To show Mary’s parents that he wasn’t completely without refinement, he wanted to get Mary a strand of Tahitian pearls for her to wear on their wedding day. He’d first seen them when he was a boy and traveling with his father through the South Pacific, and, like most people, he found the pearls to be extraordinary in their size and hue. But he was having difficulty locating them anywhere close by.
He was told that, because of their rare beauty and size, poachers had all but destroyed the oyster beds around Tahiti and their oysters were nearly extinct. If the French government hadn’t stepped in to protect them and build new beds, it was certain they would have gone out of existence. So after months of searching, Matthew was able to find only one pearl. He had it made into a necklace just in time for the wedding.
After the wedding, everything looked as if it was going to work out well for all involved. However, while in the process of making their plans for their next adventure, Mary became with child. So the decision was made to wait until the child was one year old before they started their voyage.
Life was good for the adventurous threesome as they waited for the big day. In the meantime, they made small trips in South Africa. Finally, they were only one week away from the biggest adventure for them all, the birth of the baby.
I was down to the last six pages of the book when the story took a turn that I hadn’t seen coming, but, at that stage of the reading, I was committed to finishing it. Jacob fell ill with malaria and lay dying with Matthew at his side. The writing was excellent and captured my heart, causing it to lay bare on my sleeve.
I struggled to finish the last few pages without my voice breaking, but my throat tightened, and my words were more than difficult to get out, and, at times, it was even impossible to enunciate properly. I stopped often, cleared my throat, and squeezed my eyes closed tightly, removing my tears so I could read the print on the page. I don’t believe Christine even tried to conceal her sniffling, but I hid like a coward behind the cover of the book, unwilling to let the woman I loved think I was weak for crying over a fictional story.
The child was born during the early morning hours, and, while Matthew held the new baby boy in his arms, he sat on the edge of his dying father’s bed. Jacob smiled at his first grandchild who was to become an adventurer just like his grandfather and father before him. Jacob kissed the baby boy on the top of his head, looked at Matthew, smiled, and squeezed his hand for the last time. Then, with the tender coos of the baby in Matthew’s arms, Jacob slipped away.
Somehow, I managed to finish the last words on the last page. “As one adventurous soul traveled his last road and left this world, another entered and began anew.”
By then, the inside of my mask was soaked. I didn’t look at Christine—I couldn’t. I lowered my eyes and laid the book on the small table next to me. Quickly getting to my feet, I picked up a log and laid it on the fire, buying myself time before trying to say anything to her.
It was finally Christine who spoke first. “Thank you for sharing that story with me, Erik. It was beautiful.”
I nodded and added, “Yes, it was adventurous, wasn’t it?”
I quickly glanced over my shoulder and saw her smiling warmly at me. She knew I’d been crying but was kind enough not to damage my masculine pride by bringing it to my attention. However, when the room became too quiet, I struggled to find a safe topic. The first thing was about the book.
“I think my favorite part was their trip on horseback through Arabia. Their horses reminded me about some of mine. There’s nothing like a horse, and I think that’s what I miss most about living down here. I can’t have my horses around me all the time.”
“Horses! Then that’s another true rumor? It was you who kept stealing César,” she exclaimed.
“No!” I came back quickly. “That’s a gross lie, and anyone with half a brain would see right through it.”
“If it wasn’t you who took him, then do you know who did?”
“Oh, I took him sure enough and often, but I always returned him. So it wasn’t a theft—it was a loan,” I explained with a grin.
At first she smiled at me, but then she looked serious and her brow wrinkled as she whispered, “César. It was César that was with us as we came down here—right?”
I nodded. “Yes, he was supposed to be the prince’s white stallion taking his princess to his shiny castle in the sky. Silly—right?”
“Not really. I wish I could remember more about it. It sounds romantic. I wish it had worked out the way you’d planned it.”
“Me too, but it ended well. You’re here with me now, and I’m enjoying myself very much.”
“Yes,” she said softly while gazing at the fire.
We were quiet for a while. I don’t know what she was thinking, but I was thinking it was the end of the third day, and I had only one more day to spend with her. I told myself not to think about it because it made me sad, and I didn’t want to be sad while she was there, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know what I was going to do once she was gone.
Fortunately, she broke the silence and my sad thoughts by informing me it was time to treat my leg again. So, as she took care of me, we talked more about the book and how much fun it would be to travel the world. We even got my atlas down and let our fingers travel the same path that Jacob and Matthew had traveled. Then we made a path of our own with all the places we’d like to travel to.
It had been a wonderful evening, but, all too soon, it was time for her to retire, and she once more stood in front of the fire, brushing her hair. Then, as she had the previous evening, she walked passed my chair and laid her hand on my shoulder.
“Thank you for reading to me and doing so with such passion. I could tell you were feeling what the characters were feeling, and I could feel your pain along with theirs. I don’t expect you to tell me your entire life story during these few short days, but I beg you not to hide who you are when you have a chance to let me see you in a true light.”
I reached up and placed my hand on hers—slightly nodding. The tone of her voice touched my heart, and I couldn’t stop myself from expressing my love on a different level. I grasped her hand gently and turned my head, resting my lips on the back of her tender hand. I held that position, and she didn’t pull away, so I didn’t hide the next tears that formed in my eyes. Then, releasing her hand, I looked up at her.
“Thank you, Christine, for being the person you are, and for being here with me. Regardless of what tomorrow brings, I’ll always cherish the time we’ve had together. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Erik, and so will I.”
With that, she ran her fingers across my prickly cheek and left, while I closed my eyes and let them fill with more tears. I loved her so much, and I hurt inside in both a good and bad way. I laid my head back and gazed into the fire while twisting the gold band on my finger. With a sigh, I looked down at it and watched it sparkle in the firelight, just as I’d done so many times when it was on my father’s finger.
Then, the more I twisted it and the more I watched it sparkle, thoughts, wonderful and daring thoughts, began forming in my mind. With them, I felt fear and contentment at the same time. I glanced over my shoulder at Christine’s door and thought, do I try? Would I dare try?
Thirty
Thoughts and ideas about our last evening together built on each other and worked themselves into a cohesive plan. I felt excitement and fear at the same time. It would be wonderful if she accepted my offer, but I feared she wouldn’t. After all, it was a rather strange request.
Once my thoughts quieted down enough, I prepared to sleep. I hadn’t slept the night before, so I figured it shouldn’t be difficult to sleep that night. To make certain I wouldn’t frighten Christine again with my fire eyes, I lay in the opposite direction on the divan, so I couldn’t see the fire. I closed my eyes, and, with a soft smile on my lips, I drifted into sweet sleep. Then, abruptly, I was jolted off the divan with Christine’s scream.
I expected to see her standing in her doorway again, but her door was closed. Without even thinking about knocking, I burst into her room.
“Christine! What’s wrong?”
She was sitting on her bed in the dark with her face in her hands and crying hysterically.
I immediately turned on the light and knelt beside her. “Christine, you’re trembling. What’s wrong?” Her only response was more tears. “Did you have a nightmare?” She managed to nod but didn’t stop crying. “Oh, Christine, Christine. It’s over. I’m here,” I said softly while stroking her arm.
I took one of my handkerchiefs from the drawer of my bedside table and put it in her hand. She took it, but she still couldn’t stop crying. After a few moments, I couldn’t refrain from automatically taking the next step to comfort her. I rose up and sat on the edge of her bed, facing her, and then I gently took her shoulders in my hands and pulled her into my chest, wrapping my arms completely around her.
“Shh, my angel. It’s over. You’re safe. Shh.”
She melted into my chest, and I stroked her back while whispering encouragingly to her. We stayed in that position until she started to calm down. Then I realized what a dangerous position I’d brought us to, so I gently released her and started to get up.
But she grasped my shirt strongly and pleaded, “No, please don’t leave me.”
A plethora of thoughts and feeling surged through me, from me begging my father not to leave me when I had a nightmare to my silent pleas on the roof that night when she begged her angel not to leave her. She said it. She asked me not to leave her, and I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms back around her, and soaked in the precious moments.
My logical side knew she was searching for comfort, and it didn’t matter who was sitting in front of her; she would have asked the same thing regardless. But I didn’t want to be logical. I wanted the feel of her against my chest, a feeling I’d only imagined before. So I laid my cheek on her head and listened to her breathing until it slowed. Then, sadly, the moment came when she was composed and moved away from me. Those precious moments were only a memory then.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked.
Her head was still down, but she nodded. Then she laid her palm on my chest and said with a sniffle, “I’m sorry. I got your shirt wet.”
“No matter, my sweet. They won’t hurt it, but they hurt me. I hate to see you cry.”
I lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, which was the catalyst she needed to realize I was sitting on her bed with her. She lifted her head and looked at me, with fear rising in her eyes. I instantly released her hand and sat on the floor beside the bed before I said or did anything else.
“Do you have these often?” I asked quickly, trying to relieve the tension in her eyes.
“Often enough. I hate them.”
“I know. Would you like to talk about it?”
I expected her to refuse, since I never wanted to talk about mine, but she nodded and began explaining.
“They’re always the same. I’m dancing, but then I have a horrible pain in my chest, and, when I look down, all I see is a black hole. There’s no skin, no heart, or anything—just a black empty cavity. Then there’s laughing and girls in strange costumes all around me—laughing at me. They tell me to go away and that I don’t belong there. They say I’m fat and ugly and that I can’t dance or sing, and they dance around me, laughing. Meg’s face laughing at me is what wakes me. I feel horrible when I wake—hollow, and like I need to wash and hide.”
I knew what she was feeling, and I felt I had to do something to make her feel better. I started to lay my hand on her arm again but then held back.
“Would you like me to run a bath for you? Would that make you feel better?”
She looked at me. “Thank you for being here and being so kind, but what I want most is to listen to your music. Will you play for me?”
“Certainly,” I replied. “I never have to be asked twice to play my music. What would you like to hear?”
“It doesn’t matter. You decide.”
I got to my feet and went to my piano. I was about to begin when she walked in with a blanket over her arm.
“I don’t want to be in there alone. May I stay in here with you?”
“You don’t ever need to ask that.”
I got up and took the blanket from her and then waited until she was curled in the stuffed chair. I then covered her and tucked the blanket around her feet. I started to turn and go back to my piano, but she grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“Erik?”
“Yes? Is there something else I can get you?”
She shook her head. “I just wanted to thank you for not taking advantage of me in there. I appreciate that.”
“There’s no need to thank me. You deserve respect, and I always want to give that to you. I do apologize though if I crossed any boundaries. I knew you needed comfort and that’s the only way I know how to give it. At a time like that, words can fail.”
“You didn’t cross any boundaries, and I understand.”
I then began playing soft melodies and periodically glanced over my shoulder. She’d respond to my glance with a smile. During the third piece when I glanced at her, her eyes were closed. I finished that piece and then waited in the silence to see if she was asleep or only resting her eyes. When she appeared to be sleeping, I smiled, knowing she was at peace.
I got up carefully and knelt beside her, watching her sleep. She was so beautiful, but what was continuing to grow within me wasn’t connected to her beauty; it was something unexplained, something much more encompassing.
Her hand was lying limp over the arm of the chair, so I raised it and laid it on the arm. When I did, I let my fingers hold her wrist for a moment, and then I laid my forehead on the back of her hand. I stayed there, feeling her blood pulse through the veins in her wrist, and, at the same time, feeling my own pulse in my fingertips.
I raised my head and looked over every bit of her flawless face, wanting to kiss her lips tenderly. But that forbidden desire would have to wait for an invitation. As a substitute, I moved her curls from her cheek and placed my palm there, feeling her breath on the inside of my wrist—so soft and sweet.
I thought about everything we’d done in the last three days, the three most precious days of my life. With each day that had passed, my love for her had increased immeasurably. Have your feelings for me increased at all, Christine? I wondered. She started to stir, so I got up and moved over to my organ.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Erik. I must have fallen asleep.”
I smiled. “There’s nothing to apologize for, my dear. I thank you for the privilege of watching you sleep. Are you feeling better? Do you feel well enough to return to your bed or do you want to spend the night here?”
“I’m feeling much better, thank you. I’ll go back to bed now so you can get some sleep. Thank you for your music. It really helps to calm my nerves.”
I offered her my hand and helped her up. “If you’d like, I’ll keep playing until you get back to sleep.”
“That would be nice, but don’t tire yourself too much. You still need to be careful about your leg.”
“Don’t worry about me. My music is also good for me.”
I followed her to her door, we said goodnight, and I went back to my piano. After four pieces, I checked on her, and, when I saw she was sleeping peacefully, I went back and lay down on the divan, thinking about what had happened in her room. I’d just gotten a taste of what it would be like to be her constant companion and protector, and so had she. I liked the experience, and I hoped she did also.
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, raised my arm and laid it across my forehead. I relaxed and could still feel her breath on my wrist and her blood pulsing through her veins. I took another deep breath and was moved instantly with inspirational thoughts. So, bounding off the divan, again, I headed for my piano—again.
The notes and words forming in my imagination came one after
another, and one after another I wrote them down. They were coming so quickly that it was hard to keep up—a note here, a word there. As at so many other times in my life, I was unaware of time passing until I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I turned with a start.
“I’m so sorry for waking you. Was I playing too loud?”
“No, it was perfect. There’s nothing better to be awakened by than your music. That melody is beautiful, but I don’t recognize it.”
I smiled and looked at my watch, realizing I’d been composing for over nine hours; then I responded, “Yesterday I wouldn’t have recognized it either.” Then my smile softened and I looked in her eyes. “You inspire me in many ways, my dear.”
“You mean you’ve been up all night composing?”
“Well, let’s say it’s a work in progress,” was my attempt at modesty.
She looked at the scribbles on the pages in front of me and softly read its title, “‘One Beat.’ Play it for me and sing it for me, please.”
“It’s not finished yet,” I tried explaining. “Wait until it’s finished.”
“Please, Erik.”
Then I realized she could be gone forever by the time I had the finishing touches on it, and I may never have another chance to show her how much of an inspiration she was to me. So I laid my fingers on the keys and began playing and singing for her.
“Don’t leave me here all alone; stay close to my heart.
Keep your soul near to mine, don’t rip them apart.
Two lives—one devoted breath.
Two hearts—one unswerving beat.
Our lives entwine and move as one, sharing breath and beat.
One true touch, forever paired, together they’re complete.
Two lives one breath, together they’ll stay.
Two hearts one beat, their love will find a way.
Their love will find a way with their heart’s one beat,
Through Phantom Eyes: Volume Five - Christine Page 42
