Tea in Pajamas Page 3

  The music was now more pronounced than ever, albeit more legato in style and languid in tempo. Belle’s feet were still damp from the grass and moss, and they felt cold against the wood-panelled floors. But the lull of Mélodie was so enthralling she was determined to reach the source of it.

  She scanned her surroundings. They had entered a sitting room, complete with richly upholstered armchairs set by a fireplace that was still going. In the middle of the room stood an oakwood coffee table adorned with … food!

  Pastries, cakes, biscuits, and sandwiches were laid out nicely on fine porcelain plates. “Tea in Pajamas?” Julien teased. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and tea wafted through the air and Belle inhaled deeply, beguiled by it all.

  “You’re late, Mademoiselle Belle,” piped a deep, throaty voice.

  It didn’t sound like Julien. Spinning around, she was greeted by the sight of a tall brown fox, dressed smartly in a black dinner jacket and red bow tie. She peered over at Julien, whose face had gone quite white with fear. She soon saw why. Behind him with its feathered wings wrapped firmly around his shoulders was a human-sized nightingale, her chestnut feathers poking out from under a shiny black evening gown. The music had stopped.

  “Who are you and how do you know my name?” Belle asked the fox.

  He chuckled. “Pardon my ill manners, Mademoiselle. My name is François. And as to how I am acquainted with your good self, we make it a point to know everybody here.”

  “Where exactly is here?”

  “Belzerac. You’re still within the Sapphire Forest, just deeper in. You know, it stops looking blue beyond a certain point.”

  “Are you guys the … Musicians?” Julien asked, his voice shaky.

  “Mais oui, Monsieur Julien. Enchanté,” said the nightingale, taking her wing off his shoulder and extending it for a friendly handshake.

  He took it limply. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Madame … er …”

  “Nicole,” she chirped. “Come on out, the rest of you, can’t you see we have guests here?”

  At her command, two other forest animals emerged from the rooms: a sleepy-eyed squirrel wearing a silky blouse, and a fluffy white rabbit decked in a formal suit. They were all dressed in black, Belle noticed.

  “Simone.” The squirrel curtsied.

  “Raymond.” The rabbit bowed.

  “Alors!” exclaimed François the Fox, clasping his paws together in glee. “Now that we are all acquainted, what say we gather for a spot of tea?” He guided Belle and Julien to the sofa, gesturing for his guests to sit and eat.

  The Musicians then took their places, picked up their instruments and started playing Mélodie. François led as the first violinist, Nicole the second, while Simone and Raymond played the viola and cello, respectively. It was a picture of perfect harmony.

  Belle took a tiny bite of the apple danish set before her. The flaky pastry and tart filling melted in her mouth – it was simply the most divine thing she’d ever tasted. Next to her, Julien wasted no time devouring the éclairs and savory finger sandwiches. It wasn’t long before the serving tray was emptied of its treats.

  A sudden sense of fatigue washed over Belle. Her thoughts drifted back home to Michelmont and she wondered what her parents and brother were doing at that very moment.

  “Wait a second,” whispered Julien, his voice jolting her from her thoughts. “Aren’t the Musicians the bad guys? We should go.”

  They exchanged knowing glances, waiting for an opportune moment to make a swift exit.

  But that was before the room started spinning.

  The Grand Performance

  Belle awoke to find herself lying in a large four-poster bed with creamy satin sheets. She blinked and looked around. She was alone.

  “Julien?” she called out. No answer.

  She got to her feet and tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the hallway. She stopped at the sitting room where they’d had tea and the Musicians had played the day before.

  No one was there. All traces of cutlery and food had been cleared and the place looked spick and span. Bright rays of sunshine filtered through a semi-open window and she could hear the sound of birds chirping outside. It looked to be a glorious morning and she must have slept through the night.

  “There you are!” The lilting sing-song voice of Nicole the Nightingale caught Belle offguard. She noticed that the bird was dressed in the same black dress as the day before. And as if reading Belle’s mind, Nicole chirped, “Concert attire, my dear. Always ready to give a performance – that’s what we do.”

  “Where’s Julien? Was I asleep long?”

  “All night, dear. He’s prepping.”

  “Prepping for what?”

  “You’ll see. He’s with the rest of your friends.”

  “My friends?” She realized that she was merely parroting – to a nightingale.

  “Come with me,” said Nicole.

  Belle followed her down a steep flight of stairs into the basement. They walked past a long corridor of rooms until they reached two large, imposing doors at the very end. “Shhh …” said the nightingale.

  With a push, these opened into a grand concert hall, filled to capacity.

  Belle could hardly believe what she saw. Never could she imagine that such a breathtakingly beautiful music theater might be tucked in the basement of a nondescript cottage in the woods. Its interiors were lavish – a dazzling crystal chandelier hung from the concert hall’s frescoed ceiling and the place looked so impressively large that it could seat hundreds. Down many levels from the audience stood a long and wide stage, dimly lit and with its red velvet stage curtains still down.

  “Where are my friends?” she turned to ask, but Nicole had disappeared.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” boomed a loud, imposing voice. It sounded familiar – where had she heard it before? Belle walked down many flights of steps past numerous aisles of seats. She strained to see who the speaker onstage was, and it didn’t take her long to make out his pinkish skin and bumbling manner. It was Monsieur DuPorc!

  She dashed down toward the stage, her bare feet thumping hard against the red-carpeted floor and her heart racing.

  “May I present to you,” he went on, “the Musicians, performing for us Gluck’s Mélodie, accompanied by the Belzerac Symphony Orchestra.”

  Belle stopped at the foot of the stage, just as the stage curtains lifted. By this time, Monsieur DuPorc had retreated from sight.

  “You’re blocking us!” shouted an audience member from behind her. She backed away to the nearest corner, stooping low and straining for a good view.

  Mélodie began. The Musicians took center stage, and the rest of her friends were part of the orchestra. Cheesy Bear was playing the oboe, while the DuPorcs were on flute and clarinet. And, in an inconspicuous corner of the brass section stood Julien holding the French horn. Everyone looked focused and serious.

  She thought of yelling but that seemed out of place in a setting like this so she stayed where she was, afraid to take her eyes off the stage lest they disappeared from her sight.

  The performance was mesmerizing. How was it her friends could play these instruments and so well? Had they been here and practicing the whole time? Is this where all the missing Belzeracians were – in the orchestra?

  The piece soon came to an end and the lights went out. The audience applauded enthusiastically and Belle clapped along, wondering what might happen next.

  Then with a dramatic bang, the lights came on again, but this time, the spotlight was no longer on the Musicians. They had, it seemed, retreated into the shadows with the rest of the orchestra. Instead, it shone on a solitary figure in a white cotton nightdress – a girl of her age with unmistakable raven hair and a blue headband.

  The girl opened her mouth, warbling the vocal solo of Mélodie as the instruments accompanied softly in the background.

  “TESS!”

  Belle’s cry echoed throughout the concert hall, startling everyone. The girl
onstage went quiet. All music grounded to a halt.

  Nothing held Belle back now as she scampered onstage, running to her best friend and flinging herself into her arms. “Tess, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  When they finally pulled away, Tess’s eyes were downcast.

  “Come on, Tess, let’s go home!”

  A pause. “We – we can’t,” she said softly.

  “What do you mean we can’t?” Belle asked, incredulous.

  All the lights came on. The audience remained seated, now watching a live show of another sort, but no one seemed to be complaining. Perhaps they were relieved not to have to hear Mélodie played over and over again. Belle knew she certainly was.

  Julien stepped forward, still clutching his French horn. “Belle, I know it sounds odd, but we can’t go home yet,” he began. “Not until the Musicians are able to play something different. All this time, they’ve been practicing and recruiting more new members into their orchestra in the hopes of achieving a different sound.”

  “But despite the many interpretations and arrangements and renditions of Mélodie, it’s still the exact same tune,” Tess continued. “It’s kept us all locked in this weird zone.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Belle. “What does any of this have to do with us?” She was truly confounded.

  Finally, François spoke up. “If you must know, ma chérie, it’s because of you that we’re all here.”

  There was a long pause in the concert hall.

  “Tea in Pajamas, does that ring a bell?” the fox went on. “Your crossing over into our world has created a kind of misalignment in time and space. We were playing Mélodie one particular Wednesday afternoon when Tess appeared at our home.”

  Belle stopped to think. So all this confusion must have been the result of a miscalculation on her part or Tess’s when they’d each had tea in their pajamas. That might explain why she herself had arrived at the pie-making competition in Belzerac while Tess ended up in the Sapphire Forest with the Musicians.

  “And she gave us quite a scare too,” Raymond the Rabbit interjected. “Never before had we seen anyone from where you come from. But we welcomed Tess all the same. We performed for her, and it was then that we realized –”

  “Let me show you,” said Simone the Squirrel, chiming in. She picked up her viola and played Mélodie. “Look at my fingers. I’m playing scales. G major. Yet all that comes out is Mélodie. It’s the same for the rest of our quartet. Since Tess arrived, we haven’t managed to play anything else.”

  “Is that why you keep repeating this piece?” Belle asked. “Suppose someone came along and played something different, might that free us from this predicament?”

  “That’s a theory we’ve been trying to prove,” said François. “Though obviously none of us here has been successful thus far.”

  Belle’s eyes darted across to a far corner of the stage where a grand piano sat – it was worth a try. She attempted to recall those music lessons she’d had when younger, but she was uncertain if she could presently even manage a simple tune. She walked over to the piano and sat down.

  The stool squeaked slightly and she discovered that, unlike before, her feet could now effortlessly reach the pedals below. Her fingers rested limply on the cold, ivory keys. For all her past protests that music had to be spontaneous, she was now feeling anything but.

  Searching her surroundings for inspiration, an image entered Belle’s mind – that window in her music room by which her piano sat. Through those glass panes, she had witnessed her first sunset, rainbow, thunderstorm, and falling snow. Gazing out of it was like stealing a glimpse into her own heart. The scenes outside often evoked feelings of love, longing, joy, wonder, and awe – feelings she would transpose into music.

  Belle pictured herself peering through that same window once more, and imagined what it might look like in that very moment. Autumn was approaching, and soon the grass in her garden would be blanketed by fallen leaves. She saw herself lying flat on the ground, her auburn hair disappearing into the coppery carpet. She could almost catch a whiff of her mother’s cooking – the homely smells of dinner wafting from the kitchen. Her father and brother would be chatting nearby, their voices indistinct.

  Her thoughts had drifted so far she scarcely realized she had started playing. Belle’s hands were dancing across the octaves and her fingers gliding across the piano keys. Andante and arpeggios, chords and crescendos. And the melodies that spilled out … weren’t Mélodie.

  The Two Doors

  She didn’t know what or how long she had been playing but when Belle finally lifted her fingers to look down at the keys, she only saw her hands. The piano had disappeared, and with it, the concert hall and the Musicians. Everything was looking very blue again, she saw, for they were back in the middle of the Sapphire Forest.

  “You did it!” Tess exclaimed, as she huddled around Belle with the rest of her friends.

  Belle looked around and saw the happy faces of Julien, Cheesy Bear, and the DuPorcs, evidently relieved to be a step closer to home, wherever that was.

  Mélodie was no more, and in its place, she could now hear the hum of insects and the rustle of leaves. She had done it somehow – produced a different tune – although she remained unsure how that happened. Before this, she’d never dreamed she could accomplish something others couldn’t, and this newfound knowledge made her feel strangely alive – and free.

  At the same time, Belle found herself feeling somewhat disappointed that what she had managed to achieve in the concert hall was not yet enough to get her home. Having been away from Michelmont for so long, she sorely missed her parents, her brother Éric, her school, and her heretofore “boring” old life.

  The group now readied itself for the trek out of the Sapphire Forest, with Julien leading the way. To think this was the same spiky-haired new friend from school who had, not too long ago, asked to sit at her lunch table.

  “How are you doing?” Belle asked, running to catch up with him. Up until then, he hadn’t complained, but she could sense he was exhausted and, like her, missing home.

  “I’m doing great,” he said, with a nervous laugh. Maybe it was the blue light but in that instant, “Julien Hedgehog” looked rather handsome. “It’s been a pleasure escorting you on this adventure,” he continued. “When I moved to Michelmont, I knew there’d be new experiences waiting, but this I could never have imagined. I guess I should even say thanks.”

  Belle sighed. “Don’t be silly. This whole Tea in Pajamas business, it was selfish of me,” she said. “I was bored and I thought life here was so much better. I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.”

  “Well, let’s just focus on getting ourselves out of here before dark,” Julien said, helping her across a muddy puddle.

  He was right. They had a mission, and there wasn’t a point in feeling sorry for herself. Belle trudged resolutely ahead.

  As they approached a small clearing, Julien suddenly stopped in his tracks. A smile crept onto his face. “Check us out,” he said.

  Belle looked down at her hands and feet and saw that they weren’t blue anymore. Neither were her striped cotton pajamas and most evidently, her hair, which had regained its fiery shade of red. Monsieur DuPorc and his wife looked very pink and Cheesy Bear’s fur was back to its deep chocolate brown.

  “Wow,” said Tess, examining her surroundings in awe. “I feel like Dorothy who just landed back in the colorful Land of Oz.”

  Belle smiled at the reference, a most apt one, except she had no ruby slippers to click her heels in and chime: There’s no place like home. If only it were that simple.

  The DuPorcs and Cheesy Bear, who had ventured several steps ahead, were stooped low and closely examining the ground, which looked very unusually shiny. The rest of them hurried forth for a better look. A blanket of golden leaves was glittering resplendently under the sunlight, leaving everyone awestruck and captivated.

  “I don’t re
member seeing all this on the way in – do you?” Belle asked. They all shook their heads.

  “Wow,” said Cheesy Bear abruptly, “you should all … umm … look up.” He was on his feet and gazing upward, all agog.

  Lifting their heads, they saw him. Bathed in a majestic golden glow, Monsieur L’Arbre rose head and shoulders above all other trees in the Sapphire Forest. His trunk was embellished by an intricate maze of leaves, creepers, and hanging roots, which danced to the wind like tassels on a gypsy’s costume.

  “We’ve found him,” whispered Monsieur DuPorc to his nodding wife.

  Belle waited for the magnificent tree to speak, but he only gestured in regal, elegant movements of his strong, sturdy branches. She watched, mesmerized. With leaves falling around her in a golden cascade, Belle suddenly felt engulfed in a sense of calm and stillness she had never before known.

  It seemed Monsieur L’Arbre knew why they had come. He stiffened, as if signaling for all to move aside. Belle and her friends took several steps back, bracing themselves for the big reveal.

  From that point, everything happened quickly. Hanging vines and overgrowth that had previously obscured his trunk were lifting like giant curtains before them. And with a thunderous clap, two enormous golden doors rose swiftly to the surface of his trunk. They had no knobs on them.

  “Maybe we should knock,” suggested Tess.

  Cheesy Bear and Monsieur DuPorc approached the gilded doors, but Belle stepped in their way. “Let me,” she said. “I got everyone here and I should be the one to bring us back home.”

  They nodded and stepped back.

  Now the question was: which door should she knock on first? They were so huge and widely spaced apart that Belle couldn’t possibly reach for both at once. She decided to try the one to the left.

  With a deafening creak, it swung open. Everyone edged forward for a better look: it was a scene she recognized immediately – the pie-making competition in Belzerac.