CH 68
Bessie was eager to leave the house, particularly because Alex and Lisette took turns making high-pitched noises to entertain their much younger cousins after supper.
With Julia's blessing, we stepped out the front door and into a cool, breezy evening. Bessie immediately put her nose to the ground and sniffed her way down the streets and through the park until we reached Joshua's home. He was in his courtyard when we approached, and the moment Bessie realized where we were, she howled her greeting.
Joshua looked up from the table where he sat amidst several flickering candles behind hurricane glass and sheets of paper held down with paper weights. "Erik?" he said as he looked up. "And Bessie, of course."
He hastily gathered up the sheets of paper and placed them all into a folder, then pulled out the empty chair beside his.
"Am I interrupting?" I asked once I entered the courtyard. The area, though small, was well-kept with its topiaries, lush ferns, and fragrant flowers shaded by several trees. I imagined it was a space that allowed inspiration to flow quite freely, particularly on evenings such as this one.
Joshua shook his head. "No, not interrupting at all, but I have about twenty minutes until I need to head out for the evening to play at the Sterois." He cracked his knuckles and rotated his wrists.
"You compose?" I asked as I nodded to the folder.
"Heavens, no." He flipped through the pages and smiled. "My daughter selected some of her favorite music as gentle suggestions for tonight. A bit of fun, really, but if you should ever feel inclined to stop by one evening and bring your violin, the patrons would be in for a real treat."
"Did we play music together as children?" I asked as I took my seat. Bessie situated herself between us and tilted her head up, inviting my cousin to rub her ears. Not surprisingly he obliged and Bessie closed her eyes, savoring the attention.
"Unfortunately the only piano I had access to was in the church and it was rarely in tune. I didn't start formally playing until I moved here. Late is better than never, I suppose."
"And Phelan? Did he learn to play as well?"
Joshua smiled as though he had expected the question. "He was never musically inclined, although he did attempt to play the violin for years before he finally conceded that his fingers were made for paint brushes, not strings and a bow."
I grunted. "Have you seen him since the gallery opening?" I asked.
"No, and I thought he would pay a visit today, but he is surely causing trouble elsewhere. Did he make an appearance at the opening before you and your wife left?"
"He invited me into the back, actually."
Joshua's eyebrows shot up. "That is a rarity." He chuckled to himself. "I honestly don't think he would invite me."
"If you would care to join us, we are having lunch at two in the afternoon tomorrow at my home. I would welcome your company."
"I take it if Phelan accepted your invitation he was more tolerable at the gallery?" Joshua asked.
"We spoke only briefly, but the conversation was quite informative," I answered. "I was actually hoping you might remember further details that I do not."
Joshua readily nodded. "I will most certainly try," he said as he pushed his chair back and stood. He blew out the candles and placed the paper weights into a neat line as he prepared to leave for the evening.
I blinked at him, feeling a deep sense of disappointment that he would not be answering any of my questions this evening. I knew it would be difficult to pry Lisette and Alex away from the gathering as they would have questions of their own.
"I may not be very knowledgeable," Joshua said as he stretched. "But if you care to walk with me to the Sterois, perhaps a bit of fresh air and company will jog my memory."
I pushed my chair in and paused, looking from him to the street occupied with far too many people for my taste given the nature of my inquiries.
Joshua followed my gaze and nodded. "What is on your mind, Cousin?"
"I have no recollection of living with you and your father," I said.
For days I had willed myself to remember one brief moment of a time when I would have been content as a child. Long after Julia fell asleep and the house was quiet, I stared at the ceiling and attempted to picture the bedroom Phelan and I had shared, but to no avail. Twice I had woken at the start of a nightmare, jarred awake well before the dream twisted and left me sweating and tangled in the sheets. Both times Julia had turned over in her sleep and reached for me, but remained otherwise undisturbed.
"You were very weak when my father brought you and Phelan into our home," Joshua said.
My heart stuttered. I had intended to ask how I had gone missing, but I was equally intrigued by what my cousin had to say about how Phelan and I had arrived in my uncle's home.
"You were starving," Joshua explained, quickly adding, "By no fault of Phelan's. He fed you as much and as often as he could, but unfortunately he did not have the means or experience to properly care for a newborn."
"He should not have been burdened," I murmured.
Joshua shrugged. "No, Phelan should not have been given the task of providing care for an infant, but your brother would not agree. I remember thinking you were very quiet for the first few days, but I believe it was because you didn't have the strength to indicate when you were hungry. Once you were being fed every few hours, you were quite animated."
"How old was I?"
"Two months?" Joshua squinted as he thought. "It was still winter. My father brought you in a bundle of filthy blankets and Phelan barefoot and half-naked. Phelan was kicking and screaming to be put down, and the moment my father released him, he ran to the open door and raced into the snow. A moment later my father chased him down and returned him inside. Your brother was shivering so badly from the cold and his cheeks were bright red like apples, but he still attempted to run off again. My father made me sit in front of the door to keep Phelan inside."
"Why would he run?"
"We were strangers to him and he was somewhat feral, to put it bluntly," Joshua answered. "I remember my father attempting to clean his face and him screaming that it hurt, which I suppose it did given the condition the two of you arrived in."
"He was injured?"
Joshua's expression darkened. "My father spoke of that night seldom. He was a bit more forthcoming when he had a little too much to drink, but he said he walked to your parents house looking for trouble, as he put it, when he saw the two of you.
"The door was open when he approached the house, and when he peered inside he saw Phelan seated in front of a dying fire with what he thought was a dead infant in his arms. Your father was not home and your mother...your mother was not one for conversation. She did not seem aware of the situation. The moment my father saw the condition the two of you were in, he simply took you both."
I looked away, feeling somewhat grateful that I was not the only one my mother had ignored. She rocked in the corner for hours on end, mostly silent with the occasional outburst that made me shudder. I had spent countless days watching her from the crack in the door, sitting so still and often holding my breath simply to hear her voice.
"My father went to take you from Phelan, intending to give you a proper burial, when you began to cry. Apparently it was the first time in days you had made a sound, and my father feared you would be dead in hours if not properly fed and cared for."
"Did my father come looking for us?"
Joshua inhaled sharply. "Not that I recall, but there had been a fall out between my father and yours years before and they kept their distance for the most part."
"What caused the falling out?" I asked.
"He never said, at least not that I recall," Joshua answered. He went quiet briefly. "But in the heat of the moment, I am certain he was more concerned for your well-being than the opportunity to spite his brother."
The man I had known years ago had been concerned exclusively about my well-being. He had been patient and kind, he had been soft-spoken yet firm. My uncle confronted my father once, on the night he had taken me away for good, and after that he never spoke ill of his brother or gloated. I had been his focus from that moment on.
"Honestly, given how the first night went, I did not think Phelan would ever settle in," Joshua said suddenly. "I remember his face was so swollen he could barely open his eyes, which I suppose added to his fear that he was being carried away by a stranger into the cold with his infant brother struggling to cry. He had scratched my father's face and neck and given himself a bloody nose in the process of flailing about."
I would have been undoubtedly terrified if our places had been reversed. Thankfully my uncle had approached me slowly, earning my trust over many weeks.
"My father pinned Phelan to the ground to clean him up a bit and his screams...I could feel it in my bones. He sounded like an animal, like a bird, actually."
The thought made me shiver.
"But Phelan was different when my father gave you back to him. Once you were both properly bathed, fed and dressed, Phelan stopped being combative. If my father placed you into the crib, Phelan would take you out and place you into bed with him. If my father rocked you to sleep, Phelan would tear you from his grasp and sit with you by the fire. I had hoped he would play with me, but you were his priority for the first few months. You were all that he had."
The words my brother had said to my wife echoed through my thoughts. He had loved me once.
"By summer, however, Phelan was more trusting and would let you out of his sight for more than five minutes at a time. He finally became more of a child than a caretaker-not that he did not still keep a watchful eye on you."
"Phelan said I was quite exasperating," I mentioned.
Joshua offered an easy smile. "Oh, you were. More so to Phelan than to me, particularly once you started to walk and talk. The three of us played together on occasion, but you and Phelan were inseparable."
"Do you remember when I…?"
Joshua glanced at his pocket watch and I stopped speaking, realizing that he had run out of time. "Would you care to walk with me?" he asked.
I picked up Bessie's leash and nodded, then followed Joshua to the courtyard gate.
"You were about to ask something?" Joshua said as he paused with his hand on the latch.
There was a break in foot traffic, leaving us momentarily able to speak in private. Without hesitation, I turned to my cousin and blurted out, "How did I go missing?"
Joshua frowned. He pushed the gate open, and for an agonizing, long moment, he went silent.
"Do you remember?" I impatiently pressed.
"Forgive me, but I wasn't home at the time," Joshua explained. "I was out helping my father with fishing lines and Phelan was home with you."
My jaw clenched. I wanted to brusquely tell my cousin that I didn't care where he had gone or that he wasn't home at the time; I wanted to know if I had left on my own volition or if my father had taken me.
"His story changed," Joshua said quietly. "Phelan first said you were sleeping in your bed, then he said you were upset with him and decided to sulk on the back step. Eventually he said that he was upset with you and that you were waiting outside for him, but he lost track of time."
"He was supposed to take me to the seashore."
Joshua looked at me and nodded. "You remember this?"
"No, Phelan told me. I know I did not return, but...but I don't know if I went willingly with my father."
Joshua nodded again. "I don't know either."
My heart sank as my last viable option to glean the truth turned up nothing. I grappled with the ever-present anger begging to be released as I studied the cobblestones. Bessie looked up at me as though she sensed the shift in my mood, but I ignored her. She walked a little faster, matching my cousin's footfalls as she managed to align herself with him instead of me.
We turned the corner and the little tavern Joshua played piano in came into view. The three of us slowed, and Joshua turned to face me.
"One of the letters might say," my cousin offered. His tone lacked conviction, however.
"I've read all of them," I answered. My hands balled into fists as realization set in and I knew for certain the question would never have an answer. "Some of them several times."
Joshua gave an apologetic frown. "I don't know what else to say."
There was nothing to say. The only two people involved in the conversation had died long ago and took the answer to their separate graves.
My father had died in Conforeit many years after my mother had perished. I had read about their deaths in the newspaper and had their furnishings delivered to the Opera House.
My uncle died with me at his side, not once mentioning in the months we were together that he had taken me from my father as an infant only to lose me as a toddler. It angered me that my uncle, that the man who had shown me more love and compassion than my father ever had, kept such a substantial secret from me.
"Please understand-"
"Good night," I said, abruptly ending the conversation with my cousin.
"Erik-"
"Perhaps I will see you tomorrow," I said to him before I rounded the corner and stalked back toward home. Part of me wished to retract the offer in the heat of the moment, but instead I continued walking.
Halfway through the park with Bessie panting due to our swift pace, I came to a halt. My gaze darted around the empty space, my mind still racing and heart hammering. I wanted to break the branch off a tree or throw a refuse can across one of the many winding paths.
The trees, however, were much too sturdy to be damaged and there were no refuse bins within the immediate area. Hands balled into fists, I stormed toward a nearby bench, fully intending to kick one of the legs until I loosened the bolts that secured it to the ground. I would destroy something, and in that moment I didn't much care what it was. Far too long I had kept the ghost at bay. I would be damned if that part of me was denied a moment longer.
"Monsieur Kire?"
I stopped five paces from the park bench at the sound of my name and turned to see Claude on his bicycle, weaving back and forth as he struggled to hold the handlebar with one hand and painting supplies tucked beneath his arm with the other.
"I would advise you to step aside as I am not entirely certain of how to stop."
Claude propelled forward at a rate of speed that was quite possibly slower than I was walking. I stared at him for a moment as he grimaced in anticipation of a collision.
"Oh, for God's sake, put your feet on the ground. You're barely moving as it is."
Claude's feet shot from the pedals and onto the ground where he scuffed along briefly before the bicycle stopped and all of his paint brushes spilled from the jar tucked under his arm like a barrage of useless arrows loosed from a quiver.
It was impossible to maintain the level of anger I wished to summon when Claude nearly toppled from the bicycle. I exhaled and shook my head at him while he propped the bike up against a tree and proceeded to gather up his belongings.
"Why are you on a bicycle if you don't know how to ride it?" I asked through my teeth.
"Oh, I am good at riding," Claude explained without looking at me. "It's the stopping that has proven problematic."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him, feeling quite certain my son would have given a similar answer.
"Now Alexandre, on the other hand. You should see him ride-"
"You have allowed my son to ride on this damnable contraption?"
Claude either didn't notice or chose to ignore my tone. He placed the last brush into the jar and adjusted a small basket at the rear of the bike.
"He is a natural," Claude said. "Perfectly balance like a dancer."
Like Christine.
I would have said something I would later regret if not for Claude knocking the bicycle to the ground and spilling paint brushes into the grass for a second time.
Claude threw his hands up in disgust. "Wonderful," he muttered. "I have the luck of...of someone without any luck at all."
"Poetic," I muttered.
Rather than watch him, I stormed forward and plucked the brushes from the cool, damp grass, then gathered a rolled up canvas that had fallen.
"Where precisely are you heading?" I asked impatiently.
"To my apartment," he answered.
"Which is where?"
He pointed toward the same direction Bessie and I would be walking home, then reached out for the jar full of brushes.
"I don't believe that would be wise."
Claude offered a sheepish grin and decided to walk alongside his bicycle rather than ride.
"Did you and Madame Kire enjoy the gallery show?" Claude asked after a heartbeat of silence.
"We did."
"Monsieur Van Gogh must have seen you out the back," Claude said. "Or else I missed you leave with all of the commotion."
"I beg your pardon?" I stopped abruptly as Bessie squatted and claimed a section of grass in the park that must have been favorable to a dozen other dogs.
Claude hesitated. "There was a brief altercation."
"Involving Phelan?" I asked. Given my brother's disheveled appearance later in the evening I was certain he had been in a scuffle, but I wasn't sure if it had happened at the gallery or elsewhere and he had not been forthcoming with answers.
"Yes, sadly, and one of Moreau's friends."
"You don't care for Moreau?"
Claude's blue eyes widened. "Not when he attempts to ruin an expensive painting at a show that he was not invited to attend."
"Was anyone injured?"
"Wounded pride, perhaps, although Moreau insisted his heart was weakened by the altercation. He insisted that the gendarmes write down his ailments."
"It hardly sounds like an altercation." At least not one worthy of calling in the authorities. I wondered if Phelan had known the evening would escalate and if that was why he had me leave from the back of the gallery rather than through the crowd.
"Quite a bit of puffed up chests like two roosters strutting around the yard. Kimmer and the other gentleman whose name I can't recall locked up momentarily and got in a few pushes and that was about it, but Monsieur Kimmer was furious. He cleared the gallery immediately."
"Because of the damage to the painting?"
"Well, there was thankfully no damage done to the painting." Claude made a face and shrugged. "But everyone in the art community knows that Monsieur Kimmer detests being touched. The moment the other man grabbed Monsieur Kimmer by the shoulders I knew there would be trouble. You could practically feel the entire art gallery gasp at once."
I grunted in response.
Claude chuckled to himself and grinned. "Normally these types of shows are quite dull but profitable to the artist and gallery owner. Phelan Kimmer, however, manages to make it a bit more exciting, which I suppose helps considering we work for free."
"This has happened before?" I asked warily.
"I suppose it's a rumor, but I heard he broke a man's nose once for touching a piece of art. He has a reputation to be sure. Usually the worst cuts come from his scathing remarks. And the bird. She has bitten several people."
I furrowed my brow and stared ahead as the abundant street lamps gave way to a darker neighborhood. I glanced around, realizing we were near the old Opera House and in a less favorable part of the city for walking the streets after dark. Given the appearance of Claude's shoes and clothing the first time we had met in the park, I didn't think he lived in a palace, but I had not considered the idea of him living in squalor.
Through the open window of a two-story building on the opposite side of the street, I heard a woman's amorous moans echoing into the night. In the doorway below the room, two garishly painted women whistled as we passed and blew kisses.
Claude immediately dropped his gaze and hurried along, ramming the front tire of his bicycle into the curb as he trotted forward and nearly lost his footing. The women giggled to themselves, which only appeared to make Claude more flustered.
"I can take the brushes and canvas from here," he said quietly as he paused in front of a dilapidated building with a wooden door nearly off its hinges. Claude swung the door open and shoved his bicycle through before it creaked shut.
"Have you received word about your sister?" I asked as a man wheeled around the corner and passed through the doorway, cursing as he narrowly avoided the bicycle in his way. He tossed the butt of his cigarette at Claude before he slammed the door with enough force to make Claude jump.
"She is doing well," Claude answered. "I hope to visit her in the next two weeks or so as long as the factory allows me to take a few days off. I've already purchased my train ticket, and on the return trip I hope to have two tickets in hand."
I looked from him to the crumbling stone entrance and peeling paint on the door. There was a wooden sign nailed above a blacked out window that said flats were available for rent with large letters in red along the bottom that said no prostitution allowed.
Somewhere within the paper thin walls of Claude's building two men were in the midst of a heated argument while another flat contained what sounded like at least two young children crying relentlessly. In yet another flat, a woman threatened to kill whatever man attempted to apologize to her.
"I should return home," I said.
Claude nodded. I handed him the jar of paint brushes and he frowned. "I know what it seems like on the exterior, but it's nicer inside," he said without meeting my eye. "She's been gone for years now, but my mother added pleasant touches to our flat. I would invite you inside, but I'm afraid animals are not allowed."
Invited or not, I was certain the building housed an entire colony of rats. The smell of vermin was prevalent on this side of the city, mingling with cheap perfume, coal from factories, and the blood of slaughtered cattle. I wondered if Claude's sister was better off with her brother or in the comfort of a home for girls somewhere in a smaller town.
When I had first ventured into the city alone, I avoided the poverty stricken neighborhoods and dark alleys, mostly because Madeline had made certain that she scared the hell out of me by saying there were thieves and murderers in every alleyway.
On at least two occasions I had witnessed older boys bullying younger children for as little as a loaf of bread and as much as a full day's worth of begging for coins on the street across from the Opera House. They left their victims writhing in puddles of their own sickness as they ran howling and carrying on like animals.
"Another time," I said as I reached down and patted Bessie on the head.
"Goodnight, Monsieur. If I do not see you and Madame Julia before your holiday, have a pleasant trip."
"You as well, Monsieur Gillis. Bring your sister to meet Alex and Lisette as soon as you return."
At last Claude flashed an easy smile. "I would like that."
