Chapter 14: In Delay There Lies No Plenty

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear! Your true love's coming,
that can sing both high and low:
trip no further, pretty sweeting;
journeys end in lovers meeting,
every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
present mirth hath present laughter;
what's to come is still unsure:
in delay, there lies no plenty;
then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty!
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

"Sweet-and-Twenty" by William Shakespeare (1564—1616)

"Christine?"

"Yes, Erik."

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Reluctantly, he disentangled one of his arms from her and he nonchalantly slipped his hand into the picnic basket. His eyes never broke away from hers as his hand felt for and then found the object he desired. Withdrawing the treasure from the basket, his full attention returned once more to the silent woman he held cradled against his chest.

Her lovely eyes stared into his, but it seemed as if her mind were far away. Her slightly panting mouth transfixed him. Her lips, now a deep, dusty rose from their kisses, were full, swollen and slightly parted. Her normally pale complexion bore a delightful flush of pink beneath the face powder she wore and more of her curly locks had escaped to hang free. Erik desired nothing more than to spend the afternoon kissing her lips, but having given voice to his proposal, he knew he must wait for her response.

"She is so beautiful." He thought.

Still, the silence stretched on and Erik began to feel concerned.

"Too soon! I asked her too soon! Damn!"

He opened his mouth to apologize for his forwardness, when suddenly, she gasped. She slowly closed her eyes and then opened them, gazing at him with an intensity that inwardly caused him to flinch.

"Meg! May I borrow your blue parasol?"

Christine stuck her head into Meg's bedroom. In her excitement over her imminent outing with Erik, she almost did not notice her friend's distressed state. The broad smile on Christine's face slipped into a frown and she moved to her best friend's side.

"What ever is the matter?"

Her friend looked up from the place on the floor at which she had been staring and brought her glistening blue eyes up to meet Christine's sober brown ones.

"Oh! Everything is the matter. Last night ... Maman found Raoul and I ... well, she saw us ... Oh, Christine! I am so in love with him. He makes me feel so giddy and breathless. I cannot resist him. We began to kiss and well, our kisses became rather ardent. I knew I should tell him to stop, but I did not want to stop. His touches burned through me with a wondrous fire that touched my core with their heat. All I wanted to do was beg him for more, but then Maman came into the room and everything that felt so right only a moment before, became shameful. She sent me to my room and then she spoke with Raoul. After she sent him away, she did not come in to my room last night and speak with me. Oh, I am so certain, so afraid that she will never allow me to see Raoul again! I feel as if I am dying. It hurts so much! What am I to do?"

With those words, the dam burst and Meg began to cry. Too stunned to speak, Christine hesitantly placed her arms around the hysterical girl. She sat, her arms stiff as she held the seemingly inconsolable girl and clumsily patted her back.

"What do I do now? I have never given someone comfort ... but..."

Christine searched her memory and at last, remembered how, when she was very small, her father held her when a thunderstorm frightened her. He held her in his arms while he hummed a Swedish lullaby and rocked her. A wistful smile played across her features and her arms relaxed. She began to rock Meg gently. Christine stroked the girl's fine, blonde hair as she hummed softly. When, at last, the girl's tears began to subside, Christine released her.

"Meg, do you love him?"

"Yes."

The simplicity of her answer said more than any sonnet ever written in honor of love could say. Christine nodded.

"Does he love you?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you have to have faith in that and hope that your Maman will come to see that too. I am sorry, Meg. I do not know how to help you. I do not have the words or the experience."

Frustrated at her ignorance, Christine frowned.

"Oh, Christine! You already have. You listened and you have given me hope."

"I pray it is not a false hope."

Meg smiled.

"How could it be false, when the love Raoul and I share is true?"

Christine gave Meg an impish smile. She leaned her forehead against Meg's and whispered.

"So, can I borrow your blue parasol?"

Surprised, Meg drew back and studied Christine's face.

"Are you going outside?"

Christine nodded vigorously.

"Erik and I are going to le Jardin du Luxembourg for a picnic."

Meg squealed with delight then eyed Christine skeptically.

"And are you going to wear that?"

Christine looked at the plain, black skirt and ruffled, blue blouse she wore.

"Yes. What is wrong with this?"

Meg rolled her eyes. She grabbed Christine's arm and pulled her to her wardrobe.

"Come, Christine. You helped me. Now, it is my turn to help you."

One nerve-wracking hour later and Meg nodded her approval of Christine.

"Can I see what you have done to me now?" Christine pouted.

Meg placed her hands on Christine's upper arms and turned her around to face her reflection.

"Well? Have I not done well? I think you look perfect! Now, you are ready for your picnic with Monsieur Destler and you may borrow my parasol."

Christine gazed at the person whom she knew must be her and shook her head. She watched the image in the mirror shake its head and she started as if waking from a deep trance.

"Perfect? What is perfection in this life? Nothing is perfect and nothing lasts."

She spoke half to herself and not expecting a response, rushed to cover her raw emotions.

"Meg, thank you! I barely know myself."

She went to give Meg a hug, but the girl warned her off with raised hands.

"I do not wish to muss you. You are most welcome, Christine."