The Phantom's Daughter

A school bell rings and children come running out. Running. Running. Running from, and running to. Running. Running. Running with their friends. Running home. Home. Home. A place of comfort, a place of love, and joy, and peace. Home. A place I’ll never have. A place where orphan girls like me only dream about. Home. Home. Home. Does anyone want to home an orphan girl? To give her food, and a warm bed? Probably not…or else all the orphans would have home. There wouldn’t be such a thing as an unloved child. The concept would blow minds. Home. Running. Running home. But I’ll never be running home. I’ll just keep running… ***** My legs are hurting from the days of traveling around Paris; but they sense relief as the Opera Populaire comes into view, and a rare smile creeps on my lips. I have traveled far from my former life, desperation and small hope as my only companion and drive to get away. I hope the Friesian colt was able to get far away as well from that horrid place. I wished I could have brought him with me, but this wasn’t one of those stories where the little girl tames the wild horse and he’s gentle only for her. He was not gentle for anyone—no one could be at that farm with Monsieur’s Meshaw’s cruel hand. So I let him go to meet his own fate wherever his legs could take him, and I made my way here to Paris to the Opera Populaire. The building was ginormous and beautiful, made of white stone and lavishly decorated carved within its shape. Whoever designed this was showing off in both art and wealth. So much story was held inside these walls and I wanted to be a part of it; a part of the arts and performances that went on inside, even if I was the humble back crew that helped set up scenes and washed floors. Of course I did not expect much—only a fool with lucid dreams would think they could waltz right in center stage and be applauded and adored. I did not want to be adored. I wanted a home. Somewhere to belong. Even if it was in the shadows. I rested at the bottom of the stairs for a minute to catch my breath. My strength was draining. I was tired, hungry and dirty, with no idea how to make my place once I got inside. Obviously you couldn’t really just walk in and ask for a job, cleaning could you? Would they let children in, or send me back to the orphanage? That was the last thing I wanted to happen. I grew up in an orphanage. A boys orphanage, even though I was a girl. Because my two stupid parents didn’t care to send me to a home for girls. They just wanted me out of their lives and gone. To move away and start anew. They didn’t want to take care of a baby yet. They were too young and too stupid. I took off my shoulder bag and set it down, messaging my shoulder, contemplating what I should do. I should just go inside and ask for a job, maybe a meal. Sure I was scrawny but I could work; I’d been working my entire short life, peeling potatoes at the orphanage, scrubbing floors at Ms. Eleanor’s and then at Monsieur Meshaw’s ranch where I had met Phantom (whom I playfully called a sweet demon), the young Friesian colt. Gods I hated life, seeing other children frolic and play and run around and then me, working, getting yelled at and beat. What did I do to deserve this? It wasn’t fair. The clinking of coins drew me out of my daydream. A woman with a sympathetic look had dropped some coins at my feet telling me to go get something to eat, and quickly walked away. Her full, cream colored skirts rustling in wealth that could be afforded to be wasted on so much fabric. I looked down at my thin, ratted breeches and dirty torn brown shirt. I must really look like a mess from all the traveling. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers I suppose. Scooping up the coins, I put them in my bag and scurried up the stairs and through the doors of the Opera Populaire. An enormous staircase in the center of the room, forked in two different directions. Huge statues of Greek characters decorated the upper walls and worked as pillars and support. The floor was polished clean so that your reflection was mirrored on the floor. I felt like a little dirty bug inside this beautiful palace. But how fun would it be to explore this place! Especially at night! I poked my way through, wondering where everyone was. Finally, following the voices of shrieking—or was it singing?---and made my way to the auditorium, where all of its fantastic plays were being held. Rows of dark mahogany wood chairs were lined with cushioned, crimson velvet lining. Gold pouring over the walls and of the top boxes. Rehearsal was happening on stage. Everyone seemed to be on stage, everyone was talking at one and everything was a loud commotion. A brilliantly dressed woman was lying on the ground with one of the scenes collapsed on her. She was cursing in Italian, threatening to press charges, hating everyone. I moved closer, fascinated, a strange drive to be a part of this all growing in me. “Please Mademoiselle, understand that these things do happen….” “Shut up!” she screamed, as people helped her stand up. “Just shut up! You are idiots! Imbeciles!!! You know nothing of the theatre! Five minutes you here and something goes wrong! And you dare tell me that these things just happen? Well I tell you Monsieurs that until these things stop happening—and they always target me! Poor Carlotta Dudechelle—then this thing does not happen!” The Italian diva shrieked and stormed out with a bustle of maids and her many personal items. “She’s a piece of work. And I would know, I’ve encountered quite a few.” I said at the bottom of the stage. Everyone looked towards me. “Who are you boy?!” shrieked one of the men in fancy fine French attire. His grey hair was a mess, revealing a comb over. “Beg your pardon Monsieur but I’m a girl. My name is Rita.” I said with a half curtsey. See Ms. Eleanor, there were a few things I learned from your lessons on how to be a lady. “I came looking for work, Monsieur. I can clean and run errands and—” “Be off with you!” the other man standing next to him scolded. “By gods we’ve just started this management position and already we have a diva with no understudy walking off stage, a scene broken from a fall because of it’s neglected post!” he emphasized, looking up, shaking his fist at the man hurriedly trying to raise it back up. “And worst of all a ghost haunting the theatre!” “There’s a ghost here? Oh I do love a good ghost story.” I butted in, trying to seem brave and unbothered from such silly spooks that others took too seriously. The managers looked at me. “Well then….Rita—is that your name? How about you go down to the basement, make friends with this ghost, and tell him to kindly leave us in peace!” one of the managers hollered exasperated. I didn’t see what all the drama was about, but then again, we were in a theatre. “Let me take her Monsieur, she can be our scullery maid! Come with me child,” a thick woman placed her hands on my shoulders. My mind flashed like a hunted animal and I pulled harshly away from her gasp, baring my teeth. She threw up her hands with a cry, the others didn’t notice as they were fussing about that diva that had walked off stage. I thought for sure this would get me a beating and I cringed, waiting to be sent off. But the maid just took a deep breath and wringing her hands in her apron not sure what to do. A tall and severe looking woman with a bun so tight that it pulled the corners at the corner of her eyes, dressed in a funeral dress and staff, saw and hastily walked down the stage and quickly walked over to us. For an elderly woman with a cane, she moved with great speed and swiftness. “Come! Let’s get you something to eat and a change of clothes I think. Then we can talk about your work here and how you may contribute to the theatre.” she said in a thick French accent, pressing a hand on my back to move me forward. “Come Castella, she’s but a child and is needing a nice bath and a hot meal.” she told the kitchen maid. “Monsieur Firmen and Andres, I would suggest replacing Carlotta with Christine Daae. Let her sing for you, she has been well taught.” The women in the black dress reminded me of Ms. Eleanor and suddenly I was conflicted to run away and hide or turn and fight. I wanted to scream and tear at her dress, and I told myself that I would if she dared raise her hand against me. She led me through a series of hallways and into a fine and cozy room, fitted with a bed, a desk, and a tub with a curtain in the corner. The stern woman sat me down in the chair. I stared at her with challenging eyes. She locked her gaze with me, daring me to break it, and when I didn’t, she sat down in another chair and put her hand on my knee. I flinched at her touch, but found her touch was gentle, and her expression softened. “Castella, go get me some warm water and a meal for this poor child.” the kitchen maid nodded and hurried off. The stern woman looked back at me. “You are an angry child, no?” My head suddenly felt light from the weariness, that I almost didn’t understand her through her heavy accent. I didn’t respond and kept looking at her with a challenging gaze. She smiled. “You are not my first angry child.” she got up and went to her vanity set. “Is that your daughter? The one who you asked to sing for the managers?” I asked, studying her. She had to be as old as Ms. Eleanor, a woman at that season of her life where she is has long been gone of her prime and just entering her golden years. But Ms. Eleanor looked ancient and ugly, with an attitude that matched it. This woman was beautiful and fierce, and spoke proud yet calmly. “No, Christine is not my daughter. But she is like a daughter to me, and I raised her closely with my Meg these past ten years. Meg Giry is my daughter, the black-haired dancer standing next to Christine. I am Madeleine, an instructor of the ballet girls.” Castella came back to a plate for me and a pail of steaming water, and hurried back out for more. “Eat up child, and then you will get dressed and into some new clothes. Do you dance? Can you learn?” I shrugged, suddenly feeling very nervous. “Well, you can try tomorrow morning when I teach the other girls.” Madeleine asserted. I nodded, eating more food with bigger bites. Castella came back with two more large pails of hot water and poured them in the big tub. “Thank you Castella, we can take it from here.” Madeleine got up and went to the foot of her bed where a large trunk lay and opened it up. “I am a woman of simple means, I have never kept much, I’ve not wasted, therefore I’ve never wanted. But…it is a good thing I did not keep that trait when my little Meg grew out of her clothes.” She pulled out a sleeping shirt and a couple of dancer’s dresses. We stared at each other with a challenging look. She was going to make me take a bath, which was all right and well as long as she didn’t touch me, but I surely wasn’t going to let her put me in a dress. “I’m fine with my breeches, thanks.” I said. Madeleine raised her thin eyebrows. “Do you see any of the dancers wearing breeches? How can your legs move properly if you’ve got fabric attached together at a point?” “The men wear breeches.” “And are you a man?” I shook my head, knowing not to argue further. She had already given me food and a place at the theatre, not to mention new clothes and an actual bed to sleep in. It was more than I could ask for. “Well then, come along, get in.” She came to me and took my plate, which I hadn’t finished, but it was alright. My stomach was starting to ache from having actual good food after so long without. I set down my shoulder bag and stood beside the tub, peering into the warm water and then at her. She stared at me for a moment as if to ask me if I wanted to do this the hard way, before drawing the curtain to give me some privacy. After my bath, when I walked out from behind the curtain, my old clothes were gone, but Madeleine Giry had my shoulder bag hanging from her arm. “Come along now child,” she said and led me upstairs to a small room with a row full of beds, half of them occupied by little girls that looked to be my age. “Go pick out your cot and get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow.” I chose the one laying by the window in the far back. Placing my shoulder bag under the bed, I layed down in the cool sheets. Some of the other girls were talking excitedly, and Madeleine shushed them, demanding they all get to bed now. One girl stared at me, as we all settled into our cots. I had known that stare many times, and it didn’t mean she wanted to be my friend.