Page 20 of The Red Slippers

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He handed her a box tied with a large red satin bow.

“What have you brought?” Excited, she pulled the end of the bow. The ribbon fell in a pool of red silk onto his desk. She opened the package. Inside she found red slippers tied with a red ribbon.

“They are worn and tattered, but they were Marie Camargo’s. They hold the secret to her dancing.” This was a side of Avery she had never seen. He was so excited, it looked like he would burst any minute.

“Avery, don’t tease me.”

“Give me the shoes.” They stood near the fireplace where the glow was mystical. He closed his eyes and held the delicate worn slippers up high. “As above, so below. As within, so without. Give these slippers the powers to dance and make my Cosette the Prima Ballerina of France. So mote it be.”

As he finished the last word of the spell, the fire flared and died back down, startling them both.

“You see. It must be so.” He nodded toward the hearth, laughing.

She put the red slippers in her bag and threw her arms around him. “As I suspected. You are a magician.”

One look into his heart-rending gaze and she was lost.

“Come, let me bewitch you.” He tightened his embrace.

She felt the heady sensation of his lips on her neck and prayed he would never stop.

* * *

It wasthe afternoon of the performance. For the last three days Cosette stood by as Suzanne mastered the fouetté rond de jambe en tournant. However, she still struggled with her own dance combination. Claude didn’t say anything to her, neither did Avery, Suzanne, or the other dancers, but she knew. The steps needed to be quicker, cleaner, and her jump higher.

“You ready to leave?” Avery asked.

One more rehearsal, she thought. Her heart sank as she realized, no, it wasn’t necessary. No amount of practice was going to make her performance any better.

“Yes.” Taking the towel from around her neck, she placed it into her bag, next to the red slippers still tied with the red ribbon.

They walked to the theatre. He went on to speak to the others while she prepared for the performance.

Her costume on, the skirt stopped above her ankles, like Marie Camargo’s. Looking in her bag for a hair ribbon, she glanced at the red slippers. Perhaps she would wear them. They would draw attention to her feet. No. Bringing attention to her clumsy feet wasn’t a good idea, but the little shoes would be so appropriate with her costume.

Cosette took the red slippers out of her bag and put them on. Surprised they fit her so well, she practiced several combinations and decided they wouldn’t hinder her. She headed for the stage.

The curtain rose. Her first steps were awkward. Nerves, she told herself. Cosette continued the dance with the corps de ballet, every movement graceful. Clearing her mind, she allowed the music to take over. The dancers advanced, retreated, spun with arms elegantly positioned, their movement fluid.

As the tempo built, so did Cosette’s feet until they were flashes of red. The music drove her forward to the crescendo. Cosette began her chassé and slowed until the right note played. With a deep plié, she sprang into a grand jeté as the orchestra held the note.

She soared through the air, landed lightly, and hurried off stage.

Claude and Avery were at her side.

“I can’t make out a word you’re saying.” The noise from the theater was so loud, she bent closer to Avery to listen.

“You brought the audience to their feet. They are demanding you come on stage. The orchestra cannot play. You must go and take a bow.”

It took a heartbeat or two for his words to sink in.

He took her by the hand to the curtain and had her glance through the peephole.

She straightened and stared at him. “They are on their feet.” A flush of heat raced up her neck and settled on her cheeks. She’d danced as she had never danced before. A moment later, Avery’s arms were around her. The rest of the company surrounded them.

“Cosette,” the maestro came up next to them, “you must come with me, or we won’t be able to continue.”

She was reluctant to leave Avery’s arms, but he nudged her toward the orchestra conductor. “Go, princess. I’ll be here, waiting for your answer.”


Tags: Ruth A. Casie Historical