The Chocolatier's Wife (81 page)

She
smiled.
“I
know
how
to
get
to
the
choir
balconies,
above
the
dance
floor.”

“We
could
pinch
some
food
from
the
buffet.
It
will
be
warmer
there;
despite the fact the place is open to the sky.”

“Actually,
‘tis
quite
sheltered
for
the
singers.
And
no
one
else
can
get
up there, as long as we are
careful that they do not see.”

So
it
was,
after
they
made
themselves
plates
and
William
concealed glasses,
and
wine,
and
treats
in
his
pockets,
she
led
him
to
the
place
behind the
thrones, placing
her
hand
against
part
of
the
wall.
She
pushed
her thoughts
into
the ice,
unlocking
the crystals so that the door
to the upper gallery could be pushed aside and
then shut again.

The
gallery
was
warmer,
and
they
emptied
his
cloak’s
pockets
and
lay it
on
the
snowy
balcony
floor, huddling
under
her
cloak
for
warmth.
After awhile
she
ended
up
i
n
his
lap,
for
the
cloak would
not
otherwise
easily cover them
both, and
he
leaned
against
the
side
of
the
gallery
to
support his back. They could
easily
see, through
the
ice
wrought
vines and flowers, the
people
below,
but
they
could
not
be
seen.
For
the
first time,
ever,
they were
able
to
sit
and
talk,
truly
talk,
not
of
the
problems
they
were
trying
to solve,
but
of
their
lives.
He
asked
her
questions
and
listened
to
the
answers, responded, and
then asked about other things.

“I
have
never
felt
so
thoroughly
listened
to
in
all
my
life.”
She
fed
him
a little piece of cake.

“Nor
I.
I
hope
we
shall
be
able
to
do
this
often,
but
hopefully
in
front
of
a fire.
Ah, look, there is Lavoussier.”

She grinned.
“We could drop bones on
him.”

“My
dear,
a
businessman
of
my
standing
would
never
resort
to
such
a
thing. B
e
sides, you’ll find
the peach pits easier to aim.”

She
laughed
and
buried
her
face
against
his
neck
just
as
the
clock
tolled midnight.
There was a
cheer as people unmasked and
were kissed.

He
reached
up
and
undid
the
ribbons that
held
her
mask
in
place
and slipped
it
off.
“Exactly
whom
I
was
hoping
to
see.”
He
kissed
her
then, as the palace of ice ec
h
oed with laughter and
cheering.

Chapter
2
2

Junair 7
th
,

Gold Mn.
Qtr. 1792

Dear
Tasmin,

I
have
decided
that
I
tire of
the
sea,
and
have
settled again
in my
home
city.
Since
I
still need
some occupation,
I
have
decided to open
a
chocolate
shop.
No,
not a
confectio
n
ery,
but a
place strictly for chocolate.

As you
know,
I
have
seen
it prepared many
ways
on
my travels,
but I
have
also co
l
lected
books
of
recipes,
molds, and paraphernalia.
I
think
that
it shall
make
people
happy,
an
idea that I quite like, and it shall make a good profit
for us. The work shall
not be
too taxing
for either
of
us,
and
I
believe
that
you
will find
that mixing chocolate is not that different from your herbs and
potions. Of course,
since
I
have
set upon this desire without asking
you,
you
may
choose
another
way
to occupy
your time. I shall
support you
utterly in any
choice
you
make,
as
I
hope
you will support me.

Yours,

William

Light
day
dawned
b
right
and
soft.
Tasmin
opened her
eyes
slowly,
looking out
the
window
over
Cecelia’s shoulder.
The
sun
was
coppery
gold,
so
intense
that
she
had
to
shut
her
eyes
for a
moment
against
it.
Cecelia
snored
on like
a hibernating
baby
bear,
just
as
she
had
been
when
Tasmin
had
finally
tiptoed into
her
room
in the
very
early
morning
hours.
Five
hours
of
sleep
seemed hardly
enough,
now
that
she
was
trying
to
convince herself
she
would
be happier
out
of
her
warm bed
than in
it,
and
she
turned
over and
snuggled into her pillow again.

Below,
someone
dropped
a
pan,
and
the
snoring stopped
abruptly. Tasmin
decided to pretend she was asleep.

A
huge
yawn,
a
sigh,
and
then,
“If
you
had
gotten
to
your
bed
at
a
proper time,
you
would
not
be
suffering
so
now.”
A
nudge
to
her
back,
not
too gentle, destroyed the notion
that she might be able to pretend to sleep.

“Don’t
be
so
hard
on
yourself,
dear,
I’m
sure
you
just
lost
track
of
time.” All inn
o
cence, Tasmin
was.

“I
have
no
sense
of
humor
this
time
of
the
morning.”
Cecelia
leapt
out
of bed, ta
k
ing the covers to the floor.

“I
agree!”
Tasmin
jumped
up,
the
cold
like
the
biting
of
foxes,
and
beat
Cecelia to the chamber pot.

As
they
dressed,
Cecelia
asked, “What are
the
Light
Day
services
like, here? Are
they overly long?”

“That
is
hardly
a
politic
question.
I
must
wonder
if
they
are
very short, where you come from.”

“Where
I
come
from,
the
observance
is
a
morning
of
fasting
at
home, in
reme
m
brance
of
those
who
died
in
the
great
battle,
then
an
afternoon
of feasting
and
celebr
a
tion
to
commemorate
God
smacking
sense
into
all
and ending it.”