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A New Beginning - Revised	By : Lum Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 2072 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do now own The Phantom of the Opera and I am not making any money from this work.

Chapter List
- 2
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- 4
Disclaimer: Please see the prologue
A New Beginning
Chapter 2 Home, Reasons, & Meetings

Madison
Winter gave way to spring after one last bitter, freezing night. The few short weeks of calm warmth and sunny patches in the neighbor's apple orchard seemed to immediately would soon turn into a blanket of muggy heat as summer cast its oppressive light.
Madison had taken to sleeping late into the afternoon and staying up till dawn. She had plenty of things to occupy her time. She read in great long bouts for hours at a time until she became restless and the printed word could not hold her attention any longer. Then she would lie outside in the grass and listen to the rhythm of nature as she gazed at the stars and watched the clouds slowly roll across the evening sky and wrapped the blanket tightly around herself.
The crickets would chirp and the dozen or so bats that lived in the attic would swoop out of the shuttered attic window to circle the trees and feast upon insects. She traced the constellations with her fingers and attempted to recall the great Greek and Roman myths of how the stars were born.
Sometimes, when neither novel nor constellation could keep her mind occupied, she painted. Canvases turned to landscapes where the rays of the sun lightened the sky and cast a rosy golden hue over the land as it rose. Always she painted nature, the apple orchard in early Spring’s bloom and the babbling mountain brook that powered the large mills.
When the corn fields ripened she would paint them too, rows and rows of rich emerald green as long as the eye could see. Her paintings would never be masterpieces but they were pleasing and they entertained her.
There was a sense of rawness to her work, as if a piece of her soul had been ripped from her and placed in the drawing. Art was much too passionate a past time for her. It was a hobby that she could only practice for so long before the mere sight of a brush or pigment sickened her.
She was like water, flowing quickly and violently over rocks and branches, never stopping for long because still waters stale quickly. Life thrived in her, yet it seemed as if she had no way of controlling it or directing its shape. She was as much a slave to her whims as they freed her.
As Madison was reading one night by lamplight her attention began to wander. Her father had said something at dinner, it was a brief comment made in passing that she soon pushed to the back of her mind because it had not made sense at the time that is was spoken.
When she had asked him how everything was faring in the business he mumbled a quick retort before softly saying "and that fellow still has not arrived…" almost as if it was a thought he had not meant to share.
She could not help but wonder on it now as she rested comfortably in bed, the unfinished novel cast aside.
The next evening Madison sat in the chair to her father's right at the dinning table, smoothing the soft blue linen skirt of her dining dress.
Cook had prepared a delectable meal of herb roasted chicken cold cuts from the previous dinner accompanied by an array of cheeses, an assortment of fresh, crisp vegetables, and fluffy yeast rolls. If it was not an expensive meal then neither of the two Swifts noticed. Her father tucked into his dinner whole-heartedly.
She sipped the fine, sweet white wine that accompanied the meal as she thought of how to best broach the subject of the new house to her father, and she finally decided that the direct approach was often the best.
"Father, what ever became of you plan to build the second home that you mentioned in the letters you wrote to me while I was away at school?"
Jonathan raised his eyes from his plate, his bushy eyebrows rising a bit before he rested his fork against the china. The piece of chicken he had been about to consume dangled haphazardly from the prongs as he replied "I had hoped to surprise you, but it seems I never could keep a secret from you for long. You get your stubborn curiosity from you mother you know…"
Madison smiled softly, "and every time I broach the subject you attempt to distract me. Out with it, old man," she chided.
He cleared his throat. "You remember how you used to draw your dream house? Oh you talked non-stop about it. You created such fantastical, impossible rooms." He paused a moment to gather his thoughts, carefully phrasing the next portion.
"I've decided to hire an architect to help you design and build it," he stopped to sit up properly in his chair, "and once it is completed your things will be moved and you may have your own home."
She blinked a moment, and gave herself time to go over her father's words and comprehend all possible meanings. "But I'm quite comfortable here, father," she replied, "why should I ever wish to leave you?"
At this his face flushed slightly and he spoke to her in a calm but firm voice, "you will need your own home to be mistress of when you are married. It will not be far from here, the small patch of land bordering the Applegate's orchards will be the perfect spot, I believe."
She stared at him in disbelief, placing the crystal wine glass on the table before she dropped it. "But father, I do not wish to be married. I am happy here, with you."
He shook his head remorsefully, "Why do you think that I have been adamant that you attend finishing school these last few years? No, no, my mind is quite made up. The architect will be arriving shortly and when the house is completed you will be wed. I care not to whom, pick any lad who you admire. So long as he is a smart and honest man who can continue the plantation once I’ve passed."
Her chin dimpled as she pursed her lips in a fine line of discontent, her eyes misting. She felt the pinprick of tears and refused to cry from the frustration and disbelief that she felt because her stubbornness did not permit any sign of tedious female weakness.
She protested, “but father…” but he interrupted her.
“Darling, you are my only child. When I pass this house and these lands will go to your cousin. Under the law I can only gift a quarter of these estates to a non-heir child. All I can do to protect your future is to secure for you a small portion of land and a home that can not be taken from you.”
It was so unexpected in a liberal man such as her father. Their family was not entitled or of a long European noble lineage, merely farmers who turned quite a profit and seemed to have a knack for taking a small profit and making a larger one. The social influences of England and France still presided in America, though less profoundly or directly. And there was little pressure on the Swift family, being as remote and forward thinking as they were.
"I refuse," she stated simply, assured that she could convince her father is she were unbending enough.
He sighed and the furrows in his forehead deepened as his brows drew together in a frown, "you can not refuse, darling. Put quite bluntly I am kicking you out of my house. You are nearly twenty and spinsterhood does not befit a young lady as pretty as you. You will be married, and that is the end of this discussion."
Her chest heaved in turmoil as her eyes widened from the shock. She knew when her father had made up his mind. He was a logical and practical man. Madison tucked her chin and clenched her fist as she fought to hold back tears. It was clear by the set of his jaw that he would tolerate no further discussion as he returned his attention to the lovely meal that now seemed less appealing to Madison as she fought to control her temper. She pulled the cloth napkin from her lap and placed it on the table beside her plate.
"Please excuse me, father, I find that I no longer have an appetite." She rose from her chair before he could utter a reply and fled the room, her skirts swished as she hurried out the room and down the hall so that he could not see her tears as they rolled hotly down her cheeks.
Madison’s father was like a giant boulder on this subject of marriage. He was a gargantuan obstacle that held steadfast and dense. He refused to listen to her pleas, short bursts of anger, or fits of melancholy.
She had decided that since none of her words could move him to pity and reconsideration then he would receive no more questions or answers, hellos or goodbyes, neither a single phrase, word, nor letter. All in all she had simply decided to never speak to him again for as long as she lived, or until he finally came around.
When asked at dinner to pass the salt she acted as if he had never uttered a word. She looked past him when he walked by her in the hallway and she turned her cheek when he attempted to kiss her goodnight. She refused to accept her fate.
He was saddened by this but would not give in to her childish behavior. Madison passed the days by keeping herself busy and refused to dwell on this particular dilemma. She read, painted, and went horseback riding through the edge of the mountain's forest. She did anything so that she would not have to think of her impending nuptials.
There were no concrete reasons for her skittishness about marriage, but there was merely a heavy dread that hung in the pit of her stomach. Her father and mother had been happily married for three years before her mother died in childbirth with Madison. But she had seen the young men in town. Their narrow views and goals did not impress her. A husband would control her life and her body, if not her mind. ‘It is not fair,’ she thought ‘many men remain happy bachelors and yet it is considered unacceptable and unnatural for a woman to remain unmarried.’
She feared her days of freedom and independence would end with marriage. A husband led to children and she was still unsure of her feelings on that matter. Women often died in childbirth, or soon thereafter. Her mother had not survived the ordeal. Elizabeth Swift had passed merely hours after giving birth to Madison.
Madison reached into the collar of her shirt and withdrew the locket with the tiny portrait of her parents. She studied the well-worn painting of her mother as if the painted canvas could offer her advice.
Madison stroked the portrait with her finger. It was an act that she had repeated many times while she grew up. ‘What would you think of me, I wonder. I’ve been acting like such a child. But I’m afraid, mama. There is so much that I wish to do in the world… a world that I have barely seen. I want excitement and adventure, like in the stories that I’ve read.’ She looked around the room and snapped the locket closed.
The silence that raged between father and daughter had gone on for weeks. Architects and designers and planners came and left. Each threw up their hands in frustration. They told her father that she was unreasonable and that her designs were outlandish and impossible. She held fast. Her father threw up his hands as fewer and fewer architects answered his summons. Weeks passed in silence and Madison settle back into her routine. There was a small measure of peace in the Swift household once more.
One evening at the height of spring April clouds gathered and cast an ominous shadow over the horizon.
Bad weather had been rolling in from the north that evening. April storms could prove as fierce as their summer counterparts. That evening’s storm was a battering of torrential rains accompanied by booming thunder and streaks of angry lightning. Madison had remained awake late into the evening as she sought solace in another novel. The lightning lit the sky brilliantly as she sat curled in the wingback chair of her father’s library. The oil lamp on the small table cast a friendly glow as she turned a page. A horse’s cry and men shouting brought her from her book. She made her way to the window and peered outside. Another flash of lightning lit the scene below. There was a man atop a great, dark horse. And he had stopped just outside of their doors. Her brow furrowed as she said softly to herself, “what man would be foolish enough to ride here on horseback in this weather? He is lucky that he has not been thrown… or drowned.”
She exited the library and checked that the belt of her robe was secured at her waist. The thin overcoat of the wrapper provided some amount of modesty, covering the thin and nearly transparent material of her finely woven cotton night shift.
The fabric rustled around her ankles as she hurried to the second floor balcony that led to the front stairs. The sounds of a fist banging loudly upon the giant oak door resonated in the hall. Her dark blonde hair fluttered around her face, forgotten as the unruly locks escaped the single plait down her back.
Erik
He had arrived at half past midnight as an ominous shadow atop a great black stallion. The Arabian whinnied and shuffled nervously as a bolt of lighting flashed in the distance and booming thunder followed closely behind.
The horse reared back and pounded the earth in annoyance as he landed and Erik gripped the reins and saddle tightly. He led the frightened horse forward as rain dripped rivulets of water down his sodden hat and past his oiled leather cape. He deftly leapt from the saddle and strode towards the protection of the porch.
The door opened to his pounding and an old manservant, hastily dressed in the dark, stared back at him in confusion. Erik left the horse as he was ushered inside the entryway. Rain and wind pelted him until he was safely inside and the door bolted against the tempest outside.

Madison
She reached the end of the hallway in time to see the old manservant open the front door. Rain had darkened the marble entryway as the storm gusted outside and the rider, swathed in darkness, stepped over the threshold. In a bustle of activity the butler hurried to pull the door shut as it fought against the winds.
Madison could hear snippets of their short conversation, gathering that the stranger had asked directions in town and begun his way before the storm hit. It was true that they could come on suddenly and catch a person unawares. She was curious that he hadn’t seen the dark and pendulous clouds.
She knew there was little in the way of housing or shelter between here and town and that he had been forced to continue his journey in the pelting rain. The old manservant assured him that the master would not mind him staying the night. The butler opened the door and slipped outside to attend to the poor and frightened horse.
Madison watched the stranger as he surveyed her home. He was tall and broad shouldered, and his damp clothing hugged his muscular frame.
The stranger removed his hat, giving her full view of the rest of his features. She was curious as she examined him. A white half-mask hid most of his face, leaving only a teasing glimpse at his sensuous mouth and defined jaw line. His dark hair was mussed from the wind, but it was an effect that did little to dampen his otherworldliness.
"Traveler, to which plantation is your destination?" she called out to him from over the balcony. She watched as he jerked his head up in surprise to look at her. Amber eyes met green as they studied each other.

Erik
‘Christine,’ that was his first thought. As he looked at the vision above him his weary hard-traveled eyes sharpened. ‘No, not Christine.’ The eyes and hair were different, her face not as poetic and her figure not as small or slender. He stared at her a moment, entranced, her hair seemed to halo around her face as its soft waves escaping their confinement.
The dim light provided just enough to see soft arms that rested against the banister or the stairway, to see the curve of her neck that disappeared into the fine white fabric, and just enough to see the soft swell of full breasts and wide hips through the thin material.
The fabric of her night shift rose and fell with the steady rhythm of her breathing. Erik noticed her studying him, her gaze wandering up and down his torso, falling on the mask in silent questioning.
She was a vision of lovely womanhood, and a sharp reminder of what he could never have. Their eyes locked again, but this time his were guarded.
Madison
Madison regarded him thoughtfully, entranced and at odds. He brought a curious fluttering to her stomach accompanied by a delicious warmth to her cheeks. He was a striking figure, and when he answered her she hardly heard the words for she was so wrapped up in his lovely voice. She shook her head free of the cotton that must surely have replaced her brain as she asked "I beg your pardon?"
"I am seeking the Swift household, mademoiselle. Do you know of its location?"
The fluttering in her stomach turned heavy as the flush faded from her cheeks to be replaced by a vague feeling of dread. "This is the Swift household, my father is Jonathan Swift. But for what purpose have you come?"
"I am an architect and designer, traveling here at the direction of your father."
The butterflies had turned to rock. She stared at him in wonderment and despair. Her hands clenched at the banister. The butler opened the doors and stared at the scene before him. "I see you've met the young miss, then. This way sir and I'll have you settled in for the night."
Madison gave a huff of disapproval and one last withering looks as she turned abruptly and stormed down the corridor to her bedchamber.
The manservant seemed puzzled and apologized to Erik as he led him upstairs to a guest chamber, "don't mind the young miss, sir. She has not been acting herself lately. Here's your room, sir, I'll have cook send a breakfast tray up at nine. If that's all, sir?" Erik nodded his ascent and the butler closed the bedroom door. Erik shook his head to clear it. He would never understand women.
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A New Beginning - Revised