The Crystal Rainbow Ch. 02-05

"There, there, boy. Everything will be all right. Everything will be just fine. You will see. No one will hurt you now, not as long as you are with Helen. You are safe here. Hush. You will see, Erik. There, there, my boy, everything will be all right. There, there." She crooned softly.

The plump, wrinkled, old woman stood at the side of the bed with the boy gently enfolded within her arms. The almost-skeletal boy, in turn, clutched desperately at the woman, seemingly afraid to let her go. She stood there shocked by the boy's need.

"It is as if he has never known the comfort of another's touch. Oh, I pray it is not so. Even I had my mother's love as a child. And, as a woman, I chose to be alone. I have never felt as if someone needed me and I spent my life priding myself on my ability to live alone. I do not know if it is true, but it feels like he needs me and I could become quite used to this. It feels strange, but it is a good feeling. See, Erik, already you bring something new to Helen. I do believe that I quite like this. Yes. I did the right thing in asking him to stay here. Indeed, I think everything may be all right after all. Please, Lord let everything be all right …."

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"Erik!"

The small girl sat upright in her bed panting and furious.

"How dare he call me stupid?"

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes with balled fists for a moment then lowered her hands to her lap. Gradually, her anger left her and she chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip as her brow furrowed in silent contemplation. Suddenly, she pounded her fists into her mattress and groaned with frustration.

"Oh! Just who did that boy think he was? I have never met anyone so rude in my entire life! What gave him the right to speak to me in such a manner? I did nothing to him, but offer to be his friend. I just wanted to play with him. No, not play …. I wanted to sing with him."

Her pretty, little mouth formed an unconscious pout.

"Just you wait until the next time I see you, Erik. I shall give you such a tongue lashing that you will never forget it. I will teach you some manners and then we can be friends whether you wish it or not!"

She lay back down in her bed and thought about the strange boy.

"His eyes shall forever haunt me. Such a lovely color, almost like honey, just a little darker. I wonder if he likes honey on his bread. I shall have to ask him …."

The last thought that ran through the girl's mind before sleep claimed her once more was a wish to see Erik again soon, very soon.

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Chapter Four – Futility

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Is it an exercise in futility to count grains of sand in the wind?
Is this act still futile if it were to save a life?

"A Fool's Book of Wisdom"

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Rumors ran rampant and riot amongst the servant's quarters that day, causing the usually aloof Christine to stop and unobtrusively listen to the unending chatter around her. The ceaseless tongue wagging of her fellow maids never failed to amaze and confound her. She rolled her eyes at the rapt attention paid to the current gossiper.

"Oh, I heard that she is a witch and has a face, which looks like folded bread dough."

"Well, I too heard that she is a witch, but did you hear that she has a demon for a companion?"

The sound of gasps and nervous titters filled the space required for the gossipmonger to draw a breath before she continued.

"Oh yes!" She nodded emphatically. "I heard tell that she cast a spell to summon him to her side. The power of her magic binds him to her. They travel from village to village, never staying in any one place for too long. They say that the two of them sing to make the angels weep with jealousy. And," the speaker paused dramatically, "the upstairs maid, the one with the crooked nose. Ah yes, that is right, her name escaped me for moment, but now I remember it. Her name is Gretchen! You know the one! Well, she overheard Monsieur le Comte speaking with the Comtessa and Gretchen swears on her life that they are here in the house. They are to perform tonight for the Comte, the Comtessa and their guests after supper." Another pause, as a female voice cackled an incoherent question. "No, I do not know where. Somewhere in the bloody house, I suppose. How should I know? The Comte does not ask my opinion in such matters. Never mind that, now, imagine it. A witch and a demon, here under the same roof as us poor, decent God-fearing folk. What a scandal! What is the Comte thinking to allow such a thing? They spend the night here in this house as guests of the Comte. I shall not be able to sleep a wink tonight for fear of losing my immortal soul!"

Christine groaned inwardly and shook her head in disgust.

"Ignorant peasants, the lot of them. That is all they are … superstitious fools."

She walked deeper into the shadows, trying to place as much distance between her and the others that served the de Mornay family. Their malicious words towards two people she did not know stung her and she could not fathom why it should bother her so. It was just one more thing that set her apart from the rest of them.

From the first moment the young girl stepped foot into the house, she knew that the servants considered her odd, a misfit among misfits. She belonged nowhere. Her father was the Vicomte Anton de Mornay's music instructor and Christine lived in the de Mornay chateau on the borrowed grace of her father's position. When her father became ill and died, the old Comte took pity on the orphaned girl as the same illness that claimed Christine's father had struck down his pregnant wife and young son. The man deeply mourned the passing of his son, his wife and their unborn child, and recognized the same grief in the eyes of the young girl. That shared sorrow prompted the Comte to show compassion to the girl. He allowed her to remain in the chateau as a member of the serving staff and then, just as quickly forgot about her.

So, at the tender age of nine years, Christine donned an apron and a white cap and began earning her way in life. She lived as quietly and unobtrusively as possible and went out of her way to blend into the shadows. While she made no friends, she had no enemies either. The only noticeable action of hers, which caused her to stand apart from the others of her station, was that she often snuck away from her duties to pray for her father in the chateau's unused and dilapidated chapel.

An unfortunate twist of fate forced the role of servant upon the girl, not the circumstances of her birth. Christine had the manners befitting a child of a musician who was a member of the bourgeoisie, which made her too refined for the lowly position in which she found herself. Had her father lived, she knew he intended to complete her vocal training and then assist her in a pursuit of a career on the opera stage. Her father strongly believed in her ability, but if his dreams of having her sing went awry, he had planned to make arrangements that would provide her with sufficient education or training to find suitable employment elsewhere. Tragically, the man died before he could ensure his dreams for his daughter would become a reality. Therefore, the household staff held the girl at arm's length as her refined manners set her apart from them. An outcast below the stairs and too unimportant for anyone to take note of her from above them, she lived her life in quiet desperation. She had spent the last nine years of her life attempting to attract as little attention to herself as possible. Now that she was 18, she had begun to form a plan to leave the chateau. She wished to sing. Before her father worked at the chateau, father and daughter had wandered about Europe. A talented violinist, he earned a living performing at fairs and sometimes at inns in exchange for room and board. As a very young child, Christine had often accompanied her father's playing by singing. Her sweet voice captivated so many that her father had begun to train her, but the lessons and her hopes died with her father. However, with the passage of time, the girl's dreams began to awaken and the thought of singing on the stage of an opera house had become like a siren's song sounding within her soul.

"I will show all of them! I do belong somewhere. I belong on the stage, singing. My father knew it. He believed in my voice and I shall not let him down. I shall leave this horrid place and go to Paris. I need to write a letter to Papa's friend, Madame Fortescue and ask her if I can audition for the chorus. I only hope she is still there. But, I have no other choice. Her name is the only one about which I remember Papa speaking."

The girl's thoughts halted for a moment as a sudden urgency flooded through her body, sending a wave of impatient heat coursing through her veins.

"No. I do not wish to remain here another fortnight or more waiting for a response that may never come. I cannot stay here another day! I need to leave this place as soon as I possibly can. I feel as if I cannot breathe here. Tonight, I will borrow from the household some things I need to make the trip to Paris. I do not think the Comte will begrudge me a few loaves of bread, some cheese and dried apples. Or, at least I hope not. I shall leave a note informing Madame LaBreche that I borrowed some food and whatnots. I shall inform her of my intention to repay their kind indulgence of my actions when I receive my salary from the opera house. That way I am not stealing. I do not wish to begin my new life by committing a mortal sin. Papa would be most displeased if he knew I stole from the Comte. Oh! That would shame him so terribly."

She stared blankly at the floor for a moment.

"Oh, please let it be all right!"

The girl was not entirely certain to whom it was that she pleaded, but could think of no alternative course of action. She shrugged, sighed and nodded her head.

"Very well, that is exactly what I shall do. Tonight, I pack what I need and tomorrow night, I leave for Paris!"

Her gaze fell upon the group gathered around the gossiping maid and she felt disgust overwhelm her.

"I cannot wait to be away from here. If the Comte judges this woman and her companion as worthy of performing for his household, who are they to dispute his wisdom? They look for any little thing on which they can pick. It makes them feel better about their own lot I suppose, but this life is not for me. Oh! I can hardly wait to see Paris again. It has been far too long. Yes, I feel a bit better already, so this must be the right thing to do. Well, that settles it then! Paris it is!"

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A tall, lean figure garbed solely in black followed behind the short, round woman. The wild, bright swirl of colors she wore was in direct opposition to her companion. Yet, they were a perfect complement to one another. Their easy silence as they strode along bore witness to the silent intimacy of their friendship. Neither seemed to pay any attention to their surroundings, walking casually through the darkened halls of the chateau. They walked with a certainty that belied the truth of their actions. For all their bravado, they had no reason to be out roaming the chateau in the dark of night, no reason other than a premonition of Helen's.

"Helen, are you certain you know where we are going?" Erik's irritated voice hissed.

"Hush! And, need you ask? Of course, I know where I am going. I can feel her! Can you not feel her?" She passed a hand before her eyes. "I apologize. Of course, you cannot feel her. Only old Helen can feel the woman-child. We must hurry for I fear it is her intention to flee this place, if not tonight, then soon, very soon. Oh, Erik! After so many years of searching for her, for her to be so close and lose her, I cannot bear the thought!"

Erik placed a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Helen, you must be calm. You must have all of your wits about you for your meeting with her. If you remain this agitated, she shall surely flee from us in fear. If you are calm, everything shall be fine. Remember the frightened runaway you found lying unconscious in the woods? If I had sensed this level of agitation in you all those years ago, I would never have accepted your offer to stay with you. I would have jumped out your window and kept running."

The man gave a theatrical shudder and continued.

"And, just think of all the chores you would have been forced to do as you would not have had your poor Erik to do them for you. Really, Madame! Can you imagine having to live all those years without the comfort of my companionship?"

The woman whirled about to face the young man just in time to catch the mischievous spark flashing in his eyes and she bit her tongue. He grinned as she gave him a derisive snort and resumed her brisk pace.

"What? My words accomplished their objective, did they not?" His whispering voice teased.

She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it.

"Yes, Erik. Now, I pray that you please be silent. I wish to observe her undetected before we set upon the poor thing. I hope to discover some clue as to the type of person she is. Just because I feel the power in her does not necessarily mean she is the proper one to wield it. I walk upon unfamiliar ground and do not like it. Yet, it is my lot to be the first without an heir of my body, so I must hope that the power will provide me with one in another way. Her spirit calls to me with a strange kinship I have never before felt and I cannot refuse its call. But, I am …."

She muttered a word so quietly that even Erik's perfect hearing almost failed to catch it, but he heard the word and felt a wave of sadness for the woman he had grown to love as a mother envelope him.

"… afraid."

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Chapter Five – Flight

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The faster a person runs from the truth,
the swifter it is to catch them.

"A Fool's Book of Wisdom"

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She moved silently, a shadow among shadows as she collected the few provisions she would allow herself to take from the Comte's household. Her first stop was the larder. After fumbling with the latch for a moment, she pulled up on the root cellar's door and carefully rested it against the wall. She cautiously made her way down the stone steps and, as she had no lamp, she found it necessary to rely solely on her sense of touch to find the bags of dried apples. Removing one from the bag, she sniffed it and sighed.

"Definitely an apple. It just would not do to find myself on the road, hungry and pull a turnip from the bag. Now, I will just put a few of these into this bag over here and now, I have room for cheese and bread." She turned around. "Oh damn, now I have to go up the stairs …."

Her return trip seemed to take even longer than her foray down into the cellar and she had to prevent herself from releasing a sigh of relief when her eyes were once again able to guide her feet. The pantry was her next target and she quickly filled her bag.

Her final stop was the chateau's laundry, where she dug through the large bin containing the Comtessa's barely soiled clothing. The Comtessa had a wan complexion with watery blue eyes and straw colored hair. Her figure had been lovely when she first arrived at the chateau as the Comte's second blushing bride, but it seemed that with each passing year, the woman's waist thickened and bosom expanded. Earlier in the week, Christine had heard the shrill voice of the Comtessa berating her maid over the improper laundering of her clothing. Christine had snickered when she heard the woman attempting to blame the laundress for the fact her dresses no longer fit her.

"That woman is simply too fond of her desserts. I find it difficult to feel any compassion for the woman. She is selfish, vain and, while not deliberately cruel, she is completely oblivious as to the consequences her displeasure reeks upon those serving her. The Comte is so besotted with her that he would dismiss the entire household staff, if she asked it of him. As if it is anyone's fault other than her own that her clothes are too tight. If she did not indulge in quite so many sweets each day and restrained herself from eating more than one portion at meals, she would not find her seams ready to burst. Be that as it may, I foresee the Comtessa growing ever older and ever wider. It is a shame, really. As she most likely eats as a means to distract herself from her unhappiness. Unhappiness she will never examine or admit she has. Strange. It seems that everyone living beneath the roof of this chateau is unhappy with their life in one way or another. I wonder … was this place always this way? When I first came here with my Papa, did the shadow of despair hang over this place? I do not remember it being here, so when did it first appear? Oh, yes! Of course, how foolish of me, this place never recovered from the losses the Comte suffered! The chateau became a morose place after his first wife, Giselle and his eldest son, Anton died. I cannot even imagine his grief to lose not only those two, but his unborn son as well. Poor baby! Little Luis de Mornay. I suppose I was too deep into my own grief to notice, but I find it curious that I never thought about it until now. I almost feel guilty for not doing something to help, but that is an absurd thought! How could I, a child of nine years, have been of any possible help? The Comte was a grown man. He did not need my help. It was the Comte, who helped me by not sending me to an orphanage and allowing me to live in the chateau. How odd it is that I should feel this way …. I have never felt a responsibility towards anyone in this place before this moment. Why now when I plan to leave?"

The young woman shook her head to clear the unsettling thoughts, which ran through her mind and distracted her from her task. She concentrated once more on the reason she was searching through the Comtessa's laundry. She smiled wryly as her hands tugged and tossed aside various items of clothing.

"Oh, well, it now seems that the Comtessa's unfortunate gain is really a fortunate turn for me. I cannot believe my luck in overhearing that conversation or I might have borrowed dresses the woman would have missed. I do not wish to draw any more attention to my loan than necessary. After all, it would be a disaster if the Comte signed a writ against me. Oh! Perhaps, I should not take these things. I do not wish to steal from the man that provided me with a roof over my head all these years, but I need to look presentable if I am to audition at the opera. If I am not presentably dressed, how can I expect them to take me seriously? No! I cannot do this. The opera house shall have to judge me on the merit of my voice alone. I cannot take the Comtessa's dresses. I cannot steal, for that is how my actions will appear whether I leave a letter promising payment or not. I will not bring shame upon my Papa's good name, or on mine."

After picking up the few pieces of clothing that had fallen to the floor and returning them to the bin, Christine retrieved her sack and returned to her small room. She carefully hid the bag in the bottom of the trunk, which served as her dresser. Her hand moved through the small pile of clothing and grasped a plain white muslin chemise. She began to lift it from the trunk, but halted.

"Why do I wait until tomorrow night? I have everything I need now and the hour is not too late. There is nothing holding me here. In fact," she paused and performed a quick calculation in her head, "I believe my final wages should cover the cost of the food I took. I do not know why I did not think of this sooner. Yes, I shall leave a note instructing Madame LaBreche to use my final wages to cover the cost of the food I took and then, I shall leave this place tonight."