I have thought about starting a different story (which will be much shorter) where Phelan and Erik visit their grandparents. If you have any thoughts on that, please share! Otherwise I'll just tack it on here and it'll be 200 chapters. :D

Ch 123

Julia brushed Apolline's hair and showed her a mirror.

"What do you think of the ribbons? The green looks very pretty with your blond hair."

Apolline nodded in agreement. "Is there more ribbon?"

"Plenty more. We will work on your skirt when you're home this afternoon." Julia placed her hands on Apolline's shoulders. "Claude will be so happy to see you at last."

I watched them from the hall, Aunt Julia and her newest niece grinning at one another. Apolline had taken to my wife immediately with their shared appreciation of sewing, but she still proceeded with caution around me, particularly if Lisette and Alex were not near her and Julia preoccupied.

"Don't forget to take the parcel with you," Julia said. "We can't send Claude home without trousers, now can we?"

"Will you come with me?" Apolline asked.
"I'll be here when you return," Julia promised. "Go on now, Erik–Uncle Erik is waiting for you."

Apolline turned to face me, her lips forming a distinct frown of disappointment. She sullenly walked past me with her head down and slowly made her way to the bottom where she stood by the front door as if execution awaited her on the other side.

Julia placed her hand on my shoulder. "She'll come around."

I inhaled. "Hopefully sooner than later."

"Lissy will convince her."

I pressed a kiss to Julia's temple. "You're feeling better?"

She shrugged and placed her hand over her stomach. "It's later in the morning. This little one must be sleeping again instead of making her mother's tummy upset."

"Would you like me to ask Dr. Khan for anything?"

Julia shook her head. "I'll be fine."

I had my doubts as Julia seemed miserable from the moment she woke until the middle of the morning when she was finally able to enjoy a bite to eat.

"I believe I would have perished by now if our places were exchanged."

She smiled at me. "Well, my dear husband, that is why women carry the babies and not men."

A cab was already waiting by the curb when I opened the front door. Bessie, who was convinced she was accompanying us, proceeded to offer her paw to Apolline in exchange for a ride in the carriage.

"I will return later," the little girl said glumly to the dog before she followed me out.

As expected, she sat diagonally from me in the carriage with her arms crossed and gaze staring out the window.

"Your brother will be happy to see you," I said, deciding on quoting my wife when I could think of nothing interesting to say.

She didn't look at me, but she nodded.

"What did you bring for him?" I asked, gesturing toward a brown paper bag.

"Clothes."

"Did you sew them for your brother?"

Another silent nod.

"By yourself?"

She shook her head and I left it at that for the remaining forty minutes of our ride, choosing to stare out the window rather than press for conversation.

Claude was awake and alert when we walked up the stairs to the room he had to himself. When classes took place I imagined it was a lecture hall filled with bright young minds, but the semester was two weeks away and the room was empty with its long desks and metal chairs still stacked against the wall. Claude had described the space as 'overwhelmingly lonely' and I knew he was looking forward to being in a home, even if the arrangements were not nearly as spacious.

"Sister!" Claude said, his voice echoing through the vacant interior. "Monsieur Kire said you would be visiting today!"

Apolline sprinted across the length of the room and jumped into his arms, a broad smile on her lips as both she and Claude toppled onto his pillows and he embraced her tightly. Once she had squeezed him tightly, she adjusted the white sheet draped over his legs.

"I didn't hurt your ankle, did I?"

"No, no, not at all."

"And your injured leg?"

Claude ran his hand over his thigh. "Still intact."

Apolline smiled. "Can you walk yet?"

"I can hobble around," he said, nodding toward his crutches. "Enough about me. Your hair looks so pretty. Did Madame Kire put the bows in for you?"

Apolline smiled and nodded. "She said I could call her Aunt Julia."

"Aunt Julia? That is very nice of her. Then Monsieur Kire must be your uncle," Claude said.

Apolline shrugged. She started to speak, but gasped and looked around. "Your trousers…"

"Here," I said, holding out the parcel she had left inside of the carriage.

Apolline slid off the bed, trotted toward me, and accepted the brown paper package without a word of acknowledgment.

"Apolline," Claude said. "Where are your manners?"
She mumbled an insincere, 'thank you', over her shoulder before returning to her brother's side.

"Have you been good? I've missed you," Claude said.

"May I stay with you for the day?"

"Not the whole day, I'm afraid, the campus will be closed once Monsieur Kire takes you home again."

"You've opened the windows," I observed, noting the heavy curtains drawn back and several of the windows allowing the breeze to freshen the lecture hall.

"Dr. Khan did," Claude replied. "He said the fresh air and sunlight will heal me like nothing else could."

Dr. Khan had told me the same decades earlier when he insisted I spend a few hours of my day outside in the dappled sunlight beneath date palms. Enjoying the outdoors was an activity I had neglected to do for quite some time once I returned to the Opera House. I had forgotten his words, preferring seclusion and darkness to light and fresh air.

"No one appreciates the sun more than Dr. Khan," I said.

"I believe he is correct. Once I had my bed moved closer to the windows, I felt as though the world had more color again." Claude reached toward the windowsill for his sketchbook and opened to the middle where he'd painted a watercolor of the campus. On the next page was a sketch of Dr. Khan with his thumb pressed to his bottom lip deep in contemplation.

"The theater is sending a copy of the program sometime this afternoon as well as a check for the commission," I told him.

Claude took a deep, trembling breath. "Words I never in my lifetime expected to hear," he said. He pressed a kiss to his sister's temple. "What a gift you have given me, Monsieur. More gifts than I deserve."

"Has Dr. Anderson visited?" I asked before Claude slid into self deprecation.

"Not yet. Soon, I would think," Claude answered.

Claude had been at Sorbonne for a week, his ankle stabilized with a splint and crutches at his bedside to give him mobility when he desired. Putting weight onto his ankle was still not possible, but he managed to navigate around on his crutches and venture down the hall briefly with a bit of assistance from an aide.

"Monsieur Kire." He cleared his throat and switched to Danish when he addressed me. "How are you this morning?"

"I am well," I said in Danish, feeling as though with each word I butchered Claude's native tongue.

"Good. How is the weather?"

I glanced out the window, disliking a question with an obvious answer. "The weather is fine."

"Is it going to rain?"

"No."

"Then you can leave your umbrella at home."

I nodded.

"Now you start the conversation, Monsieur Kire."

My heart stuttered. A week's worth of Danish had consisted of Claude leading and me listening and repeating words and phrases multiple times while my tutor inserted ingen into the conversation every few words when I failed to enunciate correctly. As long as the answer was always 'no', I was certain I at least had mastered a single word in Danish.

"I don't know what to say," I said in French.

"Ingen, Monsieur. Danish," Claude reminded me.

"But–"

"Ingen."

I sighed. "How do I say 'this is highly irritating?'"

"Me or the language?" Claude asked in Danish.

I narrowed my eyes. "Both," I said, in Danish.

Claude released a hearty laugh. "I find our lessons highly entertaining, Monsieur. I have not held real conversations in my mother's language for years," he said, thankfully switching back to French.

"These are hardly real conversations."

Claude shrugged. "In another two weeks they shall be. But for now, you have given me something to look forward to each day. You have no idea how boring it can be confined to the same space day in and day out."

I was more familiar than he knew, but merely nodded in agreement.

"Monsieur Gillis, I believe you'd think differently of this beautiful campus if you were able to cartwheel yourself across this floor," Dr. Khan said as he walked into the room. "Perhaps when you come in for your evaluation in six months we will see you doing precisely that."

Claude grinned. "I don't believe I've done a cartwheel in my life and I am afraid if I attempted one, you'd be seeing me for a broken neck."

"Then we shall refrain." Dr. Khan looked him over. "You appear in good spirits today, Claude. The sunlight has done wonders, if I do say so."

"That is why you are the physician," Claude answered.

A week of regular meals and very little activity had put meat on Claude's bones. His eyes were brighter, his cheeks fuller, and he looked more relaxed. The swelling in his hand had diminished as well, giving him greater ability to hold and turn his sketchbook with ease.

"I do believe the anesthesia is out of his system finally," Dr. Khan said as he walked up beside me. "And Monsieur Kire, you have arrived just in time for Dr. Anderson to pay a visit."

I'd seen Dr. Anderson twice over the week as my visits to Claude seemed to take place as she was finishing for the afternoon. She seemed quite fond of Claude and spoke to him in both French and Danish, which she said that she was not well practiced in speaking, but seemed to hold a conversation with greater ease than I could.

"Gentlemen," Dr. Anderson said as she briskly walked into the room with her head held high and black medical bag in her right hand. "How is Monsieur Gillis this fine afternoon?"

"Better thanks to you," Claude replied. "I am grateful for your expertise and willingness to fix me."

"It is my duty as a surgeon," Dr. Anderson said. She noticed Apolline still seated next to Claude and paused. "Good afternoon, young lady."

Apolline stared at Dr. Anderson, her gaze fixed on the medical bag she had set on a metal table at Claude's bedside.

"She is a lady doctor?" Apolline whispered to her brother.

Claude ran his hand over his sister's hair. "You needn't whisper. Ask her yourself."

Dr. Anderson pulled the white sheet up to Claude's knee, revealing his splinted ankle covered in a loose sock, which she removed. His toes were still discolored from bruising, but his flesh had changed from a concerning black to blues and yellows.

"Ask me anything," Dr. Anderson said. "Woman to woman."

Apolline watched Dr. Anderson as she examined Claude's toes, foot and ankle.

"How did you become a doctor if you are not a man?" Apolline asked.

Dr. Anderson smiled to herself. "That is an excellent question. "Many people didn't want me to be a physician."

"Because you are a woman?" Apolline asked.

"Yes. Merely because I was not born a man. It made no difference that I was educated in arithmetic and tutored in apothecary studies. I even had the pleasure of learning about dissection and chemistry until the male students in my class complained that it was no place for a woman. Then I was forced to leave like a pariah."

"Couldn't you have been a nurse?"

Dr. Anderson removed the bandages holding the splint in place and paused, turning her full attention to Apolline. "What do you like doing, Apolline?"

"I like sewing."

"Imagine you wanted to make a dress, but you were told that you could not use the sewing machine. What would you do?"

"I suppose I would sew it by hand."

Dr. Anderson nodded. "That is an excellent idea, but imagine they told you that because you were a girl, your hands were not good enough. You could hold the thread, but nothing more as you couldn't possibly have the skills needed to make the actual dress."

Apolline frowned. "I would want to show them otherwise."

"Would you keep trying for a year?"

Apolline thought for a moment while Dr. Anderson fully removed the splint and examined the sutures. The surgeon furrowed her brow and walked to her medical bag where she removed a bottle of ointment and returned a moment later.

"A year, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes."

"Three years?"

Apolline started to shake her head, but reconsidered. "Yes, I think so."

"What about five years? Would you spend that amount of time attempting to do what you desire?"

The girl averted her eyes. "That is a very long time."

"It was," Dr. Anderson said. "But five years is what it took to obtain my license from the Society of Apothecaries. I was the first woman to do so and not only that, but out of seven of us, only three passed and I had the highest marks."

Her voice trembled with pride, her eyes momentarily glassy as she spoke of her achievements. Why anyone would oppose someone with the desire to help others was beyond me.

"That is extraordinary," Claude said. "Five years of perseverance."

"Do you know what the Society of Apothecaries did upon giving me my license?" Dr. Anderson asked, once again looking at Apolline. "They promptly amended their rules, prohibiting other women from taking the exam. It took eleven years for that to be overturned."

The room turned pensively silent. We watched as the surgeon carefully finished cleaning around the sutures, then splinted and wrapped Claude's foot once more. She was careful and deliberate in her actions and clearly quite skilled.

"Given the obstacles I faced in my home country, I came here to Sorbonne. Paris has been good to me and I am fortunate to give back to her citizens." She finished by putting Claude's sock back onto his foot, then patted his shin. "Even the ones who are Danish."

"Where did you learn Danish?" Claude asked.

"A family that lived across the street from mine when I was a child," she answered. "Monsieur Kire, how are you progressing with your lessons?"

"Slowly," I answered. I had two weeks to do more than bumble through phrases about the weather and memorizing colors if I wanted to put my skills to work and communicate with my grandparents.

"Were you born into a multilingual home?" Claude asked. "Is that how you learned Italian and German?"

I shook my head. "No, I learned by watching operas and reading the translations at the same time," I answered. "The more performances I saw, the languages started to make sense to me."

I could still remember sitting in my borrowed private box and suddenly hearing the words as they were sung. Not reading them to myself in the dark, but actually understanding what was being said and how I had sat grinning like a mad fool.

"Perhaps you must listen to some Hartmann," Claude suggested.

"Yes, or Sehersted," Dr. Anderson added.

"I am not familiar with either men," I said.

"Seherseted is a woman," Dr. Anderson said. "We worked together briefly after her fiance suddenly passed."

"It's like a real life Mauro and Jewel," Dr. Khan chimed in.

That wasn't at all what my opera was about and I made certain to glare at him in disgust despite him standing with his back to me.

"A physician and a composer?" I asked Dr. Anderson.

"Nurse, composer and church organist in Copenhagen."

"I don't believe I have heard of her either," Claude said.

"Unpublished thus far," Dr. Anderson said as she stood and placed the bottle back into her medical bag. "But give her a year or two and you will."

"Hartmann might be easier to obtain," I said under my breath. The bigger issue was ordering the music and having it arrive prior to my departure, which being only two weeks away seemed rather unlikely.

"What do you have inside of your bag?" Apolline asked Dr. Anderson suddenly.

"Why don't you take a look?" the surgeon replied.

Apolline carefully peeled herself away from her brother and tip-toed around to the other side of the bed where Dr. Anderson had her bag. She peered inside, smiling as she turned her head from one side to the other.

"Bring me the bag."

Apolline hefted the bag onto her shoulder and deposited on the bed beside her brother where Dr. Anderson reached inside and pulled out a stethoscope. She showed Apolline how to use it and then allowed the child to listen to her brother's heartbeat.

Apolline gasped and smiled. "I hear it," she whispered. "It's so loud."

Dr. Anderson nodded. "What do you think of my tools?"

Apolline looked up at the surgeon and grinned. "I think I would like to be a physician."

oOo

It was understood that Dr. Khan would oversee Claude's care as Dr. Anderson was to return to London by the weekend and thus would not be removing the sutures or monitoring his progress.

"May I have a word?" Dr. Anderson asked me while Claude and Apolline visited and Dr. Khan returned to his own practice across the city.

I followed the surgeon into the hall and closed the door behind me. She motioned me further from Claude's temporary accommodations where she paused in front of another classroom.

"Have you considered the surgery?" she asked.

"I have," I answered. "But at this present time it is not something I wish to pursue. My apologies. I hope you do not find my answer insulting."

Dr. Anderson smiled. "Not at all," she assured me. "But if you would like me to examine the scar tissue, perhaps there are indications of how the wounds were obtained."

My stomach tightened. I looked from her to the empty hall and back again. The only physician I had ever seen was Dr. Khan and that had been twenty years ago. Madeline had appointed herself my nurse and cured everything with the salve she ordered from London and a black licorice tea mixed with cod liver oil that made me wish for death over a single sip of her dreadful concoction. I wasn't sure what to think of a surgeon prying and prodding at the scars I'd had since birth.

"Would your findings become public?"

Dr. Anderson's eyes widened. "No, of course not. This is not a scientific study and I am not interested in exploiting my patients. If you would prefer, I will not make written notations and simply offer verbal dictations on my findings."

I took a deep breath, my heart hammering. With my uncle not being present until weeks after I was born, the reason behind the scars had been a mystery. If I had been injured during birth or shortly after–by the midwife or my own parents–I wished to know. There would be no changing my appearance, but at least there would be answers as to what had happened–if Dr. Anderson could find anything that would indicate the reasons I had been disfigured.

"Perhaps tomorrow," I said.

"I will be available after I am done tending to Monsieur Gillis if you decide you would like an examination."

oOo

Claude tired quickly, but he still asked me to sit and practice Danish with him as time was swiftly running out for me to become proficient. He was a patient teacher, one who ignored my frustration and never made dry remarks when I stumbled through the foreign words. He praised me when I didn't deserve it and corrected gently–and more frequently than I would have liked.

His tone of voice reminded me of my uncle, as did the way he gestured when I was on the verge of the correct pronunciation. Our conversations were simple, with short sentences that most likely sounded as though two toddlers conversed, but somehow Claude made the sessions enjoyable for the two hours he dedicated to teaching me.

"Two weeks is a long time to keep practicing," Claude cheerfully told me. "I am certain you will impress your grandparents with your knowledge."

Apolline had returned to his side and snuggled up beneath his arm with her head on his chest. It was quite evident that she was most comfortable at his side and content simply sitting with her brother while we spoke.

"Knowledge," I muttered. "I would hardly say this counts as knowledge."

"Well, if not knowledge, then valiant attempts, Monsieur. Now, let's continue."

He proceeded in Danish and I stared blankly at him, which resulted in him repeating his words, only slower. By the third time I was at my wit's end, angry with myself for not mastering the language within days. I balled my hand into a fist and considered taking my frustration out on the table, but paused.

"Son of a…"

Cursing wouldn't help, particularly with a wide-eyed child waiting for me to finish my sentence.

"Son of a brunsviger," I said.

"Ah, you have retained knowledge of Danish sweets," Claude said. He nudged his sister, chuckling to himself. "Very good, but I'm afraid those are not part of our lesson. Now, Monsieur, what words did you recognize?"

None I wanted to say. It all sounded like nonsense. Claude repeated himself for a fourth time, his tone as pleasant and even as the first time.

"Music," I said, saying the words to myself in my head. "You are asking if I write music?"

Claude nodded and smiled.

"I write operas," I said in Danish.

"Well done!" he replied. "I am proud of you. Now, where are you from?"

I stumbled through another sentence and Claude finally–mercifully–allowed the lessons to come to an end for the afternoon.

"Tomorrow we will speak only in Danish," Claude told me.
"Then I am afraid it will be a very brief lesson."

"You will be fine," he assured me. "You are a natural."

His features appeared strained, his complexion ashen as he forced a smile.

"You are not feeling well?" I observed.

Claude lowered his gaze. "The pain is a little more difficult to manage," he said. "But once I rest, I will be better."

He looked to be in a great deal of pain, more than he wanted to admit, but I didn't argue with him.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to his sister. "Are you ready to return with Monsieur Kire?" Claude asked. She shook her head and Claude gave a knowing smile. "I don't like sending you away, but I will see you tomorrow. For now I must rest so that Dr. Anderson agrees I am allowed to leave. Then we will spend the whole day together."

Apolline looked as though she wished to speak, but instead bowed her head and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. I offered my hand and she recoiled as though I held out a snake.

"Apolline," Claude reprimanded. "Do not be rude."

I wasn't particularly shocked by her reaction, but that wasn't to say it wasn't hurtful. A year earlier I wouldn't have given a second thought to someone reacting so strongly, but I'd grown comfortable, perhaps far too comfortable, without the necessity of a mask at all times and constantly touching my face to make sure the scars were appropriately covered.

In the presence of my immediate family, I found I preferred walking around the house without a cumbersome mask in place. Over the last week with a guest in our home, however, I'd rarely been without it.

Her reaction was a reminder of the traveling fair and the repulsion strangers felt at the sight of me, something that I had hoped to avoid with keeping my mask in place so that she didn't see what was beneath. No matter what, I was monstrous once more, a creature she had to sit across from in a carriage in order to return to the home she shared with my family.

I pulled my hand away and crossed my arms, attempting to act as though I was not greatly offended.

"He frightens me," Apolline said to her brother, making no attempt to whisper.

Claude looked appalled by her response. Inwardly I winced, but remained still and emotionless. I had learned from the fair that if I sat quietly and made no remark, no one could tell how deeply their words cut into me. It was a different mask, one that I was never without, even when Garouche tossed the hood far from my reach.

"Apolline," Claude said through his teeth. "You apologize at once. Do you hear me?"

Apolline looked shocked by her brother's reaction.

"Apolline," Claude warned. "Now. I'll not ask you again."

She stepped away from both of us, and for a moment I was certain she would take off running from the room. Instead, with her lip quivering and eyes glassy with tears, she mumbled her apology under her breath.

"Monsieur," Claude said. "Please forgive my sister. It is quite evident we must work on her manners."

"It's been a long day. The carriage should be here shortly," I said. "We shall return at noon tomorrow."

"Are you going to visit the salon tonight?" Claude asked.

"I may stop briefly if time allows."

"Would you tell them I hope to see everyone next week?"

I nodded. "Of course."

Claude said goodbye to his sister, who whispered her farewell before we made our silent walk through the campus and out to the front of the main building where our carriage awaited. From there, we took an uncomfortably silent and exceptionally long ride across Paris to my home without more than a handful of words exchanged.

"How was your visit?" Julia asked once Apolline left to attend studies with Lisette and Charles to help improve her ability to read and write. She was much further behind than Charles would have liked for a child of her age, but being ever optimistic, Monsieur Lowry was certain he could have her reading to Lisette's level by winter.

"Claude should be released tomorrow."

"Good. I do hope he is able to sleep comfortably in the study."

"He should. I've fallen asleep there multiple times without trying."

"I know, because you are terribly inconsistent with your sleep." Julia patted my chest and shook her head.

I shrugged, unable to disagree with her observation. "So I am."

"How was Apolline?"

"No different than she was earlier."

Julia frowned. "I'm sure Claude will speak to her."

"He did."

"And?"

"She said she is frightened of me."

Saying the words aloud made me shudder. The days of being seen as some despicable creature would never be behind me, no matter what I said or did. Attempting to change the stalwart minds of strangers was futile.

"Dr. Anderson mentioned a procedure that might…" I was torn between saying 'lessen the appearance of the scars' and 'improve my overall appearance'. I wasn't sure what I preferred. "Might be of interest in the future."

I followed Julia into the dining room where she had a light lunch set out for the two of us with salad, cheeses and sliced beef. "Surgery?" she questioned. "For?"

I removed my mask and placed it onto my knee, grateful for the sensation of cool air on my cheek.

"For the scars," I replied.

Julia's expression darkened and my stomach dropped.

"What would that entail?" she asked.

"The removal of flesh from a different part of my anatomy to replace the tissue that is damaged."

Once I said it aloud, the notion seemed far more concerning than it had when Dr. Anderson had inquired about my interest in the procedure. It would not be simply one procedure, but two separate surgeries performed at the same time.

Julia stared at me, her eyes flitting between the left and right side of my face. "You wish to undergo surgery?"

"Shouldn't I?" I countered, my temper getting the best of me.

Julia reached for her fork and paused, evaluating me once more. "Whatever your decision, I will support you."

I studied her for a long moment, feeling her trepidation lingering between us. "But?"

She took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "What do you know of the procedure?"

I took a bite of salad and shrugged, wanting as much time as possible to avoid her question. "The details have not been discussed in depth as of yet."

"Well, then I think it would be best to know how long you would be under anesthesia as well as how many procedures have been done previously. And of those procedures already performed, how many were successful."

She made perfect sense and I wanted nothing to do with reasonable questions. I wanted to be able to walk into a room or hold a conversation without being blatantly stared at. I wanted to look at my reflection and not feel repulsion at the sight of myself. I wanted to be free of wearing a mask for the rest of my life.

But I required far too much to correct the scars and the surgery would not eradicate the wretchedness of my appearance. I knew that I would never be perfect. Or normal. Or acceptable when it came to how I looked. Perhaps there would be no improvement whatsoever and I would be left in far worse condition than when I had arrived for surgery. I had been born a miserable beast and the world would not allow me to forget my fate, no matter what I did.

"If you don't want me to do it, Julia, say so," I tersely grumbled, agitated by my own thoughts.

Julia frowned at me, her eyes searching my face.

"I…I should not have spoken to you in such a manner," I said, looking away from her. "Forgive my temper. I am not angry with you, Julia."

"Erik," she said quietly, placing her fork on the edge of her plate. She stood, bent at the waist, and kissed my temple. "I know you are not angry with me. You are hurt and frustrated, not angry."

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. A place of anger, a place that has not yet healed. The place within me wasn't healed because the world would not allow it. Day after day I had been picked apart by total strangers who thought so little of me that they didn't see a human being, let alone a suffering child. They saw a creature that they could taunt and spit on, grab by the hair or throw rotting food at for their own amusement.

"It's a tempting offer," I murmured. "To wake one day as a different person."

Julia sat beside me once more. She reached out and settled her hand over mine. "The decision is yours, however, if it were up to me, I would not have you do it."

I didn't know what I expected, but her words brought a sense of disappointment.

"May I ask why?"

"Many reasons. You run the risk of anesthesia not agreeing with you in a similar fashion to what you described with Claude having difficulty waking. There is also the possibility of infection when removing flesh and suturing it to another part of the body. And as much as I hate to think of it, your family losing you unexpectedly during or shortly after surgery is more than we could bear," Julia explained, her voice shaking. "I understand you may feel differently, but I wouldn't change anything about you."

I raised a brow, finding her words incredulous. "Nothing, my dearest wife?"

Julia smiled. "Well, before my husband thinks he is flawless, I should amend my statement. I suppose if I wished to change anything about you it would be the way in which you leave your work spaces in shambles. Quite frankly, I have no idea how the famous composer I married hasn't sent a symphony with a page or two missing from the middle or an opera missing an entire act."

"My chaos is more organized than you think," I assured her.

"I have my doubts, but I still like my chaotically organized husband just the way he is." She leaned toward me and kissed my damaged cheek.

I inhaled, wishing I felt the same.

Her hand rested against my chest, index finger circling over my heart. "This is the part of you I like the best, the part I would never wish to change."

I kissed her gently, then rested my forehead against hers. "I will speak to Dr. Anderson and tell her of our decision."

Julia laced her fingers with mine. "When is your next appointment?"

"At three."

She smiled. "Husband, we have the whole house to ourselves until then," she said, her voice dropping lower. "For two hours."

"Wife." I raised a brow and pulled Julia to her feet. Her arms were instantly around my neck, her body pressed to mine. "And not a second to waste."

OoO

I met with LeBlanc, Agard and several members of the orchestra later in the afternoon to discuss the final touches of the performances, review the program details, and retrieve the check for Claude's artwork.

Our chosen place of meeting was within the orchestra pit, and the moment we walked from the hall and through the door into the place where I would be conducting, I paused and attempted to memorize every detail from how the seats looked behind me to the placement of the chairs that would be occupied by the musicians playing my music.

Gooseflesh rose along my arms and I felt my throat tighten. Hundreds of times I had walked into the orchestra pit at the Opera Populaire alone and in the dark long after the theater closed and no one dared roamed the darkness.

Sometimes I stood alone on the podium, silently conducting the imaginary orchestra. Other times I sat at first violin and envisioned myself prepared to play in my very first symphony. Countless times I sat alone in the corner in front of the harp, plucking the strings one by one as I listened to the notes echo through the emptiness, wondering how the son of the devil could create such heavenly music.

The memory made me shiver.

A dream, I thought, a most wonderful dream. Quite possibly the desire I had held onto the longest, to be amongst musicians playing music. For so long I had done everything in solitude.

"Your home for a few weeks," Adrian Agard said as he stood beside me. "I am loaning you my most precious place on this earth, Monsieur, and I am confident this modest pit of ours and our most esteemed musicians are in good hands with you."

"If they are not, you may demote me from the position of conductor and resume your duties."

Adrian offered a quick smile. "Antonio would not simply have my head, Monsieur Kire, he would have both of my arms and my legs as well and he'd certainly beat me with all of my own limbs."

"Charming thought," Antonio said as he bustled around the pit straightening chairs that were perfectly fine where they were. Once they were arranged to his satisfaction, the musicians took their places.

Adrian rattled off their names swiftly before he led them through half of a symphony, offering me a taste of their talent. He boasted about the timbre of the violin and the way the cellist was able to evoke so much emotion. The color of the flute and how they had the very best bassoonist in all of Europe.

"And now," said a familiar voice from the stage. I glanced up from where I sat beside Antonio to see Madeline towering over us, cane tucked under her arm and hands folded. "You have the best composer and conductor."

"Those are two separate people, yes?" Adrian asked. He gestured toward me. "I assume this is the composer and, well, the conductor…" He placed his hand against his own chest.

Madeline gazed down at him and offered a closed-lipped smile. "We shall see if you are still the self-proclaimed greatest conductor Paris has ever seen, Monsieur Agard, we shall see."

Adrian leaned toward me. "She loves me," he whispered.

"Don't push your luck, Agard," Madeline said before she walked off stage.

Madeline joined us in the orchestra pit a few moments later and sat quietly at my side while Antonio went through the musical selections and handed out the booklets he had arranged.

"Would you like to lead the first chairs through the opening selection?" Antonio asked. He appeared quite eager to hear me conduct his beloved orchestra.

Without me agreeing, the musicians began reaching for their instrument cases, which gave me no choice but to nod. I took my place on the stand and opened the booklet Antonio had provided.

I took a deep breath and risked a glance at the musicians waiting for me to guide them. Every one of them appeared notably eager with their hands poised.

And then the music started and I felt the anxiety wash away, replaced by calm I'd never known before. The notes took over, flowing through my veins and out through every steady breath. I saw my music vividly in bright, popping colors despite the dark venue, just as it often came to me when I composed or played through any piece of music. This time, however, the colors were not simply splotches here and there in the back of my mind, but a portrait that stretched through every corner of the theater, one flowing into the other to create a masterpiece that surrounded the musicians and listeners alike. The melody came to life, revealing itself to me in a most intimate fashion as though each note animated the sound.

The overture ended, the colors dimmed, and the theater fell momentarily silent. I held my breath, trepidation threatening to crowd out the elation I'd felt being an active part of my own creation.

"That was outstanding," the gentleman playing the flute said as he turned to the clarinet player.

"We could have sold tickets for this rehearsal," the horn player said.

Antonio nodded in approval while Madeline and Adrian smiled at one another. One by one, I met the eye of each musician sitting in first chair and received their silent blessing.

"Ladies and gentleman, this time tomorrow?" Adrian asked. "We will go through the entire performance start to finish."

A murmur of approval passed through the orchestra pit as the musicians began putting away their instruments. They nodded and waved at me before slowly exiting into the hall.

"What did you think?" Antonio asked me.

"I think I am a bit jealous of the audience getting to merely enjoy the music from their seats."

Antonio grunted. "You may become a regular for us yet, Monsieur Kire."

Antonio excused himself, stating he had work to complete in his office. Adrian lingered a moment longer, standing with the door propped open.

"You are a natural, Monsieur," he praised. "Almost as wonderful of a conductor as you are a musician yourself. I must ask, do you play the violin exclusively?"

"With enough time I am certain I could play anything," I arrogantly answered. "I beg your pardon, but I don't believe I have had the pleasure of playing for you."

Adrian chuckled to himself. "You played for the entire park. I saw you from a distance on my way here, actually, and once I was closer and realized who was entertaining the crowd, I dropped five francs into your violin case."

I grunted. "Perhaps I've found a way to make a modest living if I never sell another opera."

"You've got five francs from me," Adrian said as he showed us into the hall.

I nodded and began to excuse myself, but Adrian reached out and I paused.

"If there is anything you may need, Monsieur Kire, it would be my pleasure to assist you."

"There is nothing–" I stopped myself short and furrowed my brow. "Actually, do you have any music by Hartmann?"

"Which one?"

I blinked at him. "The Danish one?"

Adrian gave an appreciative smile. "There are four Hartmann composers. Grandfather, father, son, and grandson respectively named Johann, August, Johan and Emil."

"Clearly I am not well-versed in Danish composers hailing from the same family," I impatiently said. "Monsieur, I am merely in need of a Danish opera from whichever composer you prefer."

"Of course," Adrian replied. "Johan, I believe, will suit your needs. I will see it done for you with pleasure."

OoO

"Are you walking home?" Madeline asked as we returned to the main floor of the opera house and Adrian disappeared into Antonio's office.

"I am."

"Do you care for some company?"

"Is the company you?" I inquired.

Her eyes narrowed and I half expected her to pinch me or strike my shin with the end of her cane. Her silence, however, was far more concerning.

"I would be honored to have you accompany me," I said, offering my arm. "But I do intend to walk through the park if you don't mind the extra ten minutes."

"An extra ten minutes of you grousing? Nothing would bring me greater joy."

"Indeed."

She waited to speak until we were half a street away from the theater.

"You looked comfortable there in the orchestra pit," she commented. "And the members of the orchestra in attendance were very pleased to meet you."

I smiled inwardly, grateful for her observation.
"Then I have managed to fool at least one person."

Madeline tsked me. "You cannot truly feel that way."

"I suppose I don't."

"You are far too accustomed to being surly," she said. "I will have to speak to your wife for allowing this disagreeable mood of yours to continue."

"Allowing indeed," I grumbled. "I am the head of the household and I shall be as surly as I please."

"Irascible tendencies aside, you should know that I am quite proud of you, Erik," she said, patting my forearm. "And I do hope you can set aside your self-deprecation for the time being and allow yourself to enjoy this accomplishment. You have earned this through years and years of hard work and dedication."

"May I ask you, when listening to the orchestra, what do you see?" I asked.

"On the stage?"

"No. I mean to ask–" I paused, unsure of how to describe what I experienced when there was music in the air.

"What do you see?" Madeline countered.

"You will think me mad," I mumbled.

"Describe it to me anyhow."

"It's like a portrait in motion coming together note by note," I said. "The deep red of fresh cherries, the dark gray of storm clouds, green as the leaves in the park and yellow…" I gazed ahead, my attention drawn to a woman with a yellow parasol twirling over her shoulder.

"That sounds lovely," Madeline commented.

"She is," I absently said as I found myself staring at Florine Fabienne.