CH 53

Celeste Guin paused at our table, standing between me and Abigail with one hand on her hip. Her black eyes gave Abigail a once-over, her gaze scrutinizing.

"Do I finally have the pleasure of meeting your wife?" Guin asked, looking from Abigail to me. Her lips formed a tight smile as if she was certain she'd caught me in a lie.

"A friend," I said. "Abigail Soward."

"Soward? From the little sewing shop next door? Do you work for your father?"

"The shop belonged to my husband," Abigail explained. "He passed away four years ago and now it belongs to me."

"A widow?" Guin arched a brow and glanced at me. "From one widow to another, I am terribly sorry for your loss."

"You are very kind, Madame…?"

"How rude of me," I said. "Abigail, this is Celeste Guin, one of Carmen's friends."

Guin shifted her weight, but didn't correct my statement regarding how she and I knew one another.

"Another Celeste," Abigail said.

Guin looked me over. "Another? Are you collecting women with the same name?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Abigail lower her gaze and smirk.

"You share a name with my cleaning assistant at the university," I replied.

"Madame Guin, I must say it's so nice meeting another one of Carmen's friends. I simply adore her," Abigail replied. "We were just at one of the game nights hosted by Phelan's cousin Sunday night. Have you attended previously?"

"I have. It appears we have much in common. How truly unfortunate our paths did not cross at the Kimmer residence previously. Perhaps another time we can speak at length." Again she glanced at me, but made no remark.

"That sounds lovely," Abigail said as she stood and I did the same. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my lunch hour is up and I must return to work."

Celeste offered another tight smile. "A pleasure meeting you, Madame Soward."

"You as well." Abigail smiled at me one last time. "I'll see you before the ballet."

I walked Abigail to the cafe door and turned, finding Guin behind me.

"Are you heading to the university?" she asked.

"I am. And you?"

"Same direction."

I nodded and she fell wordlessly into step beside me, her arm brushing mine.

"You must have a type," she said once we rounded the corner, heading in the direction of the university and her nameless destination.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You fancy widows, I see."

"That's the conclusion you've come to seeing me out with a friend?"

"A friend?" Guin scoffed. "You're sleeping with her, aren't you?"

I eyed her briefly.

"Friend indeed," Guin said under her breath.

"We are not–"

"Oh, you needn't lie to me, Kimmer. It was quite obvious from the way she looks at you that if you haven't already been tangled in her sheets, she is quite interested in inviting you into her bed and for that I could hardly blame her."

"Friends," I firmly said. "And despite what story you've concocted, I assure you there is nothing more."

Guin huffed. "You can tell yourself whatever you wish, Kimmer, but I can see plain as day what that friend of yours wants." She smiled to herself. "It's more than I want, that's for certain."

Without thinking I glanced at her.

"You know what I want from you," she said, giving me a sideways look. "And if you aren't interested in Madame Soward, then perhaps I'll invite you over tonight so that we can both enjoy some long overdue satisfaction."

"As much as I appreciate the invitation, I have a prior engagement this evening."

"With the other Celeste?" she questioned.

"My cleaning assistant," I said, "who is younger than my niece."

"You're babysitting?" Guin said, chuckling to herself.

"Yes," I said, annoyed by the conversation.

The university was not yet within view, but Guin came to an abrupt pause.

"You're certain you don't want to cancel your plans?" she asked, looking me up and down. "I am certain your evening could be much improved."

"Another time," I said.

"What makes you so certain I will extend the invitation again?"

It was my turn to look her over. "Because I know what you want from me and I am quite certain that you'll still be interested the next time our paths crossed."

"Perhaps," she coyly replied.

"Good day, Madame Guin."

oOo

I was almost to the university steps when Theo Van Gogh waved me down from across the street, arms wildly flailing.

"Please tell me you have good news and that it has nothing to do with anonymous buyers," I said.

"And good afternoon to you too, Phelan," he dryly replied.

"My apologies. Good afternoon, Theo. Now please say you have flagged me down with good news."

"I do have good news," he said. "Strange, but good."

"Is there any other type of news I would attract?"

Theo made a face. "I received a note from the Louvre today. Would you know anything about it?"

My stomach felt as though it dropped down to my knees. Briefly I closed my eyes, unable to tell from Theo's tone if he was annoyed or amused. "A note from Paul Pierret, per chance?"

Theo inhaled. "Yes, precisely."

"I was aware that someone invited him to the art gallery."

"Yes," Theo said. "And I'm assuming you are aware that the individual is none other than Bernard Montlaur."

My eyebrows shot up, my stomach slowly returning to its rightful position. "Then you are aware it was not my doing."

Theo chuckled to himself. "I personally didn't think you would be so bold as to storm the Louvre and tell the curator that he had better attend the art show."

Again, my stomach descended back to my knees. "Demanded? I was not aware that it was a demand."

Theo pursed his lips. "Very firmly encouraged."

"My apologies, Monsieur Van Gogh, I believe Monsieur Montlaur was not aware of whom he spoke to at the museum."

"On the contrary, Phelan. Montlaur knew precisely who he told to attend the show."

"I will speak to Monsieur Pierret if you'd like and explain to him that it was not at all a demand on my part," I offered. "And that Montlaur's actions do not reflect Stephan, the gallery, or you, for that matter."

To my surprise, Theo grinned back at me and shifted his weight. "You are in luck, Phelan, as Paul was not offended in the least and was actually quite amused by the conversation–at least after Montlaur left the museum with his daughter."

"Have you spoken to Pierret?" I asked.

"We met an hour ago," he explained. "At the art gallery, actually."

My stomach was most certainly swimming in my boots. "He went to the art gallery?" I questioned, barely recognizing my own voice.

"I do believe when a wall of muscle disguised as a man corners you in the museum and tells you where you should go and what you should see, you tend to listen." Theo shifted his weight. "The bad news is that Paul was not quite convinced to add any of your work to the current collection at the museum."

Quite frankly I didn't think that he would, but I pretended to be disappointed in the news.

"However," Theo continued. "We got to talking and I mentioned you were an art professor here and he was interested in speaking to you regarding your classes."

I blinked at Theo.

"He will be in touch."

"He wants to sit in on a class?" I asked.

"I cannot speak for Pierret, but I believe he is interested in your teaching style and will ask if you'd like to give an art lecture or something of the sort. Over the summer the Louvre is hosting a temporary exhibit on local artists. It wouldn't be a permanent piece, but it would be possible to have your work on display for the summer in their first hall."

My mind reeled, my stomach slowly returning to its place with the rest of my vital organs.

"The piece he would most likely wish to display, however, is already sold, so it would be a matter of having that one particular drawing on loan for a few months."

"The one Bernard purchased?"

Theo hesitated. "I cannot reveal an anonymous–"

"He told me," I said. "And I'm aware that he purchased the flame-colored tanager from Madame Fabienne as well."

"Good." Theo seemed relieved. "Whatever sort of partnership the two of you have formed for the sake of publicity seems to be quite beneficial."

I frowned at his words. "Partnership?"

"You've made my job significantly easier to promote you," Theo said. "Now, if you could ask him to borrow the drawing for a few months, I am certain you can add the Louvre to your resume."

"Me? You want me to ask him?"

"Yes," Theo said. He looked around the street. "I have no intention or desire to ask that man to do anything at all. He's a bit of a terrifying brute."

I smiled to myself. "Quite the contrary. He's as agreeable as a summer day."

oOo

There was a florist shop around the corner from my apartment that was run by two sisters in their twenties. The ladies could not have been more different: Clary was tall, thin as a rail, and had pin straight blond hair while her sister Cassandra was short, curvaceous, and had the wildest curls of blond hair I'd ever seen.

They ran one of the few shops in all of Paris that welcomed Elvira inside, and my fractious bird was well aware that she had to be on her best behavior, less she wanted to be banned from another establishment for her colorful language or attempting to bite. Surprisingly, despite being filled with flowers, the shop didn't aggravate my spring allergies, making it a location Elvira and I equally enjoyed.

"Clary! Elvira is here!" Cassandra called the moment I walked into the shop.

"Oh, wonderful! Did she bring Phelan?"

Both ladies burst into raucous laughter, which Elvira imitated, throwing back her head to join them in mirth. I couldn't help but chuckle at the three of them.

"How are you, Elvira?" Cassandra asked.

"I'm well, how are you, sweetheart?"

Cassandra giggled. "Oh, how I love when she talks."

"I love you too, my dear," Elvira responded.

"Clary, you're missing everything!" Cassandra shouted over her shoulder.

"What's the matter, darling?" Elvira said as she nibbled on my ear, gently requesting her reward for good behavior.

"I'm afraid Elvira only has a handful of appropriate phrases remaining before she starts screaming or talking like a drunken sailor."

"Then I suppose we should make haste," Clary said as she walked into the shop from the back room with a bucket of freshly cut flowers.

"Fadda!" Cassandra said. "Oh, Clary, you mustn't forget Fadda. You know how much he adores Elvira and her shoulder."

Clary issued a pointed look at her sister, slammed the bucket of flowers onto the counter, and marched back through the door where she appeared a moment later pushing her father's wheelchair.

I had never known Clary and Cassandra's father by his given name, but had known him as Fadda. He'd had a stroke several years earlier that left him unable to speak with clarity. Most of his words came out as grunt and groans, but he was always delighted in seeing Elvira and apparently me as well. He couldn't say my first or last name, but he said what sounded like 'shoulder' and that was how the three of them referred to us: Elvira and her Shoulder.

"Good afternoon," I said.

"Shoulder!" he rasped through his crooked, uncooperative mouth. With the use of his left hand, he tapped on the armrest, signaling Clary to wheel him around the displays of flowers and nearer to where I stood. "Eh!"

'Eh' was as much as he could say of Elvira's name.

"Aren't you handsome?" Elvira replied.

Fadda chuckled and grunted, pointing at the satchel over my shoulder.

"She's had enough snacks for the afternoon, but if you insist, I will give her another." I reached into my satchel and presented Elvira with several almonds. "From Fadda."

Elvira delighted in her good fortune and accepted her snack before she attempted to walk off my shoulder and onto the nearest flower display. If I allowed her loose, she would have consumed half the flowers in the shop within minutes.

Fadda groaned again, mouth crooked and left arm flailing about. It was difficult to keep myself from blatantly gawking at him, but it felt worse to ignore him when he wanted to hold a conversation.

A childhood spent in the home of a drunk had at least made me somewhat proficient at deciphering slurred words, but even so, I wasn't certain I interpreted Fadda's words correctly and looked to Cassandra for confirmation.

"Fadda insists you take a couple of hibiscus for Elvira," Cassandra said.

Fadda eagerly nodded.

"Fadda is far too generous and spoils this rotten chicken of mine."

To that, Fadda laughed. "All, Shoulder, all."

"Only one," I said as Cassandra began selecting several flowers. "This is a treat for her."

"We have snails as well," Clary said. "A whole cup filled from the last flower delivery."

Again, Fadda attempted to join the conversation, but I couldn't understand his words completely and could tell he was frustrated with his inability to speak.

He was not much older than me, perhaps in his early forties, which made his condition more difficult to accept.

"I shall accept all of the snails," I said.

"Eh! Favorite," Fadda rasped.

"Yes, exactly, they are Elvira's favorite and she will be quite pleased with her treat. You are well on your way to becoming Elvira's favorite person. Perhaps I should leave her here with you and the girls?"

Fadda rocked back and forth in his wheelchair, displaying his enthusiasm.

"If you ever grow tired of Elvira, we would take her," Cassandra said. "And feed her all of the snails that come in with the deliveries."

Hearing her delicacy said several times, Elvira screeched and the girls along with their father laughed.

"You didn't come in here for snails, did you?" Clary asked me.

"I did not. I came in here for roses as well as boutonnieres and corsages for this evening if you have some made."

"Boutonnieres and corsages? As in multiple?"

"Two of each," I said.

The girls lit up. While Clary's specialty was bouquet designs and Cassandra loved centerpieces, both of them enjoyed making smaller arrangements.

"Tell us what you want and we will have them completed in an hour," Cassandra promised.

"It's for the ballet tonight. My niece, a friend, and his daughter," I said, deciding it was easier to refer to Celeste as Bernard's daughter than have to explain their situation in detail as I knew Clary would ask a dozen questions.

"Yellow and white," Cassandra said.

"Fern fronds," Clary added.

"Ivy?" Cassandra questioned.

"Oh, I do love the ivy," Clary said.

Fadda wrapped his knuckles on the counter and pointed to the bucket of flowers. "Roses," he said.

The girls exchanged looks.

"Oh," Cassandra said. "Yes, that's true. We may be out of roses."

"Out of roses?" I questioned. "You have an entire bucket."

"We have an order for roses," Clary said.

"A very large order of roses," Cassandra added.

"Bad," Fadda said.

I furrowed my brow. "A bad order of flowers?"

Clary pursed her lips. "Bed, not bad," she replied, nodding her head toward the doorway to the back of the shop. "I'll show you."

I followed her through the doorway while Elvira attempted to snatch a sunflower as we passed by, a question on the tip of my tongue about to emerge when the words were stolen directly out of my mouth.

"My God," I said under my breath. "Is that…a wall of roses?"

"It's a headboard," Clary said, blushing profusely. "It's rose stems that I've woven into a wire grid that will be attached to a bed.

"A headboard made out of roses?" I questioned.

"Unique, isn't it?"

"To say the least." Someone was trying far too hard to impress their bride, I thought to myself. The poor fool must have been overcompensating for a lack of something else.

"Half the snails came from the roses. I've never seen anything like it."

I wrinkled my nose, imagining lovers interrupted by a dozen snails slithering across the mattress. "Not very romantic."

"Horrifying, honestly." She shivered as she spoke. "I've double-checked every bloom."

"When is it being sent out?"

Clary crossed her arms. "This is an order for Friday," she explained. "One taking hundreds of roses to complete. My fingers hurt from threading the stems through the wires."

"Who in the world ordered a headboard made of roses?" I asked.

"There was no name."

"I suppose if I had gone to the trouble of ordering hundreds of roses to impress a woman I wouldn't want to give my name either," I said under my breath.

Clary covered her mouth. "Quite the romantic gift for the bride to be."

"Where is the wedding?" I asked.

"That I do not know, but the headboard is being delivered to a curious location."

I raised a brow and waited for her to continue speaking.

"I'm not at liberty to say, but it's being sent to one of the opera houses," she said.

"The Opera Populaire?"

Clary's eyes widened. "Yes, how did you know?"

The amorous, blood-drinking, headless ghost with the garish cape had certainly outdone himself with the rose-covered headboard.

"A good guess," I said, plucking several roses from one of the buckets. "And I will take these along with some daffodils."

"No, no, Monsieur Kimmer, you don't want roses with daffodils. I'll make certain you have a lovely and appropriate bouquet. Some Russian sage, a little nepta…it will be beautiful, with or without roses."

"As I said, I will take these," I said, handing her six red roses."

"I don't know if I can sell them to you, Monsieur."

"Believe me, Mademoiselle, if this fellow's eyes and heart are in the right place, he won't be counting the number of roses and neither will his beloved." I turned on my heel and exited the back room. "I'll return in an hour for the flowers. Good luck with your rose...project."

oOo

Elizabeth opened the door before I was up the stairs to the porch, grinning from ear to ear. I had no doubt that the lamp lighters could have used her to light every street in Paris, such was her ethereal glow.

"Uncle Phelan! Are those for me?"

"You and your mother," I said, handing her the bouquet of flowers Clary had put together with sprigs of baby's breath, lavender, and sage to fill out the arrangement.

"They're lovely." She inhaled deeply. "And they smell heavenly."

"Of course they're lovely. They're roses and your uncle has impeccable taste."

Elizabeth squealed with delight once I revealed the yellow and white corsage. "Mother, you must come look. Uncle Phelan brought us roses and this lovely corsage for tonight."

Carmen came up beside Elizabeth and briefly eyed me, her dark eyes stern and uninviting. "You're quite early."

"A bit, I suppose," I said, checking my watch. "I had to stop by the florist before they closed and if I brought roses into my apartment, Elvira would probably shred them."

"You spoil this child yet again," Carmen coldly replied.

"Anything for my beloved niece," I assured Carmen. "And of course, you are more than welcome to join us this evening. I would be honored to escort my niece and sister-in-law for a night at the ballet."

"Generous, but I must decline," Carmen said as she took a step back and exhaled.

Before she looked away from me, I noticed she appeared somewhat listless, her complexion ashen. I was certain she had not appeared ill four days earlier during game night.

"Are you unwell?" I asked Carmen.

Practically before the words were out of my mouth, she shook her head. "I'm fine, you needn't worry about me."

I glanced at Elizabeth. "Dress yourself for an evening at the ballet, my dear, and put the roses into a vase for your mother."

Elizabeth turned on her heel, saying over her shoulder that she had the perfect vase upstairs in her bedroom and would be down shortly, which I assumed meant she would be ready in forty-five minutes.

"What is it?" I asked Carmen once we were alone on the porch.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"I suppose I mean to ask multiple questions, the first of which is to ask are you truly feeling well? You look….Forgive me for saying so, but you look as if you are in need of rest."

"How would you know if I look well or not?" she snapped.

I fought the urge to take a step back and turn away from her, but decided upon looking her over more closely.

She was thinner, I was certain, her face drawn and eyes rimmed in red. Her hair appeared more brittle, her eyelashes sparse and overall coloring sallow. Admittedly I hadn't paid much attention to Carmen Sunday evening with Abigail as my guest, but I was absolutely convinced she appeared unthrifty.

"Carmen," I said quietly.

"It's nothing," she assured me.

"We used to know one another quite well," I said, "like we were family. Brother and sister, as you said when you…when you seemed fond of me, before…before you abruptly stopped speaking to me."

Carmen made no reply, and I felt compelled to speak the words that had been on my mind for years.

"What did I do?" I asked, keeping my voice low so that Elizabeth would not overhear the conversation.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What did I do that you stopped speaking to me?"

She stared at me for a long moment, remorse flitting through her stony gaze. "I have no idea what you mean," she said, her words spoken as though she read from a script.

"Uncle Phelan! What color suit are you wearing?" Elizabeth yelled from the top of the stairs. "I wasn't paying attention."

"Blue," I answered.

"Yes, you always wear blue, but what shade? I didn't get a good look," Elizabeth asked.

"Marine."

"Marine?"

"Dark blue," I said. "With gold."

"Oh! Thank you!" Elizabeth apparently ran back to her bedroom and shut the door.

I shifted my weight and exhaled. "Have you forgotten we used to spend every Sunday evening in the kitchen when Eliza was exhausted and could barely keep her eyes open, but wouldn't stay in her crib for fear of missing out on the entertainment? Val would keep the guests entertained and you would warm milk while I held the world's most insistent toddler."

Elizabeth always chose to sit on my lap because she was quite aware that she could rest her head against my chest and I would offer her sips of milk whenever she desired. The way that she put her arms around me, her tiny fists holding onto my shirt, reminded me of Erik, and I would have sat with her until dawn to simply comfort her the way I had done with my brother.

"Every single Sunday it was the two of us in the kitchen with Eliza. You and I talked about everything and nothing. And then one day I walked through this door and you acted like I wasn't there. I spent all evening attempting to speak to you and…and you told me it wasn't necessary for me to hold my own niece and you asked me to return to the parlor."

Out of all the rejections I had experienced–from my uncle to the woman with the cart and pony to my mother and father, Carmen's silence had hurt worst of all. She had been both family and a dear friend, one who had shut me out for reasons that were still a mystery to me.

"You were one of my favorite people," I continued. "And suddenly it seemed like I was one of your least favorite. So I will ask you again, Carmen, what did I do that you stopped speaking to me? I am truly ignorant to the reason."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Carmen said under her breath.

"The truth, if you are able to speak it. If I owe you an apology for something that I said or did, I will offer one."

Carmen took a step back and grasped the wall. "He envies you," she said under her breath.

I furrowed my brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Joshua," Carmen said. "He has always been envious, jealous of you–"

"Uncle Phelan!" Elizabeth called. "How does this look?"

She swiftly made her way down the stairs in a blue chiffon dress and white blouse.

"Stunning, as always my darling girl," I said. "Now, you have five minutes to convince your mother to go with us tonight."

Elizabeth gasped. "Oh, Mother, please come with us! It's been ages since you've been to the theater."

"We saw a play on your birthday," Carmen reminded her. "The night your uncle wasn't able to join us."

"Has your mother told you how she used to know every single show playing at every theater and playhouse?" I asked.

Elizabeth stared wide-eyed with anticipation. "No, she did not."

"Your mother and father used to have season tickets to practically every theater in the city courtesy of the bank. They were kind enough to invite me quite frequently."

Elizabeth curiously gazed at her mother. "You've never said a word, Mother."

Carmen seemed slightly less annoyed at the mention of her former life, before Elizabeth made her debut and nights at the theater turned to evenings with a newborn cradled in her arms. "It was a long time ago, my dear."

"Come with us," I said. "Like old times."

A shadow of a smile played on the edges of Carmen's mouth. I wondered if she remembered the moments we had spent together laughing during intermission while Val went to the lobby for refreshments. There were many performances that I simply could not glance in Carmen's direction for fear of the two of us snorting with laughter over the way an actor delivered his lines or a dancer losing her feather boa halfway through a number.

"I don't have anything to wear," Carmen replied.
"It will be dark and all eyes will be on the stage," I reminded her. "Please, join us. Val won't be home until late. Have some fun."

Carmen's expression darkened, her lips turning thin at the mention of her husband. "No, I will stay home," she said.

Elizabeth reached for her mother's hand. "Please come with us!" she begged. "Just like old times!"

"The time before you existed," Carmen said sharply.

"Yes, but it will be even more fun when we share this time together. Please, Mother!"

Carmen looked at me and sighed. "You'll be late to the performance waiting on me to be ready," she warned.

"Nonsense. Montlaur's carriage should be here any moment. We will be delivered to the steps of the theater in ten minutes time."

"Montlaur?" Carmen questioned.

"A friend of mine who has been gracious enough to supply a hired cab."

Elizabeth tugged on her mother's arm. "Make haste, Mother! Oh, I will help you pick something out. I have just the thing."

Carmen looked over her shoulder at me. Her attempt at a scowl ended in the barest of smiles, an expression I hadn't seen her wear in years.

oOo

Bernard's hired cab pulled up just as Elizabeth and Carmen made their way down the stairs. Carmen looked completely unconvinced that she was prepared for an evening out, but had the good humor to indulge her daughter.

"A night out in the middle of the week," she grumbled, her words directed at me.

"You used to love this," I reminded her. "Surely you remember after you and Val went to a show and enjoyed it, you'd ask me to come with you for a second viewing."

Carmen looked me over, her dark eyes less hardened and scrutinizing. "We did, didn't we?"

After years of dreadful silence between us, I'd almost forgotten how enjoyable Carmen's company had been and how much I'd looked forward to the nights spent at the theater. My feelings toward Val often teetered between finding him mildly tolerable and outright unbearable, but no matter how Val and I got along, Carmen had been the reliable sister I enjoyed.

"I still cannot believe you've talked me into this."

"Of course I did. I'm your favorite brother," I said lightly.

"Mother doesn't have a brother," Elizabeth pointed out.

"That is the jest, my dear girl," I said.

Carmen snorted. "Favorite indeed."

"You said so yourself, many times. It's unfortunate that Elizabeth was either not yet born or too young to remember so that she could vouch for me."

The footman opened the carriage door and placed a stool out for Elizabeth and Carmen. Bernard peered out, looking the three of us over.
"What do we got here? Twins?"

Carmen forgot herself and blushed, hand lightly held over her heart. "Mother and daughter," she said.

"I see you have the misfortune of knowing that one," he said, nodding at me.

His words garnered a genuine smile from Carmen and a look of surprise from Elizabeth, who appeared offended on my behalf.

"My brother-in-law," Carmen answered as Bernard offered his hand.

"Favorite brother," I insisted.

Elizabeth hesitated once she was close enough to the carriage to get a good look at Bernard, whose face was still bruised from his match.

"Are you Elizabeth?" Celeste asked, popping out from behind Bernard's muscular frame.

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "I am. And you are…?"

"Celeste," she answered. "The Professor's cleaning assistant at the university."

"I didn't know Uncle Phelan had a cleaning assistant," Elizabeth said.

"There's a lot you don't know," Carmen said under her breath.

"Temporary assistant, I'm afraid," I said, ignoring Carmen's words. "Celeste and Bernard are leaving for Wissant tomorrow night."

Carmen eyed the brute of a man with a bit of wariness, but as the door closed and the carriage pulled away, she was committed to an evening of ballet unless she desired to leap from the carriage.

"Bernard Montlaur," Bernard said, offering his hand to Carmen. "You can call me Bern. And this is Celeste."

"Carmen Kimmer," my sister-in-law said. "My daughter, Elizabeth. A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Montlaur."

"You ever been to a ballet before?" he asked, nodding at Elizabeth.

It was rare that I saw my niece utterly speechless, but as she looked toward Bernard, she sat in silence.

The silence lingered far too long, Bernard's simple question left unanswered. The boxer looked away, clearly embarrassed that Elizabeth had chosen silence over responding to his attempt at conversation.

I cleared my throat. "Elizabeth has been to many performances," I said on her behalf.

Celeste linked her arm with Bernard's. "Bern has never attended a ballet before," she said, "but I've told him all about it."

"I certainly hope you didn't give away the full story," I said.

Celeste scrunched up her nose. "Not the full story, but I may have given away a detail. Or two." She leaned closer to Bernard. "Did I tell you too much?"

"I ain't smart enough to follow along, so you probably saved yourself from some questions after the show ended."

"I've seen it hundreds of times," Celeste reminded him. "I could probably follow along with my eyes closed."

Bernard twisted to face Celeste. "You can't close your eyes, 'cause if you close your eyes, I'll close my eyes, and I snore when I sleep."

"I won't allow you to fall asleep," Celeste promised.

Elizabeth continued to eye Bernard with unconcealed repulsion, which I found quite appalling.

"Elizabeth was in ballet for many years," I commented. "Weren't you, Eliza?"

Immediately Elizabeth turned her attention to me and offered a faint smile. "Yes, Uncle Phelan."

"Twelve years of lessons," Carmen said under her breath. "We funded twelve years of lessons for you to quit."

"My parents danced with the Belgium National Ballet," Celeste said.

Elizabeth once again eyed Bernard, this time in disbelief. "You're a ballet dancer?" she asked incredulously.

"Boxer," Bernard growled in his usual tone.

"You aren't her father?" Elizabeth asked.

Bernard turned to Celeste and smiled. "We ain't related by blood," he said, "but she's still my Celeste, yeah?"

Celeste held his arm tighter. She leaned toward him and straightened his boutonniere. While Celeste fussed over Bernard, I met Elizabeth's eye and made a face, silently reprimanding her for such uncouth behavior.

"Are–are you a dancer as well?" Elizabeth asked Celeste.

"No," Celeste answered, glancing in Elizabeth's direction. "I wasn't coordinated enough to be a dancer. I have two left feet, as my father once told me."

"You don't need to be in ballet," Bernard said. "You got a good voice."

"You sing?" Elizabeth questioned.

I could tell by her tone that she was forcing herself to be polite toward Celeste, but I doubted Celeste or Bernard would notice the act.

"She don't just sing, she plays the piano too," Bernard said fondly.

"You mean to say she doesn't merely sing, she also plays the piano."

"Yeah that's what I...that's what I meant," Bernard said.

Again I silently eyed Elizabeth.

Celeste blushed. "I only learned the piano recently," she modestly admitted. "I'm not very good yet."

"That ain't true," Bernard said.

"I made several mistakes," Celeste pointed out.

"I didn't notice. Sounded fine to me."

"What about you? You no longer dance?" Celeste asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head, her gaze averted. "I'm too tall now," she said.

"Anytime she did one of those fancy leaps, she was hitting her head on the theater's ceiling," I said lightly.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at me. "That isn't true, Uncle Phelan."

"If you grow another foot it will be true."

Elizabeth's shoulders sagged. "Uncle, please," she said under her breath.

"My apologies, Eliza Elaine."

"Who are your parents, my dear?" Carmen asked Celeste.

"Goldie and Klaus Frane," Celeste answered.

"I'm not familiar with their names," Carmen replied.

Elizabeth, however, perked up. "Goldie Frane?" she asked. "That is your mother?"

Celeste turned her head to the side. "Have you heard of her?"

"I've met her several times," Elizabeth said, excitement bubbling in her voice. "She was one of the guest dancers at our studio a few years in a row."

"At the Piron Center?" Celeste asked.

Elizabeth looked Celeste over and readily nodded. "Yes, that's correct."

"I used to go with her for classes," Celeste replied. "But I usually fell asleep on the mats."

"Your mother is an extraordinarily gifted dancer and a wonderful instructor," Elizabeth replied. "I remember her pulling me aside after the class to help me perfect my grand jete." She lifted her arms. "I wasn't comfortable with my arm position. Your mother assured me I could hold my arms in fourth or fifth position and either was fine. No one had ever told me that before."

"Mother attempted to teach me as well, but I couldn't land without falling." Celeste shrugged. "Father said I was a very good tumbler though, and I could have joined the circus as a comedian."

"Where are your parents now? In Belgium? The Orient, perhaps?"

Celeste looked away. "They've both…they've passed away."

Elizabeth inhaled sharply and looked from Celeste to her mother and then to me. She reached out and placed her hand over Celeste's. "I'm so terribly sorry for your loss. She was so kind and so talented. I'm sure you miss her terribly."

Celeste solemnly nodded. "I miss them both," she said quietly.

"I will say a prayer for them tonight," Elizabeth offered.

Bernard plucked his handkerchief from his breast pocket and handed it to Celeste, who quietly accepted it and dabbed her eyes.

"Deep breath," Bernard whispered. "You want me to breathe with you?"

Celeste pursed her lips and silently nodded, and Bernard led her through several deep breaths.

"Better?" he asked, keeping his hand protectively on her shoulder.

"Yes, thank you," Celeste replied.

"I been thinking," Bernard said. "Maybe tomorrow before we leave, you could ask The Professor to draw your parents the way he drew my Bea."

Celeste looked across the carriage at me. "Would you do that for me?" she meekly asked.

"Of course," I assured her. "I'll send the portraits to you both via post since I won't be able to complete three in a matter of hours."

"Or we could come back for them," Celeste replied. She looked to Bernard for confirmation and he nodded readily. "And to visit you."

"I would welcome your visit," I said.

The carriage pulled up to the theater and Bernard stepped out first. He assisted Celeste, who took an unnecessarily high leap from the carriage onto the ground and earned a shake of the head from Bernard.

"Circus bird," he groused. "None of that jumping around, yeah?"

Celeste made a face. "Forgive me, Bern."

"Forgiven, kid."

Carmen stepped out second, acknowledging Bernard with a tight smile.

"After you," I said to Elizabeth.

"Very well." She averted her gaze and stepped down, holding her skirts with one hand and the side of the vehicle with the other rather than taking Bernard's outstretched hand.

Seeing that Elizabeth didn't want his assistance, Bernard turned to Celeste, fixing her hair for her while Elizabeth maneuvered onto the street.

I heard Elizabeth gasp suddenly as she lost her grip on the door frame. She teetered forward, but didn't step down, and I realized that the heel of her boot caught on the lip of the carriage door, sending her pitching forward with her foot caught. Given that I was behind her, I could do nothing save grab her by the hair.

Celeste shrieked in surprise and Bernard turned, catching Elizabeth by the elbow before she fell outstretched on the cobblestones, most likely breaking her ankle in the process.

"It's her boot," I said, bending to pull her foot from where it was stuck. "Hold still, Eliza."

It took several seconds to wriggle her ankle this way and that before her boot was finally freed and Bernard was able to guide her onto the ground.

"Are you injured?" Bernard gruffly asked my niece. "You didn't twist your ankle or nothing, did you?"

Elizabeth wordlessly shook her head.

"One of the flowers fell off though," Carmen said, plucking the yellow rose from the ground. "Crushed a bit too being a clumsy oaf."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "I lost my balance," she said under her breath. "I didn't realize my foot was stuck."

"All of those years of dance wasted," Carmen muttered with a shake of her head.

Bernard pulled the yellow rose from his boutonniere and offered it to Elizabeth, who made no attempt to take the flower from him. "I'll trade you," he said, but Elizabeth shook her head. Bernard didn't argue and turned to Carmen. "I'll take that one."

Carmen eyed him. "She's managed to ruin this one, I'm afraid."

Bernard shrugged. "Nah, it ain't ruined and even if it was, that don't matter to me." He pulled the flower from Carmen's grasp and handed it to Celeste. "Can you fix it for me, kid?"

Celeste readily nodded. "I'll turn it a little…" She stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she placed the rose into the arrangement. "Just like…that. You can't even tell."

"Perfect. You wanna do one more?" Bernard asked, holding up the flower he'd removed for Elizabeth.

Celeste inhaled and turned to Elizabeth. "May I?"

Elizabeth's eyes welled with tears. "It was my fault. I don't need to switch flowers."

"Bern doesn't mind," Celeste said, stepping closer to my niece.

"And it ain't her fault," Bernard added. "Her boots are pointy. Blame the pointy boots."

"I would have fallen without pointy boots," Celeste assured Elizabeth as she fit the stem into the arrangement and nodded in approval.

"Thank you, Celeste," Elizabeth said quietly.

Celeste inclined her head. "Please thank Bern."

Elizabeth swallowed. "Thank you, Monsieur Montlaur."

Bernard nodded. "Of course."

"We have ten minutes until the curtain," I announced, handing tickets to Celeste and Bernard. "We will meet you inside. I need to stop at the box office for one extra seat."

Bernard offered Celeste his arm. "You and me, kid?"

Celeste smiled back at him. "You and me, Bern."