Chapter 88
It was uncomfortably hot and humid as we walked deeper into the surrounding woods. Every insect that could possibly bite or buzz seemed attracted to me, leaving me in a constant state of defensively swatting at the air.
"Are you leading me to my demise?" I groused.
Phelan looked over his shoulder at me. "Yes," he said dryly. "Rather than simply murder you at the old house when you tracked mud into my kitchen, I've spent six hours of my day in your company so that I could walk through the woods and push you into a stream. Oh dear, how did you ever see through my nefarious plans?"
I scowled at him, which was met with an equally childish eye roll. "It's been five minutes," Phelan pointed out.
"It's been six minutes of every single mosquito in France descending upon us."
"You could walk faster if you stopped complaining."
"I am fully capable of walking and complaining at the same time."
Phelan didn't reply. He turned his attention to the birds above us and seemed more interested in listening to their songs. I followed his gaze, unable to locate a single bird in the trees and eventually gave up.
Minutes passed and I paused, turning in a full circle. The woods looked no different than any other forest I'd seen and yet somehow it was familiar.
"Kire," Phelan growled impatiently.
"I know where we are headed," I said, walking past him.
My brother eyed me a moment. "Good."
There was another steady incline, steeper and taller than the one we had walked up before we were able to see the stream. I remembered climbing it as a child, how impossibly tall it had seemed and how triumphant it felt to stand at the top and look out, chest heaving and forehead slick with sweat.
"You always beat me to the top," I said once the sand hill came into view. "Every time, no matter how much I thought you would let me win."
Phelan looked at me and silently nodded. We started off side-by-side through the sand, each step labored. The hill no longer seemed as tall as it had when I was a child, but I had forgotten how difficult it was to scale something with very little traction.
"Are we racing?" Phelan asked. He sounded as breathless as I felt and we were barely halfway to the top.
"Absolutely not. You cannot keep up."
"Indeed." He took hold of my shoulder and attempted to propel himself forward, but I caught his arm and pushed him away.
"Kire," he said sternly.
"Lan," I warned in return.
"Don't you dare," he said through his teeth.
"What will you do?" I asked.
"Push you down the other side."
I sucked in a wild breath, my lungs burning. "That is, if you make it to the top."
We were both red-faced, out of breath, and terribly amused by our juvenile behavior once we managed to crest the hill. Phelan leaned forward, his hands on his thighs as he filled his lungs with air while I seated myself on a fallen tree and struggled to catch my breath.
"You truly are attempting to kill me," I wheezed.
"That was easier when we were children," he said as he seated himself beside me.
We sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the cool breeze and the view of the seashore before us. The water was calm, the horizon starting to blush pink and orange with the sun setting in a fiery blaze to our left. There were two boats on the water and a handful of people walking along the beach, oblivious to our presence so far from the edge of the water.
"We walked here daily that summer," he said, nodding toward the beach. "The water was typically calm and warm because it was so shallow."
That summer. The last summer we had spent together as brothers.
"I don't remember the beach, but I remember running up the hill," I said.
"You would grab my legs and attempt to trip me so that you could win. It never worked, but you were clever."
"Of course you tell me this once we have reached the top."
Phelan grunted. "My apologies. Next time you can devise a plan to defeat me."
"You intend to do this again?" I asked.
He grinned and shook his head. "Perhaps, little brother. It's good to get the blood flowing."
He stretched out his legs and rested his hands on his knees as he leaned forward. With his sleeves still rolled up to his elbow, the scar on his left arm remained fully exposed.
"Does it hurt?" I asked, nodding toward the injury.
He didn't seem surprised by my inquiry. He turned his arm over and gingerly touched the underside of his wrist where the damage was much worse. The flesh was puckered in spots and red in color, appearing almost like an engraving of tree roots onto his flesh.
"I can't feel anything at all here," he said, tracing his finger over the middle of his forearm where the burn was the reddest and left the worst scar tissue. "But here," he said, running his finger along the inside of his wrist down the base of his thumb. "It burns day and night no matter if I'm sitting perfectly still or moving about. I almost wish Bjorn had burned my arm off completely. That would have been merciful."
I looked away from his arm and studied the tall grass rippling in the breeze, wishing our father had not burned him at all.
"The scar you were born with, does it hurt?" he asked.
I shook my head. Madeline had asked me once if it hurt, but other than her, no one had questioned me.
"Not really. Small wounds have formed from time to time, but it doesn't feel any different," I answered.
"Wounds? From what?"
"From the mask," I explained. "It sometimes rubs against my cheekbone and the flesh becomes raw."
At once my face began to itch beneath the mask. Perspiration was trapped between the mask itself and my flesh, which suddenly became terribly uncomfortable. I turned my face away and wriggled my index finger under my mask to scratch my cheekbone.
"Would you prefer if I turned away?" Phelan asked.
I wasn't sure if it was my imagination or if the spot on my cheekbone prone to irritation from the mask truly throbbed with the onset of a newly formed wound. Given that I had not worn my mask consistently for many weeks, it was no surprise that the skin would become raw in a matter of hours. Talking for extended periods of time coupled with the heat undoubtedly made it worse.
"If you need a moment-"
"No," I said before he finished. My stomach knotted, my heart racing as I considered what I should do.
Anxiety sank sharp claws into me as I thought of the hundreds of times I had been humiliated by my appearance. There had not been a single time I could recall that I had volunteered to be exposed and seen as a hideous monster. The gypsies had revealed my visage hundreds of time for the sake of entertainment; Christine had removed my mask twice: once out of curiosity and again for the sake of humiliation.
Most of the moments blurred, but there were times I distinctly recalled, such as Madeline, who had seen me in the traveling fair. She had been more horrified by Garouche's actions than my ghastly face. Alex had first seen me without a mask as I lay unconscious after being beaten in an alley, which I suppose my overall condition was more concerning than what was beneath the mask. I hadn't been able to see his expression, but I had heard it in his voice that he was more concerned about my condition than he was about the scars. And of course Julia had seen my bloodied and distorted face when she sewed up my wounds. For all the ugliness I had shown her before and after that moment, she had seen something deeper within me.
Phelan stared straight ahead, his body turning more rigid. His jaw worked in silence, his hands in fists as he waited for me to decide what I wished to do.
I held my breath and reached for my mask, pulling it up and off in one swift movement before I could reconsider my actions. The salty sea air was cool against my damp flesh and I shivered at the sensation. It would have been enjoyable if not for the deeper concern of being seen for what I truly was in the bright, burning light of sunset cast directly toward where we sat.
Phelan didn't look at me, at least not outright. I saw him from the corner of my eye, the way his gaze flitted toward me briefly before he forced his gaze straight ahead.
Every muscle in my body tensed. My toes curled in my shoes, my heart racing as I thought of my father's cruelty and my mother's rejection. The taunts and insults from ten months spent on display cycled through my mind, the hands reaching through the bars to grab hold of me, the rocks and rotten food pelting me until I was covered in refuse and trembling in the corner, waiting for the crowds to leave me alone before the next show began.
I placed my mask onto my knee and swallowed, bracing myself for whatever my brother might say or how he would react. I imagined him shooting to his feet and briskly walking away, leaving me at the top of the sand hill to find my way back to the cottages and my family. I imagined him simply staring at me before he turned away and asked that I return the mask to its rightful place. I would not have blamed him for asking me to hide the scars.
Curiosity got the best of Phelan and he fully turned to look at me. I forced myself to turn toward him and braced myself for the worst possible reaction. For fear. For anger. For disgust.
Phelan said nothing at all. He briefly searched my eyes and looked me over, his expression initially unreadable.
"Is it as dreadful as you remember?" I asked.
Phelan shook his head. "No. I never thought you were dreadful in appearance. Obnoxious, insistent, far too intelligent for your own good and unable to keep a secret, but never dreadful. And I would have bloodied the nose of anyone who said otherwise."
At last he offered a closed-lip smile and I realized I had been holding my breath with anticipation of his reaction. He looked pleased to see me, as though he sat beside a man who was whole instead of deformed.
"What did you think I would do?" he asked, his voice lighter than I expected.
I couldn't answer him, ashamed of myself for expecting the worst.
"Has it been more than seventy-five minutes?" I asked.
Phelan stood and I did the same. "Probably, but we are a five minute walk from the road."
"Truly How is that possible?"
"There is a very busy road down the hill and to the left frequented by visitors spending a day at the beach. Christophe is most likely cursing me profusely for making him wait in this heat."
"Why didn't we drop us off here? This was barely a ten minute walk to the house."
Phelan shrugged and smiled back at me. "What is the enjoyment in that?"
I started to put my mask back into place, but Phelan reached out and I paused.
"It is good to see you again," he said, offering his hand and a genuine smile. "I mean that sincerely, my brother."
I looked from him to his outstretched hand and pulled him closer, immediately feeling him forego a handshake for a fiercely tight embrace. His chin dug into my shoulder, his left cheek against the right side of my face and his hand against the back of my neck. I heard him inhale sharply before he patted me roughly on the back and swiftly turned away.
"Damned sand in my eyes," he muttered with his back to me.
"I thought I was the only one." I wiped my eyes and nose and cleared my throat, grateful for his company.
OoO
No one was more pleased by our return to the cottages than Bessie, who frantically bayed and ran back and forth along the picket fence line until I opened the gate. The moment she was able to reach me she jumped up, planted her paws on my thighs, and then proceeded to run off and squat, apparently unable to hold her bladder with all of the excitement.
"Birds do not greet their masters in such an enthusiastic manner," I commented once Bessie settled down.
Phelan raised a brow. "Birds do not have masters."
There was a small fire burning in the pit at the rear of the cottages, the smoke of which we could see as we approached in the carriage. Supper had already been consumed in my absence, which didn't surprise me as it was almost dark by the time we returned.
Alex and Lisette ran to greet us; Lisette jumped into my arms while Alex wrapped himself around my torso. They immediately began asking if I wanted to hear about their treasure hunt and their day of adventure.
"Lissy, Alex, let them sit for a moment," Julia scolded as she rounded the corner and shook her head.
"I'll leave you with your family," Phelan said. He started to turn away and return to his waiting carriage when I touched his shoulder and stopped him.
"You've eaten nothing all day," I said. "Stay a moment longer."
He searched my gaze and started to shake his head. "Christophe is staring a hole through the back of my head. I should return to the house so that he can put the horses up for the night."
"An hour," I said. "I'll have Monsieur Leach send another cab to take you back tonight."
Phelan narrowed his eyes. "If you insist."
"I absolutely insist."
Alex and Lisette were able to keep their eyes open for another ten minutes before were slumped against one another and nearly fell asleep sitting up. Before they passed out, Alex managed to tell me that Hermine Leach had been the treasure, apparently, and had brought gifts back from her stay in New York City. She was performing in Calais for the evening, but was returning the following afternoon to spend more time with Julia.
"How wonderful," I said, unable to force an ounce of mirth into my voice.
Archie soon excused himself, saying he wished to see his sister after her sold out show that included singing, dancing, and some dramatic interpretations the two of them had devised.
"It's going to be all the rage in New York," Archie said. "Give it five years and Meanie is going to be in high demand all over the world."
He started to walk off and abruptly paused and turned on his heel. "The cylinder you inquired about is available," he said. "It will be in Paris when you return home."
I thanked Archie and saw him to the front of the house where one of the twins had a carriage pulled by a single horse waiting to deliver him back to Calais.
"Mario should be back in an hour and a half to take Monsieur Kimmer home."
"That should be ample time."
Once Archie left, I walked inside to wash up before a late supper outside by the fire just as Phelan finished drying his hands. My stomach growled as the smell of food being prepared in the kitchen wafted through the house.
"I'll be out in a moment," I told my brother.
He nodded and returned outside while I walked into the bedroom in search of a cleaner pair of shoes and my uncle's pack with the letters inside.
"May I accompany you, Madame?" Phelan said as he made his way to the rear of the cottage. Through the bedroom window I saw him standing in front of the fire several steps from Julia.
"Of course, Monsieur Kimmer," Julia replied.
"I appreciate you loaning your husband to me today for a few hours," he said as he took a seat beside my wife and sighed, stretching his legs out.
"You've returned him in much filthier condition than I expected."
Phelan chuckled to himself. He offered an apologetic smile and stared at his hands. "His doing, I assure you."
The conversation turned to silence. I took my uncle's pack from its place on the dresser and dumped the contents onto the bed.
"Madame-"
"I insist that you call me Julia."
From the corner of my eye I saw my brother nod. "Julia, I wanted to offer my most sincere apology for my boorish behavior when we were first acquainted."
Julia regarded him a moment. The fire cracked and popped, sending embers off into the evening sky. I swore I saw her glance over her shoulder in my direction, which forced me to take a step back from where I stood in the bedroom.
"May I ask you something?" she said.
Phelan gave a single nod.
"Why did you treat my husband so poorly when you first met him?" she asked.
Phelan met and held her gaze. His sharp features were aglow by the firelight, which made him appear quite stern, but his eyes were filled with remorse.
"Anger," he said simply.
"At Erik?"
"No."
Julia frowned at Phelan. He reached down and picked up a twig, which he broke off into smaller pieces.
"I've had thirty-eight years of loathing for everyone and everything that kept me from my brother," he replied quietly. "It was wrong of me to take my anger out on him."
I found the letter addressed to him and the one to me and set them aside before returning Joshua's letter and a few other items into the leather satchel.
I was nearly to the bedroom door when Julia replied, "As I'm certain Erik has told you, I think the two of you are quite similar."
Phelan grunted. "Is that good or bad?" he asked warily.
"Both."
They were both in the midst of light conversation when I returned outside, letters in hand. Marius was several steps ahead of me with a tray of food, which he left on a small wooden table between my brother's chair and the empty seat beside him. Bessie situated herself directly in front of the plates, nose twitching and tail wagging in anticipation of food raining from the sky for her benefit.
I handed her one of my glazed carrots, which she happily took with her into the shadows to lick and nibble in peace, far from the fire.
"The letter from our uncle," I said once I was seated.
Phelan eyed the envelope I held and glanced at the fire. "Thank you," he said. "Perhaps I will look it over once we have finished eating."
Julia kept us company while we ate and inquired about our day. She waited until we were finished with our late meal and Marius removed the plates before she stood and picked up the book she'd spent the day reading.
"I'll be inside," she said.
I removed my mask and Julia looked at me, appearing quite surprised by my actions. With a smile, she kissed my forehead tenderly before she thanked my brother for visiting and retired for the night.
"How in the world did you convince her to marry you?" Phelan asked once we were alone.
"My natural charm," I sardonically replied.
Phelan sat back and stretched his arms over his head. "Charm indeed, little brother."
I looked from him to his letter from my uncle, which was balanced on the edge of the armrest. My letter was perched on my knee, begging to be opened at last.
"You know I have no interest," Phelan said.
"Humor me," I said.
He took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine," he said at last. In one swift movement, he tore open the envelope and pulled out a two-page letter.
I was much gentler with my coveted letter from our uncle. I furrowed my brow in the firelight and sat forward, eyes strained to read the words on the page.
There was nothing surprising about the contents; he wrote of his affection for me, instructions for stringing a violin lest I forget, and stressed repeatedly that he wished we had more time together. He told me there was a gold ring sewn into the bottom of the pack that I was to sell for passage via rail to Paris and lodging or meals as needed.
His last words were that Joshua and Phelan eagerly awaited my arrival.
When I looked up, my brother sat staring at me, his eyes narrowed with skepticism. "Well?"
"Joshua and Phelan will be overjoyed by your arrival," I read aloud. "Phelan in particular will be quite pleased by your reunion. I had hoped to see the two of you meet again, but I realize now that it will not be."
My brother appeared unimpressed. He muttered something under his breath and took up the letter, which he read in silence, brow furrowed and a look of utter annoyance on his face. His gray eyes looked like slate by the firelight, his lips a thin, straight line.
Bessie returned from her hiding place and trotted toward me, sated with her treat. She placed her front paws between my spread legs and her head on my chest, tail wagging as I stroked her long, soft ears and appreciated her baleful expression coupled with her enthusiastic demeanor.
Phelan abruptly put his letter down and stood. Without a word he briskly walked away from the house, slipping through the gate and toward the ocean.
I remained seated for a moment, looking from him to Bessie, who gazed over her shoulder at the gate swinging back and forth on its hinges.
"What was that about?" I said under my breath.
The two page letter blew off the armrest and under the chair. I carefully collected the sheets and glanced at the familiar penmanship. Every possible space had been filled with my uncle's words to my brother, but I had no desire to read the words that were not meant for me. I placed the letter back into the envelope and secured it along with mine under a sizable stone I found near the firepit before walking toward the water in search of my brother.
Bessie ran ahead of me, loping along the sand with her tail swaying back and forth like a metronome as she approached the shapeless figure pacing back and forth. Away from the fire, I relied on the waning crescent moon to illuminate our surroundings.
"Lan?" I questioned as I approached.
He didn't answer immediately. Hands on his hips, he stood at an angle from me, his strained profile visible in the moonlight. My hopes of some sort of reconciliation between Phelan and uncle felt suddenly hopeless and I regretted forcing the letter upon my brother.
"Did you read it?" he asked, his voice trembling.
I shook my head. "No, I put the letter back into the envelope."
He fully turned away from me, hands drawn up to his face and body rigid. A muffled sob escaped and his body shook briefly before he stilled.
I swallowed, bewildered by his reaction and unsure of what to say or do to remedy my brother's reaction to the letter's content. I came up behind him and studied his posture and damaged left hand still firmly clasped over his mouth. His shoulders still trembled and another half-sob rattled through him.
"I apologize," I said softly.
At last Phelan turned to face me, his eyes damp and face crumpled. "There is no reason to apologize, Kire. He said it wasn't my fault." His words came to an abrupt pause. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, the strain of emotion etched into his features. "Bjorn admitted that he took you. Thirty-eight years and I finally know the truth."
Phelan looked at me again, making no attempt to dry the tears streaming down his face. His lips quivered, but when my brother met my eye, he smiled.
Even in the dark I noted the relief he clearly felt before he wiped his hand down his face and struggled to compose himself. I knelt and turned my attention to Bessie in order to give him a moment of privacy.
Taken. I had not simply wandered away; I had been purposely stolen. While my brother had been alleviated of decades worth of blame for my disappearance, I was left with the knowledge that my own father had intentionally taken me away from the only family I had ever truly known. He had taken everything from me, bit by bit, stripping away my confidence, my humanity, and all of the decent memories that should have been mine.
At last Phelan turned toward me, his eyes dried and emotion in check. "Alak said he wished to tell me in person, but he did not know what truly happened until he returned from prison and by that time we were in Paris and he had no means to travel."
"Did he elaborate on the details?" I asked.
"I didn't reach the end of the letter," Phelan admitted.
I focused my attention on the water, knowing that nothing my uncle's letter said would truly soothe me and there was no changing my fate. All I had left was my brother and whatever relationship we could form.
"The carriage should be here soon," I commented.
Phelan nodded. He looked me over, seeming surprised when he met my eye and saw that I had left my mask behind at the fireside. He put his hand on my shoulder and kept his eyes trained on the glow of the fire pit ahead of us.
"Forgive me for my blubbering like a damned fool," he said, inhaling sharply.
"Speak nothing of it."
"I appreciate you delivering the letter to me," he said softly as we trudged through the sand. "We had our differences and disagreements, but I am grateful for the opportunity to hear from Alak one last time."
"Perhaps one day you would be interested in seeing where he is laid to rest?"
My brother thought for a moment. His hand slid off my shoulder and he slowed his pace. Appreciation, I realized, was not forgiveness for the years of silence. "One day."
We returned to our place beside the fire and I handed Phelan his letter. He opened the envelope and scanned through it in silence. Taking a deep breath, he folded the papers and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "A discussion for another day," he said.
The rattle of carriage wheels and the jingle of tack signaled the approach of my brother's return home to Conforeit. I grabbed my mask and fit it back into place.
"Are you staying in Conforeit for another night?" I asked.
"Another night in that Godforsaken village and I shall go mad," he grumbled.
I attempted to hide my disappointment that our time together was officially at an end. Now that we had spent more time together, I realized how difficult it was to see him go.
"You'll return to Brussels, then?"
Phelan scoffed. "I said no such thing, Kire. Besides, I have another month until I am due back."
"Due back to your studio?"
"University. I suppose I could return early and prepare for a group of appallingly ignorant new students to descend upon my humble corner in the free institute of learning."
"University? You teach?"
"Are you hard of hearing?" he groused.
"You are standing on my left," I pointed out.
He stared at me a moment, brows knit. "What is wrong with your left ear?"
"I play the violin quite frequently."
"Ah, well, that is your own fault."
I shook my head at the return of his disagreeable nature. "Well, then if you are bored of Conforeit and are not due back to Brussels, what do you intend to do in the meantime?"
"Perhaps spend an afternoon in Calais and paint ships and filthy sailors."
"Sounds lovely," I sardonically replied.
"Or," he said as we approached the carriage. He swiftly opened the door and looked over his shoulder at me. "I could suffer through another day or two in Conforeit and visit with my niece and nephew for a few days. Perhaps spend a few hours shouting into my brother's deaf ear as practice for the students that await me in six weeks."
I rolled my eyes at his comment. "I suppose you intend to make up for the last thirty-eight years by being highly irritating for the next few days?"
"Me?" Phelan hopped into the carriage and shut the door. He held his hand over his chest and feigned insult. I stared back at him, shaking my head as the carriage pulled away and he at last smirked in satisfaction.
