Stories

WARNING - This story contains some adult material and sexual themes. 

It Came Upon a Midnight Clear
by Roseann Solnica

"It came upon a midnight clear
That glorious song of old
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold..."

I stopped to listen to the young carolers on the Rue Langolois.  Their youthful voices so pure and harmonious as they solicited donations from the harried Christmas shoppers.  Few paid them heed, fewer still deposited coins in their metal coffer, but I could see how poorly they were dressed and how gaunt their faces and it hurt me to think how little they would have to be thankful for this Christmas.  So I dug my hand into my reticule and produced a 20 franc note, which I could ill enough afford, and gave it to them wholeheartedly.  The youngest of the carolers, a tow headed boy of 9 or so whose voice had not yet slid from its soprano register noted the generosity of my donation and smiled a brilliant grin at me without ever missing a lyric.

I smiled back at him and the warmth we exchanged brightened that otherwise dreary December day.  It looked to snow before nightfall; I must needs hurry on my way to the Opera House to prepare for the evening's performance.  We were doing La Cerenterola and I had been chosen over that wicked toad Carlotta to play the cinder maid whose dreams come true.  Carlotta was enraged when Monsieur Andre cast her as one of the wicked step- sisters.  I had to laugh behind my hand.  Such perfect type casting I almost wondered whether Erik had anything to do with it.  She put up such a fuss that they had to back down and assign her to be the fairy godmother instead.  I could barely stand to see her in that buffoonish costume of voluminous tulle and sparkles without laughing.  But I called my best acting skills into practice and managed to smother my hysteria.

As I approached the Palais Garnier I chanced to see Meg Giry alight from her carriage.

"Bonjour, Meg.  Joyeux Noelle," I greeted her.

"Joyeux Noelle a vous aussi," she returned with that piquant little smile that made her the perfect image of the ballerina she was, or would become if her mother, Madame Giry, the stern and taciturn ballet mistress of the Opera, stopped nagging her to death.  Perfection, perfection, it was all Madame ever thought of and she was mercilessly severe on poor Meg when her efforts fell short.

I shouldn't speak so though.  Erik is equally strict with me in my singing class.  He will accept nothing less than total dedication and complete perfection and I strive anxiously to achieve it for him.

"It seems we will have a full house tonight," Meg commented as we made our way backstage.  "Meurice says that every seat is sold."

"Yes, the Christmas performances are quite popular," I agreed, remembering that Meg had a solo in the excerpt from the Nutcracker that would precede the opera.

"They are all come to hear you sing," she encouraged.  "Your voice keeps improving every day.  It is truly as to hear the angels in Heaven."

"Oh, goodness, it is not," I blushed in modest pride at the praise.  "I am merely applying the law of diligent practice to enhance performance."

"Well, whatever you're doing, don't stop.  Mama says that you will have replaced Carlotta as prima donna within the year."

A dubious distinction I was not entirely sure I coveted.  "I merely wish to portray my roles to their best."

"Mama says you will have a coterie of devotees and be able to name your own terms."

I already had one too devoted devotee and while I appreciated success I did not crave mass notoriety.  But rather than argue with her I asked.  "Isn't it a beautiful Christmas Eve?  Have you been out and about?"

"A little," she curled her nose.  "It seemed quite chill and nasty so I took the carriage."

"Well, I have just walked through the very heart of Paris and it literally sings with the joy and beauty of the season."

"All the way from your rooms on the Rue des Bourgeois?"

"Um hmm, it was wonderful to feel the frost on my face, to see the shop windows all gaily decorated and hear the children merrily at play."

"You should not take such chances," she sounded curiously like her mother.  "You could catch your death of cold and right in the middle of the season too."

"But I love Christmas time, the lights and the carols and the gaily wrapped packages.  I love to be a part of it."

"You won't love it half so well if you are taken abed with hot mustard poultices on your chest."

I frowned at her pessimism.  Meg was too young yet to become so perverse and cranky.  We had reached our dressing rooms by now and at the door of mine I found Raoul standing, crisp and nattily attired, holding a package with a big red bow.  He looked so somber and yet so dreadfully adorable like the truant little boy I remembered from our youth.  I wanted to embrace and kiss him, but remembered in time my resolve to maintain some distance.  I had told him there could be no future for us, that I wished to pursue my singing career without outside distractions.  He had accepted it stoically, but still haunted my life like a timid puppy with nowhere else to go.

I had to be civil to him.  He was a dear, old friend and I did care for him very much.  "Raoul, how good to see you," I smiled.

"You are looking quite lovely, Christine," he sighed breathily.  "Your cheeks are quite flushed.  Have you been out in this dreadful cold?"

Not wanting yet another lecture I lied.  "It is merely from excitement.  There are to be a contingent from the royal family in house tonight, the children and their nanny."

He smirked as only the gentry can do when appraising each other.  "You will be lucky if they are mannerly enough not to disrupt your performance."

"And if they do, I shall not mind it a bit.    This opera is for them, the children, all the little children."

"I have brought something for you," he extended the package.
 
"Oh, Raoul, you shouldn't have," I frowned.

"It isn't a gift," he hurriedly explained although its wrappings suggested otherwise, "merely a token of my gratitude for the beauty of your performance."

He was so sweet and earnest I could hardly bear to disappoint him with refusal so I took the box and entered my dressing room to open it.  Raoul followed at a cautious distance.  It was a scarf of purest silk, lavender in color and spotted with glittery gold stars.  It was large enough to cover my head and I smiled gaily as I tried it on.  "Oh, Raoul, it's lovely.  Thank you so much."  I smiled and embraced him ever so quickly.

He took in his breath then sighed.  "You look like a very angel from Heaven when you wear it."

"Tsk," I scoffed.  "You are the second person today to compare me to an angel.  It's frightfully bad luck to tempt the Fates so,"

"Who was the first?" he started suddenly inflamed.

"Are you going to be at the performance tonight?" I asked ignoring his question.

"Of course, I would not miss it for anything."

"Then you had best go home to have your dinner and leave me to prepare," I smiled ushering him out the door.

"Of course," he looked apologetic.  "Forgive me for not being more sensitive to an artist's needs.  It is just that I...."

"I shall sing all the sweeter for knowing you are out there listening," I cooed.  "Now go on."  I shooed him.  I did not wish to hear his avowals of love this night.  They were too difficult to deal with when I knew my heart was already given to another.
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"Egads!" I shouted as the hammer missed its target and slammed into my thumb once again.  I roundly cursed every blasted person connected with this enterprise down to the inventor of the hammer.  But it availed me naught so in the minute when my ire cooled I went back to my efforts at trying to make secure this blasted pine tree in the main salon of what I laughingly call my home.  It was a waste, plucking a perfectly good tree from the forest, dragging it all the way into town, installing it here where it will quickly dry and become a fire hazard, all to please a pagan notion of decorativeness.  Ridiculous!

And yet when Christine asked it of me, that we have a Christmas tree this year I could hardly refuse her.  She had come to me in such childlike innocence and told me tales of Christmases long past in her father's homeland and of the festivities there.  Then she told me of the glorious monster of a tree that adorned the lobby of the Opera.  Well, of course, I'd seen it, that megalithic monster overburdened with ornaments of porcelain and gold and jewels.  It was a walking target for any clever thief.  In fact, I was tempted myself to substitute paste replicas for some of those gaudy baubles, but I considered it beneath my dignity to pilfer and plunder my own temple, especially when I had more than enough money to see me through several of my unnatural lifetimes.

But Christine did not see the ostentatious excess of it.  She saw only beauty and elegance and wanted to create a minor replica of it here in this domicile I had invited her to call her own.  She had brought down bows and bells, strings of cranberries and beads, little candles with tin reflectors.  All she had either made herself or rescued from the Opera discards, precious items adjudged not garish enough to display.  So now I was obliged to secure this tree which I'd had no small amount of trouble procuring so that after tonight's performance we could decorate it together.

I sighed, how my life had changed since Christine came into it.  The mean, niggardly existence I had been full content to pursue ever since I entombed myself in this monument to music fell away like so much unwanted refuse.  I had a reason to look forward to each day, to hear her beautiful voice, to see her lovely face.  It was for Christine I live, to tutor her to make the most exquisite sounds known to man, to further her rightful career at the Opera even if it meant stepping on disgusting black widows like La Carlotta.

But it was more than that.  Once I was satisfied to call her my protege, my child, the fruit of my labor, but no longer.  I have realized in the days and weeks we have spent together that she was captured my heart, not merely with her beauty and her talent, but with her soul.  She has ensnared my very being and captivated me.  I am her prisoner and desire no release.  My life has meaning only as long as Christine is in it.  It is for this moment that I live.
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"Erik, where are you?"  I thought the words but did not speak them aloud as I sat combing my hair, in costume for the first act.  

"You shall see me in the mirror," I heard his words in my head and turned slowly to face the full length mirror and in its shimmering incandescence was that face, the stern but sensitive visage half covered by the pristine white mask.  I never quite figured out how Erik did this, nor how he was able to sense my thoughts, knowing, as I did now, that he was a mortal man, not an ethereal specter, but Erik did seem to have unique powers that the rest of us do not possess and I did not question them.

He did not enter my chamber, but merely hovered in that reflective other world.  "You look quite lovely tonight," he murmured with a husky tenor.

"This?" I touched the lacings that held together the simple peasant garb in which I began my role.  "This is nothing.  You should see me in my ball gown."

"I did not mean the dress, but the woman who wears it."

Every time he used that word "woman" to me I felt a shiver through my body as if his fingertips had touched delicately in the most intimate of places.

"I am frightened," I confided.  "The royal family is in attendance tonight.  What if I should forget my words or fail to reach my high C?"

"They are as common as dirt, these aristocracy you kowtow to," he growled ominously.  "Pay them no more heed than the lowliest beggar.  You are assured in your role.  Your voice knows what it must do.  Let your instincts command and you shall not fail."

I smiled and closed my eyes to receive his blessing.  "If you are there with me I know I shall not fail."

"I am always with you, child, never fear.  You are invincible."

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I spent the best part of the first act in my accustomed seat in Box 5.  Andre and Firmin were watching for me, but I am adept enough in my comings and goings that their machinations are no more troublesome to me than an annoying mosquito.  But I did think it the better part of valor to absent myself during the intermission.  And since the second act begins with a rather long, superfluous aria by that toady prince (Can you imagine an old man like Piangi in the role?  It boggles the mind.) I did not see the need to hurry back.

In fact I feel quite restless and ill at ease tonight, prognosticating no good I was certain.  I was taken with a sudden need for fresh air.  Indeed I should have heeded my own premonition of doom and stayed indoors instead.  I made my way to the secret entrance that leads to the Rue Scribe.  The air was cold, but very fresh.  I emerged cautiously from the tangle of brambles in the ditch alongside the road that camouflaged the entrance.  My cloak pulled tight about me, hat low, I peered around but there appeared to be no one about.  All abed with visions of sugarplums and all that claptrap no doubt.

It had begun to snow, big soft wet flakes.  I opened my mouth to catch some on my tongue, as Christine had playfully taught me to do.  They were quite refreshing.  God's tears she had called them and I didn't have the heart to explain to her the scientific principles of condensation and precipitation.  Her way sounded much more soulful.

Looking out now on the deserted roadway I imagined Christine and I riding through this winter wonderland in a shiny black hack, an elegantly liveried coachman sitting up front.  She would laugh that light melodic trill of hers that would send my heart beating out of my chest.  Then perhaps we would pass a church and pause to listen to the eloquence of the mass.  That was the one thing I loved about this truly asinine time of year was the golden harmonies of the sung carols.  I had been known to sneak into a belfry of a Christmas midnight for the sole purpose of bathing myself in that glorious music.

Lost in my reverie now I was suddenly brought back to the present by the sound of moaning.  I slunk deeper into my cape and looked around furtively.  There appeared to be no one about.  I listened again and the moan once again assailed my ears.  Locating the sound I found it came from a formless lump by the side of the road, a body.  Bending to its side, and lifting the scarf that covered its head, I could see it was a woman. A peasant by the ill fit and threadbare cut of the garments she wore, not even a cloak to keep out the harsh winter night, only a rough horse blanket thrown haphazardly over her shoulders.

"Are you injured?" I asked.

"No," she whispered, "but I need a place to stay the night.  Please, won't you take me in?"

"I cannot," I insisted, cursing myself for having weakened to her pleas.

"Please, I have nowhere to go.  My family has thrown me out.  I ask only a night's shelter."
Her voice was weak and her eyes half closed.  I knew she would freeze to death were she to wander aimlessly all night and I sincerely doubted the generosity of the Parisian gentry so busy making merry and regaling each other.  I looked around in panic.  I did not know what to do.  The sisters of St. Cecilia's was all the way on the other side of the city and I doubted she could walk that far and I had no desire to carry her and deal with the inevitable confrontations that such a journey would entail.

"Please, kind sir, any place, any place at all will do," she begged.  I could see the tears in her eyes crystallize as they hit the frigid air.

"Very well," I grumbled.  "Come.  I know a place."

She stumbled uneasily on the steep path that led to the tunnel entrance.  I had to carry her more than half the way until I got her far enough inside that the vagrant winds would not buffet her and the snow could not penetrate.

She sagged gratefully against the rock while I gathered kindling and built a small fire for her.  "Wait here.  I will be right back," I told her as I poled my boat back across the lake to the house.

I returned some 20 minutes later with food, water and more blankets.  She was sitting up then warming her hands by the fire.  It was then that I noticed that she was great with child.  I stopped suddenly.  Who would throw out into the night a young woman in her condition?  But I knew well the perfidy of man.  Her husband probably discovered that it was another man's bastard and not his that she carried and had abandoned her to cruel fate.

"Will you be all right?"  I asked tentatively.

"Yes, thank you so much for your kindness," she raised her eyes to me and they were like liquid sapphires brimming with appreciative tears.

"It is nothing," I turned away with difficulty.  There was something mesmerizing in her gaze.  "Just be sure the fire is out when you leave and do not tell anyone of this place."

"Of course," she reassured then reached a hand to touch my arm.  "Thank you, sir.  Your generosity will be richly rewarded."

I shook off her hand.  "Just be gone in the morning."  There was no sincerity in that ultimatum.

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The performance went incredibly well.  I sang my purest and truest and I could feel the eager enthusiasm of my audience.  It lifted me to achieve heights I hadn't dreamed of before.  Their applause was the food I lived on.  I loved performing for them.  Even the contentious royal brats I had won over, coaxing them to silence with my melodies.

Raoul had come back to my dressing room after the show wanting to take me to supper, but I plead fatigue and sent him on his way.  I did not want to hurt his feelings, but I had to make him understand that there could be no future between us.  I had my career and I had Erik.  I could not tell him about Erik, of course.  Raoul would never understand.  Impatient, insensitive youth that he was, Raoul would probably want to call him out and settle their "dispute" on the field of honor, as if I were some trophy that could be won or lost between them.

Erik would feel honor bound to defend my virtue and I did not want to see either of them perish.  They were both too special and too dear to me.

I was surprised that I had not spotted Erik in Box 5 during the second act.  He had been there during the first, I was certain of it.  Now, after a suitable period when all the patrons had gone and the Opera House practically deserted I made my way down to the third cellar.  There was an entrance there to Erik's domain if one knew the key.  Erik had taught me the exact sequence of bricks that must be moved to trip the lock mechanism and allow the door to this secret passageway to open.  I lit a torch before proceeding down the narrow, spiral stairs.  It flickered briefly as the cellar door closed behind me but it did not go out.

I followed the steps down below the level of the fifth cellar.  It was dank and gloomy here.  My footsteps echoed on the forbidding stone and I feared that should my torch go out I would be lost forever in this stygian blackness.  I did not like coming this way.  I much preferred it when Erik came to my dressing room and took me through the mirror.  The steps were as many and the air as cold and damp, but somehow with the lantern of his love guiding me the journey was infinitely easier.  But tonight he had not come so I must go to him.  We had a Christmas tree to decorate.

I pushed back from my mind dire foreboding that some grave misfortune had befallen him.  He probably went back to his composing during the intermission and simply lost track of time.  I knew how obsessively engrossed he could become in creating.  I was like that more than a little myself.

As I poled the boat across the lake with short strokes but true I thought how my life had changed since I met Erik.  I had been a simpering little fool, a naive child when first the Angel of Music came to me.  I had given blind faith to him and allowed him to teach me, to cultivate my talents, far beyond what I had thought possible for me to achieve.

Then Erik brought me below and cruel reality had intervened on my fantasy of an ethereal angelic teacher.  But Erik was no less beautiful for the loathsome features of his face.  He was beautiful from deep within and that beauty expressed itself in his hands and his voice and his music and I had come to love that beauty as far more worthwhile than simple physical comeliness.  In fact, after a time I came to think that his face was not all that bad after all, with the light of love shining through it.  I encouraged Erik to take off his mask when we were alone together in his house.  He usually declined, but the once that he did and I did not flinch from the sight broke him down completely.  He put his head in my lap and wept softly as I caressed his face tenderly with my hands as if I could "make it all better" just by the force of my love.

And there is no question but that I love Erik, in a profound and meaningful way.  But just as he is not like other men so must our love be different from that which most couples enjoy.  We can never be together above in the light, only here below and here he erects strict boundaries on our relationship.  We may share all mentally and emotionally, but physically he cannot get past his own hatred of his disfigurement and so puts up walls between our mutual gratification.  If only I could tear down those walls and convince him to allow himself the freedom to love.  But I have not yet been successful in that.

When I reached the house by the lake I moored the boat and went inside.   "Erik?  Erik, where are you?"  I called out several times but no answer came.

Then I saw in the front room the Christmas tree Erik had obtained for me.  He really did it.  I'd convinced him to allow this bit of gaiety into his otherwise morbid domicile.  I clapped my hands with glee.  It was a start.

I took off my coat and scarf and began decorating it.  I had hoped we could do this together.  But perhaps wherever Erik has gone he will not be long and we can share this gesture of love, this giving and taking of Christmas memories.

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I poled my boat rather quickly back across the lake after leaving the supplies with the woman.  I felt none too good about leaving her all alone for the night.  But I couldn't bring her back to my house and I did leave her warm and well provisioned.

I knew I had missed the remainder of La Cerenerola.  Damn and I so loved Christine's aria in the last scene, but the delay had been unavoidable.  Now I only hoped to arrive before Christine did.

No such luck, the other boat was moored at my landing.  This would require some explaining and I had no desire to divulge the whole story.

She was draping a bead garland from branch to branch as I entered, raising her arm to reach the topmost one.  I thought of the perfect picture of unconscious beauty she made, dressed in a simple gown that did nothing to accent her curvaceous figure, still her beauty was evident in every plane and angle, in the sweep of her arm, and the arch of her neck.  I could only gasp in admiration.

The sound caused her to turn around.  "Erik.  I'm so glad you returned in time to trim the tree."

"Yes," I stumbled trying to gather my wits about me.  "I'm sorry to be tardy.  I had business to attend to."  Thankfully she did not ask me the nature of my errand.

Doffing my cloak and hat in a preoccupied way, but one, which seemed to garner her full attention I began taking an ornament from the box at her feet and attaching it on a nearby branch.  I was aware of her eyes following my every move and I became unreasonably awkward and gauche at the simple task.

"You have such beautiful hands," she slid hers atop mine and I felt my blood pound in my veins at the lightest caress of her tender skin.

"I... they are but tools..." I stuttered, "to coax the music to appear, magicians tools."

"You are a magician," she smiled bringing my hand to her face and rubbing it on her fair and lithesome cheek.  "For you have worked your magic on my voice and on my heart."

Oh, to touch that cheek, what an exquisite pleasure.  I should never have been so bold as to dare it on my own, but now as she held my hand against her I felt totally enchanted.  "I merely brought definition to the gifts you already possessed," I sputtered hardly knowing what I was saying.

She smiled and let my hand go.  "Speaking of gifts, I have something for you."  She hurried into her bedroom and brought out a box, fairly large, wrapped in gaily-colored paper and ribbons.  "Merry Christmas," she said as she handed it to me.

"But.... But I did not get you anything," I felt like a wretched schoolboy caught napping.  I was so unused to celebrating the holiday that it had never even occurred to me to choose a gift for her.  What would she want?  Gold?  Jewels?  Antiquities?  I would lay a chestful of them at her feet, if she but hinted in that direction.

She shook her head.  "The joy is in the giving, not the receiving.  Come on, open it.  I want to see your face when you see it."

I felt totally inept as I tore apart the carefully constructed wrappings.  Then to the box inside.  I lifted the cover carefully and there, wrapped in suede swaddling was a violin.

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Oh, to see his face when he first beheld father's violin.  It was alight with such joy, as I could not recall ever having seen before.  Even through the mask I could see his eyes sparkle like a child and a grin spread across his misshapen lips.  "Do you like it?"  I asked unnecessarily.

"Oh, Christine, it is exquisite, a Stradivarius if I don't miss my guess," he caressed it reverentially, stroking the polished wood and fingering the strings with infinite tenderness.  "It is your father's," he realized suddenly looking to me in alarm.

I merely nodded.  "I cannot take it," he tried to refuse.  "It is a priceless momento of him."

"But I cannot play it," I responded, "and you can, and Father would want it to make beautiful music again."

He considered this a moment sagely, then as if concurring with my logic he lifted the instrument from the box and began testing the strings, tuning each to the perfect pitch in his head.

"Play something for me," I begged clapping my hands.

He thought for a moment, then tucked the bowl under his chin and began to draw the bow lovingly along the strings.  The music flowed like warm honey from his finger, a Breton Christmas carol, a cradlesong, infinitely soft and gentle and yet powerfully deep.  I closed my eyes and could hear again my father's rich, melodious playing on dark nights in the country vineyards where we worked by day picking the grapes.  It was my lullaby.

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The beatific smile on her face was worth everything to me.  I let my hand wander from Breton melodies, to Mozart, to Prokofiev, to Puccini, a kaleidoscope of forms and moods from the tender to the rousing to the infinitely sweet.  I would keep playing till my fingers fell off, but then, weakened through years of disuse one of the strings broke.

"Oh dear!"  Christine alarmed leaving off her efforts at the tree.

"It is no matter," I assured her.  "I can have it replaced easily.  Thank you, so much, of such a truly precious gift."

She smiled.  "I will expect to hear you play it often when I come to visit."

"Anytime you wish," I replied determining to make time for practice sessions while she was above.
 
"Well, right now I wish you to help me finish this tree."

I nodded assent and began to tie the candles in place.  "I have even more to thank you for," I went on shyly.  "I have not had a Christmas like this in many a year.  You have brought hope and happiness into my life.  I know not how I lived without it."

"And you have as well to me," she assured.  "I have never known anyone like you."

"You shall get bored with me soon enough."

"Never," she insisted shaking her head.

"You will, you will," I insisted petulantly.  "I cannot take you to balls or on carriage rides in the Bois or to tea in the best drawing rooms in Paris."

"If that were what I wanted what a shallow and vain person I would be.  You give me something of much greater worth, the gifts of your soul"

"Poor and tattered things they are."

"Not at all.  In fact, I think you are only beginning to discover just what those gifts are.  Would that we should explore them together."

She made no move towards me, but I jumped back.  I dared not contemplate the meaning of her words, what she seemed to be offering.  It was my fondest dream to marry Christine and make her mine for all time, but I knew it was a dream that could never come true.  I must not allow myself to believe it.  I must not let her delude herself into thinking this is what she wants in life.  She is a beautiful young girl with a world of possibilities open to her.  To be shackled to a loathsome gargoyle like me would be the worst punishment I could inflict upon her.  She would come to hate me and I would have to commit suicide because there was no life without her.

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He was not ready yet for the complete level of intimacy and sharing that I suggested so I did not pressure him.  He would come round to it eventually I was sure and I was patient and persistent enough to wait.  "Oh, dear, it is getting late," I consulted my lorgnette watch.  "I must be home and abed else Pere Noel will leave a lump of coal in my stocking."

He snorted a chuckle in that self-conscious way of his.  "And we would not want that to happen."

I donned my cape and pulled the purple scarf over my head.

"This is new," he noticed immediately touching the silk lightly.

"Yes, isn't it beautiful?"  I smiled.  "It was a Christmas gift."  I stopped short of saying from whom but Erik was no one's fool.

"It's from the boy, isn't it?"  He said the word boy as if it were a supreme insult.

I thought for a moment to lie, but knew Erik would see through it and besides I wanted our relationship to be founded on truth.  "He's a dear friend, Erik, that's all he'll ever be."

I don't think he believed me as he balled his hands into fists at his sides.  "A dear friend who gives you expensive gifts, takes you to supper and lavishes flattery upon you like cheap sweets."

"It would have been impolite to refuse the gift and it's not all that expensive.  I refused to have supper with him and one word of praise from you is worth more than a bushelful of his sophistries.  You're going to have to learn to trust me, Erik."

 
He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes to calm himself.  "You are right.  It's just that my jealousy overcomes me when I know he is courting your favor."

"I have already told him that I refuse his suit, that we can never be more than friends.  He accepts that.  And besides," I giggled with a twinkle in my eye trying to defuse the situation.  "I didn't see you in your box during the second act.  What pretty lady were you paying court to?"

"No one," he sputtered aghast.  "I merely stepped out for some air and I came across this peasant woman...."

"Peasant woman?"  I was surprised.

Oh, damn, I hadn't meant to go into all this, but now it was out I was oblidged to tell Christine the whole thing.  "Yes, she had fainted by the roadside.  I....she said she had nowhere to go....I didn't want to leave her to freeze to death so I brought her in the culvert by the Rue Scribe.  She was very enceint."

"Encient?  You mean... with child?  And you just left her there?"

"It's well protected and I started a fire for her and brought provisions."

"But still... Erik, it's below freezing now and will probably get colder overnight.  In her condition....oh, please Erik, let's bring her here for tonight where she will be warm and protected and tomorrow I'll arrange for a place for her with the Sisters of Charity."

"But, Christine," I fumed.  "I can't bring her into my house."

"I know how that distresses you," she soothed me, stroking my arms, "but this is an exception.  Please, think of the baby."

I could think of little else.  Whatever the woman's sin in this life her unborn child did not deserve such an ignominious end to his life before it had even begun.  I would not knowingly spill the blood of innocents.

So I took Christine with me to where I had left the woman, but was quite startled by what we found.  The woman was curled into a fetal position, holding her belly tightly and moaning most piteously.

Christine knelt at her side.  "It's all right.  We're here now.  We'll help you."

"My baby," the woman moaned through her pain.  "My baby is to be born."

Christine and I shared a look and feared the worst, but Christine attempted to put a good face on it.  "Yes, yes, it will.  And tomorrow we will get you to a doctor, or a midwife and..."

"No," the woman interrupted.  "He is born now."

Christine felt under the woman's garments and discovered the immediacy of her condition.  Her eyes were wide as saucers in alarm as she looked to me.  "What are we to do?"

"I thought women knew about these things," I attempted to shift responsibility back to her.

"Me?  I grew up without a mother to teach me things.  I have never attended a birth.  I haven't the slightest idea what to do."  Her hands trembled at the prospect.

I swallowed hard.  I did have some basic medical knowledge and I had seen horses and sheep born so I suppose of the two of us I was the more likely candidate to handle the delivery.  But I was not in the least pleased.  There was a great deal of difference between a horse and a human being.  But I resolved not to show weakness to Christine.

"Very well," I sighed.  "I'll make her as comfortable as possible while you get some water and put it on the fire to heat."  As she was about to be off on that errand I added.  "And scissors.  I believe there are some in my tool kit in the boat.  Get them and put them in the fire as well.  I will need them to cut the umbilical.  And while you're there, see if there is some fine cord or twine I can use to tie it off."

I began readjusting the woman's position so that she was lying on her back.  I used the blankets as cushioning for her.  She grunted and moaned with every new movement, but I had to get her into a suitable position where I could see what was happening and catch the infant as it came out or help her if she were in difficulty.  Allah be praised, that should not happen.

In my haste and her erratic movements my mask was inadvertantly torn off.  She saw me full face and clear in the glow of the fire-light.  She drew in her breath suddenly in alarm.

"It is all right," I reassured her.  "I will not hurt you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't know how it happened, but when I returned with the scissors and twine Erik was unmasked.  The woman had responded with shock, as would only be natural, but to her credit, did not panic.  She merely nodded assent to his reassurances and let him proceed with the preparations.

When the water was nearly boiling, I saw Erik dip his hands and arms in it.  I cringed as he exclaimed in pain at the intolerable heat.

"Fellow named lister," he explained to me as he shook them to dry and cool in the air, "claims that infection is spread by means of germs too small for us to see.  Writes an extremely convincing treatise on the subject.  He says that hot water, the hotter the better, and strong lye soap are the only effective deterrents.  Since we have no soap readily to hand this will have to do."

I knew that many women who did not die of the act of childbirth itself succumbed later to raging fevers and putrifying infections that the doctors were unable to root out.  I assumed Erik was attempting, in as far as possible, to avoid such an occurrence.

I was still quite pale with shock and alarm.  I did not know if we were doing the right thing by this woman, although Erik seemed quite confident.  But we had no choice really.  Her labor was far too advanced to move her and I reckoned that by the time I could possibly go for help and bring someone back the child would already be born.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh, God, why did You do this to me?  I moaned inwardly as sweat, which had absolutely no excuse for forming in this frigid air, trickled down my brow.  I had a good, bull view of the woman's underneath now, a view no woman, not even the most desperate prostitute, had ever accorded me.  But this woman, whose name I did not even know, trusted me, or perhaps she was too bleary with pain to care.  I could see the pale crown of the baby's head as it began to push its way into the world and I was amazed at the spectacle of it.

Christine sat by the woman's head and held her hands, comforted her, encouraged her, mopped her brow and tried to sound brave, which I crouched at the other end, terrified that something would happen that I did not know how to handle and that mother and child would both die of my unparalleled ignorance and pride.

But Mother Nature knew what she was about. (Thank the many hued Dieties that one of us did).  I had to do nothing more than hold the precious bundle as it emerged, inch by torturous inch from its mother.  The head was the largest and hardest part of the infants' body and caused the most distress.  With each new round of contractions the mother shouted that she could bear it no longer and bravely Christine rallied her with imprecations that she was doing this "for your baby."  Meanwhile I shivered with the prospect that if the mother ruptured herself and began bleeding profusely I might have to slit her open like a side of beef to attempt to save the child.  I didn't know if I could do that.  For all my hatred of mankind I was no insensitive butcher of women and children.

Then suddenly a violent contraction.  The woman arched and the head was through.  I held it in my hands, this incredible miniature human head with eyes and nose and mouth all perfectly formed to scale.  But I had no time to wonder at the perfection of the infant's face because with the next contraction he slid right out of her whole into my astonished hands, a perfect model person and I was holding his life in my very hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"He's born," I shouted to the mother although I suspect she knew it better than I.

"A boy?" she asked panting.

"Yes," I flushed softly.  "You'll have him in your arms in minutes.

I moved from her side to help Erik tie and cut the umbilical and spank the baby into hearty, lusty breathing cries.  I quickly removed my petticoat so that I could wrap him in it and bring him to lay on his mother's breast.  He was still smeared with blood and clear fluid and he was howling at the top of his lungs, but he was a fair and precious sight for his mother to behold.

"He is born," she whispered cooing and nuzzling him.  "The son of God is born."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time Christine took the baby for the mother to see I was busy with the afterbirth and trying to clean the woman up as far as hot water and the ragged blanket would do.  She made no more protests and such bleeding as there was seemed to have slowed to a trickle so I assumed that her body was restoring its natural balance and all would be well.

I was visibly shaken as I washed my hands afterwards.  I had delivered a child into the world, mean and wretched place that it was, but I had helped a tiny human being, who had not existed before come to life.  It was a miracle and I had had a part in it.  I felt humbled and omnipotent at the same time.  I should never look at humans the same again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was an incredible experience and I was awestruck as well at the miracle of birth that I had witnessed for the first time tonight.  I understood better now why, in spite of the pain, discomfort and total indignity, women deeply crave the experience of giving birth.  I would look forward even more to the day of my own confinement.  That is, if I could ever convince the rightful father of my child to do his duty.

When both the mother and Erik were ready he said to me.  "We cannot leave her here.  If you will help me put her in the boat I will row her across the lake to the house then return for you."

I nodded assent.  "Please, sir," the woman reached her hand out as she was groggy and needing sleep.  "Come closer," she begged.

Reluctantly Erik did so, but much as he tried to hide his face she forced him into the light so that she could see him clearly.  This time she did not flinch at his scarred and deformed face, but touched it gently as she did her child's.

"You are a special man," she told him, "a very special man, for only such would do what you have done for me tonight when my own flesh and blood cast me out."

"I did what had to be done, no more.  Common humanity...." the Erik broke off, knowing he had often scourged the lack of common decency in many people.

"Common humanity," the woman added, "is well represented in you, Sir.  What is your name?"

"Erik," he said softly as if giving away a formidable secret.

"Erik," she said firmly touching her baby's head.  "It is a good name, a strong name.  He will grow to be worthy of it."

"But..." Erik tried to protest her gesture of naming her son after her benefactor, but the woman had fallen asleep, little Erik cooing contentedly in her arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What a night it had been!  All the shock and excitement of the birth, then rowing across the lake twice, first with the woman, then Christine, for the small boat would not bear the weight of them both.  We installed mother and child in the spare bedroom, the one Christine used on those nights when she stayed at my house.  Both were sleeping comfortably.

Because of the late hour I escorted Christine home, to her very door.  She protested, but I insisted.  "And do not be of a rush to be up and about," I told her.  "The woman and child will wait a little longer so that you may get your deserved rest."

She smiled then bent and pecked my cheek.  "Thank you," she said.  "You are truly my Angel."  Then quickly she went in.

I stood there dumbfounded a few moments.  She had taken of late to such spontaneous displays of emotion and I always responded quite badly to them.  I could never sincerely permit myself to believe she meant them and yet she reassured me, repeatedly, that she did.  I did not merit her approbation and yet I had it.  There was no reason for her to love me and yet it seemed, at least in these brief and stolen moments, that she did.

I was much too keyed up to sleep when I returned to the house.  I looked in on mother and child.  Both snoozed peacefully.  So I sat at my organ to compose.  I took my latest sheet music in front of me and was about to pound the keys with discordant melody, when I realised that such angry tones would waken the baby, and in all probability start him crying.  And besides, I had no wrath or bile in me tonight, nothing, but the beautiful warmth of love and life.

I let my fingers wander over the keys without guidance allowing them to pick their own melody, one which came from my heart and not my head.  The tune they chose was un bercuse, a cradle song, as soft and soothing as anything ever composed by Mendolsohn or Brahms.  I played the delicate melody over and over again while my mind drifted lazily in dreams of what might be, beautiful dreams of Christine.....and me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I too was much too excited to sleep.  I laid out my clothes for church Christmas morning and took a hot bath to relax myself.  I could hardly believe all that had happened to me this Christmas, from the performance, to the tree, to Erik's gift to the birth, to kissing him at my door.  He was so reticent and self-deprecating that I knew I had to be the one to draw him out or he would never come out at all.  So I had gradually tried increasing our level of intimacy from light touches to hugs and now to kisses, very light and playfully delivered so that I wouldn't frighten him into retreat.  But oh, how I wanted to taste his lips on mine, drown in the power and the passion of his body.  I ached for it in a profound and definitely unladylike way that made my whole body tremble with wanting.

And tonight I had glimpsed that Erik wanted it too, really wanted me as a woman, not a protegee, not a friend, but as a mate to him, body and soul.  I had seen it in his eyes in an unguarded moment when the rapture of my kiss made him unconsciously lick his lips with desire.  Oh, how I wanted to give him his desire.  But I knew how skittish he was and didn't dare venture more.  But his self-defenses were losing the battle.  He was giving in to me more and more.  I could see it, I could feel it.

To get him to take the next step required an act of committment on my part, one he would recognize as sincere and in his best interests.  I must break things off with Raoul completely, return his gift and ask him not to visit me anymore.  His mere presence enraged Erik and even though I knew Raoul meant no more to me than a casual acquaintance, Erik saw him as a threat and a rival, so I must spurn him and convince Erik that he was my only love.  If that meant Raoul would be hurt I was sorry about that.  It must be done.  He was young and handsome and rich and he would succeed in forgetting me and finding someone eminently more suitable to his station in no time, especially if that pompous bore of a brother of his Phillippe had anything to say about it.  Yes, it must be done, for all our sakes.  I would stop by and tell Raoul, first thing after church, before I go to Erik's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is impossible to tell day from night in this my self imposed prison, but I had developed over the years a certain inner clock that guided my waking and sleeping as no external pendulum could.  I knew now that it was morning above.  I could feel the ringing of the Christmas morning bells and I felt my heart rejoice in their song.

I looked in on the mother and child. Both were awake.  The little one rooted contentedly at the brown teat of the woman's ample breast.  I felt a bit embarrassed seeing her so, but she sufferred no like dis-ease.

"He's a healthy boy," I encouraged.

"He will be the light of the world," she said softly.  "Those who believe in him shall never die and those that die believing shall rise up and live."

I recognized the Biblical references quite well.  Though I scoffed at organized religion I did have a firm belief in a power greater than our own that guides our lives, even if I was not ready to define or put a name to this Power.  If this woman thought her son was the second-coming of the Messiah who was I to disabuse her of that notion.  Were not we all the sons of God?  I know I had felt a share of divinity last night.

"First," I told her, "he must grow and become strong and for that you must see to your own nourishment.  I will fetch you some broth."

The soup was meager indeed as I had quite forgotten to restock my provisions in all the excitement of the Christmas tree, but the woman drank it hungrily and ate the bread as well with generous thanks.

I felt awkward and ill-at-ease in the presence of this peaceful woman and the child I'd helped her bear who had now stopped suckling and slipped back into innocent slumber.  Where was Christine?  I expected her by with a carriage right after church.

"What is your name?" I asked nervously.

"Marie....Marie Charpentier,"  she replied.  "I am of the town of La Beth in Provence."

"You are come a long way to Paris."

"It is as it must be," she nodded.  "My husband seeks to set up trade in the house of his father who is old and infirm of health."

"But he put you out," I thought the idea of filial piety rang false from one who would send an unborn child to his death.

"He does not understand," she nodded sadly.  "He thinks I have lain with another man.  He is not another man's child," she smiled down on sleepy Erik.  "He is God's son."

"And your husband is no believer in immaculate conceptions,"   I observed wryly.

"He will come to understand.  God will show him.  This child must be born to save mankind."

"I am in dire doubt that mankind can be saved," I nodded sagely.

"Always there are doubters.  Respect your eyes and ears.  Judge my son on the words he says and the things he does and you will know him as his father's son."

I had no desire to argue philosophy with her and besides there was this sense of serene contentment to her that absolutely unnerved me.  "I'll go and see what's keeping Christine," I decided finally, preferring the frigid outdoors to the cauldron of my own thoughts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The mass was more beautiful this morning than I have ever heard it before.  Every note of these beautiful boy soprano choirsters was as pure and heavenly as could be.  Everyone in church was loving and open and warmly accepting with each other.  Oh, how I wished Erik were here to share this with me, to see that his light need not always be hidden, that there were those who would understand and accept him as he is.

But I knew that was too big a step to ask of him just yet.  He had sufferred cruelly at the hands of others and I could not blame him for needing to hide, to cover himself.  Trust is won by inches.  Someday this too would come to be.

Immediately after service I stopped by the house of the De Chagney's here in town.  It was on my way back from church and I thought it best and most honest to have it over with as soon as possible.

The servant who answered the door told me Raoul was at church and that I might sit in the parlor and wait for him.  Directly his brother Phillippe was down to speak to me.

"What is it you wish, strumpet?" he snorted.

"I wish to speak with the Viscomte on a personal matter," I let my tone tell him what I thought of his vulgar name-calling.

"Any business you have with my brother you may discuss with me."

"I rather think not," I refused to give him the satisfaction of running his brother's social life.

"You will get nothing from him," he belched unceremoniously.  "He is a second son and a layabout to boot.  He has nothing, save what I allow him."

"I am looking for nothing from Raoul.  In fact, it is precisely his generosity and its return that brings me here," I indicated the box in my hand.

Phillippe pulled it from me rudely and retrieved the scarf.  Appraising it carefully he added,  "This is some of the finest cloth and embroidery work in Paris.  Isn't it good enough for you?"

"On the contraty.  I have no desire to be beholden to the Viscomte or anyone so I must decline his generous gift."

"Trolling for a better?"

"I desire nothing, but to be left alone, Monsier," I became enraged.  "That is what I have come to say."

"Christine," Raoul's voice was bright with enthusiasm as he bounded in, ruddy-cheeked from the cold.  "How wonderful of you to come.  Would you like some egg nog?"

"No, Raoul, thank you but no,"

"You will stay for Christmas dinner, will you not?"

"Of course she will not," Phillippe dismissed me with a wave of his lacy handkerchief.  "I will not have my guests demeaned by the presence of this vulgar bawd."

"Brother, please," Raoul shouted.  "She is a lady and my guest."

"Please, do not argue," I interposed.  "I have not come to eat, but simply to have a few words with you, Raoul."

"Oh, very well," Phillippe bustled out in his foppish way, "but be sure she's gone before my guests begin arriving."

"Pay him no heed," Raoul pressed my hand as his brother exited the room.  "You are always welcome at the De Chagney's."

"I appreciate your support, Raoul."  I tightened and pulled my hand away.  "But that is what I have come to talk to you about.  We must put an end to this, what has been between us."  I handed the now unwrapped scarf back to him.  "I cannot keep it," I told him sincerely.  "It represents a depth of committment I do not share.  I must ask you to cease and desist your attentions.  No more gifts or visits or suppers.  We must be as the casualest of acquaintances when we chance to meet."

"I understand about your art," he babbled.  "I will make no demands of you, none at all.  But certainly a degree of friendship is..."

"It's not working, Raoul and we both know it.  You still fancy me your beloved and hope to one day win me over.  That can never be.  My heart is given forever."

"To your music?"

"More than that.  I did not wish to tell you, but your persistence leaves me no choice.  There is another man in my life..."

"Who?"  Raoul charged impertinently.  "I will call him out at once."

I shook my head.  "Who he is does not matter.  What matters is that I love him dearly with all my heart as he does me.  I will never love another."

"That can't be," he trumpted.

"It's true, Raoul.  Please accept it in good graces."  I made to leave.

"I have a right to know who this man is and to face him,"  Raoul followed me out the door and onto the pavement.

"Please, Raoul," I tried to reason with him as I was about to get into my carriage.  "I have given you my answer.  It is over."

"Not by my mind," he grabbed me viciously and forced his lips angrily on mine.  "Can he kiss you like this?" he panted as our lips parted.

I pulled away angrily wiping my mouth, tempted to slap his face.  "No, better, because he does not force himself on me.  He is only as he is and I love him as I could never love you.  Goodbye, Raoul."  Clambering into my carriage I made a hasty exit before I created an even bigger scene for the gossips of Paris to much on over their baguettes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I never expected to see her in front of the De Chagney's villa.  In fact, I had only taken this route because it was the shortest to Christine's dwelling.  But there she was in broad daylight before all and sundry kissing with the insensate lout and a kiss which reviled the gentle peck she gifted me with last night as repulsive.  I could not stand to watch.  I turned on my heel and strode quickly down the street.

Was she such a perfidious little liar as to have deceived me so?  I thought, as the crunching of hard packed snow echoed maddeningly in my ears.  Was she not at all the sweet and innocent angel I had imagined her to be but a lusty wench of dubious character as all those of the theater are purported to be?  Did she take perverse pleasure in taunting me, baiting me, leading me on, giving me hope, knowing that out of my sight she would willfully dally with that pueling little aristocrat and make fun of my insouciance as she was doing it?

I had worked myself into the most terrible rage by the time I reached the Rue Scribe.  How could she do this to me?  My dearest Christine, the whore, the strumpet, the malicious flirt.

"Do not be impatient, she will come," Marie said, in her typically unflapable voice as soon as I came in.

"She will not," I insisted through gritted teeth.  "She has deceived us both."

"Deceived?  No," she smiled softly.  "She loves you.  She will not play false with you."

"It is a premier bit of acting," I stormed.  "She is this very minute with a snot nosed fop with more money than brains, all because of his pretty face."

"Faces hold many types of beauty.  Not all of them obvious," Marie smiled.  "You must be patient with her.  She is yet young and only beginning to understand the surface beauty from the deeper, more powerful kind."

"She has made her choice," I dug my nails into my palms.

"Indeed and her choice is you," Marie soothed.  "But you treat her so shabbily."

"I?????" I screamed.  "I give her everything it is in my power to give.  I give her my music and still it is not enough."

"But what do you give of yourself?  Have you reached out your hand and your heart to her?"

I wondered if she were right, if the piss-ugly little viscomte was only a milksop for the true affection that Christine wanted to share with me.  Did I dare be so bold as to chance it?  How would she react?  How would I?

I was ominously quiet when Christine came to the Rue Scribe some time later with her carriage.  We put Marie and the baby in it and Christine gave her driver directions to the Sisters of Charity.

"Do not forget," Marie said to me.  "Speak with your heart and she will be yours."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I sensed a change in Erik from the warm acceptance of last night and could not fathom the reason for it.  He was cold and distant, viscerally cordial but something seethed within.  I had to know it.  If thee was ever to be a mutually intimate relationship between us, Erik must learn to trust me with his innermost thoughts and turbulences.

It took no little time to get Marie and her baby situated with the Sisters of Charity.  By the time I emerged from their stone grey solitude twilight had already begun to descend as the days are wickedly short at this festive time of year.  All of Paris was at home making merry with their families.  The streets were ominously silent as my carriage sped along Monsieur Hausman's wide boulevards.  I told my driver to leave me at the opera house and that he might then go home to his own wife and family.  He was reluctant to do so, offerring to wait for me, but I said that I did not know how long I would be and surely could get a cab home.  There were always hacks about the Place de l'Opera.

The public entrances to the building were closed and locked, but staff always had their ways of enterring and exiting.  I used one of these now and lit a taper to assist me in finding my way through the pitch dark paths of the backstage area.  Locating my dressing room I paused to remove my coat and hat and freshen my hair and makeup before joining Erik below.

Erik had taught me the secret of the mirror, the sequence of actions that tripped the pivot to allow me entry into his secret world.  A lantern was kept a short ways inside so that I would have light as I followed the never ending succession of ramps that led me ever downward, past the horse stables, past the scenery storage, to the shores of the lake.

I remembered the first time I made this journey with Erik, as if sleepwalking.  He led me down deep into my soul.  I had truly believed it was a dream, a beautiful ephemeral dream, until that morning when I woke and tempted cruel reality.   Oh, God, what a horror his face had been to me then, the other side of that which is beauty.  But then, groveling on hands and knees he showed me his soul and that wass so luminous that it outshone the mask of his disfigurement.  Why now I hardly even noticed it.

When I reached the lake I pulled the cord that rang a bell in Erik's house, a little device he had created for me and shortly I saw him poling the boat across to me.

"I did not expect you to return," he said curtly as I settled myself in the prow.

"And where else would I spend my Christmas evening?"  I smiled brightly.

It was not returned.  "I can think of a place, a veritable palace compared with what I have to offer, is not the Chagney villa, Christine?"

There was a definite taint of malice in his tone and I could not imagine what provoked it, but this was as good a time as any to tell Erik of my resolve.  "There is to be no further contact between the Vicomte and myself.  I've returned his gift and told him in no undertain terms that his attentions are unwelcome."

"Indeed!"  Erik's eyebrows raised dramatically, "and was that a goodbye kiss on the street by your carriage?" he thrust vigorously.

"You...you saw us?"  I was amazed to think that Erik was spying on me.

"Purely by chance," he responded.  "Did you think it would be permissible so long as I didn't know about it?"  He marched angrily into the house without even helping me disembark.

"If you saw us," I shouted stumbling after him into the house," then you know he forced himself on me and I spurned him"

"Indeed, you appeared to be full well enjoying it when I saw you."

"Oh, you damned infuriating man!  Do you always see only what you want to see?  I was enraged that Raoul should think he could impose his affections on me and I wiped them away crudely afterwards.  If there was any sense of passion or desire evident on my part it was because I was thinking how wonderful it would be to do that with you."

"Hmf, likely story," he scoffed.

"What will it take to convince you?"  Quite impulsively I grabbed his shoulders and pulled at them roughly, making him turn to face me, then grasping his face firmly in my hands knocked the mask to one side, I stretched up and brought my lips to kiss him.

He was rigid and fighting it at first, but unlike last night, I let go all my boundaries.  I opened my mouth to him and delved his tentative one as I so long wanted to do.  And in the heat of my kiss he softened and opened to me totally.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I could never have imagined a sensation so exquisite.  She was warm and wet and loving, far more enthusiastic than what I'd seen between her and that insolent boy, which did seem rather one sided now I think on it.

Contritely, I gave in to the passion smoldering within me, I had to.  I could no longer resist.  My arm went around Christine to hold her firmly.  My free hand sought her breast and cupped it gently and my tongue probed deeply and wantonly into her mouth.

We rubbed our mouths and our faces together repeatedly, over and over, I couldn't possibly get enough of the feel of her and she seemed of a like persuasion.  I forgot everything, my face, this dungeon, everything but the incredible joy she gave me and I drank deeply of it.

I was heartily ashamed of my unprincipled behavior and apologized quickly when the spell had passed and we drew apart.  "I...I'm sorry....I..."

"I'm not," she cooed curling against my chest.  "I've wanted to do that for so long, that and more."

"You don't mean..." I could hardly bring myself to say the words and yet they were vividly present in her eyes, "....you wish to....lie with me?"  My whole body trembled at the prospect.

She nodded affirmative.  "I have already given you my heart, my body is the logical next step."

"But I cannot...your reputation..."

"My reputation is my concern and my virginity is a gift I alone can bestow on who I choose," she giggled.  "I choose you,"   she stabbed my chest with her forefinger.

"I... it will be an awkward coupling," I could not bring myself to tell her that I was a virgin as well.

"We will learn together, to give and receive pleasure," she smiled.

"And the Viscomte?"

"He is history.  I have all the nobility I require right here in my arms."

My heart swelled when she said it and I led her through to the front room where the tree stood.  "I...I don't even have the making of a good Christmas meal," I cravenly recalled the broth and bread, my only remaining staples.

"Then perhaps we shall have to feed a different hunger," she teased stroking my face, my right side, tenderly with her fingers.  Then, suddenly, seeing the tree she exclaimed,  "Light the candles please, Erik.  Let us celebrate this Christmas Day as no other."

Filled with my love for her I would refuse her no wish and carefully put each little candle to flame.  When it was done we stood back to admire our handiwork.  It was easily the most beautiful Christmas tree I'd ever seen.

As of one mind, we slid to the floor beside it, our hands, our mouths, our bodies, aching to know each other.  And beneath that symbol of joy, Christine and I discovered true love.

"Peace on the earth
Good will to men
From Heaven's all gracious King
The world in solemn stillness waits
To hear the angels sing."

--THE END--