A Woman's Devotion (Phantom Of The Opera x Reader)

14. St. Clare's Mercy Hospital Convent

Christine's POV:

Easily, this nightmare could have concluded itself, but it was like when a fragile dish brushes past your fingertips in your desperate attempt to catch it. Ultimately, you fail, and the dish shatters. The break was preventable but, at the end of the day, an unfortunate circumstance out of everyone's control. Like the dish slips out of one's hands, my angel slipped out of Chief Mattis'.

If we had been five minutes earlier on the harbor. If we had sharper eyes upon arrival and noticed them faster. If they had been miraculously held back themselves. If any of this were so, I'd be comfortably back in France. Best of all, I'd be out of this sweltering heat and healing those excruciating mosquito bites that I spent half the humid July nights scratching until they bled. It got so bad, even scratching them in my sleep, that I began wearing gloves to bed. Yes, we had mosquitos in France, but American ones were like rabid pack animals with a vengeance.

Then, there was the fact that I was already eight months along. For Christ's sake, I wanted to be home. I missed Meg and Madame Giry terribly, and honestly, I didn't relish a birth in an unfamiliar country. But, as things stood now, I'd probably end up with a newborn in Oklahoma, which, to my understanding, was a backwater medical professionals refused to inhabit.

All this boded splendidly.

These thoughts chased each other around my head, as I paced the steamboat's stateroom. Really, the surroundings weren't awful. That was probably the nicest bed I'd lay eyes on in weeks, so if I was going to have a baby, today would be the optimal time. But it'd truly have to be today. Unfortunately, we could not procure a steamboat headed straight to Oklahoma,  not when the Mississippi River didn't flow through that state. The closest we could get was Arkansas.

We planned to stay in that equally uncivilized part of our globe until transportation to Oklahoma could be arranged. By then, though, the Phantom and Y/n could be anywhere. Things looked bleak once more, and I was prepared for the surete chief to throw in the towel any day now. If he didn't, protest would surely arise, as morale rapidly dwindled.

One day. One night. That's as long as I had to be on this rocking ship that had me leaning over railings every five minutes under the threat of vomiting. I'd experienced this on the way to America too, but it was worse now. Tomorrow morning, we would dock in Arkansas and rest for a few days- until I had to step on a God-forsaken train or coach or whatever. No matter what, our vehicle of choice would lurch and sway, and with my volatile stomach, that was a nightmare.

I tried to ignore that right now since stress helped nothing. Briefly, I observed Gabriel in the armchair, nose-deep in some French novel or other. His expression fully absorbed, he didn't even glance up from his reading. The child was a quiet, bookish type, which further endeared him to me. It was so reminiscent of Meg that I smiled and blinked away tears all at once. How I missed her!

The stateroom's door opened and closed, and I looked away from the swiftly moving river through the window. Another bout of nausea surged through my system.

Raoul walked in, looking energized. He had spoken with Mattis and the others about plans for after we docked. Such discussion always uplifted their tired spirits. I hadn't a clue how Mattis managed it, but his zeal was like pouring kerosene onto Raoul's own fire of enthusiasm. In the end, they still burnt down an entire metaphorical building in a blaze of glory.

 "I have news." He said.

 "Good news, I hope?" I asked, forcing a bright tone.

 "Well, good and bad actually."

Raoul was truly admitting that something in his wild scheme had gone wrong? Was this a fluke of nature or character development? I sincerely hoped for the latter option.