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Tears were of no shortage that night. Christine had crawled back into bed unnoticed by Meg or Madame Giry. She cried. Not because she was sad, but because she was embarrassed by the mess she had made of things. The angel of music had been teaching and guiding her and worst of all she recognized how much he cared for her; all she could think to do was run away.
Maybe she was hoping that she was just ill and the voices in her head were of her own conjuring, but when she saw him it became all too real.
Before Christine rose out of bed the brown-headed curly top Meg, jumped on the old sprung mattress and laid beside Christine.
"What's the matter, Christine? I woke up and heard you crying last night."
"I don't think you would understand Meg."
"Me? Of course, I would. You can tell me anything. You know that." Meg argued. Her gray and brown eyes glowed orange from the light reflecting off the gas lantern that was turned on by her mother, earlier in the morning around five o'clock.
Christine leaned her head against Megs.
"I know you mean well, but I can not begin to explain. But I am okay. I was only crying because I began thinking of my father," Christine lied.
She felt bad about not telling her best friend the truth but she would have never believed her even if she had.
Meg stared at Christine. She couldn't quite believe her. She was acting odd lately. Slipping off after breakfast while she had to begin practicing their new dance routines. She noticed Christine would come back smiling and humming songs no one had heard in years. She was worried about Christine's well being and the fact that her own mother was encouraging Christine gave her even more reason for the abeyance she felt.
"Well, I'm sorry you have had such a hard time coping. It was hard for us too when my father passed away."
Christine smiled faintly.
"Do you remember him?"
"I do. I was only three when he died but I remember him holding me in his arms. He had a red beard and his eyes where golden brown. He used to chase me around my room and tickle me relentlessly. I miss him. Mother tells me a story about him I've never heard each year on his birthday. It makes me feel like I'm getting to know him more; like he is still alive out there somewhere in the world, waiting for me to meet him."
Christine kissed Meg on her cheek and wrapped a nurturing arm around her.
"We will both see our fathers one day Meg."
She nodded her head and smiled at Christine. She had such a tender and sweet nature about her. Meg was glad she had come to live with them, although her curiousness and worry for her new friend would not fade away.
After Meg finished practicing for the day she headed to the boarding rooms, as usual, to help serve lunch to the wounded soldiers.
Victor Bernard was her favorite. He had suffered a minor concussion and broke his arm during battle. His family lived in Holland. When he initially came to France he had planned to send money to his family monthly until he was able to come home again.
