fell asleep and promptly woke two hours later and refused a nap. I knew which rattle he preferred and what clothes fit him best. He was everything to me, and often when he fell asleep with his mouth wide open and body slung over my arm, I smiled down at him and wondered if my parents had ever held me in such a manner.
I imagined a three-year-old boy neglected by his mother and mistreated by his father alone in a cold, dark house. A small child, hungry and bruised, forced to care for an infant with a grotesque face so that the newborn would not perish.
My thoughts darkened, and I wondered if Phelan regretted what he had done for me, if he wished I had simply died as I should have at birth.
"You think that is how Phelan feels?" I asked as we reached the front steps of our home.
"I know he does."
I snorted at her words. "Highly unlikely," I muttered.
"Erik, please place your cynicism aside and listen to me," Julia said sharply as she yanked her hand away from mine.
Taken aback by her tone and the way she pulled away from me, I turned from her and fished for my keys in my overcoat pocket.
"I will put forth my best effort to curb my cynicism," I said without meeting her eye.
I turned the key in the lock and waited for Julia to speak.
"Please look at me," she requested.
I took a deep breath and did as she asked, pressing my back to the closed door.
"Before Phelan walked out, he stopped and asked me if I loved you. When I nodded, he said he did as well long ago."
I nodded, but my pessimism refused to be swallowed down so easily. Forty years was a long time for feelings to change, for love to turn to hate.
"I thought this would make you happier," Julia said.
"I honestly do not know how to feel."
I turned the door handle and Julia walked past me, saying nothing further as she removed her boots and pulled off her gloves.
"Are you upset with me?" I asked quietly despite a multitude of mannerisms that indicated this was the case.
"I am not," she said as she tossed down her gloves.
"Then-"
"I am upset for you," she said. "Deeply, mournfully upset for you and for Phelan. Ever since he walked out, I envision a little boy being burned by his father and a starving newborn left to die and..." She choked back her emotion and covered her mouth with her hand. "You keep so much to yourself."
I bowed my head and sighed. "I know."
"Will you come to bed soon?" Julia asked.
"Yes," I lied. "But you needn't wait up for me."
Julia placed her hand against my chest. She pulled up my mask and gently kissed my lips. "Come up soon," she whispered. "Please."
"You already know I will not sleep tonight." I took my mask from her and looked into the empty eye hole. "I will take Bessie to the corner and back."
Julia searched my gaze, but nodded at last. "Wake me when you return," she said before she squeezed my free hand. "I will stay up with you."
Once the bedroom door quietly shut, I locked the front door and studied my mask for a moment. Now that I was alone in the foyer, I felt the crippling weight of my heightened anxiety bearing down on me.
The floorboards in the hall creaked, and I glanced up to see Madeline standing outside of the kitchen. She looked me over for a moment, then motioned for me to accompany her, which I did without question.
"It is almost midnight and you are drinking coffee," I commented once I followed her into the kitchen and spotted her half-empty cup.
She shrugged. "I like the taste."
"The irony that you enjoy the bitter taste of black coffee and I prefer the sugar," I said with a humorless laugh.
Madeline offered a wan smile in return. She took her seat and looked me over. "Sit with me," she requested.
"I should take Bessie out."
"She was out not twenty minutes ago. Now she is asleep at the end of the bed in Lissy's room."
"I do not care when she was out last. I...I will take her out again if I so desire," I grumbled. Mentally I searched for another suitable excuse to leave the house and look for Phelan, but came up short.
Madeline's brow furrowed and she sat up straighter. "I do not think it is wise for you to leave the house at this hour."
"I am often out much later."
Madeline offered no further argument. She sipped her coffee and studied me in silence.
"I am not good company," I said under my breath as I finally took a seat beside her. I continued to study my mask and avoided her eye."You know this all too well."
Madeline inhaled and turned her cup in her hands. "The evening did not go well with Phelan?"
"It did not," I scowled.
"That is a shame. I suppose it is fortunate he does not live here."
"That is not at all fortunate."
"But if you and your cousin do not see eye to eye-"
"He is not my cousin," I blurted out. My heart stuttered, and I hesitated to continue, but Madeline stared wide-eyed back at me. "He is my brother."
Madeline's lips parted and she quickly covered her mouth. "Are you certain?"
"Quite."
She remained quiet for longer than seemed necessary, which did nothing to ease my growing anxiety. "I thought the two of you shared many similarities. I suppose it makes sense," she said at last.
"Nothing makes sense," I argued, catching myself before my harsh tone grew too loud and I woke Lisette and Alexandre.
"May I ask what happened?"
"He does not want me as his brother."
"He said that to you?" Madeline gasped. Her gaze hardened, and I knew without a doubt that if Phelan stood before Madeline, she would have no qualms about boxing his ears or giving him a piece of her mind.
"No, not exactly."
"What did he say?"
"He said enough," I answered. I wrapped my knuckles on the table top and started to excuse myself, but Madeline swiftly asked another question.
"What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? Joshua said he will most likely return home in the morning and it could be months before they are in contact again."
"Where does he live?"
"I have no idea. I did not ask and Phelan did not say." My agitation increased, and I silently cursed myself for not demanding more answers. "I feel...I feel as though I have discovered a puzzle with far too many pieces missing. No amount of rearranging or attempts at repair will fix this. I do not fit."
A hint of alarm flitted through Madeline's gaze as her hand slid over mine. "You fit here. With your family."
"Phelan was my family once," I answered miserably. "He is the reason I lived past infancy, and I have absolutely no recollection of him. He fed me, he kept me warm...he suffered on my behalf. Why would he want anything to do with me?"
"Suffered how?" Madeline narrowed her eyes. Her complexion paled considerably as I retold Phelan's story, and tears filled her eyes once I finished speaking.
"Does he blame you?" she asked.
I shook my head. "He said he does not."
We sat in silence for a long moment before Madeline squeezed my left hand. "You are still his family no matter what."
"By name, perhaps."
I picked at a notch in the table Meg used for chopping her garden vegetables. The lines from a kitchen knife criss-crossed over the wooden surface, some much deeper than others, and I noticed in the bottom corner a small capital 'A' and 'K' with the letters 'M' and 'L' below it. I wondered if Meg had allowed Alexandre to use her knife or if he had hastily carved their initials into the table when his aunt was not looking. I suspected the latter as I was certain Meg would not allow Alex to use anything sharp for fear of him chopping off all of his fingers.
"Erik, it sounds to me like you and Phelan are far too similar," Madeline bluntly remarked. "You are both unwilling to back down and unwavering in your stance."
"I realize this."
"Regardless of how he feels about you, this is your place with your children asleep in their beds and your wife undoubtedly waiting up for you. Do not forget what you have."
I traced over the four letters in the wood with my index finger and pictured Meg with Alex as a baby on her lap. Every waking moment Alex was not sitting on my knee, he was in Meg's arms receiving incessant kisses as she read letters from her ballet dancer friends aloud and had full conversations with a baby who cooed and babbled back in delight.
We were not pieces that should have ever come in contact with one another, and for many years I considered Meg an unfortunate corner of my ornate and chaotic puzzle. And yet she stayed for my son's sake and loved him more than I had ever expected.
"I will not forget what I have," I answered.
"Good."
We both stood, and Madeline proceeded to wash out her empty cup of coffee and set it onto a folded towel to dry.
"But I will not stop wanting more."
She looked at me from over her shoulder at me and smiled. "I did not expect you would."
