17

 

Domitri thought it odd that his ballet students were huddled together reading aloud the morning news journal. Entering his studio that Saturday morning so silently no one heard his arrival, he moved up behind his pupils to see what held them enthralled.

The article capturing their attention was an advertisement for a ballet audition. None other than for The Pearls of Esther.

Shocked and without thinking through his actions, he reached out and snatched the paper from the boys. He quickly scanned the words, proclaiming dramatically that there was an international search for a danseur noble to fill the role of Ahasuerus. What sort of trick was Olar playing, for surely he was behind this?

“Monsieur Auberchon,” Michal Devone spoke, “may we have our journal back?”

Domitri roused himself enough to realize what he’d done. There were eight questioning faces focused on him. Slightly embarrassed, he handed the newspaper back to Michal. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snatched it as I did. But, gentlemen, it is time for class to begin. You can read the paper afterward.”

“Monsieur Auberchon,” another boy spoke up as he took his place with the class. Gerard happened to be the tallest and oldest of the group at ten and five years of age and the most talented. “Do you think any of us would have a chance at this audition?”

“I would never discourage any of you from pursuing such an opportunity,” Domitri replied in what he hoped was a tactful manner. “But they may be looking for a danseur of a certain age.”

“What age would that be?” Michal piped up.

“I really couldn’t answer that,” Domitri evaded, feeling suddenly a little too warm. And too old.

“Surely not as old as you,” Gerard said innocently. “If you weren’t old, you wouldn’t be teaching.”

“I’m teaching because I choose to teach, not because I have to.”

“My maman says you were once a great danseur,” another boy commented. “She saw you perform here in Paris with Sophia Stanislovna a long time ago.”

It wasn’t that long ago, Domitri thought in aggravation. I’ve got a lot of dancing left in me.

Then use it, a voice urged and he looked around for the source.

The boys were staring at him, and he grew warmer. “I am not so old that I can no longer perform.”

“Then you should audition,” Michal suggested. “You would be dancing with the beautiful Charice Marin. My granmere took me to see her in the Christmas ballet. She was wonderful. We would all like to dance with her.” There was a unanimous round of shaking heads.

Something akin to jealousy flared within Domitri.

Charie even had schoolboys in love with her.

“I have other things that occupy my time. One of those things is this class, which we must begin immediately. Enough talk of auditioning. If you wish to audition, I give each of you my blessing and my heartiest best wishes.” That seemed to force them back to reality and after a small bit of grumbling, he had their attention and class commenced.

The truth of the matter was, Domitri did want to audition, and as he sat at the kitchen table late that evening, after Muzette had tidied up and gone to bed, he reread the advertisement. After his morning class had ended, he’d run out to buy his own copy of the journal and now slowly and carefully perused the announcement.

Why was Olar doing this? Domitri had heard through various gossip channels that Perrot would dance the part of Ahasuerus, but clearly something had happened to change that. How many would audition, and could he seriously compete for such a coveted role?

There would be much younger men vying for the part, each of them aware that securing such a plum role could launch their careers and lift them from obscurity. Rumor had it that an American had taken Europe by storm over the past several months, and it was quite possible he might prove to be Domitri’s competition.

Casting the paper aside, he rose from his chair and after meandering through the dark, empty rooms of his apartment made his way downstairs. He ended up in his studio with a single oil lamp burning and he simply stood there, waiting for the voice he’d heard earlier.

No voice spoke, but something powerful spoke to his heart telling him this was something he needed to do. He was in love with Charice Marin, and this could be his last chance to tell her.

Besides, he thought with grim humor, he had yet to tell her he’d apologized to Ludwig Bauerhausen. That hadn’t been easy. Even now, he could still taste the bitterness of humbling himself before the amused and conceited baron that morning before he’d left the palace. Even so, the act had allowed him some measure of peace, and taught him to curb his tongue in the future. It was a lesson he would not soon forget.

But the other side of reason shoved to the forefront of his thoughts. He’d refused the role, and he had no right to believe he would be reconsidered even if he auditioned. In all of his years of dance, he’d never before struggled emotionally as he did now.

He’d never walked away from a role no matter his state of mind or degree of agitation, and he’d never declined a role and later changed his mind. What had he allowed himself to become? As temperamental, uncooperative, and egotistical as several of the danseurs he’d often dismissed as unprofessional. He would be doing Charie a favor if he never subjected her to his presence again. Her career was destined to soar no matter who partnered her.

Such were his thoughts the following Monday as he stood before his class of irritatingly restless boys, unsure why they were so fractious that morning. Admittedly, mastering Russian was most likely their least favorite task, but they had no choice as long as they were in his class.

Two of the most talkative today were also his dance pupils, one was Michal, his head leaning towards Gerard’s as they whispered back and forth.

Domitri rapped his desk sharply with his pointer.

They quickly separated and sat up in their chairs, hands folded upon the scared wooden desks.

“Would you, Michal and Gerard, care to share your conversation with the others? Or were you discussing the review topics for our test tomorrow?”

Both boys looked at one another, and finally Gerard stood and spoke. “We were wondering if you were going to audition for the ballet—you know the one advertised in the journal.”

“I was told I’m too old,” Domitri reminded him, trying hard not to smile. He insisted on firm discipline in his classes, and it would never do to let one or two boys sidetrack him. “And this is not ballet class. This is Russian class. You will sit down and read the first paragraph on page 160.”

Obediently, Gerard took his seat and quickly began to read as instructed.

Domitri followed along in his text until a knock on the door caused Gerard to stop. Wondering who was about to interrupt what had already proven to be an hour of irksome interruptions, Domitri went over to the door and threw it open, certain his expression would tell whoever it was he was greatly displeased. His mouth opened to express his annoyance, and then his lips suddenly and jarringly clamped together.

Charie stood there, attired in a capelet of burgundy and royal blue plaid, and her full skirted gown of blue was trimmed in the same plaid fabric. Her bonnet matched her cape, framed by royal blue ruching. She raised her face to his and managed a smile. ”I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

Domitri glanced around the room, humming with excited whispers.

“But I was afraid you wouldn’t see me if I went to your apartment.”

Domitri nodded his head, indicating that she move back into the hall. He followed her, pulling the door closed behind him. However, the damage had already been done. He’d never regain order after this for at least two of his pupils knew Charice Marin had just knocked on his door.

“Is something wrong?” Domitri certainly hoped there wasn’t, but he couldn’t imagine what would have prompted her to come to his place of employment. “Is it Chervenkof?”

“No, nothing of the sort. I asked the headmaster for permission to speak to you. He told me that I was more than welcome to do so.”

Of course he did, Domitri thought. No one could refuse Charie anything. Including himself.

“Then tell me what brings you here. I have a room full of fidgety young men who’d like nothing better than to avoid reviewing for their examination.”

“Domitri, you don’t belong here. You should accept the role in The Pearls of Esther. I would truly enjoy working with you.”

“Did Olar—?”

She shook her head. “No. He doesn’t even know I’m here. You and I parted company on such poor terms, and neither of us should let our feelings keep us from doing what we love and doing it well. Won’t you reconsider?”

Domitri wanted to tell her that he would, but what would doing so accomplish? Delay the inevitable. There could never be anything more between them than what they had already experienced. Brief touches and a few kisses. She had made it clear she didn’t want him involved in her personal affairs. If anything, his presence might adversely affect Charie’s career.

After all, at his age, most danseurs had moved into the role of choreographer or owned a dance academy. The leaps and jumps eventually took a toll on the knees. And he was only human.

Grasping her hands, he brought them together, giving her a bittersweet smile. “I thank you for asking me, but the answer is still no.”

“Won’t you at least think about it? You possess such a marvelous gift. Not only are you a true master of the dance, but you bring such passion and emotion to whatever role you take. If you don’t dance with me, dance with someone else. Don’t waste what you have.” She lifted up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, then dropped down, her smile shy.

Releasing her hands, Domitri allowed her to move away from him. He almost followed her as she started down the hall, but that silly pride of his won the battle and kept him rooted to the spot. He still had students to teach, and an examination to prepare, and essays to review, and classes to teach—

“Enough with the excuses,” he thundered aloud in the empty hall. “Enough! God, if it is Your will for me to audition, then I will. All I ask is that I do Your will, not mine.”

 

****

 

Charie actually looked forward to the auditions, surprising given the fact that Domitri had refused to reconsider. She was certain this would be a day filled with the unexpected, and now that it was here, she was at the theatre early. Dressed in a practice tutu, she prayerfully awaited the first candidate, hoping that God would send them just the right man for the role of Ahasuerus.

Charie imagined herself the princess in an old tale her mother used to tell her as a child. This princess was ordered by her father to choose a husband from a number of “acceptable” men who paraded by for her inspection. After rejecting them all, she fled to the forest and found the man she wanted for her husband there, a lowly peasant boy with a heart of gold.

But by late afternoon, Charie had yet to find the lad with a heart of gold and superior ballet skills. Discouragement and disappointment sapped her spirit.

Rubenevski and Phillipe sat in a corner arguing—Rubenevski favoring a young Russian man by the name of Daliv Bolshev all of eighteen years, but competent, and a rather good, but arrogant American by the name of Alan Tresdale who claimed to have trained with Arthur Saint-Léon.

Olar sat in his seat, chin on the back of his hand, deep in contemplation.

Charie sat on the floor of the stage massaging the foot that one would-be Ahasuerus had painfully trod.

Slipper clad footsteps moved across the carpeted floor of the theatre, and Charie looked up, stunned to see Domitri approaching attired as though he planned to dance. Her heart lurched and her breath caught in her throat.

Rubenevski and Phillipe ceased their heated discussion, and Olar rose from his seat in the auditorium.

“Am I too late to audition?” Domitri’s voice rang through the cavernous theatre.

No one moved or spoke.

“Why did you come, Domitri?” Olar asked. “You’ve told me several times you are done with performing. Do not waste your time or mine if you do not intend this to be a serious undertaking.”

“I was wrong to leave Giselle as I did. I owe an apology to all of you.” His gaze rested upon Olar, and then on Rubenevski and Phillipe. And lastly, he gave a lingering look to Charie.

By now, she had managed to gain her feet, uncertain and confused, but willing to allow God to work His will. If only her heart would stop racing.

“And I am taking this audition very seriously.”

“What say you, Charie?” Olar asked.

“We’ve given every man who has walked in here today a chance. It’s the least we can do for Domitri.”

Domitri gave her a slight bow as an indication of his thanks. Then he looked back at Olar.

“Phillipe,” Olar said, “review the steps of the pas de deux with Domitri. Then we will see what happens. Domitri, I make you no promises. We have seen others today that are very good.”

“I understand. It will work out as God wills.” Domitri squared his broad, muscled shoulders, and then closed the distance between him and the stage. After mounting the steps two at a time, he walked directly to Charie.

“Thank you for bringing me to my senses,” he whispered to her.

Rubenevski and Phillipe were speechless for the first time during the course of that long day. That in and of itself was a miracle.

 

****

 

Charie, seated before her vanity, wondered why Domitri had asked her to dine with him. She was trying very hard not to attach any significance to the invitation, but she was excited. After Domitri’s audition two weeks ago, dancing spectacularly, there had been no doubt Rubenevski and Phillipe would select him for the role of Ahasuerus.

That announcement had been formally made last week. After Domitri resigned from the academy, rehearsals with the rest of the corp de ballet had commenced.

Things had gone well; none of the tension and mistrust she’d feared surfaced, and their working relationship to date had been friendly and professional.

The only unsettling event had been an unexpected visit by Ludwig two days ago that had caused Domitri’s brows to lower and his lips to pull tight.

But even something good had come out of that—Ludwig had told her that Domitri had apologized to him for the incident at Olar’s before Domitri had left Novgorod.

The news lifted her heart and filled it with such unspeakable joy, all she could do was send silent praise to God. No matter what happened between her and Domitri, she knew that he would always be her friend in Christ. But his dinner invitation, extended after rehearsal had ended that afternoon, had taken her by surprise.

“You seem in good spirits this evening,” Brigetta observed as she carefully positioned a curl so that it would drape artfully over Charie’s shoulder.

“I am, Brigetta,” Charie admitted as she took up her bottle of French perfume that she only used on rare, important occasions. Carefully, she dabbed a bit behind her ears. “What do you think of this gown?” Charie worried that the one she’d selected was somehow wrong for the evening’s event.

“I think it is lovely and you will surely impress Monsieur Auberchon. He cannot help but be captivated.”

“Please don’t think this evening is to be romantic in any way. We are simply friends, and we’re working together.”

“If you say so,” Brigetta agreed, although as Charie glanced in the mirror, she could see that the girl suppressed a smile.

A knock sounded on the door and Madame Jeaneau called out. “Monsieur Domitri has arrived. I asked him to have a seat in the parlor.”

“Oh my.” Charie came quickly to her feet, taking a final look in the mirror, pinching her cheeks to give them color. She rarely wore cosmetics other than when she was performing, but occasionally added a bit of color to her lips.

Brigetta went over to the bed and took up her cloak.

Charie cast a doubtful eye over her gown, hoping the embroidered pale pink satin wasn’t too elaborate for dinner. But it was one of her favorites.

Hurrying from her room, she ran down the stairs. She consciously slowed herself to a more ladylike pace as she neared the bottom while Brigetta followed with her cloak over her arm. Walking sedately towards the parlor, she willed her pulse to slow and her breathing to resume a natural rhythm. As she entered, Domitri stood, and she was glad she’d dressed as she had.

Domitri was dashingly elegant in what appeared to be a new black suit, cream-colored cravat, and silk waistcoat of a cream, blue, and gold print. His black hair gleamed with bluish highlights and the stark whiteness of his high shirt collar accentuated the natural bronze tone of his skin.

Without thinking, she pressed her hand above her heart, literally speechless.

“Charie, is something amiss?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that you—your suit—you look wonderful.”

“Thank you,” he said and gave her a little bow. “And may I say you look extraordinarily lovely, as well.”

She knew that she blushed, but Domitri simply pretended not to notice. Instead, he joined her by the door and relieved the hovering Brigetta of her cloak. Domitri settled it around Charie’s shoulders and with his hand resting at the small of her back, smiled down. “Are you ready?”

“Most certainly.” Charie returned his smile. She truly hoped they would have a wonderful evening. They’d spent far too much time at cross-purposes. If only God would help them work through those things that kept them apart. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to allow Domitri to share her fears.

 

****

 

Domitri almost forgot his clothing was borrowed from Olar until he realized, as he sat in the dining room of the restaurant Olar had recommended for the evening, that every other man present was wearing his own clothing. Domitri was nothing more than a former schoolteacher, making just enough to survive, and a danseur who’d wasted his time and talent mourning a lost dream.

Yet, he had much to be thankful for. His arm had healed, he was dancing again, and he was dining with a woman whose worth was far above rubies. This time he would let God take him where he should be. And if that was with Charie, he would praise God the remainder of his days. If it wasn’t, he asked for the faith and belief he would need to stick to God’s plan for his life, whatever that might be.

“And where might your thoughts be, Monsieur Auberchon?” Charie gently teased. Her lovely violet-gray eyes reflected the light of the candles on the table, bathing them in an amber glow.

“My thoughts were on those in this restaurant, apparently all of a certain social and financial standing I will never know. And amazingly, I can say I don’t care.”

“And I’m glad you don’t. Because I don’t, either. I’d rather be poor and happy and content.”

“I doubt that you will ever be poor.” Domitri took a sip of water from a crystal goblet.

“Does that bother you?”

He admired Charie’s directness and honesty. She wasn’t afraid to speak what was on her mind. “No. But there are men who could afford to bring you to a place like this without thinking anything of it.”

“I’m having dinner with you because I want to be with you. And if you’re referring to Ludwig—”

He held up his hand to stem the flow of her words, aware of the combative light in her eyes.

She obediently silenced.

Domitri continued. “Not only was I thinking about those dining here; I was also thinking about you and wondering what plans God has in store for us.”

“What plans has He in store for us?” Charie asked as she met his gaze.

How he longed to press his lips to hers once more, to hold her, to love her as a husband. The awareness of desire jolted him, and he momentarily lowered his gaze until he could rein in his emotions. He somehow managed a reply. “We need to be open to His will and though I’m not sure what that might be, He will reveal it to us when He’s ready.”

“I believe the same.” Charie gave him a heart-stopping smile. “We’re actually in agreement.”

“We’ve been most agreeable since the first day of rehearsal. Surely, I’ve done something to set your teeth on edge by now?”

“Not that I can think of,” she teased back.

The pleasant camaraderie was so enjoyable, Domitri wished the night would never end. He reached across the table and took hold of her gloved hand, bringing it up to his lips.

The moment might have proven to be a turning point had not the attentive waiters delivered their meals.

Sighing, Domitri released her hand, but there was no mistaking the light dancing in her eyes.

 

****

 

“Why don’t you join me for church tomorrow morning,” Charie suggested as the hired hackney cab stopped before the townhouse. Lights proclaimed the fact that either Madame Jeaneau or Brigetta awaited her return. She eagerly awaited Domitri’s answer.

“I would enjoy that. Shall I come by for you?”

“No, don’t go out of your way. Brigetta and I will meet you there.”

“How goes her search for employment?”

Charie had told him over dinner about the arrangement with Lizzie’s niece.

“Acquiring a role in an opera is nearly as daunting as obtaining a place in the corp de ballet. I’ve heard Brigetta sing, and she has a strong soprano. But it can be so discouraging when you leave your home to follow a dream and it doesn’t materialize right away.”

“And what were your dreams when you were admitted to the Académie?”

“To dance. That is all I’ve ever wanted. I dance for the sheer joy of it. From the first moment I saw a ballerina on stage—in fact, it was Sophia, when the two of you performed in New York—I knew that was what I wanted to do. But even so, I know there is more to life than being a ballerina. There is family and home and living one’s life in accordance with God’s purpose—there is love and marriage—”

Her voice faded as Domitri cupped her chin and brought her face close to his. Seconds later her lips were warmed by his, and never had she known a more perfect moment. Wrapping his strong arms about her, he held her close, and the beat of her heart matched his perfectly just as their steps did when they danced together. Chervenkof and Altby were forgotten as amazement replaced all thoughts and emotions.

“Domitri,” she managed to whisper when he lifted his mouth from hers.

“Charie, my love.” Groaning, he pressed his face against her hair.

A loud pop, like the explosion of a firecracker, resounded in the still, cold air and the driver, uttering a fearful cry tumbled from his seat. The horse reared, nearly upsetting the hack.

Charie knew they were in terrible danger if the frantic animal bolted, and, Domitri, aware of the same possibility scrambled up to the driver’s vacated seat in an attempt to grab the reins. But the terrified horse reared again, and this time the hack tilted precariously.

Charie screamed.

“Get out!” Domitri yelled as the carriage righted. “Hurry!” Crawling on hands and knees, she nearly fell when her heel caught on the hem of her gown, but somehow, she managed to jump to the ground.

The horse reared again and this time, the hack flipped over.

Domitri leapt from the seat as the conveyance crashed and splintered into several pieces. Now free of his burden, the frightened animal trotted a few feet away and began to nibble at the grass as though it hadn’t been wild with terror a few seconds earlier.

That was when Charie noticed a closed carriage across the street and the driver urging the horse forward. A head partially leaned out the window and though the light provided by the gas lamps was not the best, she was certain she recognized the man. But her immediate concern was for Domitri, and she hurried over to him, relieved to see him on his feet and brushing off his ruined coat.

The driver was wailing and wringing his hands as he surveyed what had once been his livelihood.

“Thank God you weren’t hurt.” Clutching Domitri’s arm, the earlier warmth spread through her once more as he folded his hand over hers and drew her close in a comforting embrace.

“Did you notice that carriage?” he asked. There was no mistaking the anger in Domitri’s voice and in his rigid stance.

Though the carriage was gone, Charie knew whose face she’d seen.

“Yes, I glimpsed it just before it moved. Domitri, I’m certain I saw Fitz.”