Sorry for such a lag in posting updates. Never stopped writing, but not having a lot of time to sit and focus on putting this chapter together.
Chapter 61
Alex and Lisette returned from their afternoon at the park soaked to the bone and giggling as they chased each other down the hall. Bessie did not approve of their antics and bayed as she gave a half-hearted charge from the rug in front of my desk to the landing outside of the bedroom door.
As one who had never cared much for rain and was not pleased with the thunder, she turned and hid beneath the desk at my feet and grumbled to herself.
"You are by the best-behaved of the lot, aren't you?" I said as I reached down and rubbed her ears.
Alex stomped up the stairs a moment later, red-faced and out of breath but with a wide grin. "Monsieur Gillis said I was an outstanding mountain goat," he said. "And also Ruby said supper will be on the table in five minutes. Why are we eating so early?"
I twisted in my seat and looked him over. "Your mother and I are attending the gallery opening tonight."
"Will we eat again later? I don't think I can survive all night without another meal."
"Who is hungry? Is Alex hungry?" Madeline fretted from the bottom of the stairs.
I rolled my eyes at her unrealistic fear of Alex starving to death if he went more than a handful of hours without something to eat.
"We are eating in five minutes," I replied.
Alex pulled a fistful of candies from his trouser pocket and placed them on my desk. "Monsieur Gillis paid us for our services today!"
"How many did you eat before you returned home?" I asked.
"Seven!" But I saved the rest for you."
I unwrapped one of the candies and popped it into my mouth. "We shall keep our candy consumption between the two of us."
Alex smiled. "Yes, Father," he whispered before he turned around and bounded down the stairs.
Our early meal was filled with conversation about Lisette and Alex's exciting afternoon posing as trees and mountain goats. They took turns blurting out how Claude asked them to turn slightly left or slightly right, how Alex fell over twice and Lisette was able to hold her pose the longest.
"And then before it started to rain, Monsieur Gillis paid us in candy," Lisette stated. "I saved mine. Alex ate his."
"Not all of it!" Alex protested.
Julia casually looked from Lisette to Alex. "You should not eat candy before your regular meal."
"Yes, Mama," Alex replied. He flashed a quick smile in my direction, which thankfully went unnoticed by Julia.
"Besides, wasn't Ruby kind enough to put a basket together for the two of you?" Julia asked.
"We ate it on the way to the park," Alex admitted without a hint of remorse.
"When are you leaving for the art gallery?" Madeline asked.
"By five," I answered. "The show starts at five-thirty."
"The rain should pass by then." Madeline grimaced. "I've felt it in my bones all day."
"Joshua said the same thing earlier," I replied.
"Father, what is my new uncle like?" Alex asked.
Both Julia and Madeline immediately turned their attention to me while Alex continued to eat and Lisette curiously eyed the adults around the table.
"He's an artist," I answered carefully. "A painter, to be specific."
"What else?" Alex asked.
"I'm afraid my familiarity with your uncle is currently quite limited."
"But why?"
"We have only met recently."
"Does Alex's uncle know the painter at the gallery?" Lisette asked.
I had almost forgotten our conversation the previous night in which I had told her that I was not friends with the painter whose work I saw at the gallery.
"They are one in the same, actually."
"Oh." Lisette's eyes widened. "I see."
"My new uncle is the painter whose work you are seeing tonight? This is quite intriguing!" Alex shouted.
"Most intriguing," Lisette added.
"Indeed," I said, assuming Charles had used the word 'intriguing' during their studies for the day.
"When do you think I might meet my new uncle?" Alex asked.
"When time allows," I answered.
As expected, Alex had a dozen more questions regarding Phelan, most of which revolved around favorite colors, animals, and food-particularly his uncle's fondness of sweets. To my surprise, Alex never asked if Phelan was Joshua's brother. I suppose considering I had never considered the possibility of a sibling I shouldn't have been surprised that Alex did not either.
"If I drew a picture for my new uncle, would you give it to him tonight?" Alex asked as we finished our meal.
"As long as it's not on the back of my new concerto."
Alex offered a sheepish grin. "Grand-mere said my drawings add character to your music."
Sometimes I wondered what a refined and dignified opera house manager somewhere in Europe would have thought if he'd opened one of my my symphonies and discovered a crude drawing of Bessie on the second page of music. If nothing else, Alex made certain I checked my work before sending it out for consideration.
"Do you think my uncle would like a drawing from his new nephew?"
"He should be quite honored."
"May I draw one as well?" Lisette politely asked.
"How very thoughtful of both of you," Julia said. "I trust you will behave tonight and help your dear aunt with the babies?"
Alex and Lisette nodded in agreement before they left the dining room to draw their pictures in the parlor. Moments after Madeline finished her coffee, they both appeared again with Lisette handing me a single envelope containing both drawings.
"You cannot peek," she warned me.
I promised I would not, and with that Madeline lead them to the Lowry's home for an evening of card games, puzzles, and tending to infants.
The house was oddly quiet with the children gone and Ruby finished for the day. Once I dressed, I sat downstairs in the parlor and started to clear my desk, but caught sight of an unusually thick envelope in a stack of unread mail.
Many of the contracts I signed were several pages long, and when I had first sold my music, I meticulously read through the most excruciatingly dull paragraphs explaining the terms of the sale. While the wording may have been slightly different depending on which theater wished to perform my operas and symphonies, every contract essentially said the same damned thing. After several months, I simply opened the envelopes, read the amount offered, and signed the paperwork if I found the terms agreeable.
This piece of mail however, had a stamp on the top left corner of a phonograph, and once I tore open the seal, I discovered a list of my most popular work accompanying a sales catalog of available phonograph products as well as a smaller red envelope on heavier stock paper.
I ripped open the envelope and discovered a check in the amount of twenty-five thousand francs for the sale of my music on phonograph cylinders. I was absolutely certain I had never sold a single note to be played on that atrocity, but my flare of anger was snuffed out once Julia tapped on the door frame.
The moment our eyes met, I completely forgot about the damnable phonograph. Her hair was up with the ends gently curled into soft ringlets framing her face and elongating her neck. She was absolutely stunning...and she was mine.
"What is that?" Julia absently asked as she looked me over.
"Nothing." I shoved the check into the envelope and placed it inside my desk drawer and abruptly stood. "I'm afraid not a single patron will pay the least bit of attention to any of Phelan's paintings."
Julia furrowed her brow as she touched her hair. She turned away from me and examined her reflection in the oval mirror. "Why is that?" she asked as she continued to fix a curl of hair that did not appear out of place.
"A room full of artwork pales in comparison to your unmatched beauty."
Julia turned to face me and offered a wide smile. She placed her hand over her heart and blushed at my words. "You are too kind. As a show of gratitude, you may kiss me." She tapped her cheek.
"I would much rather steal a kiss-"
"You will smear my lip color," Julia playfully admonished. "Meanie sent me a sample from the Sears and Roebuck catalog in America. Do you like it?" She puckered her lips and turned her head from side to side.
"Exquisite," I said. Truly she was more than I deserved.
Julia beamed. "Do you think so? She sent me another color, but it was red as a rose and my cheeks are already ruddy and-"
I cupped her cheeks and kissed her gently in the middle of her sentence, rendering her silent. At first I thought she would pull away for the sake of her lip color, but instead she leaned into me and sighed.
"You devil," Julia said with a laugh as she took a step back and playfully swatted my arm. "You wait for the carriage while I freshen up."
"You bewitch me," I replied.
"You are insatiable," my wife replied with a shake of her finger.
The carriage pulled up the moment Julia returned from our bedroom with a deeper shade of red staining her full lips that I assumed was meant to tempt me in the most primal way possible.
The ride to the gallery was brief, and once we exited and I paid the driver, I was surprised to see a throng of patrons lined up outside of the building.
"There's Claude," Julia said as she nodded toward the front of the line where the flustered artist stood with one hand on his hip and the other against his forehead while a tall, thin bald man frantically waved his hands and gestured at the closed gallery door.
"You are not on the guest list," Claude replied. "I cannot allow you inside."
"This is madness! Give me the list! Clearly Phelan omitted my name on accident," the man said through his teeth. "I will add my own name!"
Claude ignored the man and addressed two younger women in line, both of whom he admitted into the gallery. He glanced at the sheet in his hand, then scanned the crowd and caught sight of me and Julia.
"Monsieur!" he shouted as he waved us forward. "This way, please!"
The bald man continued to insist he should be allowed inside the gallery. He grumbled as we approached and threw his hands in the air. "And who might you be?" he sneered as he looked me up and down.
Claude audibly gasped. "I beg your pardon, Monsieur Moreau, but this is the incomparable composer Monsieur Kire."
Given that carriage drivers, starving artists in city parks, and dancers in the opera house stared wide-eyed and stammered for correct words once we were introduced, I was quite surprised when Monsieur Moreau merely rolled his eyes and scoffed.
"Ah, he is no Mozart," Moreau said dismissively.
While both Julia and Claude gaped at Moreau's blunt remark, I chuckled to myself. "True enough," I said.
Clearly flustered by the exchange, Claude shooed Moreau out of the line and fanned himself with the handful of pages bearing guest names.
"My apologies," Claude said. "That man is impossible."
"None needed," I replied, still amused by Moreau's audacity. "Is Monsieur Kimmer inside yet?" I quietly asked before we entered the gallery.
Claude shook his head. "Unless he entered through the back, which is quite possible, I have not seen him yet."
There was a handful of patrons wandering around the gallery, mostly older, bearded men in finely tailored suits with their arms crossed over their chests and eyes narrowed as they nodded and discussed Phelan's work. Three women stood near the back chattering away in fur wraps with fans fluttering, which seemed entirely counterproductive. They looked like a group of squirrels exchanging the latest gossip.
"Shall we have a look around?" Julia asked.
"May I suggest a bit of refreshment first?"
We both turned and found Joshua with two glasses of wine in hand.
"How wonderful to see you," Julia said.
Joshua handed Julia a wine glass and offered a smile. "And you as well, Julia." He offered me the second wine glass, which I refused. "He is in the back," Joshua added quietly.
I nodded, unsure of whether his words were meant in secret. I looked past Joshua at the closed door leading into the back of the gallery.
"Does he intend to come out?" I asked.
"Eventually." Joshua gave a heavy sigh. "For now he is with Elvira."
Before I could ask of whom Joshua spoke, a loud squawk garnered the attention of everyone within the gallery.
"His parrot," Joshua continued. "No one is admitted into the back of the gallery as Elvira is quite particular."
"He has a bird with him?" Julia asked.
Joshua nodded. "Not just any bird; he has a Scarlet Macaw. He purchased her when we first moved here and quite honestly it is the longest relationship he's ever had," my cousin said with a chuckle. "You should have seen Phelan back in the day. He would walk to the park with his painting supplies and a bird on his shoulder. They are the perfect, disagreeable pair."
"I beg your pardon? The perfect pair?" Julia questioned.
Joshua offered a devilish grin. "She is terrible," he said flatly.
OoOoO
Quite frankly, I had never been fond of birds, particularly larger avian. As a boy wandering the streets late at night, I was unafraid of roaming dogs and stray cats, many of whom were comfortable in my presence as I walked silently through the shadows and had a great deal of patience when it came to earning their trust. Often I sat in darkness and shared scraps with rail thin, filthy mongrels who eagerly approached with tails wagging. Cats would rub up against my legs an purr while the dogs happily followed me from one alley to the next and enjoyed the spoils I obtained from the refuse behind pubs and the butcher shop.
Birds, however, I experienced for the first time in the traveling fair and again in Persia. The matriarch of the gypsy's, a white-haired, milky-eyed fortune teller had a bird in her tent that despised everyone in the world, but in particular Garouche. Once it had bitten a sizable chunk of his upper arm and left him with scratches up and down his back and shoulders.
As if on cue, the back door of the gallery opened and Phelan appeared with a Macaw on his outstretched arm. Almost immediately, the dozen patrons in the gallery shrieked in unison and skittered the front of the the building as though Phelan had emerged with a bear at his side.
"Thank you for coming," Phelan droned as he scanned the gallery. A smile of satisfaction tipped his lips briefly before he turned his face toward the bird, who inched up his arm and nibbled his beard.
"She's on a chain," Joshua said under his breath. "But apparently no one is aware that she cannot fly off his arm."
"Does she bite?" I asked.
Joshua grunted. "As I said, Elvira is terrible. She is partial to Phelan and tolerates others with varying degrees of civility. Apparently everyone in attendance is aware of her demeanor."
Phelan made no attempt to enter the gallery. He stood with the bird now on his shoulder and looked around, seemingly amused by the reaction of the people admiring his work.
"Please, continue to browse," he said. His gaze momentarily settled on mine, and my lips pulled into a smile that was not acknowledged. "We will retreat to the back for your comfort."
Just as quickly as my brother appeared, he turned and shut the door behind him. The crowd murmured and slowly spread out once the threat of the bird was gone.
"And that is the last anyone will see of Phelan for the next hour," Joshua said.
"You cannot be serious," I said incredulously. "He intends to sit in the back of the gallery for the next hour?"
"With any luck, he will emerge without Elvira the next time."
I could not help but feel a deep sense of disappointment that we had traveled to the gallery in order to see Phelan and he did nothing more than make an appearance for thirty seconds.
"Why don't we have a look around?" Julia suggested. She gave my wrist a squeeze and frowned.
I nodded in response. Joshua followed us toward the back corner of the gallery and mentioned he had another engagement and would not stay long.
"Know that even if he does not say as much, Phelan does appreciate you being here," Joshua said before he went on his way.
Side by side, Julia and I walked from one painting to the next with few words exchanged. Once we stood in front of the painting of the figure at the bottom of the stairs, she grasped my hand and laced her fingers with mine.
Goose flesh rose along my arms as I lowered my gaze. From the corner of my eye I watched Julia's expression fill with sorrow. She closed the space between us and ran her thumb along the length of mine.
"Is the figure supposed to be…?"
"I don't think so," I answered before she finished speaking.
"But at the top of the stairs, is that your-"
"Yes."
Three men slowly approached and stood off to the side to observe the painting. They briefly murmured their thoughts before the conversation was interrupted by a cylinder placed on the phonograph near the refreshment table.
Julia immediately turned toward me, wide-eyed and smiling. "I know this one," she whispered as she dug her fingers into my arm with unabashed excitement.
Her reaction amused me. "So do I."
"Well, I should hope so," she said with a laugh. "It's symphony number...eight?"
"Symphony number twenty-eight, in A major," I corrected, although I did not expect her to know one symphony from the next.
Julia tilted her head to the side. "You've written twenty-eight symphonies?"
"I've written over fifty."
She playfully swatted my arm. "Most assuredly you have been withholding many symphonies from your wife."
"My sincerest apologies, but I do not have a full orchestra at my disposal."
"I suppose that's true." She tapped my forearm. "Oh, do you remember what I said to you when you first asked if I sang?" Julia asked with a smile.
I cringed at her question, one which I had never forgotten. It had been one of our first conversations, and as I sat across the room from Julia, I struggled to find something in common with this woman I had seen casually through my bedroom window.
"You said you sewed," I answered at last.
Julia chuckled to herself and wrinkled her nose. "I did. The look on your face that night." She shook her head and covered her mouth with her hand as her laughter continued. "You could not have been more disappointed in my answer."
I took her free hand and kissed her knuckles. "I can assure you that the true disappointment was in myself at the thought of boring you half to death," I wisely replied.
Julia intertwined her fingers with mine. "When did you sell your music to be played on the phonographs?"
"I didn't."
Julia furrowed her brow. "But then how was your symphony acquired?"
"Madeline's doing," I answered. "And evidently the gallery owner thought it would be flattering to have my music playing while we attended the show."
Despite forcing a scowl, I had to admit that despite how poor the sound quality was coming from the phonograph, I was still quite flattered to hear my music. The men near us listened for a moment before they continued toward the next wall of art.
"What do you think of his work?" I asked once the three men were out of earshot.
Julia hesitated. "I find it upsetting."
I considered her words and studied the painting. With the sun behind us, the details became more obvious and I realized all of the aspects I had missed the previous night. The third to the bottom cellar stair was slanted, something I had long since forgotten. I had rolled many bolts and nails down the side of the step in my childhood in order to pass the endless hours of solitude, and often late into the night I had watched my inebriated father stumble over the crooked stair far too many times than I could count.
At last I drew my attention to the figure hunched over at the bottom of the stairs had a sallow, gray complexion. The hands and feet were bony and elongated with blue veins visible, the face far too long and sunken in.
There was not supposed to be a permanent escape from the cellar, and yet I had been taken almost thirty years ago from the hell where I had spent endless hours languishing in silence. I was not supposed to survive let alone create music and have a family of my own. There had been a headstone waiting my arrival, a grave that remained empty and forgotten somewhere northwest of Paris. I wondered if the stone had crumbled over the years or it was so tangled in weeds and overgrowth that no one would ever see it.
"What do you think of it?" Julia asked.
I studied the image in the painting again, a figure distorted and on the brink of death. With Julia at my side and my music playing in the background, I felt truly removed from the cellar depicted in the painting.
"I think it is quite impeccably detailed and priced far higher than it's worth."
Julia gasped once she noticed the price tag. "Thirty thousand francs."
I shrugged. We could have afforded double the asking price, as money was of no concern, but I would not have paid thirty francs for a reminder of my youth. "I think it has no place in our home."
"No, it does not. Shall we continue through the exhibit?"
I nodded, and together we rounded the corner of the makeshift wall and immediately ran into Claude, who offered a wide, boyish grin in stark contrast to our surroundings.
"Did Phelan come out with the bird? I couldn't see."
"He did," I answered. "Briefly."
Claude made a face of utter disdain. "That thing despises everyone," he said, keeping his voice low. "Though I suppose that's why Phelan brings her to the art shows."
"She's beautiful," Julia offered.
"She's stunning," Claude agreed. "And she will bite off your nose if given the chance."
I wondered what Bessie would have done if she had been given the opportunity to wander freely around a theater. I imagined she would have sniffed out any snacks inside the orchestra pit and stolen lozenges from the principal dressing rooms. Of course she would have been welcomed with open arms given her amiable nature.
"I heard you paid Alex and Lissy with candy," Julia said.
"I-well-yes, Alex mentioned they hadn't eaten all day and I didn't bring anything to the park, so we stopped at the candy store. I suppose that was not wise."
"They enjoyed themselves immensely," Julia said.
"As did I. Lisette was instrumental in finding the proper candy to send to my sister. In fact, she volunteered her services for future shopping excursions involving dresses and dolls."
"You have an address for your sister?" Julia asked.
Claude frowned. "Apolline is still in the home for girls. I know I said she was most likely adopted, but she was not." Claude shifted his weight. "I wrote to the home and asked if she may return to Paris and live with me now that I have more sufficient means to care for her. "
Julia clutched my arm. "Oh, Claude, that would be wonderful."
"Thank you, Madame Kire."
"You will let us know if there is anything we can do to assist you," Julia said. She briefly glanced at me and smiled as though awaiting confirmation.
"Of….course," I said.
Claude nodded and smiled. "I appreciate your kindness. Perhaps you could direct a wealthy bystander or two toward the the table in front? As compensation for working the event, Paul and I have a few of our paintings for sale."
"We will bar the door until the table is cleared," I replied dryly.
Claude look mortified. "I do not think Monsieur Van Gogh would allow such a thing."
"I believe you have misconstrued my husband's sense of humor," Julia said. She patted my arm slowly and gave me a sideways, unamused look.
Claude's cheeks turned bright red, and he looked from us to the door at the back of the gallery. "Yes, Madame, my apologies for the folly. I suppose I should return to my post before the boss realizes the door has been left unattended," he said with a heavy sigh.
No sooner had Claude finished speaking when the door opened and a younger man with dark hair and a mustache walked out appearing quite flustered. He scanned the room, his gaze darting from one group of people to the next until his blue eyes settled on where Julia and I stood. The man straightened his overcoat and marched toward us.
"Monsieur Kire, I presume?" the gentleman said quietly once he stood before us.
I nodded once. From the corner of my eye I saw two gentleman cease their conversation and eye me momentarily.
"My name is Theo Van Gogh," the man said as he offered a firm handshake.
"The art broker, if I am not mistaken?"
"You are quite correct." Bright blue eyes creased with a smile. He was younger than I expected for an art dealer, however, not nearly as youthful as Claude, and for a man of Dutch decent, he spoke impeccable French. "The artist would like to speak to you in private if you would be so kind as to follow me."
I looked from Theo to Julia. "It would be our pleasure."
Theo cleared his throat. "The artist has agreed to your company," he said. He glanced at Julia, then back at me. "As the broker of the art, however, it would be my honor to show Madame Kire around the gallery."
I inhaled and considered his words. "Fine," I said at last.
The art broker smiled and motioned toward the back of the gallery. "Very good, Monsieur Kire, I shall introduce the two of you."
"We have met."
Theo's lips parted in surprise. "I...I was not aware you had met my client," he stammered as he ushered us toward the doorway. "I am quite pleased the two of you have been acquainted. The artist has long since admired your music, which I am sure goes without saying."
"I was not aware," I replied.
Theo glanced at me, his gaze settling unabashedly on my mask, and I wondered what Phelan had said about me to his broker. "I believe he attended your opera while in town this week. In fact, the artist was the one who insisted the gallery owner purchase your music to be played on the phonograph," he stated as we approached the back of the gallery.
"Is that so?" I asked.
Julia tightly squeezed my hand. "How kind of him."
Theo offered a quick smile and rapped his knuckles on the door and tried the door knob, which was locked. "Your guest, Monsieur."
The three of us waited for a reply, but after several heartbeats, Theo offered his arm to Julia, who hesitated to accept. Her eyes met mine and I nodded, silently assuring her that I was well prepared to speak with my brother alone.
"He will be with you momentarily," Theo said to me before he guided Julia toward the wall of art we had already seen.
Impatiently, I waited for the door to open.
