I've waited for months to get to the first half of this chapter. It was great fun writing this from Erik's POV.

Ch 156

There were eight cows inside the milking parlor by the time Lan tossed his hands in the air out of frustration and stated that he was going to the out kitchen to help Hilda with the cheese where 'the world was not fraught with chaos and disorganization;.

"You would be a terrible dairy farmer," Lan said to me before he turned on his heel and stormed out.

"Shall I keep playing?" I asked once it was me, Toke, and eight dairy cows, three of which had surrounded me, curious noses sniffing at my face and chest. I lowered the instrument and patted one on the head.

Toke held onto the bars and stood. "You finish the last two," he said as he walked out of the stall and motioned for me to take his place. He hobbled along, grimacing with each step.

"Finish what?" I asked.

"Milking."

"I highly doubt…" I consulted the halter for the name that was embroidered across the strap on the cow's cheek. "Astrid…would agree to this."

"I'm tired," Toke said. "Your turn."

"But–"

"You wish to help your grandfather?"

I sighed, placed my violin and bow into the case, rolled up my sleeves, and took a deep breath. Milking a cow was far beyond my skill set. I took a seat on the stool, which was far too low to the ground for my long legs, and started to reach beneath the animal.

"Don't make her nervous," Toke said. "And use the solution first."

"What solut–" I looked to my left and discovered two smaller buckets, both a concerning shade of brown.

Toke provided instructions on how to prevent bacteria from entering the milk supply, followed by verbal and visual instructions of the correct positioning of my fingers to make Astrid most comfortable during my first attempt at milking.

"Playing the violin is not so different from milking a cow," Toke said as he took the filled buckets to the shelf.

"Have you ever played the violin?" I asked, giving the cow a gentle squeeze of her udder.

Playing the violin and milking a cow had absolutely nothing in common. The barest drip of milk spilled into the bucket and the cow took a small step back as if I had offended her.

"No, I have not played a violin previously, and you must pull down on the teat," he said, showing me with his hands again. "Firm."

I was fairly certain that if I were a dairy cow, I would not have wanted a complete novice firmly pulling on any part of my anatomy.

"Alright, Astrid," I said under my breath. "Let's give it a go."

I made another attempt and was far more successful, and I managed to find a comfortable rhythm using both hands. Astrid placed her head into the bucket and ate her fill of grain while I continued the process of obtaining a full container of milk without her so much as lifting her head once.

"Gyda was much faster," Toke commented as he watched me.

"Valuable information," I said under my breath and in French.

"What did you say?"

"I said I doubt I can compete with either of you," I replied in Danish.

Toke fell silent for a moment, his eyes set upon me, but with no corrections to my form or technique, for which I was grateful as I had no desire to hear him say 'firm' or 'teat' again.

"Do you sing as well as play instruments?" he asked.

"Not in a professional capacity," I said. "And truly I haven't sung in a while for anyone," I said.

Unless singing to Bessie counted, in which case I frequently serenaded the dog like a lovesick suitor attempting to win over a girl I fancied. Sometimes, especially when I played my violin and sang at the same time, Bessie would accompany me by throwing her head back and howling.

"Switch teats," Toke said.

I glanced at him, still quite uncomfortable with the process of having my hands beneath such a large creature.

"Do you sing?" I asked, hoping for a distraction from my farm duties.

"No," he said without a moment of hesitation.

"Not even to the cows?" I asked, recalling what Phelan had said to me.

"Only in front of the herd," he said.

"Would you sing for Astrid?"

He immediately scowled, but in a way that was half-hearted. "Why would a big city composer want to hear a dairy farmer sing?"

I couldn't help but smile at his question. "Not me," I said, nodding at the cow. "Astrid."

"Do you think you are cunning, Erik?" he grumbled.

I decided not to ask him again, wary that he would take offense if I continued to ask. The cow stepped back and I moved the bucket before she tipped it over.

"Wash her," Toke ordered before she was out of the stall.

"Your bath, Mademoiselle," I said, feeling completely ridiculous dipping the udders of a cow into a bucket. I could see my updated biography in the theater's program: Erik Kire, the famed composer of multiple operas and symphonies as well as a cheese maker and bovine handler.

"What is in the bucket?" I asked.

"Iodine," he said. "I have not lost a cow in twenty-six years due to an infection and my milk is pure as it comes."

Another cow stepped into the stall once I finished with Astrid. "Marlowe," I said, reaching for the first bucket. "You are fortunate Astrid allowed me to practice on her."

Unlike Astrid, Marlowe seemed disinterested in conversation. Once she was appropriately cleaned, I found myself more confident with the task of milking a cow as well as the melody created by squirting the milk against the sides of the metal bucket. I tapped my foot and hummed to myself, recreating a very simple version of a waltz I'd written over the summer.

"I don't know that one," Toke said.

"Lizette's Waltz," I said. "For my daughter. I haven't published it yet."

"You wrote her a song?"

"One full song and a bar here and there that haven't been completed for another composition," I answered. "I don't write many waltzes as it is, but when played on a violin, it reminds me of her."

Toke grunted. "She must be very special to you."

"She is," I replied. "I never knew I wanted a daughter until I married Julia, and now I cannot imagine life without Lisette."

"I wanted sons," Toke glowered. "And God gave me twin girls."

His words gave me pause. I thought of the disappointment Julia described Louis expressing when Lisette was born, his reaction unreasonably violent in nature as he had thrown a vase at his wife for not giving him the son he desired.

If Alex had been a girl, it would have not mattered to me. A son or a daughter made no difference; I simply felt a great sense of gratitude having my child alive and in my arms.

"When did you decide to tolerate them?" I asked.

Toke moved my violin and sat on the stool by the wall.

"I never tolerated Greta and Gyda," he said. "I went from disappointed that there would not be strapping young lads to take over the dairy to deeply in love as soon as Hilda handed them to me." He smiled to himself. "I didn't want to give them back to their mother once I looked at their faces and felt their tiny hands wrap around my fingers. I never wanted to put them down at all."

"I felt the same when I held Alex for the first time," I said. "Madeline was surprised Alex learned to walk at all."

"Who is Madeline?"

"An adoptive sister of sorts," I said, deciding it was best not to call Madeline my adoptive mother in front of my grandfather.

"Do you write songs for your son as well?"

"Hundreds, I'm certain."

"You have published these songs?" Toke asked.

"No," I answered. "They were mostly nonsensical melodies with lyrics only a toddler would appreciate. The songs for Alex were only for us."

There was nothing masterful about the melodies I hummed or played for my son, but his reaction was sheer delight. My only intention was for him to smile and laugh or babble along with me, and in that respect I was successful.

I cleared my throat and grabbed an empty bucket, using it as a drum as I sang, "Alexandre, Alexandre, first he crawled and now he ran, to the market, down the street, with his boots upon his feet. Alexandre, Alexandre, he is grand."

Once I returned the empty bucket beside the full one, I chuckled to myself. "Nothing that will ever grace the stages of Paris, but in our home, it was most definitely my most popular composition. I'm certain I sang it hundreds of times for him, quite possibly in the same day."

"That is like…" Toke started to say before he stopped himself and cleared his throat.

Kong Toke, I knew he would say if he allowed himself a moment to recall the moments spent with his daughters, entertaining them with the song that had been theirs alone.

I studied him for a moment, this stoic man in his eighties who had lost his children more than seventy years earlier. It was beyond my comprehension that he had lived all of those decades without speaking of them to anyone, not even his own wife.

"Like the songs you sang to your own children," I said.

He waved a dismissive hand at me. "I am not a famous composer. I am a dairy farmer."

"My occupation made no difference to my son," I said. "It was simply sounds he imitated that could have come from anyone. And in all honesty, Alex still doesn't think of me as famous or my music the least bit important, for that matter. When I return home I'm fairly certain he will introduce me to his friends as his father who milks cows."

"A respectable occupation." Toke chuckled. "And you should tell your children how you played the violin for the herd."

"Do you think the cows enjoy big city music?" I asked as I finished filling the bucket.

Toke shrugged. He took both full buckets and placed them on the shelf near the door. "It's not bad. Better than I–they expected."

Inwardly I smiled. "Perhaps before the end of the week I will be able to play something more familiar and to their liking, if you would care to teach me."

Toke nodded once. "Perhaps."

Before he turned away from me, I saw him smile.

oOo

The rest of the farm chores were completed by three in the afternoon with supper served once again at four.

My food consumption for the day consisted of half a sandwich and at least a half dozen cookies and small cakes, and by the time Hilda walked out with our meal, I was ravenous.

My left shoulder continued to ache, and Hilda served tea that she swore helped to ease all pains from headaches to muscles and even broken hearts. I wasn't sure if it truly worked or if I wished to believe in her magical elixir, but after half a cup, I swore my shoulder pain decreased.

"This," Hilda said as she held up a board with cheeses and dried meats, "is a very special cheese." She looked at Lan and offered a warm smile, which he returned. "Made by my beloved big grandson when he visited in the spring."

"Are you certain it's edible?" I dryly questioned.

Hilda was not amused by my words and swatted my arm. "Be still, grandson," she admonished. "And be nicer to your older brother."

"Yes," Phelan agreed. He shook his head at me. "Keep your mouth closed and be nicer to your older brother, Kire."

"You be nice as well, big grandson," Hilda said with a shake of her finger.
"Well, he started it."

Hilda came up from behind Phelan and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him on the top of the head. "You are a wonderful grandson," she said in German. "Such a good helper to your grandmother."

Phelan rolled his eyes. "You needn't treat me like I'm five."

"I don't care how old you are, my beloved," she said, kissing him again. "I am so thankful to have you here with me."

"Yes, yes, you're welcome," my brother groused in the least convincing way possible.

I noticed he made no attempt to free himself from her doting and in fact placed his hands over her arms so that she continued to embrace him.

"Grandmothers always love their grandchildren, no matter their age."

"By all means, Hilda, serve my delectable cheese to silence the naysayers," Phelan insisted.

We overindulged in cheese, meat, grapes, and bread warm from the oven before desserts made with spiced apples were served.

Once we were sufficiently stuffed, Hilda insisted everyone would be more comfortable in the parlor while I provided entertainment.

The second round of music was far easier than the first, and I settled into a comfortable arrangement of my own music as well as other compositions I thought my audience would enjoy.

It was almost six-thirty when I stopped playing. Toke was sound asleep in his chair and Hilda looked as though she would shut her eyes at any moment.

"Don't stop," she yawned. "I'm still listening."

"Tomorrow," I insisted.

She motioned me closer as she stood and took my hand. "What a gift you have, grandson, just like your mother."

She patted my right shoulder for me to bend and I hesitated, knowing she wished to kiss me on the cheek as she had done to my brother countless times. Before I outright refused, she kissed her fingers and pressed them to my chest.

"My beloved grandson," she said. Without warning she threw her arms around me and squeezed me tightly, allowing me to kiss the top of her head.

All of her affection encompassed me with a single hug. She pressed her face to my chest and ran her hand down the length of my spine as she groaned. It sounded as if her desire to show love was insatiable and she could not possibly release me.

"I feel your belly," she whispered. "It is thanking me for feeding you."

I released an appreciative laugh. "Is it now?"

She nodded and squeezed me a second time. "You are welcome, grandson's belly."

"You know," Phelan said to Hilda when she finally let me go. "Someone in town asked Erik to play."

Hilda gasped and took a step back, squeezing my upper arms. "Oh, how wonderful! When are you playing, beloved?"

"I declined," I said, glaring at my brother for bringing it up.

Hilda frowned. "You will reconsider, my beloved grandson," she firmly said.

"I hope he does," Phelan agreed with her.

Our grandmother put her arms around him one more time and kissed his cheek. "You will convince him, won't you? Surely you will change his mind."

"I will do my best for you, Hilda."

After an extended farewell, we walked out of the house and onto the road. Weariness felt as though it weighed physically down on me, my legs and arms fatigued while my mind felt gauzy.

"I've never wanted a bath so much in my life," Lan said. He took a deep breath and released a very loud yawn that caused me to do the same. "I definitely did twice as much as you today."

"I beg your pardon? You did twice as much as me?" I asked.

"That is precisely what I said, little brother."

"I believe you had the easier duties today."

"Don't be ridiculous, Kire. What could you have possibly done that was more difficult than what I did?"

"Milked cows," I answered.

My brother blew air past his lips. "And you probably weren't nearly as efficient as Gyda."

"How did you know?"

"Because Toke tells me every single time. Why do you think I returned to the out kitchen? Cheese pressing is more physically demanding, but my skill isn't evaluated." Phelan rolled up his sleeve and flexed his bicep. "Look at these cheese pressing muscles, Kire. I've earned my hot bath for the evening."

I rolled my eyes. "Indeed."

Aksel enthusiastically waved me down the moment we walked into the lobby.

"My most popular guests!" he said.

I exchanged looks with my brother. "Popular?" I questioned.

"Of course we are popular, Kire. I'm a renowned painter and you're a popular composer," Lan said, puffing out his chest.

Aksel presented me with a sizable number of telegrams, bound in two separate stacks, along with a receipt for the transmissions, which I had no desire to see based solely on the number of cards.

"From your family," Aksel said.

"Popular indeed," I said.

Phelan placed two bank notes on the counter and nodded toward our suites. "Hopefully a bit extra to cover whatever Alex sends next."

"Gentlemen, would you like the tubs filled now?"

"Yes," Phelan said before I had a moment to consider the question.

"And your cookies?"

"Yes," I answered before my brother could decline.

Aksel handed me a plate of sugar cookies and I thanked him, turning to follow Lan outside to one of the tables on the covered wooden porch reserved for hotel guests.

"For you," my brother said, placing my telegrams on the table.

He flipped through his telegrams like a deck of cards and sat back, staring across the street, appearing quite relaxed with our surroundings. I absently ate three cookies before he turned and looked at me.

"Next time I could ask for a bag of sugar if you'd like."

"I would eat it," I said, tone matching his sardonic inflection.

"You don't grow tired of sweets?" he asked.

"Should I be tired of them?"

Phelan shrugged. "As much as I would enjoy ordering you about, little brother, I suppose that's entirely a personal preference."

I took another bite of the cookie I'd grabbed from the plate between us. "Then my preference is sweets."

Phelan grunted and pushed the plate between us closer to me. "I thought for certain you would read the telegram from Julia immediately."

"I'm preparing myself for the worst. Why haven't you read yours yet?"

Lan issued a pointed look in my direction. "I believe I will wait until I'm soaking in a tub of hot, perfumed water."

I was not nearly as patient as my brother and untied the string, setting it aside as I shuffled through the telegrams until I found two from Julia.

Phelan sat forward, resting his chin on his hand as he silently waited for me to read what my wife wrote.

Erik,

I hope you are enjoying your time away rather than worrying about the performances.

Antonio has changed 'He has Returned' from full orchestra to a piano accompaniment with you possibly playing for the solo. He would like you to say a few words following intermission.

There is also another upcoming project he would like you to consider contributing to as well, but said he would speak with you on the matter in person.

She continued to say that Bessie was exhausted as Alex, Lisette and Apolline took turns running with her down the street and Claude took her to the park when he visited with his friends.

I do believe Bessie misses the scraps you provide for her under the table and the more leisurely strolls you take in the evening.

With all of my love,

Julia

I looked up and found Phelan intensely staring back at me. "What level of hell do I need to give Le Blanc?" he asked.

"None," I said. "At least not yet."

"I am happy for you and disappointed for myself."

Aksal appeared a moment later. "The tubs are almost filled."

Harald and Signe, whom I was certain were brother and sister, were exiting our suites when we walked up the stairs.

"Good afternoon, Herr Kimmer," Signe said to my brother, offering a curtsy.

"Mademoiselle." Lan smiled in return and bowed, which made the girl blush profusely.

"Enjoy your…Oh my!" she clamped both hands over her mouth and scurried away, looking as though she wished to disappear into the walls.

"What did she say?" Phelan asked me, giving her a curious look as she disappeared around the corner.

"I believe she was about to say enjoy your bath."

Phelan shook his head and shrugged as he opened the door to his suite and walked inside. I had barely removed my shoes and socks when I heard him splash into the tub and groan quite loudly.

"Heavenly, Kire," he said.

A moment later I had the rest of my telegrams on the stack of towels beside the tub and sank into the water, slowly submerging myself up to my neck.

The tension in my shoulder slowly subsided and I sat with my legs outstretched and eyes closed, savoring the sensation of boiling.

"Have you tried the perfume?" Lan asked, his voice echoing from the other room.

"Not yet," I said, reaching over the edge of the tub for the amber bottle that had 'spiced' scrawled on the label.

One sniff confirmed that the scent was indeed spiced, a combination of black pepper, clove, and possibly lavender, and I poured a small amount into the tub.

"I feel like I'm in a giant cup of tea," my brother said.

"One that I could soak in for hours," I agreed, taking a deep breath that cleared my sinuses.

"Who else wrote to you besides your wife?" he asked after a long silence.

"Lisette, Alex, Alex pretending to be Bessie, Madeline and Claude. And yours?"

"Marco, Alex a number of times, and Apolline with assistance from Lisette."

"I think it would have been less expensive to take Alex with me," I said, noticing he had sent me three as himself in addition to the one from Bessie, which I read first.

Alex was quite entertaining in his correspondence, and I smiled to myself as I read his telegram from Bessie, who was exhausted from chasing three children as well as several walks with Claude as Julia had mentioned.

"What did Marco say?"

I heard the rustle of paper from the other room. "Alex made him write to me again," Phelan answered.

I rolled my eyes. Marco was in his twenties and despite Alex being persuasive, I doubted he could convince Marco to write a telegram against his will.

"He asked if we could bring back a recipe for the cheese as he'd like to try his hand at making his own."

"Something for you to teach him?" I questioned.

Lan made a sound that I assumed meant he would consider it.

"I suppose if nothing else, you can use your unmatched strength to press cheese."

My brother chuckled to himself. "I would say that tomorrow we will test your strength by doing chin-ups, but I'm certain your arm will fall off at your shoulder."

"Most likely," I agreed.

"How is your shoulder?"

"Better," I answered. "A bit sore, but it aches from time to time."

"Remind me, what happen to your shoulder?" he asked.

"I went to The Wisteria Hotel," I said.

"Did you fall off the lift?"

"I paid a visit to Christine after she sang at the Exposition," I said.

Phelan's lips parted. "Ah, yes. I recall you mentioning it at the Sorbonne. You were involved in a physical altercation with Christine's husband, correct?"

Inwardly I cringed. "Yes, with him and two of his friends after the three of them returned from a night of celebration."

"Three against one?" Phelan asked.

I could tell by the change in his tone that he was upset by my response.

"Yes, but at least they had the courtesy to escort me from the hotel first," I said. My heart began to race as I thought of that night. Almost certainly the memories would become nightmares. "And then…I don't remember much of what ensued. One moment I was swinging wildly, fighting quite literally for my life, the next moment I woke and they were gone."

Phelan cursed under his breath.

"Alex found me. He brought Julia with him and somehow the two of them were able to wheel me home in one of Charles Lowry's old wheelchairs."

"That was how Alex saw you without your mask."

I nodded. Phelan frowned at me.

"The next time I see de Chagny, I will strangle that cowardly bastard with my bare hands," Phelan said through his teeth.

"There's no need," I said.

"How can you possibly say that? If he had killed you–"

"He didn't."

"But he tried. What sort of bastard brings his friends into a disagreement?"

I gave my brother a sideways look, knowing he was aware that the incident was far more than a disagreement.

"In fairness, I may have attempted to kill him as well a decade ago," I explained. "If anything I suppose we are now even."

My brother scoffed. "I will decide when it's even."

"The sentiment is appreciated, however, I will remind you that I am forty-two years of age and not in need of a champion."

"I must say, Kire, I never would have taken de Chagny for the type to engage in an unfair fight," Phelan said. "He was always so…mild."

I furrowed my brow. "I wasn't aware that the two of you were acquainted well enough where you knew his disposition."

"He's a well-groomed aristocrat and the sole heir to the de Chagny fortune. Of course I know his disposition. He's as interesting as a rag. In fact, going forward I shall refer to him as Rag de Chagny."

I snorted.

"Raoul was practically a child when I first officially met him, barely older than my art students," my brother continued. "He was quite generous, actually, going further than what his father's will required of his inherited funds."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Because I handled their bank account for six years," Phelan answered. "In what seems like a completely different and dreadful lifetime imprisoned within the confines of a bank."

"Is that how you met him?" I asked, unable to imagine my brother behind a desk balancing books and sifting through ledgers.

"His money, yes. I met Raoul at the Opera Populaire in either seventy-nine or eighty when there was an issue with my season ticket and then we happened to meet multiple times before the opening of Don Juan Triumphant."

My breath stilled. "I see."

"And around that time he purchased one of my paintings, actually. The first to sell from a gallery that wasn't to a friend of mine."

"You seem to know him better than I would have originally thought," I muttered.

"Yes," Phelan said dryly. "Rag and I go way back, Kire. We have such a fabled history."

"What was the painting of, if I may ask?" I asked.

I heard my brother inhale. "It's been years. I don't recall."

I furrowed my brow. He answered my question immediately, not taking a moment to think it over. "You don't remember at all?"

Phelan sighed, the end of his breath sounding like a growl. "It was a tree and he had someone purchase it on his behalf. That's all I recall for certain."

"I wonder if he remembers."

"That will be my final inquiry before I strangle him on your behalf."

"Before you begin threatening him, I should inform you that Raoul offered Claude a teaching position at the home where Apolline resided."

"And what did Claude say?"

"He accepted."

"This is favorable?"

"Financially it is," I admitted.

"Good. I will thank de Chagny before I kill him."

I heard Phelan stand, the water cascading off of him, and I sat upright, fully expecting he would march into my suite and announce we would be returning to Paris in the morning so that he could murder Raoul on my behalf.

"You're getting out?" I asked.

I looked at the clock and realized an hour had passed since we had been soaking.

"The water has gotten colder than I prefer," my brother said. "And I'm quite certain that the heaviness to my eyes is enough to weigh me to the bottom of the tub and drown me."

His flare for the dramatic was quite impressive. I chuckled to myself and reached for my robe.

oOo

My arm still hurt to lift above shoulder level, making it difficult to button my shirt properly. I grimaced as I walked into my brother's suite and fit the last two buttons through the holes.

"You're still in pain?"

"A bit of discomfort, not throbbing pain."

"You are the most disagreeable person I've ever met in my life," he said with a shake of his head. "You should have asked the lady surgeon to take a look at your shoulder when she was tending to Claude."

"Dr. Anderson?" I asked, feeling quite confident that she would have been grossly offended by my brother referring to her by her gender rather than simply her title.

"Yes, or Dr. Khan."

"Dr. Anderson did an exam for me, but I didn't think to ask about my shoulder since it wasn't bothersome at the time."

"Exam? What sort of exam?" Lan asked. He paused from pushing the newly delivered service tray of hot tea and sandwiches toward his bed where I'd taken up residence.

"The scars," I answered.

My brother was quiet for a moment. He poured tea for both of us without meeting my eye and set the plate with finger sandwiches between us. Despite my affinity for sweets, I was glad to see that there were no cookies delivered as I couldn't possibly eat another one for the remainder of the day.

"I was not aware that the surgeon performed an exam."

"It was after you returned home," I said. "I suppose it never came up after that."

"What did she say about the scars?" he asked, climbing onto the mattress to sit beside me.

"She said that they were caused before birth," I answered. "There is a layer of flesh missing that causes it to be thinner in parts. Surgery might lessen the appearance–"

"Surgery?"

My brother sounded far more alarmed than I had anticipated. I took a deep breath of perfumed, humid air before proceeding.

"We didn't discuss it in depth, but Dr. Anderson said that there is a procedure that could be done either in London or at the Sorbonne."

"And this surgery would entail what, exactly?"

"Two separate surgeries. One to remove flesh from a different part of my anatomy and then another to sew it to the damaged parts."

"Leaving an additional scar," Phelan said under his breath.

"One that would not be visible to others," I said.

"What did Julia say on the matter?"

I reached up and touched my forehead and temple, feeling along the uneven ridges and lumps of misshapen flesh. I had memorized the appearance of the scars, the sunken portion beneath my eye, the lump that made my bottom lip appear as though it was swollen, the rise of flesh on my cheek and the thinner part stretched at my temple.

Desperately I wished that my mask was on the bedside table and not in my own suite, forgotten atop the chest of drawers. I supposed that leaving it behind was a testament of how much I truly trusted my brother, but in that moment I didn't trust my own dark thoughts.

"Julia thinks it carries too much risk," I said.

"I agree with your wife," my brother replied.

I scoffed at his words.

"Have you scheduled the surgery?"

"No, it was merely a discussion. Dr. Anderson will send me additional information if requested."

"Erik, you should listen to Julia. I agree with her that–"

"Of course you agree with Julia because neither of you can truly relate. You do not have to live like this," I snapped, glaring at him. "Like some terrible creature on display in a traveling fair."

Instantly I regretted speaking harshly. Phelan stared at me for a moment, cup of tea in hand. All I could think of was insufficient funds and hoped the same miserable echo didn't reverberate through my brother's thoughts.

At last Phelan turned away, staring straight ahead instead of at me. "I suppose that's true. I don't know what it is like to walk in your shoes," he said quietly. "But you also do not understand what it would be like for your family with the risks involved. There is quite a bit at stake."

"I know that, but…" I exhaled in frustration. "Lan, if it was possible to surgically remove the part of yourself you found most grotesque, would you do it?" I asked.

My brother was silent for a long moment, his fingers loosely wrapped around the small cup of tea nestled in the palm of his hands. His gray eyes were distant and forlorn, caught in some silent reflection.

"Unfortunately, the type of medical advancement needed to remove what I find abhorrent about myself is unlikely to be available in my lifetime," he said quietly.

The rawness to his words left me speechless. I watched him from the corner of my eye, unable to look directly at him and the sorrow I knew I would find in his gaze.

"What is it?" he questioned.

"What would you change?" I warily asked.

Phelan's eyes narrowed as he considered my inquiry. "Every bit of myself from the last forty years," he answered with a humorless chuckle. "Give or take a moment here and there."

"The last forty years? Because of me?" I asked, dreading his response.

Phelan shook his head. "No, of course not."

I silently questioned the validity of his words, but decided not to pursue a conversation that would potentially turn into an argument.

"I wish you didn't feel that way," I said. "As though you need to change yourself."

He turned his head and looked at me, gaze sweeping over the right side of my face. "And I could say the same to you, Erik."

"Understood."

Phelan looked as though he wished to speak, but reconsidered and instead returned the teacup to the tray. He reclined on the mattress and closed his eyes, placing his right hand on his stomach.

"At the risk of sounding terribly dramatic, Kire, if you proceeded with the surgery and there were severe complications, I don't know if I could bear the loss. I spent decades looking for you, found you at last, thought you were dead for another ten years and then suddenly you reappeared."

"I'm not going to pursue the surgery," I said. "You and Julia are correct. It would be risky and with Julia's condition, if there were complications with the anesthesia or infection…I could not leave her a widower with three children."

He popped one eye open. "Nothing please me more than making suggestions and having you agree with me."

"I suppose I shall work more diligently in living my life to please you."

"I shall hold you to your word, little brother."