A belated father's day 2022 :)

P.s... Erik playing on the streets of Paris as young adult is coming up in the next few chapters of "Into the Darkness", which is addressed in this chapter if you're interested in reading more.

Gabrina

Ch 115

Satisfied with her ploy to convince my brother to stay, Lisette swiftly pursued the bookshelf and made her selection.

"Promise you won't take an earlier train," she said quite sternly to her uncle.

Phelan placed his hand over his heart. "You have my word."

"Don't forget your doll," I said, nodding toward the toy she had left carefully laid out on my desk with a leather folder used as a pillow and a newspaper as a blanket.

"I didn't forget, Papa. She's sleeping until it's time for her to meet her new mother," Lisette whispered.

"Her new mother?" I questioned.

"Apolline," Lisette explained. "Her doll is the twin sister of my doll Elodie. We had them at the same time so that they would be best friends."

"You have twins with different mothers?" Phelan questioned. "How does…never mind."

"It is make believe, Uncle Phelan," Lisette explained, sounding quite exasperated.

"Did you have two of the same dolls?" I asked.

"No, Apolline really liked Elodie when she visited this morning, so I asked Mother if we could look in the shop where I got my doll after we were finished in the fabric store, and she said yes! I simply cannot wait for Apolline to meet her new baby. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to read my book while the baby is napping for..." She looked at the clock. "Thirty-two minutes."

"What happens in thirty-two minutes?" Phelan asked.

"Baby delivery." Lisette said. "I get to bring Apolline her new baby, along with the drawing of the…what did you sketch for her? It's not a chipmunk."

"Hamster."

"Ah, yes, the hamster. She left it on my bed, but I know she would like it back. Would you draw me one as well? It's simply darling."

"Of course I will, dearest niece, for the reasonable fee of five hundred francs," Phelan answered.

Lisette's lips parted and brow furrowed. "Are you teasing me?"

"Not in the slightest."

"But I don't have five hundred francs."

Phelan took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. "Since I have extended my stay at your insistence, I suppose I will settle for a cup of coffee instead."

Madeline grabbed her cane. "There is an art to a good cup of coffee," she said to Lisette. "You read your book and I'll make coffee and tea for your father and uncle."

"Art coffee!" Lisette exclaimed. "But no, Grand-mere, I must insist that you sit and relax while I make refreshments." She gazed around the room, beaming with satisfaction of playing hostess. "Would anyone like anything else? Tea cakes? Tarts?"

"Paper and a pencil," Phelan requested.

"Those are in the desk drawer," Lisette said. "Top left for paper and the long, skinny drawer in the middle for pencils and pens. But you must put everything back where you found it," she said.

Phelan feigned insult. "Do I look like the type to leave art supplies strewn about?"

"Well, you do look like Papa and he leaves his desk in disarray."

Phelan shook his head. "It appears I need to have a word with your father about keeping his desk tidy."

Lisette giggled and skipped out of the room, leaving the unnamed doll on my desk and apparently in our care while she prepared refreshments.

"We are not being served coffee, are we?" Phelan asked.

Madeline shrugged. "We are being served good intentions," she said brightly. "Lisette is so thoughtful."

"I do hope 'thoughtful' tastes like dark roast."

"Shall I check on her?" Madeline asked.

Phelan waved a dismissive hand toward her. "No need. I have mastered the art of appearing to enjoy a cup of coffee with the consistency of mud thanks to Elizabeth and her many attempts at playing house over the years."

Madeline shifted in her seat, reached into her skirt pocket and furrowed her brow. "Oh! Erik, I almost forgot that Antonio had this note sent earlier today while you were out."

She handed me an envelope, which I opened immediately, surprised by the brevity considering the theater manager was usually quite long-winded in his correspondence.

"Is it an urgent matter?" Madeline questioned.

"No," I answered. "Le Blanc has approved the programming, but would like me to write a new piece for the performances, something that has not been heard yet, as the finale of the show."

Madeline offered a broad smile in return, clearly pleased with the suggestion. "Do you have something new to present?"

"Not anything completed," I said. "But I do have something in mind."

I had composed three of what I expected to be four movements in a symphony, the first of which was dedicated to Alexandre, a bright and upbeat allegro that matched his vibrant personality.

The second movement was more gentle and polite, a tribute to Lisette and her shy tendencies. The melody was graceful and had hints of her waltz laced in, which I had no doubt my daughter would recognize when I played it for her.

The third was written with Julia in mind, a stately melody that ended lightly, representing her warm smile and the shake of her head often directed at me while still maintaining its overall integrity.

The fourth, however, had not come to me yet. The climatic end to the symphony–and to the evening as a conductor as well–remained unclaimed, although Bessie was the most likely candidate as she was most certainly an integral member of our family.

"Would you be willing to play what you have thus far?" Madeline eagerly asked.

"If you would care to listen." I eyed my folder under the doll, wondering if in its unfinished state the symphony would spark a bit of inspiration for Claude as he created the artwork for my music. "I suppose I should play what I have completed at least once before I suggest it to Antonio."

Madeline folded her hands. "As always, I would be honored to listen."

It never ceased to amaze me how Madeline welcomed hearing whatever I created, how she could sit through the same melody for hours on end and never tire of listening to me play, rewrite, and play again, often with a bit of grumbling throughout the process.

"The music is on my desk, being used as a pillow for a doll," I said as I stood. Both of my children seemed quite oblivious to the musical masterpieces they used as drawing paper and doll bedding, which amused me. To them the title of composer was secondary to being their father. "I'll fetch my violin."

Madeline nodded while Phelan sat back, silently listening to the conversation with no indication of his feelings in the matter.

"I don't have to play it now," I offered.

"Who could possibly say 'no' to the opportunity of hearing your music?" Madeline asked.

"Luc Testan, for one," Phelan replied.

Madeline rolled her eyes. "That man knows nothing of the arts," she bristled. "He doesn't appreciate innovation and doesn't understand that there is more to music than Verdi and Mozart." She gestured toward me. "Your brother is better than both of those men combined."

Phelan raised a brow. "Would I be wise to presume, Madame, that you have been amongst the first to hear what Erik composes and therefore you are quite partial to the creator?"

"Of course I am partial," she admitted. "I have been listening to his compositions since Erik was a boy, eagerly stringing notes together at all hours of the day and night, oblivious to all else. I would often find him asleep at the table where he did most of his composing."

"Covered in spilled ink," I added, recalling how many times I had dozed off and managed to topple a bottle of ink when I slumped over my work, unable to force my eyes open for another moment.

Often I woke to a soft blanket draped over my shoulders, roused by the sound of Madeline humming as she mopped up ink and straightened sheets of paper far from the disaster.

"His first compositions were beautiful," Madeline said.

I furrowed my brow. "Your memory is quite faulty."

"It is not," she argued.

"You suffered through the music of an amateur. Thankfully you were the only one who was subjected to those lofty attempts."

"You are far too critical."

"I knew nothing about music and had no business attempting a seven-act opera."

"I disagree. Amateur or not, what you wrote was always lovely to hear whether it was within the Opera House or played on the streets."

"You played on the streets?" Phelan questioned. It was the first instance in which he genuinely seemed interested in hearing me speak. "Surely not a seven-act opera."

"No, only a few shorter selections of my own creation as well as popular music."

I had nearly forgotten the elation that had accompanied performing on the street corner around from the Opera House, heedless of whether my audience bustled past me on their way to their destinations or lingered against brick walls and light posts, listening to a mix of original and well-known compositions. I played through many muggy summer evenings and at least one autumn downpour, which had unfortunately been one of my best performances with the fewest people listening.

Still, I had looked forward to playing regardless of whether it was for a stray cat or a dozen couples enjoying a light meal after an opera. Music was my voice, and on a well-lit street corner in Paris, I was heard. My love of music, and fondness for the Opera House's long-time soprano, Cathedra di Carlo, had finally found its voice.

"Erik played many times," Madeline answered on my behalf, a gushing mother singing the praises of her child. "The crowds adored him."

"It was more like a handful of times over several years," I corrected. "And there were hardly any crowds gathered, let alone ones that could be described as 'adoring'."

"There were most certainly crowds," she argued. "Sometimes it was difficult to get past the people milling about as they stood to listen." She looked at my brother while gesturing toward me. "Everyone loved his music."

"Indeed," I muttered.

"Well, since there's no use arguing with you, I'll see if Lisette needs a bit of guidance with beverages," Madeline said.

"I'm fine Grand-mere!" Lisette called from the kitchen. "Please, you are a guest in our home. You simply must enjoy yourself."

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans permeated the air, and both Madeline and Phelan inhaled deeply, nodding in approval. Madeline returned to her seat beside my brother and sat back, crossing her legs at the ankles.

"Bring your violin down," she said to me. "I suppose I will stay here with Monsieur Kimmer and keep him company."

OoO

I exited the parlor and Julia popped her head out of the dining room, offering a warm smile and a wave when she saw me. Rather than return to my bedroom for the instrument, I headed first to see my wife.

"How is Claude feeling, darling?" she asked.

"Better now that his sister is at his side."

"Good. Poor Apolline was quite anxious to see her brother earlier this morning. Thankfully Lisette made her feel welcomed and Madeline kept a watchful eye over the girls. And of course Alex was the perfect little gentleman."

"I would expect nothing less from the three of them."

"I'm glad her arrival lightened Claude's spirits after all he's been through." She took a deep breath. "Let this be the start of better fortune for Monsieur Gillis."

"How are you feeling?" I asked as I followed her into the dining room. There were several bolts of fabric laid out on the table, most of which were light colors and floral patterns suitable for dresses. Given the state of Appoline's clothing at her arrival, I assumed Julia had purchased fabric in order to expand the little girl's limited wardrobe.

Julia appeared surprised by my question. "I'm fine."

I looked her over briefly, relieved that her coloring seemed to have improved since the morning, but still concerned over her health. "I asked Dr. Khan to pay a visit."

"Yes, and he arrived shortly before Meg and I took a walk down to the fabric store," she said over her shoulder as she folded striped material and placed it over the back of my chair.

I was pleased to hear the physician had been timely in visiting my wife, but concerned he had made no mention of the appointment when our paths crossed at his office. "And what did he say?" I asked impatiently.

"He saw no reason for concern," Julia answered with her back to me. She smoothed her hand over a light green piece of fabric and looked over her shoulder at me, smiling. "We are both healthy."

I furrowed my brow. "We? Was Lisette seen as well?"

Julia pursed her lips and shook her head. She leaned against the table and folded the fabric. "She was not."

"Meg?" I questioned. "She has seemed rather exhausted lately. I hope nothing serious."

"Well, being tired is to be expected of a new mother caring for twins, but Dr. Khan didn't see her today." She stepped forward and handed me the folded material.

"What is this?" I asked, glancing from her to the cloth.

Julia's cheeks appeared flushed as she closed the pocket door, then stepped closer and bit her bottom lip.

"Do you like the color?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't dislike it."

Julia chuckled. "That is the most Erik Kire answer you could provide," she said, leaning into me. She kissed me softly, her eyes fluttering shut in a peculiar, blissful fashion.

"Are you attempting to soften me for some utterly devastating news?" I asked, my concern escalating by the second.

Julia opened her eyes and turned her head to the side. She ran her fingers along the shell of my ear and down along my jaw.

"This color," she said softly. "It reminds me of your eyes."

I stared at her, wondering if perhaps I was the cause for concern. "What do you intend to make with this? A blindfold?"

"Impossible as ever, dear husband."

"You worry me immensely with your elusive nature, dear wife."

Julia inhaled. "You have no need to worry."

"I shall decide whether or not there is a need to worry."

"Very well, but I should first tell you that I had the most wonderful dream last night," she said. "We were in the Rouen house, seated around the piano. Meg and Charles were there with the twins, Madeline was there with Alex and Lisette at her side, and you had our daughter on your knee, dressed in this shade of green as she tapped on the keys."

I immediately sobered, my heart hammering for an unexpected reason. "Our…our daughter?"

Julia nodded.

The world fell away, leaving nothing but Julia and I standing beside one another, the fabric still clutched between my fists as if I needed something to hold onto. I felt the tattoo of my heart, heard the tempo of my breaths quicken.

"Rosalie?" I question, recalling the name Julia whispered in her half-sleep.

Julia placed her hands atop mine, her smile beaming. "That's what you called her in my dream."

"You dreamt we had a daughter?" I questioned. I longed for such sweetness in dreams, to see the face of my future child perched on my knee at the piano, delighted by the sound that came from tapping the keys. How I would welcome such perfect imagery.

"She was beautiful, Erik, so vibrant and so real. You were so smitten with her."

My lips parted and I inhaled sharply, torn between elation and trepidation at the thought of another child in the house. Suddenly the ginger cookies and morning illness made perfect, obvious sense.

"You're expecting," I said obtusely.

"I am." Julia's eyes turned glassy as I drew her into my embrace and kissed her on the forehead. I cupped the back of her head and closed my eyes, feeling her arms snake around me in a tight embrace.

"How long have you known?"

"Not long," she admitted. "I didn't want to say anything until I was past twelve weeks."

"How far along are you? Surely not three months yet?"

Julia took a small step back and guided my right hand to her belly. Her elation faltered momentarily when she looked up at me, and I knew precisely where her thoughts were drawn as mine also lingered on our failed attempt at a holiday and the loss of our first child together. "Around two months. Not long enough to feel as though this is reality."

I laced my fingers with hers. We had been on holiday eight weeks earlier. Given all that had transpired with preparing for the theater, Claude's condition, and my brother's unexpected return, our time spent away from Paris and relaxing as a family seemed distant.

"Anything that you require, consider it done," I said firmly.

"Anything?" Julia asked, raising a brow.

"I shall retrieve the moon and the stars, if my wife and unborn daughter ask it of me."

Julia smiled. "Leave the moon and the stars in the sky. We would prefer a husband and father who is in bed beside his expecting wife at a reasonable hour."

That seemed more difficult than obtaining stars, but I nodded nonetheless and caressed Julia's stomach.

"Is that what you desire, Rosalie?" I asked, feeling Julia's body vibrate with laughter as I addressed our child. I met my wife's eye again and noticed how she radiated with light like I'd never seen before, the glow of an expectant mother. She had wanted this new addition to our family, and seeing the joy in her eyes, I wanted it as well. "Are you certain it is a girl?"

Julia shook her head and hesitated. "It could very well be a boy. Is that your preference? A son?"

I kissed her again and drew her in closer, wishing to erase her doubts that I desired another son to bear my name. Louis had not been kind when Lisette was born, which had earned Julia a scar near her right eye when he'd thrown a vase at the wife he had not deserved.

"I truly have no preference," I answered. "Although I suppose Rosalie is not the most fitting name for a boy."

"There is plenty of time to consider a name for a son," she reminded me.

"A girl," I said fondly, imagining an evening at the theater with my wife and three children in attendance. The Kire Five would be a sight to behold as we marched through the lobby and up the carpeted stairs to our private box—when the youngest of our children was able to sit through a five-act opera without an outburst. Quite honestly I wondered if Alex would ever be able to sit through one of my operas start to finish without heavily sighing or writhing in agony in his seat at his current age of nine.

"Are you happy?" Julia asked, searching my gaze.

"Terrified and elated," I replied, pressing my forehead to hers. "But mostly I am elated to share in each moment with you."

"Through terrible morning sickness?" Julia warily asked.

"In sickness and in health," I reminded her, bringing her hand to my lips to tenderly kiss her fingers. "I missed everything with Alex up until he was three months old. I would rather be by your side through any hardship than oblivious to my child's very existence."

Once Christine had assured me the child she had conceived was terminated, I found myself grieving for a life I had not expected nor wanted. Raising a child was a gift, an opportunity to see that my progeny lived without hunger and fear of being harmed, to sleep in a warm bed with a soft pillow, not the cold damp of a lightless cellar.

In solitude I had done what I had always excelled at: I tormented myself over what could have been, of what in my heart I knew I would never experience: being the head of a family.

"This little one belongs to us," Julia whispered. She held me tighter, and for a long moment we simply stood with our arms wrapped around one another. I caressed her neck and shoulder and she ran her fingers along the middle of my back, writing in a secret language I felt zip through me.

Rosalie, I silently mused, the fourth movement of my symphony, the perfect addition to our family. What a gift she would be to our home and to our hearts. How strange and magical it was to love someone, sight unseen, drawn to them simply by the notion that they were a part of you.

"Sit in the parlor," I requested. "Allow me to play for my wife and our daughter."

Julia looked up and smiled warmly at me. "You spoil her already."

"From this moment until my last breath," I vowed.