It was five in the morning, Christmas day. Grace had just finished putting her gifts in order. (Erik's was particularly tricky as she had to construct a sort of fort in order to make it. She had to figure out how not to catch the sheet shielding her and her work from his prying eyes while not catching aforementioned sheet on fire with the candle she brought with her to see by.) But at last, everything was done, and a few hours from then, she was to go to    her parents' home to have a brunch with them.

   All she had to do until then was pace about her room and wait. She was already dressed, and her hair was done, so she couldn't very well go back to sleep and mess herself up. She could, however, become Père  Noël for a bit and deliver presents to the people of the theatre.

   She loaded up a basket, placing her family's gifts and Erik's under a blanket, and everything else on top lest she confuse them in the dim morning light.

    She left her room, heading first to Véronique's, then Monsieur Lefay's, Guy's, Madame Chausir's, and before she knew it, only a mere fifteen minutes had passed, and she had completed her work.

   Pouting, she huffed out a sigh, starting to turn back to her.

   "Graaaaace," her name came out in a hushed, ethereal purr that seemed to come from within  the walls of the theatre.

   She stopped, a chill descending upon her. She drew her knitted burgundy shawl closer around her shoulders. She resumed her stroll, but the voice came again, from all around her this time. The floorboards, the walls, the ceiling, right next to her ear, where invisible breath never brushed her skin.

    "Grace."

   Grace, in few words, decided only one person was capable of inspiring such feelings, and became, as Rodger might say, pissed.

   "Erik Destler, you insufferable fool, how dare you... be so creepy!"

   "Grace," his disembodies voice called again. She followed the sound.

   "Erik, is playing with me not a little childish? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

   "Grace," he called again, a few feet away now. She followed again. This happened a few more times before she figured he was trying to lure her somewhere.

   "Erik, please. You are supposed to be a grown, adult man. Can you not just lead me in person?"

    He chuckled. "Now where is the fun in that? Follow me voice, Grace."

   "If you come out, I'll give you your present," she said, hoping a bribe would work, especially as she was now outside and people were giving her funny looks for addressing a wall.

     "Not until I give you yours first, and we've a long walk before us, so come."

    She sighed, defeated, and stopping at the end of the building. "What are you going to do now? Magically cross the street and become a part of the next place? I'll warn you it's a bank so they might have better security and thinner walls."

   "Who says I was ever inside the walls?" Someone tugged on one of her curls. She spun around, but Erik was no where in sight.

   "This is not fair."

   "Stop whining," his voice came from her left. "I went through a lot of trouble to find this gift." From her right now. "Do hurry up, Grace." Several yards in front of her.

   She sprinted over.

    "Not that fast, you've passed me. I need to stay ahead dear, as it is I who is guiding you."

   "Are you a ventriloquist?"

   "Yes, I learned from the gypsies." He pause, probably to move again. "I can throw my voice anywhere. It is quite useful in scaring people." She did indeed shudder as his voice came from right next to her ear. But he was not there.

    "I'll bet, will you at least teach this trick to me?"

   "Perhaps," but she knew from his playful, devious tone that he would not.

    He teased and taunted her relentlessly, and she followed, secretly having as much fun as he. That is, she played along until he told her to stop at a pair of wrought iron gates. They were well over seven feet tall, and what they guarded was evident.

   A cemetery spread out before her.

   Suddenly her basket was off her arm, and a bouquet of multicolored roses had taken its place, tucked into the inward crease of her elbow. Blue, pink, yellow, red, and purple.

  "Go passed the first five rows, turn left on the sixth, and count three down." She saw his shadow on the ground behind her, barely visible by the week morning sun and the gray fog slowly drifting away from the too green, dew covered grass.

   But she did not look back. Instead, she pushed open the gate and followed his directions on unsteady feet.

   Her brown dress gathered dew as she walked, and stray blades of grass, and her lip gently trembled as she stopped at last at her destination.

   "Take your time, I'll be here," his whisper was faint at this distance, but she nodded vaguely.

    The grave before her was long. Fresh grass grew wild all over it, along with a few sprouting, bright weeds. The head stone was mossy, and the date of death was covered, but the name on it was clear.

         Elisabeth Evangeline Christoux

         Born 1834     Died 18-

Beloved mother of Celine Christoux.

     Grace didn't feel the tears welling up in her hazel eyes, nor the ones that had already spilled down her cheeks.

   "Hello, Maman," she whispered before racking sobs over took her slender body. Sobs of pure pain and anguish. Heartache and longing. The sobs of a daughter who after years off regret, anger, and need for her mother - the mother who was taken from her before she five years old - had finally been reunited with the woman her heart had always silently cried for.

     Her violently shaking fingers reached out to touch the head stone as she cried. She placed the flowers in front of it, and allowed her composure to bury itself six feet under the ground. Violent, heartbreaking cries came from Grace's throat, and she was suddenly grasping the head stone as if her tears had filled an ocean and it was the one thing keeping her from drowning.

   She felt her mother all around her, remembered the warm, weak fire her mother would make, the feeling of tender, gentle arms around her that made her feel secure, and let her know they would accept her vulnerability and protect her from anything targeting it. Arms that loved her and wanted to keep her safe. She recalled her mother's smile, and the stories she told her every night. How she doted on her not with material things but affection and love and warmth. The tales of dancing ballerinas, the days they would put on their nicest clothes and pretend they were going to see the ballerina. And soon Grace was laughing and crying, smiling at the ridiculously funny memories and the happiness she'd known.

   Before she knew it, a peace had descended around her.

    "Oh, Maman, you would not believe what has happened since I was a child." She breathed in and out slowly. "I love you, and I miss you. I have so much to tell you. I've done what you hoped I would. I'm a lady. But for now, goodbye, Maman." She stroked the grass on the grave once, before getting to her feet and finding Erik.

    He was standing at the gates, his cloak pulled down to reveal his face, which was pained. He had heard and witnessed everything, and he felt horrible.

   "I am so sorry, Grace," he said as she stood in front of him. In a single, quick movement, he whisked his handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing softly at her wet eyes with one hand as the other rested comfortingly on her shoulder. "I didn't think it would hurt you like that, I didn't expect you to become so upset - I didn't think, let's just say that."

   Grace smiled at him through her tears as he wiped at her eyes. Her hand wrapped around his. "I don't know why you're sorry. This is the best gift I could ever have asked for, the best I could ever receive. Thank you!"

   "But... you were crying as if something had ripped your heart out."

   "My heart has been ripped out several times in my life, Erik. But someone's always there to put it back, or I do it myself. In this instance, you put it back. Thank you, so much, I don't know how to thank you enough."

   He laughed. "Next time, don't cry like you're dying, okay?"

   She nodded, still smiling.

   "And now, I believe, I told you I would take you to see your friends this week. Shall we?" He offered his arm.

   "We shall."

                              🌹

     Grace was distracted the rest of the day. All she could think about was how kind Erik had been to her.

     He had taken her to see Felicette, Mai, and the other ladies, and let her stay for as long as she wanted. She was able to help them cook their dinner, play with Mai, and hand out presents. She caught up with what they had been up to, and she told the rest of her story. It was so wonderful, to be reminded and to remember.

     And the walk back to the theatre with Erik was just as nice.

    She couldn't understand how he had been able to find the grave a thanked him endlessly.

   He replied sheepishly. "I looked through every record of every woman buried in that time, and I searched for a Christoux, and found her. I saw that the dates and ages matched up, and knew you'd be able to tell."

   "Well thank you," she had said for the hunredth time. "I have something for you too." She reached for the basket he had been carrying for her extracted it from his arms, pulling back the blanket. She handed him a malleable package, and he eyed it puzzled.

   "What on earth..." he muttered as he untied the ribbon holding it together. He extracted a little royal blue pillow, with the words
   Home is where my music is,

     embroidered in ruby red letters.  He stared at a moment, jaw dropped in utter shock. His golden eyes drifted to hers.

   "You don't have any pillows on your sofa and you always complain about the coffee table being so low, so now you can just put your work on this and use it for decoration.

   Erik still didn't say anything. For an extremely awkward amount of time.

    "Oh my God, you don't like it, I am so sorry, I can  -"

  "No!" He said. "I love it! Your absolutely right, I used to love decorating with a throw pillows in my old house - the one I lived in with you before I moved under the theatre, and I love this. No one has ever made a homemade gift for me before, or actually considered both my style and needs when... thank you. I might just keep it on my desk and stare at it, it's so nice," he laughed.

   Grace had grinned broadly, more than pleased. Thank goodness he liked it. She had stabbed her fingers so many times with the needle and spent day thinking about what to get him, she honestly would have been horrified if he didn't like it. She was not a seamstress, and needlework had always caused her great pain.

    "Would you like to come to Christmas dinner?" She asked out of the blue.

   "I'm sorry... I'm otherwise engaged. But if you're free later, please come down and visit." She didn't know that was a lie. She just wondered -

    "Grace!" Nora shouted into her ear at the table. Grace realized she had been staring at a wax apple a little too long.

   "Oh, sorry."

   Nora and George laughed. "Something on your mind, dear?" Asked George.

   "Yes." Grace said, thinking again.

   "Are you in love?" Asked Nora.

  "Yes. What? No!"

   Her parents chuckled madly, thinking her unaware that she was while she insisted she was thinking about work.

   "More like your manager? Rodger said you fancy each other."

  "No, he loves Mademoiselle Nils - someone else."

  "Sure he does," George guffawed

   "I've never known one Christmas where you were too busy focusing on thinking instead of eating. Usually you consume seconds and thirds by the first fifteen minutes, Gracie, and then debate over pumpkin or apple pie," Nora teased.

  Grace blushed, "I do not!" But she slid more than half her plate into Leo's open, waiting jaws when the couple turned to wink mischievously at each other. There was a reason Leo always waited with his head on her knee under the table.