I was glad Claude kept his eyes pinched shut a moment longer as my mouth dropped open and I stared back at him, surprised by his words. For as long as I had lived, I had been perceived as a monster. No one had sought me for friendship, and the very notion lifted the hairs on my arms.
"Were you aware that the jam you consumed came from berries grown in Madame Lowry's garden?" I asked quite suddenly.
Claude's light eyes popped open once more. He shook his head and offered a faint, boyish smile. "No wonder it tastes so wonderful."
Meg had taken great pride in her skills as a gardener, a love she had cultivated once she moved out of the theater into the house we had shared for years. She had started with a modest amount of flowers and strawberries that grew along the stone wall, then herbs and an assortment of vegetables.
I learned from her mother that the seeds for the strawberries had come from the Opera House rooftop garden, an oasis I had frequented over the years to escape the monotony of my underground home and to feel the warmth of the sun against my flesh when the dark threatened to consume me.
The sweet fruit had grown in an overabundance atop the theater, the runners stretching out to creep past the bases of nearby statues and invade the beds of other plants. They sneaked up the stones, the pink and white flowers giving way to a bounty of ripe berries by the middle of summer and well into the fall.
Several times I had seen Meg tip-toeing through the rooftop gardens, a basket filled with flowers and her apron pockets bulging with strawberries. She was typically oblivious to the world around her and didn't notice me despite standing no more than thirty paces from her in broad daylight wearing my mask, dark trousers and a waistcoat, the sleeves of my shirt rolled up to my elbows.
Or perhaps by the full light of a summer's morning the ghost that terrorized the theater in the shadows was not so threatening as he gorged himself on an array of strawberries and blackberries and she simply chose to ignore the man who called himself a phantom.
"Every year Meg and Julia make somewhere between two and four small jars of gariguette jam, depending on the yield from the garden," I said. "It is quite possibly my most favorite addition to breakfast, perhaps because the quantity is so limited and the taste extraordinary year after year."
And because the fragrance from the garden and the sweet taste reminded me of the late nights and early mornings I sat on the rooftop during the summer, the city at my feet and thoughts filled with the gentle hum of music only I could hear. I hadn't realized the tranquility those moments spent in the garden brought me, the stillness that hadn't seemed so lonely.
"It appears that you have also found the jam quite exquisite?" I asked, nodding toward the nearly empty jar when Claude failed to say a word.
Eyes wide, Claude visibly swallowed and looked from me to the glass container that had been full moments earlier. "I-I suppose I did."
After the first successful season, Meg hadn't been surprised by how swiftly I consumed their freshly prepared jam, but Julia had wondered aloud if they should have bothered packaging it at all and instead left the entire pot on the stove with a spoon. I was fairly certain the only reason Meg insisted on canning was so that Charles was able to enjoy the literal fruits of his wife's labors-and I was convinced that there were additional jars set aside for Monsieur Lowry that I had not discovered despite my nosing about the kitchen, pantry, and cellar for the past five seasons.
"Monsieur Kire," Claude whispered, his face a deep shade of red that would have matched the berries if there had been any remaining. "I cannot begin to apologize for my folly. You should have told me this was only available in limited quantities. I would not have taken a single bite."
Julia stepped into the parlor with a tea tray and smiled brightly before I could reply. "Did you enjoy theā¦" she noticed the empty jar and her eyebrows shot into her hairline before she issued a significant look in my direction. "I see someone certainly indulged."
Claude raised his hand like a school boy shyly confessing his misconduct in front of his teacher. "It was me, Madame Kire. I am responsible."
Julia's expression changed from irritated to pleased. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it, Claude. I will send a jar home with you," she offered. "I have two extra."
"Extra?" I asked. "Where were the extras? There are never extras."
Julia ignored me. She took the empty jar and plate and said she would return shortly.
"I will not accept Madame Kire's generous offer," Claude said, keeping his voice low despite Julia being well out of earshot.
"Of course you will. If you do not, my wife will think your refusal is my doing, thus banning me from jam for the rest of the season and quite possibly next year."
"But, Monsieur Kire, I am not able to compensate you-"
"I have no interest in repayment and I assure you Julia would not accept anything in return. As I was about to state earlier, you are a talented artist and quite clearly a very caring brother, one I am fortunate to call my friend."
Claude's features softened momentarily before he shook his head in dismay. "It feels one-sided," he said, keeping his voice low.
I inhaled and stood, offering my hand. "For that I apologize. I will make every attempt to be a better friend."
Claude gaped at me. "No, Monsieur Kire, that isn't what I meant."
"Monsieur Gillis, I assure you that I am better known for my disagreeable disposition than placid nature. If you ask Madame or Monsieur Lowry, Madame Giry, or my own wife, they will most certainly tell you I am highly irritated by the most inconsequential details, the exception being when it comes to matters of those I care about. Going forward, I shall make every attempt at being a worthy friend," I firmly replied.
Claude appeared perplexed. "I don't know what to say."
"Say that you will not abandon your art so swiftly."
Claude briefly searched my masked face. "I will attempt to keep painting," he said, his voice strained with emotion. "Giving it up completely would be like...like severing off a limb. But I would give up anything for my sister. She does not deserve this hardship. If anyone does, it is me and I have let her down for far too long."
I could not imagine the lengths I would be willing to go to if Lisette or Alex's well-being was at stake, and there was not a person alive who would survive my wrath if they dared step in my way when it came to my children.
"When did you tell Apolline that you would return for her?"
"In nine days."
Inside I grimaced at Claude's reply, but I nodded nonetheless. "Then I suppose time is of the essence."
I turned over the brochure before handing it back to Claude and noted the list of generous donors that funded The Elise Home for Girls. There were many prominent names I recognized, elite French families who pitied the less fortunate and opened their coffers, but whom I doubted took interest beyond writing a check. I had often wondered how many of those same wealthy men who took the opportunity to cut ribbons and shake hands at charity events sneered at children begging for change or old women peddling simple wares to purchase a warm meal. I wondered how many of them had passed Claude as he painting in the park, stockings protruding from the holes in his boots and ill-fitting clothing hanging from his thin frame and wrinkled their noses in disgust. They were only concerned for the destitute and the sick when they could be celebrated for their good intentions.
Perhaps it should not have come as a surprise to me, but I still read the last name on the brochure twice and clenched my jaw, a reaction I doubted would ever cease:
MONTHLY ASSISTANCE PROVIDED BY RAOUL DE CHAGNY, IN MEMORY OF HIS BELOVED WIFE CHRISTINE. GOD BLESS THE DE CHAGNY FAMILY.
"May I keep the brochure?" I asked Claude.
He nodded readily. "Yes, of course."
"When is your next shift at the factory?"
"Tomorrow morning," Claude answered, stifling a yawn.
"Return for supper after you've had ample time to rest," I suggested. "Alex will be glad for your company."
At last Claude smiled. "I would like that very much."
