Ch 72
We finally departed Rouen slightly after noon and saw a sign for Tomage three hours later. The moment Alex pointed at the wooden marker indicating we were near, my heart began to hammer.
Julia instinctively grabbed my hand and laced her fingers with mine. She smiled at me and squeezed my hand reassuringly.
The twenty minutes that it took for our carriage to reach the small village felt like a lifetime. I willed myself to remember something, anything about the road, the trees, or the few farmhouses we passed, but I had no idea if I'd been this way previously. If I had been on this road, it would have been while I was in chains, my feet blistered and bloodied as I numbly walked behind the caravan until I simply tipped over and allowed the wagon to drag me.
"Father!" Alex jostled me hard and I blinked, looking at him first, then out the oval window at the white washed building we approached. It took a moment for me to realize we were on the edge of town and passing an outbuilding that flanked a two story home up a long drive.
Amelie's home.
I recognized the stone structure with the fence surrounding the fields. The trees were taller, the fence and roof of the house weathered, and the barn in the back in need of a fresh coat of paint, but I recognized this place immediately and felt my breath hitch.
The rest of Tomage lingered respectfully in the distance, just as I had recalled.
My mouth went dry as the carriage slowed and we approached the house. I thought of how Amelie and I had walked from the party to the stable. Other boys-more experienced boys-would have taken advantage of her innocence in the stable, but I had taken Amelie to introduce her to my pet donkey. Despite the many ways in which my childhood had been ripped from me, I was still a boy twelve years of age who had no intention of lifting skirts or kissing girls.
"Why are you smiling?" Alex asked.
The carriage came to an abrupt stop before I could reply. Julia grinned as the driver swung the door open and offered his hand. One by one they stepped out of the carriage and took in our surroundings.
Just as I stepped out, Alex ran to the side door and knocked several times.
"Madame Batiste! It's Alexandre Jean Kire!" he announced.
"Alex," Julia scolded. "You are so impatient."
The side door opened, and a swan mask on a stick appeared through the crack in the door. Lisette and Alex exchanged looks of delighted surprise while I studied the feather mask and smiled to myself. After all these years, she still had her masquerade mask from the night we had met.
"Amelie?" I questioned.
The door opened wider, and my heart stuttered as Amelie Batiste stepped out and twirled the swan mask back and forth on the stick, sending the white ribbons on the side swirling.
"Erik?" Amelie met my eye and smiled, the same eager and outgoing expression that had been burned into my memory for decades.
I would have recognized her in a crowd of thousands; her bright blue eyes were unmistakable, her delicate features unchanged with time. There were laugh lines around her eyes and strands of silver in her hair, but it was her face I had envisioned in the crowd the night I met Madeline. It was the hope of kindness that had kept me alive.
"You look the same," I blurted out. "Truly, you have not changed."
Amelie's cheeks flushed, and I was reminded of how she looked away as we danced together, a hint of shyness in her otherwise effervescent personality. "I was an exceptional dancer at the age of fourteen," Amelie said. "And as I recall, you stepped on my toes for the first three songs. Please tell me your dancing skills have improved."
I looked to Julia. "How did your toes fare on our wedding day?"
"His dancing skills have improved," Julia confirmed as she snaked her arm around me.
Amelie clasped her hands together and rose up on the balls of her feet. "I'm delighted you've all made it safely here. Alexandre's letter told me so much about everyone."
"Forgive me for not properly introducing you," I said. "Amelie, this is my wife Julia and our children Alexandre and Lisette."
Alex waved enthusiastically. "And Bessie, but she's sniffing your garden."
I looked behind me at the garden where Bessie was indeed sniffing the cabbages. Most likely she'd picked up the scent of rabbits invading the produce and would be preoccupied for quite some time. She spared a glance to a flock of chickens squawking in protest of her intrusion, but she ignored them in favor of following whatever caught her attention.
"Alexandre Jean Kire," Amelie said as she stepped toward my son and offered her slender hand. "You are more handsome than I pictured."
Now it was Alex's turn to blush. "Everyone says that," he said with a laugh as he quickly shook her hand.
"We are so pleased to finally meet you," Julia said. She eyed the mask in Amelie's hand briefly before she glanced around the exterior of the house. "You have a lovely home."
"My mother's home," Amelie said proudly. "It's been in the family for three generations now."
From the letters I had received I knew that Amelie's mother was still alive and doing well despite cataracts and joint pain.
"My mother is very excited to have you visit us," Amelie said as she looked at me again. "Won't you all come inside? I have the kettle on the stove and coffee. Marie put together some cheese and fruit."
"Your daughter?" Julia asked as we followed Amelie inside.
"My sister," Amelie corrected.
"She lives here as well?" I questioned.
Amelie nodded. "On the other side of town, but she visits daily. In fact, I should charge her rent."
"I can hear you!" Marie yelled from inside the house.
Amelie rolled her eyes and motioned for us to follow her.
I had no recollection of the inside of their home. I'd stepped inside briefly the day my uncle and I left Tomage to thank Madame Batiste for her hospitality, but the encounter had been brief and I had been far too preoccupied with avoiding Amelie's brother to truly examine the house.
I ducked through the doorway and into the kitchen where we were immediately greeted by the scent of drying herbs hung near the open window and an orange tabby cat sprawled out on the stone floor in the sun.
"Mother, they've arrived," Amelie announced as she walked us through the kitchen and into the parlor with a thankfully higher ceiling.
Madame Batiste and her eldest daughter sat in matching chairs near the unlit fireplace. Marie looked up and smiled before she clutched her mother's hands.
"Is it really him?" Madame Batiste questioned. She squinted, though her eyes clouded with cataracts never met mine.
The once red-haired woman had gone completely white, her round face and plump frame thinner and weathered with age.
"Madame," I said softly as I approached.
Madame Batiste smiled, her expression a mirror image of both her daughters. "I recognize your voice."
"You do not," Amelie said with a laugh.
"Oh, you hush, child," Madame Batiste playfully retorted.
"His voice was not this deep back then, Mother," Amelie pointed out. She looked from her mother to me and Julia and winked. "He was a boy the last time you saw him. Now he's twice as tall and nearly thirty years older with a wife and two children."
"Oh, would you listen to her?" Madame Batiste groused. "This daughter of mine hasn't changed one bit. Feisty as ever, just like her father."
"Is your father here as well?" Alex asked, looking hopefully around the room.
Madame Batiste paused and sighed. "I'm afraid not," she said. "He passed away many years ago."
Alex's lips parted and he bowed his head. "Oh. I apologize."
"No, no, I understand, young man. You had no way of knowing." Madame Batiste tapped her knee and motioned my son closer. "You must be Alexandre? The one who wrote a letter to my daughter Amelie and sent her a beautiful gift?"
Alex nodded.
"You will have to speak, my dear, my eyes cannot see you."
Alex gaped at her. "I am Alexandre, Madame Batiste." He took Lisette's hand and stepped forward. "And my sister is here too. Her name is Lisette. She helped my father pick out the figurine. It's an angel holding a dove. Did you know that?"
"Amelie described it to me. It sounds lovely." Madame Batiste reached out and Alex grasped her hand. "How old are you, Alexandre?"
"Eight, but my birthday is in October, so I am almost nine years of age. My sister is nine, but she doesn't turn ten for a while."
Madame Batiste nodded. "Your younger than your father was when he first passed through here. I think he was...fourteen?" She turned her head toward where I stood beside Julia.
"Twelve," I said.
"Twelve?" Marie and Amelie exclaimed in unison. They exchanged looks of surprise before Amelie spoke, "I thought you were older than me, not younger."
Marie shook her finger at her sister. "That poor impressionable boy forced into speaking with a girl who was older. No wonder he was so quiet. You must have frightened him."
Madame Batiste patted Alex's hand and ignored her daughters. "Your father was very tall for his age. It was an easy mistake to make."
"He's tall now," Lisette chimed in.
Madame Batiste nodded and smiled. "Which one of you plays the violin?" she asked.
"Father does!" Alex exclaimed.
"Neither of you play?"
"Once or twice," Alex said. "It was easy."
I snorted at my son's reply. "Easy indeed."
"Easy?" Madame Batiste questioned. "You are most certainly your father's son then." Madame Batiste sat back. "He played for us when he was here with his uncle. Your father played with such ease it was as though he had always held a violin."
Alex's smile widened. "You knew my father's uncle?"
"Only briefly, I'm afraid. They were passing through Tomage on their way to where you live, in Paris."
Amelie, Marie and Madame Batiste were the last people who had seen my uncle alive. If I had known my uncle's health had declined rapidly, if I had thought to somehow stall our travels and remain in Tomage with him, perhaps I could have made a different life for myself. Albeit, Amelie's brother would have most likely terrorized me, but perhaps in time he would have realized I was no monster.
"Your father is just as reserved as he was when he was a boy," Madame Batiste said. She turned her face toward where I stood and offered a sly smile. "I'm certain that shy demeanor is what drew Amelie to him."
"The less boys talked, the more words Amelie could get in," Marie said. "Sometimes I'm amazed she didn't marry a mute."
Lisette cleared her throat. "Madame Batiste," she said softly. "Are there other children our age that live here?"
Madame Batiste thought a moment. "Further into town there are plenty of other children, but my grandchildren are all several years older than the two of you. I'm sure Marie could show you the apple presses if you would like to take turns All of my grandchildren learned how to use it."
"What is an apple press?" Alex asked.
Marie stood. "Do you like cider?"
Lisette and Alex nodded in unison. Alex looked at Madame Batiste and said, "We do."
"Then I'll show you how to make cider."
Marie escorted Alex and Lisette back through the kitchen and out the side door while Amelie offered Julia her sister's seat and brought a wooden chair and a stool into the parlor.
Madame Batiste held out her hand toward me and I accepted. The moment her hand grasped mine, she smiled and patted the back of my hand. I recalled how she had reached for me long ago and I had taken a step back, startled by her kind gesture. She had realized my uneasiness and had not pushed me to accept her affection.
"You've become quite the famous composer," she said. "Your uncle would be proud of you."
"Thank you, Madame."
"He spoke highly of you, Erik," Madame Batiste continued. "He wanted great things for you once you reached Paris."
"He wanted more for me than I wanted for myself," I said quietly.
"I didn't want to say anything in front of the children, but it was Marie who found his grave," Madame Batiste said.
I pulled my hand away from her and sat back, every muscle in my body stiffening. "I-I beg your pardon?"
"His grave?" Julia whispered, looking from Madame Batiste to me.
"It was a few weeks after you left here," Amelie said remorsefully. She stared at the empty fireplace. "We thought you would be in Paris soon. I'd already sent you a letter and expected to hear back from you."
A letter I hadn't received. A letter I would not know about for nearly thirty years that had been sent to my cousin and brother's shared flat.
"How did Marie find his grave?" I asked.
"Sneaking off with a boy," Madame Batiste said with a sigh. "A boy who eventually became her husband, but she was out after dusk and came back with tears streaming down her face and unable to speak. It was Endre who explained they had stumbled upon a shallow grave."
I shuddered at the thought of the grave being discovered, of the hastiness that had gone into burying the first person I had truly ever loved as a child. My uncle deserved a proper burial and a service to honor the time we had spent together. He was worthy of a requiem I had lacked the skill to compose. He was worthy of more than I could have ever given to him.
"Your uncle's belongings were scattered around," Amelie said. "The following morning we went back to see and sure enough, we found letters addressed to your cousins and several other items. When we saw the stones and the turned earth, we knew for certain..."
I blinked. My eyes lost focus, my mind racing as I recalled being pulled away from his resting place. My fingernails had split from digging with my hands, my palms blistered and bloody and lungs on fire from sobbing with such force I made myself sick with grief. The gypsies had clubbed me with their sticks despite me putting up no resistance. They had torn my clothing, placed me in chains, and dragged me behind their wagons through the mud.
"We looked for you," Madame Batiste said. "For several weeks, we searched the surrounding areas, but there was no sign of you."
"It was months," Amelie said. There was an edge to her voice with a hint of regret. "We searched for months."
Madame Batiste ruefully shook her head. "Despite all the years that have passed, I am relieved you made your way to Paris. We assumed after your uncle passed unexpectedly you buried him and took only the necessities."
"Yes." I nodded and left it at that, having no desire to tell her or Amelie what had truly transpired. I had not been given much of a choice and recalled scrabbling to grab what I could before they dragged me away. I had been stripped of everything that day, broken emotionally and mentally in ways I knew I would never truly recover from no matter how long I lived.
"I regret not taking all of his belongings," I said quietly.
I regretted not putting up a fight against Garouche despite knowing that it did not make a difference as he was armed and I was defenseless and grieving. For weeks-for months, really-I wished they had struck me in the head and killed me instantly. I wished I had simply allowed the wagon to drag me and break my neck. Night after night I wished for death, to be beside my uncle once again, but I was certain he would be sent to heaven and I would remain in another form of hell.
"We brought his pack and the items scattered around back with us," Amelie said. "In hopes you would return for Moon and I could give them to you."
I met Amelie's eye at once. "You kept his pack?"
Amelie hesitated for a moment and looked to her mother. "They were kept in the attic. Unfortunately, they've not stayed in the best condition due to water damage from a leak, but we still have them. Quite honestly, we forgot about it until your son's letter arrived."
"You never thought to mail them?" Julia asked.
Amelie shook her head. "It all seems so fragile, and after my letter to Paris went unanswered, we weren't sure if we had the correct address."
I fought the urge to stand at once and demand that the pack and it's contents be given to me. Any part of my uncle, however small, I still greatly desired. No matter what, I still wanted him back.
"There was a journal, but some of the pages are stuck together and the ink smeared," Amelie said. "It was that way when we found it."
"It was raining when I buried him," I said. Most likely I had left his pack open and susceptible to damage. What an ignorant boy I had been, so careless in my youth.
Julia settled her hand on my shoulder and waited until I met her eye. She forced a smile, but I could see the trepidation in her gaze.
"We've been reading a collection of old letters belonging to Erik's cousin," Julia explained. "It's been wonderful getting to meet Erik's uncle, if only in his writing. I truly wish I could have met him."
"How far from here is the grave?" I asked suddenly. "I-I don't recall how far we traveled before we stopped for the night."
Amelie folded her arms and looked sympathetically at me. "Erik-"
"How far?" I asked again.
"A few hours on foot. Six or seven miles at most."
I nodded, feeling somewhat disappointed that they had not exhumed the body and moved my uncle closer to town and into a proper grave. We had been strangers to them, I reminded myself, a sickly older man and a gangly, awkward boy in a mask who had passed through their town for a night and nothing more.
"It's not difficult to find," Madame Batiste rasped. "The plot has been kept clear and a marker was added. It's not much, but we wanted to preserve his resting space should you return here."
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"I'll bring the pack down for you. I've had the journal out the last few days to freshen it up a bit. It was quite musty," Amelie said apologetically.
"We would appreciate it," Julia said.
Amelie stood and excused herself from the room, glancing back when she reached the doorway.
"How did the two of you meet?" Madame Batiste asked once Julia and I sat alone with her.
"We were neighbors," I answered absently.
"He went for a walk at the same time every night," Julia added. Her hand clasped mine and she smiled. "One night, I worked up the courage to speak to him."
"And did he speak to you?"
Julia chuckled to herself. "Eventually."
Madame Batiste laughed. "I am certain Erik would have stood off to the side for the duration of the party if not for Amelie drawing him out. She's always been the gregarious one of the family, just like her father. It's been a blessing to have my youngest remind me so much of my husband. I still miss him dearly."
"You have two children?" Julia asked.
"She has three," a male voice said from the hall between the kitchen and parlor.
I stood abruptly, my heart hammering and hands in fists as a broad-shouldered man with his hair so pale blond it looked white appeared in the doorway, his hands on the door frame.
Immediately I put myself between Julia and the individual who had accused me of stealing from his sister and shoved me with such force that it rattled my skull.
"Jean-Marcus," Madame Batiste cheerfully acknowledged her son as he strode to her side and took her hand. "You remember Amelie's friend Erik?"
Jean-Marcus barely spared a glance in my direction. "I do," he said.
0o0
"Jean-Marcus," Amelie said as she walked into the room with my uncle's pack hugged to her chest. "When did you arrive?"
"A moment ago," her brother answered. He turned his attention to me and blatantly stared at my mask. "You made it safely to Tormage, I see."
"We did."
"Good, I'm glad," he said. "Amelie wasn't sure if you were arriving today or tomorrow."
"Marie has the children pressing apples," Madame Batiste said.
"I saw. They've made enough cider for the entire town."
My jaw clenched at the mention of Jean-Marcus seeing my children without my permission.
"Father!"
"Papa!"
I turned to see Alex and Lisette bolt into the parlor, both of them exclaiming that they made cider.
"And how much did you drink?" Julia asked as she wiped Lisette's mouth.
"Monsieur Batiste said we could each have a sip if we did a good job," Alex said.
"And we did a very good job, so he let us drink an entire glass!" Lisette said.
Alex stepped forward and tugged on Jean-Marcus's sleeve. "Monsieur Batiste, this is my father. He is a famous composer."
"We have met before," Jean-Marcus said.
"When you were little?"
"I was never little."
Madame Batiste swatted at her son. "I have plenty of stories that say otherwise, Jean-Marcus."
"What was my father like?" Alex asked.
The room momentarily stilled. Jean-Marcus shifted his weight and sniffed. "I'm afraid I don't remember much. He and his father-or uncle, was it? They were here for a night. Two people passing through, no different than the thousands of others who came before and after them."
Alex seemed somewhat disappointed, but he quickly shrugged off his dismay and poked me in the arm. "Father! We met Eclipse!"
"Eclipse?" Julia questioned.
"Erik's donkey's daughter," Amelie explained. No sooner did she speak that she clutched her hand over her chest and snorted with laughter. "I suppose that's not a phrase I ever expected to say."
"Would you like to meet her? She pinned her ears back and cawed at us when we ran past the fence," Alex said.
"Bray," I corrected my son. "Donkeys bray."
"Can we take her home with us?" Lisette asked. She clutched her hands together and offered a strained smile. "Please, Papa?"
"You certainly may not take my favorite donkey to Paris," Amelie said.
"Then may my mother meet her?" Lisette asked.
Julia smiled at Alex and shook her head. "I suppose I must meet your father's donkey's daughter."
"Come on, then," Amelie offered. "I'll give you the full tour of the orchards, the barn, and the yard."
They filed out of the parlor, Amelie leading the way with Lisette and Alex on her heels and Julia behind them. I started to follow when Jean-Marcus stepped in front of me.
"A word, if you will," he sternly said.
I met his eye. He was several inches shorter than me, but his shoulders were wide, his arms sinewy and face tanned from outdoor labor. Unlike Amelie, I doubted I would have recognized Jean-Marcus if he had passed me on the street. He could have walked past me a hundred times and I would not have glanced twice at him, this man who had thought me a beast from the moment he looked at me.
In silence I walked out of the parlor and into the kitchen in time to see the door swing shut behind my wife.
"How may I be of service to you?" I asked with my back to Jean-Marcus.
"Your uncle," he said.
My jaw clenched, nostrils flared. "What of him?" I asked through my teeth as I whipped around to face Jean-Marcus. One disparaging remark regarding my uncle and our conversation would come to an end and it was very likely Jean-Marcus would be missing a tooth.
"Did you know he was ill?"
"I knew he was not well," I answered. "I didn't realize he was...dying."
The admission made me shudder. My uncle's skin and eyes were tinted yellow, his arms bony and body frail. Anyone else would have looked at him and realized he was near the end of his life, but I had thought he was simply built rail thin like me.
"Once he passed, why didn't you return here?" Jean-Marcus questioned.
I stared at Jean-Marcus for a long moment. "Would I have been welcomed?"
He swept his hand over his hair and exhaled. "Not by me," he admitted.
Jean-Marcus has been one of many people to look at me and immediately scream that I was a monster, more of a nightmare than a person. He had taken one glance at me and assumed I would harm Marie and Amelie and steal from their mother.
"You had my family's jewelry returned by post," he said.
I nodded.
"Where was it found?"
"With the people who had stolen it."
His blue eyes narrowed. "Gypsies?"
I nodded again.
"You happened upon them?" he asked incredulously.
"No."
He worked his jaw briefly in silence, clearly frustrated by my lack of cooperation in answering his questions with more elaboration.
"Then-"
"The jewelry was returned safely. What more information is needed?"
He studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. At last he sighed, and I thought at last he would drop the subject. I looked away from him, prepared to catch up with Amelie and my family on their way around the property.
"The devil's son," Jean-Marcus said suddenly, keeping his voice low.
My breath hitched and I made no reply. Judging by the look on Jean-Marcus's face, my silence said far more than I had intended.
