Week 2- For the second week we are going to be doing one that all the girls will like.
You have to use these elements:
Genre-Romance
Timeframe & Setting-The French Revolution, France
Objects- A Ruby Ring & Lame Horse
This story is set in the time of the French Revolution in 1790
The story is about the son of a wealthy baron and the daughter of a revolutionist leader.
There she stood, he watched as she stared at him in the darkness. Her long golden curls blowing in the breeze that smelled of smoke from the battles that raged on in the city. Every time he embraced Claudia his entire memory of the revolution and danger around him seemed to dissolve into her sweet aroma. There they stood, both of their hands entwined in one another’s. Leon Gascon, had a handsome face and blue eyes that resembled a dark night sky. “Why must this war last forever.” Leon thought. In his arms he held his love but deep within his heart he held something heavier. Knowing that at anytime the revolutionists would storm his home and find him made him hold Claudia even closer. Claudia buried her head in Leon’s chest and said, “Leon, I must go now. Father said he would be back at midnight so I must return home before he finds me missing.” Leon placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. “How do you manage to stay so strong and face all this danger for me I cannot fathom. But you are right you must go quickly or your father will become suspicious and then we will no longer be able to meet.” Leon replied. With that Claudia turned and walked slowly into the darkness of the alley. Even though she wore a plain cloth dress, in Leon’s eyes she was wearing a gown made of silk that glistened with diamonds. For there strode away his Princess of Love.
Standing in the dark ally now alone, he watched as a thick fog settled over the river that lay in front of him. “That river really tells a story.” He thought, “Its waters are dark and dreadful with undercurrents that threaten to consume anything that stands in its way. That is just like this revolution. Dark, dreadful with danger lurking everywhere.” Leon looked down at his left hand. There on his ring finger he wore a ruby ring. When the ruby was lit up by the moonlight that fought to penetrate the thick clouds, the ruby came to life emitting rays of rich red color. Even though it would seem standard for a man of Leon’s position too wear such a fine piece of jewelry it held a meaning unlike none other. Claudia had given it to him, as a token of her unending love. Suddenly a rough, dirty hand gripped his shoulder. Leon turned too see a mob of about fifty men and women. Every one of them carried a weapon of some kind, most just carried a long rusty piece of broken pipe. The one thing Leon noticed about all the weapons is that they all were covered with thick dried blood. The threadbare clothing wore by the mob confirmed this as well. Leon opened his mouth to speak but no words came. The silence of the mobs quickly erupted into a roar as they swarmed around him. One grabbed him by the wrists and placed a rough, much to tight rope around them. As two men led him through the crowd, the mob spat in his face and jeered as they poked at him with their weapons. When they reached the edge of the mob, one of the men holding Leon removed the handkerchief from his front pocket of his tweed jacket. Leon watched as the man opened the handkerchief and used it to wipe his rusty blade. He then mockingly placed the blood soaked handkerchief back into its proper place and pretended to fuss over the way it sat crumpled in his pocket. The mob burst out in a hideous laugh as they rushed forward dragging Leon away.
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Claudia ran through the dark streets toward her small home. As she rounded the corner her house came into sight and she slowed to a walk. As she entered the small shack of a house she entered to find a gentle fire burning. The fire burned steadily, causing its light to bounce off of the damp wood walls of the skeleton like structure. Claudia sat on a small stool in front of the fire, her thoughts running wild. Some thinking of the safety of her love that she had just left in the street, never knowing if she will see him again and some hoping to find a way to remove her family from this violent revolution of which they took part. Still with all of her worries her head gently fell to her chest as she nodded off to sleep.
Some time later, the door of her home flung open. Claudia quickly awoke and pushed a single blonde curl from her soft face that was flushed red from the warm heat of the fire. In staggered a tall man who wore a dirt and blood covered shirt that was unbuttoned all the way down, and thin brown breeched that did not look any better than the shirt. His arm was around a small sturdy woman, who worn a dress similar to Claudia’s except it like her husbands clothing, it was covered with blood and dirt. They both embraced each other singing an off-key love song. In her fathers free hand he held a bottle of wine, which the couple passed between themselves taking long draughts of its intoxicating contents. Her father then turning to his daughter and staggered toward her reaching into his pocket as he approached her. “Daughter,” he said rather gruffly “I have a little…little present for you.” He held out a trembling hand toward her. Claudia stood on her toes to see what stolen treasure her father had brought her tonight. Peering into his hand she quickly placed her hand over her mouth. Tears ran down her face as she fell to her knees. Her father clumsily dropped to one knee, steadying himself with the flimsy wall that threatened to fall at the touch of the man’s massive hand. “Do you not like it?” he rather innocently asked. Claudia could not answer him; horrid thoughts flowed through her mind, like the dark river that lay a mere few feet from her house. For there in her father hand he held a ruby ring! Her father rotated his head behind him with a puzzled face, looking to his wife for an answer, who was not paying any attention to the situation but was looking at a small shelf deciding which liquid should replace the now empty bottle.
“I wonder what the blade will feel like? How will Claudia take it when she finds out I have been executed?” Leon looked around his dark cell. It was made of roughly cut stone that was wet from the damp fog that flowed in through the small barred window in the cell which was the only light source in the cell, save the dimly burning candle in the passageway outside the cell. Leon sat on a same straw filled bed. Already he could feel the inhabitants of the filthy item on which he sat, crawling through his hair. Like so many innocent people before him, mistaken for people of mistreatment and wealth not wisely spent, there Leon sat in his small cell, awaiting the blade. Thinking back on his life as it all passed before his eyes.
“Claudia, are you trying to tell me you are in love with this man?”
“Yes Father.” Claudia said in a shaky voice. Her parents looked at her in disbelief but their expressions changed to ones of loving and caring parents. With no words needed to be spoken to communicate the message, Claudia’s father rose from his knee. “Be prepared to leave as soon as I return with Leon.” With that her father disappeared out the door of their house. Claudia fell into her mother’s arms and once again began to cry. This time tears of joy and relief yet at the same time a new danger was about to face her.
Unable to sleep from dread and fear and partly because of the inhabitants of the bed, which began to grow in number, Leon stood and looked through the bars down both ends of the passageway. At any moment expecting to see another mob come to retrieve him for the guillotine. Just then Leon heard footsteps approaching from the left passageway. Dread and panic took hold of Leon as he saw the enormous man that had taken his ring, approach with keys that banged against his leg. With each footstep, each clang of the keys that echoed through the damp and foggy passageway. There seemed to grow a feeling of horror as the dim candlelight shone through the din helping to set the mood of the situation. The man approached and opened his cell door. Leon lowered his head and walked in front of his captor to the blade. When they arrived outside the sun was just beginning to rise in the sky. Even though it was having a hard time cutting through the thick fog it still managed to put a golden shower of rays off of the blood caked blade. His captor leaned over his shoulder as he walked and whispered something that made him stop in his tracks. Leon turned to face him “What did you just say?” The man replied with a toothy grin “I am here to rescue you and bring you back to Claudia.” Before they could continue to talk a guard approached them. The guard looked suspiciously at them. “What are you doing with this man, André? The executions are not for another hour.” The massive man approach the small guard. Instead of saying a word he drew a small dagger and attempted to stab the guard but missing. The guard raised his gun and shot André in the neck. The guard dropped to his knee to reload and not wasting the chance Leon sprang and retrieved the dagger from the fallen mans hand and plunged it into the back of the unsuspecting guard who cried out in pain and fell to the ground dead. Leon knelt next to André. The older man took Leon’s hand into his massive one and pulled him close and whispered, “Love…my little…girl.” With that the André exhaled for the last time and slipped into the dark waters of death. Leon rose from his knees and rushed off to Claudia’s home. Out of breath he came running up to Claudia. She and her mother were in a small cart pulled by a horse that was favoring one leg. “Leon where is my father?” Claudia asked. Taking her in his arms he told her. She wept softly as he laid her in the back of the cart and drove the lame horse toward the border and freedom.
The End
Isabella's Writing
(Please excuse the white highlight on the writing below. There is a glitch in the system that we will try to work out.)
(Please excuse the white highlight on the writing below. There is a glitch in the system that we will try to work out.)
Lorraine walked through the dirt road on the outskirts of Chǎlons, France, her coat drawn tightly around her. Her long, thin legs moved swiftly under her coarse skirt as she made her way towards home. The border of the town was almost always empty, especially on a Saturday evening, and Lorraine liked the way the silence felt, heavy, relaxing. A light mist lay over the town of Chǎlons, the morning dew still hanging off of everything in sight. The rainy season was always like this, and Lorraine’s mother always told her she’d die of a cold one day. But evenings like these were the few times of peace for a girl of seventeen like Lorraine. Lately she had been too busy keeping her Grandfather’s house, where she stayed with her brother, clean. Lorraine sighed as she looked out towards the green meadows that expanded on both sides of Chǎlons.
A piercing shriek of a horse filled the air as her gaze drifted away from the meadow, breaking the silence of the morning. Standing straight, Lorraine stood stock still as she listened for the shriek again. She didn’t have to wait long before another of the ear splitting sounds pierced through that the air.
Lifting up her skirts, she ran towards the source of the sound. She had heard the sound of an injured horse all too often in Paris, when a riot got out of hand and the policemen couldn’t do their jobs with all the sticks and stones being thrown at them. Reaching the sound, Lorraine gasped when she caught sight of a beautiful Dark bay horse lying in the middle of the dirt road.
“How could someone just leave you?” She asked as she circled the horse. Save for the lack of rider, this horse should have been somewhere far from a little town like Chǎlons. Its bridle and saddle were in prime condition, save for the dust from traveling on a dirt road.
The horse let out another scream as Lorraine’s hand brushed against its right fore leg.
“Lame.” Lorraine said sadly, to herself more than the horse. “Your rider rode you until you were lame and couldn’t travel another step.” Anger filled her eyes but she quickly discarded it, packing it away deep inside her mind until she had time to think it over. Now, she would simply work on getting the horse to a safe place.
* * * * *
Lorraine ran through the battered up streets of Chǎlons, her skinny legs flying under her skirt, which she held partially in her hand to keep from tripping over the access fabric.
She made it to her Grandfather’s house just as the last market stalls closed up shop. Reaching the front door, Lorraine noticed for the first time that it had been left slightly open.
“Alphonse!” She called into the house.
“Bonjour, Lorraine.” A small, twelve year old boy called back as he waved towards his sister.
“Alphonse,” Lorraine began, about to reprimand him for leaving the front door open.
“Oh, don’t start scolding me yet, Lorraine!” Alphonse interrupted with a mischievous grin. “You haven’t even seen the house yet.”
Lorraine’s face paled.
“You didn’t make a mess of the place in the short time I left you. You couldn’t have!” Alphonse sobered somewhat as he replied “Never underestimate the abilities of the younger gen-er-a-shon, Lorraine. Roland told us that last time he was here.”
“Its generation, Alphonse; I know what Roland says. But don’t think he was referring to you and Alphonse what will grandpapa think if he sees the house a mess when he gets home!” Lorraine cried as she ran through the small, two-bedroom house that served as their home. She moved through the single room that served as their living room, kitchen and dining room, or the “multi-purpose room” as Alphonse called it.
Nothing seemed out of order.
Moving on, Lorraine sighed with relief when the rest of the house revealed to be in the same, prime condition as she had left it.
Alphonse entered the bedroom he and Lorraine shared. “Find anything?” He asked, grinning.
Lorraine turned on her brother. “I suppose you think this is funny, telling a tale of the messing up the house and making me worry over nothing!”
Alphonse winked at his sister good naturedly and said “Instead of getting mad at me you should be grateful that I didn’t mess up the house.”
He changed the subject. “When do you think Roland is coming back? I like it when he visits; he’s fun and has cool treats.” Alphonse’s mouth watered at the thought of the sour and sweet candies Roland gave him last time.
Lorraine said nothing as she rummaged through the small drawer that held her most prized possessions. Near the bottom of the drawer was a small, wooden box, given to her by her Grandpapa. She grabbed it and walked to her bed, Alphonse following closely
“I don’t know when Roland will come to see us.” She said. “But I know he’ll be coming to see us soon.”
Now that riots had begun to appear in more and more throughout France, more people have left cities such as Paris for smaller towns, where uprisings were less likely to happen. When the uprisings had first started, Lorraine and Alphonse’s parents had sent them away to live with their Grandfather in the town of Chǎlons. Their Grandfather, an owner of a local business that shipped materials to Paris, had offered to take them in for as long as necessary, so long as they kept out of his way.
“Are you sure you and your family will be safe with all the riots?” Lorraine had asked her childhood friend, Roland just before she and her brother departed for Chǎlons. At the time, Roland had stood several inches taller then her and, even though they were several years a part, the two were close friends.
“I’m not going anywhere near the riots, if I can help it,” had been his reply. His family, the Lefevres’, belonged to one of the higher class of doctors that had lived and studied in the city of Paris for years, and Roland was a born doctor.
“If any of the people need our help, though, and they will with all this rioting, I won’t hesitate to help.” Roland’s dark brown eyes matched the seriousness in his face as he pushed something into her hand.
When she opened her fingers she found a small, Ruby ring shining its brilliance on her palm. “A promise to stay out of trouble while your was gone, as well as a promise for more.” Roland had said with a smiled, before waving goodbye before walking into his house without another word.
Now, Lorraine opened the box and pulled out the small ring, engraved with decorative markings and studded with a small Ruby.
Alphonse’s eyes grew large as they gazed into the Ruby. “Nice!” He started, “Where-.” He was cut off at the sound of someone knocking on the front door.
Lorraine hurriedly placed the ring back in its box before heading towards the front door.
“Grandpapa!” Alphonse cried, when he caught sight of the muscular, though wrinkled, man that leaned against the door frame, breathing somewhat heavily.
Lorraine reached for her Grandfather’s coat and hat, but was drove back by his cane. “What are you doing, child?” He asked harshly, as he moved back towards the door, limber even for a man in his early 60s. “I came to get you both. Alphonse, go and get you and your sister’s coats. We’ll be waiting here. And hurry up with it, we don’t have all afternoon!” He called gruffly as Alphonse dashed into the backrooms to get the desired garments.
Lorraine cast her Grandfather a questioning glance but remained silent until she was spoken to. She did not have to wait long, for her Grandfather turned to her next and beckoned her over.
“Yes, Grandpapa?” She asked, her heart racing at the uncertainty of what caused the normally grumpy, mellow old man to act so hastily.
Her Grandfather cast one look towards the back room where Alphonse had gone before beginning.
“I was in the warehouse when a young man, a little taller than yourself, just ran up to me and demanded to be show where Lorraine and Alphonse Dubios were staying, saying he had urgent news!”
Lorraine held her breathe, her heart pounding in her chest. “Was the young man’s name Roland?” She asked.
Her grandfather shook his head impatiently. “No. Tristan Giles was his name, but that’s not important. What is important is that he said that he rode his horse lame just to get this letter to me, so it must be important. I’d have taken the letter from him myself but if the letter is what I think it is I think you and Alphonse need to hear it.”
Here Grandfather Dubios huffed but then continued after a moment’s pause.
“He’s outside right now and as soon as your brother gets back with those-. Ah, here he is.” Grandfather helped Alphonse into his coat, which he had only just grabbed, before shoving him and Lorraine out the door, where a young man dressed in traveling clothes stood.
The young man, Tristan, bowed towards Lorraine, who curtsied, and shook Alphonse’s hand before giving a letter to Grandfather Dubios. “Bonjour. I’m afraid I’ve lamed Cordelente in getting it here, but I was told it was incredibly important. It’s not in the best of care,” He apologized hurriedly, seemingly wanting to get going.
Lorraine glanced at Tristan, her mind racing from the horse she found on the road to the letter in her grandfather’s hand. Finally, she looked over towards the letter as her grandfather tore it open, deciding to tell Tristan about his horse afterwards.
Inside the envelope was a letter addressed to Alain Dubois from a man named Christophe Tolbert.
“Isn’t that the name of the man who lived next door to us in Paris?” Alphonse asked, reading alongside his sister. Lorraine nodded and continued to read aloud next to her grandfather.
“Monsieur Dubois, on the date of 20 September, 1792, a new government of France was erected and declared itself a republic. Unfortunately, as you are aware of, the riots that have led up to this point have caused considerable amounts of damage throughout the country, particularly in the places occupied by the Royal Family. In one of these many uprisings, a small fire was started in the shops where your son, Antoine Dubois and his wife, Annette Royer Dubois, worked. The fire caused a considerable amount of damage to the structure, which, when entered by your son and his wife, collapsed on top of them. I will insure you that both your son and daughter-in-law are in the best of care.
Monsieur, while your son was a small time business man in Paris, you must also be aware of the “side job” that he was undergoing. By this I mean ferreting supplies to the republic groups scattered around France. Now that the old government has been over thrown and the new, republic government is in command we have no more need for this ferreting job. However, this victory has also come at the cost of war, which has broken out between France and Austria. Our government is recruiting new soldier for our army, and I have been ordered to ask you, Monsieur Dubois, to help us in this time of war with your expertise and skill in the fighting field.
Sincerely,
Christophe Tolbert”
* * * * *
Lorraine stared at the letter, shock clear on her face, while Alphonse seemed to be no trouble in understanding the letter.
“Are Papa and Maman alright?” He asked, his freckled face wrinkled in worry.
“Of course they are,” Grandfather Dubois said gruffly, his voice holding conviction. “I know Monsieur Christophe Tolbert and he’s an excellent man. I am interested in this news about war, though. Tell me young man,” the older man looked at Tristan. “When were you given this message?”
“Two days ago, sir.” Tristan said absentmindedly, moving his feet.
Grandfather Dubois nodded before heading into the house, beckoning for Alphonse and Lorraine to follow. “Stay there while I go over some things with my family.” He told Tristan over his shoulder. Tristan nodded, though he seemed unhappy about it.
Lorraine and Alphonse gather around their grandfather.
“I’m going to be packing up my things to go and help with this war. The French will need some people like me to help them.” Grandfather patted himself jokingly on the chest.
“Was that a joke, Grandpapa?” Alphonse asked, his eyes wide at the thought.
“Never you mind.” His grandfather said curtly. “I’m going to be packing my stuff up and I don’t want you or Lorraine helping me. There are two important pieces of information that concern you both, as well as myself.”
“What’s that?” Alphonse asked.
“It is that your Mother and Father are unable to take care of you at the moment due to those uncontrollable riots. However, I cannot take care of you where I’m going. A training camp for war is no place for children.”
Alphonse stuck his chin out at these words, trying to make himself look bigger.
His grandfather noticed and chuckled. “It’s not a place for men younger than 16, than.” He said.
Alphonse frowned and was about to say something more but was interrupted by his sister.
“Where are we going to stay then, Grandpapa?” Lorraine asked, her eyes filled with worry and a somewhat childish fear.
Her grandfather looked into her eyes and cupped her face in his hands. “You will stay here, Lorraine. You and your brother will both have to fend for yourselves. No one will be able to take care of you other than a few helpful meals and coins, but you’re strong.” Grandfather Dubois took his hands off of Lorraine’s face and walked inside the house to pack.
Lorraine stood still for only a moment before her grandfather’s words sunk in and she shook off her sense of unease and look at Tristan. The young man was looking towards the dirt road that led towards Paris.
“I know where your horse is.” Lorraine said suddenly, breaking the silence that had stretched between them.
Tristan started and stared at her. “You know where Cordelente is?” He asked, surprised.
“Yes,” Lorraine nodded, “I found her a few hours ago and put her into a small stable that my Grandfather owns. He used to put his extra storage there, but it’s in good condition for a horse, so I put her in there.” Tristan looked relieved at the news that his horse had been put somewhere safe.
“I’m afraid I must apologize.” Lorraine said, causing Tristan to stare at her again in confusion. “When I first saw, Cordelente I had thought that some terrible person had just left her there to die because they had been foolish and uncaring. I’m sorry.”
Tristan remained silent for a minute before answering. “It’s okay. I was being foolish. I lamed my horse bringing this message to you, and I shouldn’t have been so reckless. I knew that if I pushed her too hard I could hurt her and now she’s lame. She is lame is she not?” He looked at Lorraine, who nodded, and his frown deepened.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Lorraine said. “This letter was incredibly important. Though I’m truly sorry about the condition of your horse and wish that it hadn’t happened, I am truly grateful that you got this letter here when you did.”
“Aren’t you sad that you’ll have to live by yourselves now?” Tristan asked, looking from Lorraine to Alphonse to Lorraine again.
“Oh no,” Lorraine replied with a wave of her hand, “Alphonse and I can take care of ourselves.”
“That’s right!” Alphonse spoke up. “I’m not some baby that must be taken care of every second of each day.”
Lorraine looked up at Tristan and asked “What about you? Are you going to leave Cordelente here with us and return to your family?” Lorraine asked.
Tristan shook his head. “No. If you don’t mind me coming by every now and again, I’ll stay at the inn nearby closer to the center of town.”
Lorraine smiled. “Not at all.” She replied. Alphonse grinned and said with a gleam in his eye “Maybe Tristan will meet Roland when he comes over, next.”
Lorraine turned around and frowned at her brother before hiding it and giving a laugh.
“Roland? You don’t mean Roland Lefevre, do you?”
“Why, yes! He’s a childhood friend of mind.” Lorraine said, surprised.
“He is also a friend of mine, as well!” Alphonse said, wanting to be further involved in the conversation.
Tristan grinned. “There’s only one way I could know that you are a childhood friend of Roland’s.”
“Oh? And how exactly could you tell, if word weren’t enough for you?” Lorraine asked, her hands on her hips.
“Well,” Tristan began slyly, “The Roland I’m speaking of has asked that, after all this war and chaos has died down, I come to his wedding, where he will marry the most beautiful girl in all of France.”
Lorraine’s eyes grew sharp. “And just who is this girl?” She asked, trying not to think too much and jump to conclusions.
Alphonse grinned, seeing the trick before his sister and remaining quiet for once.
Tristan pretended not to notice anything and carried on. “I’m afraid he didn’t give me a name, but he did tell me that his bride to be had a Ruby ring that he gave her as a promise.”
Lorraine’s face grew red as she felt heat rise over her cheeks. Tristan saw and laughed out loud before saying, “I guess I am standing in the presence of Roland’s future bride.”
Lorraine smiled, her face lit with joy. “You’re not making a joke?” She asked, trying not to get her hopes up.
Tristan shook his head, grinning. “How could I have known about the ring if it wasn’t true?” He asked. Lorraine grinned in response.
At that moment, Lorraine and Alphonse’s Grandfather stepped out the front door, one arm around a large suitcase and his other holding onto his cane. “Will you be okay?” He asked.
Lorraine thought of everything Tristan had told her and smiled. “We will be okay, Grandpapa.” She said confidently. She and Alphonse waved goodbye, as their grandfather left on the same dirt road that had brought Tristan and his lame horse to them such a short time ago. Alphonse nudged his sister and winked his grandfather. They all laughed, save for Lorraine who blushed, and said goodbye on that happy note.
After note: Tristan stayed in the inn in the town of Chǎlons until his horse, Cordelente was well again. During that time, he and the Dubois’ spent most of their time together and Tristan helped with hearing enough pay for the brother and sister to live off of until their parents were well enough to have them in Paris again. Though the war carried on Lorraine and Alphonse were reunited with their parents in Paris soon after they had completely healed from their injuries. Roland and Lorraine were married 2 months afterward.
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Linnea’s Writing
The Price Love Paid
He'd left her. Grabbed his horse and rode off. He was one of the few people left that could. Someone who didn't matter enough to be noticed. Someone who wouldn't be approached for support or help. A nobody. The kind of person he guessed the so-called “Revolution” was supposed to help, but he didn't exactly see that happening. So here he was clopping down some back forest road some miles out of Lyon and leaving everything – and, more importantly, everyone – that he cared about behind.
He still told himself it was better. Still told himself she was better off. Without him. Without the trouble he brought. Without the danger, the risk, the magnet that he was for problems.
“Adventure”, she called it. “The death of her,” He said. And Gaetan Dondre Chandler wouldn't be the death of anyone, much less her.
Solution to his problems: A (borrowed) horse, a bow, arrows, and knife, and a pack of his most prized belongings and things closest to him. Mostly her letters. There were at least fifty of the papers tucked safely into a hidden pocket within the pack that rode on Gaetan's back. Creased hard from being folded and unfolded so many times, softened from time and time again of being held and caressed by fingertips soft. If he tried hard, he could catch the faint scent of cranberries on the newer parchments, but even that was beginning to fade.
He'd find a place. A tiny hamlet, or an abandoned shack, make a place for himself. He could farm, he could hunt. It would only be him. No other worries. Nothing left to care about.
It was the way to fix everything, in his mind.
He sighed in annoyance when he realized that his horse, no longer being urged on by its rider, had slowed to a walk. In his thoughts, he'd lost his attention, and the horse had known it.
“Get up,” He said to it, tapping his heels. It broke into a canter again, and again they were off through the trees, Lyon at their backs, already faded into the distance.
Étoile
She pressed the lace under her nose as tear tracks raced down her cheeks, staring at the paper in her hands, the bold, crisp lines that flowed across it.
But she didn't take it in, because it couldn't be true. Not only could she not believe it, but it just could not be true. It wasn't right. It wasn't...wasn't...
A knock at the door, and her muscles tensed.
She folded the parchment long ways in half, twice, and stuck it up her sleeve, wiped her crystalline tears and tucked her lace away, then sat up straighter. “Enter,” She called.
Her voice was steady despite her tears. She'd had much practice speaking through sobs.
The door clicked open and a girl of about fourteen stepped inside. “Salut, Cyrille,” Said her younger sister, Céleste.
Cyrille managed a smile. “Salut, Céleste. What are you doing here?” she turned her head to see her sister.
Céleste shrugged. “Came to see you. Is that a crime?” she smiled a little, then crawled onto Cyrille's gilded and fringed and fluffed bed and curled up against the pillows.
Cyrille smiled and looked out the window again as her sister pulled out a book. “No. I suppose it's not.”
The two were silent for a long, long while, Cyrille staring out the window and fingering the tip of the parchment at her wrist, Céleste reading her book, curled up on the bed. Night fell, and Céleste left with her book to find a place with more light when Cyrille refused to light a candle. She was so grateful that Céleste didn't protest the remaining of darkness, but instead just shrugged and left, leaving her sister by the last vestiges of sunset outside.
She pulled the letter out again once the door clicked close, and by the last ray of the fading light, read its contents once more.
Cyrille Arélien Tyeson,
You're reading this because I am gone. You're reading this because you're safe and I'm not. You're reading this because the moment you received it was the last time you'd ever see me or hear from me. You're reading my last words to you.
Fret not, my sweet. It's better now. All of it. I promise.
Memories are fond and days are long, and love is all that remains
When times like these make someone see that sometimes there is nothing but the rain.
Storms might pass and rainbows come at last, but times are long and fickle
So remember me with a sweet song, for they cost not a nickel.
Horizons are vast; Cyrille my sweet, and yours shine, do they not?
Yours toujours,
~Gaetan Dondre Chandler
As the shadows enveloped everything, Cyrille stood, fabrics swishing around her feet and wrists, and walked across the room as if in a daze.
She stopped at the dresser
Pulled open a cupboard
Lifted out a box and moved her hand to her neck.
There her fingertips felt a chain, and she pulled that chain up
At the end of the chain she found a key, and pinched it in her fingers.
The key she slid into the box, and it opened softly with a click.
Three notes played in an ascending manner as the lid opened.
Quiet
Gentle
Sound.
She let the key drop back to hang on it's chain
She folded the letter
And she placed it inside.
The ever so slight crackle of papers being compressed met her ears as the nearly filled box received one last resident.
The notes played again, descending this time, as she closed the box and it clicked shut.
“Yours toujours, Gaetan Dondre. And never again shall I love.”
Étoile
Gaetan stopped for the night, and tied his horse to a tree. He was in the middle of the forest on his own and he enjoyed it. It was solitude at it's finest; the only sound the natural ambiance of the forest around him. A whistle of wind, a rustle of leaves, a shifting of ground as a small animal passed by.
He settled with his back against the tree, which also served to hold his horse, and leaned his head back against it.
The only thing he wished for now was the stars. Gaetan's favorite sight in the world was stars. Shining, shimmering, glittering pinpricks in the heavens, like the night sky was simply silky blue fabric, punctured in countless places by the merest of pins, and a light behind them shone through it, creating the glimmering look.
It was a scenario that Cyrille had once brought up, as they sat in the garden beneath the stars. His heart sank and night didn't seem so peaceful now.
Memories came back.
Penning the last letter to her.
Giving it to her, along with just one last smile, then turning his back on her and leaving.
And wondering and speculation began.
When had she read it? Did she yet? Would she? What did she think of him now? Did she think the letter vague?
No matter, Gaetan told himself. It's not like she'll be able to find you and tell you what she thinks or when she read a letter or what she made of it.
Half of him wished something unthinkable would happen and she could find him
The better part of him knew that was not only impossible, but would be bad for both of them.
And so he drifted off, the motion of the leaves swaying in the breeze, and letting music play through his mind, over and over and over again.
Three notes up
Three notes down.
Étoile
He rode on before the sun, waking and failing to allow sleep to take hold of him once more. He simply rode, not really caring where or how or when he went, just getting away. The dust trail behind him turned to mere clattering as the ground beneath turned from forest path to actual road. He looked around and checked his horse's pace just a little, scanning the countryside.
Nearby there was nothing. In the distance there was a hill. Beyond that, he couldn't see. “Looks like the perfect place, eh?” He said to the horse, leaning down to speak quietly into it's ear, stroking the curving neck of the animal as his dark, dark brown eyes scanned the landscape.
Then he straightened and tapped his heels to his mount. “Have a look around. Mm?”
As they rode on, he took everything in. Flowing grass and rolling hills, gentle road and open sky. Everything seemed anonymous here. Everything seemed vast.
“Perfect” he thought.
He crossed a rise, dipped into a valley, went around a few various bends, and saw it. A decrepit building, half of it burned, the land around it tilled, as if farmed.
“Perfect.” He spoke it aloud this time, and sent the horse into a gallop, then reined in hard before the building, dropped to the ground, and went inside.
Two Months Later
She dropped the parchment.
It slid from her hand like water over smooth rocks.
It fluttered, and landed on the floor, right at her feet.
Tears came; of so many things she couldn't have remixed the recipe of emotion for them again.
She didn't have time to think. She didn't want to. She put a cloak around her shoulders, snatched up the letter, with its mere eight words upon it, holding so much meaning.
Two day's ride
South
House being rebuilt.
Come.
So she did.
She tucked the letter up her sleeve again, keeping it close to her, feeling it's rough parchment against her skin, and raced down the steps and to the stables.
“A horse, Pierre! A horse!” she cried out.
He looked up, a broomstick of a boy with sandy hair and blue eyes too big for his face. “What?”
“A horse!” she repeated. “Any horse, Pierre! Please!”
Scrambling, Pierre saddled the nearest horse, an old bay mare. “Voici, mademoiselle.”
“Merci, Pierre!” she smiled at him, swung up to sit in the sidesaddle, flicked the reins and was off.
But she stopped at the gate, reason setting in with a lightning fast train of thought.
Dropping to the ground, she ran back inside.
“Cyrille! What are you doing?!” It was Céleste, running after her with a book in hand.
Cyrille didn't reply. She grabbed her box from her dresser, opened it, barely hearing the notes it played. From inside she snatched out the parchments, and opened a small hatch on the bottom of the box.
Inside was a velvet pouch, and it clinked cheerily when she picked it up.
“Answer me, Cyrille! What are you doing?”
“Céleste,” Cyrille put her hands on her sister's shoulders. “Do not tell Maman and Papa where I've gone. Oui?”
Céleste blinked. “But-”
Cyrille crushed her sister in a brief hug. “Je t'aime, ma soeur. I will write.” and she ran off once more.
Étoile
He looked up at a knock on the door. No one ever called here. Setting down the woodworking he was setting to, he slipped over to the door and opened it.
There was a cry, and she was in his arms, fussing and half collapsing, fretting and speaking rapidly, incoherent for her speed.
But he knew who she was, and as Gaetan pulled her away and set her in a chair by the kitchen table, then looked her over and raised an eyebrow.
“Cyrille, please slow down,” he said, gently placing a hand over her rapidly moving lips until she stopped speaking.
He pulled a strand of muddied black hair from behind her ear. “What happened to you, love?”
“M-my horse went lame,” She said, choking on a few words and still slurring them together for the speed with which she spoke. “I ran on ahead.”
He brushed some dried mud from her cheek, half smiling. “Shall we tend to the beast?” he pulled her to her feet and led her out back, where he helped her into a small wagon and hitched it to a sturdy plowhorse.
“You've done well for yourself, Gaetan Chandler,” Cyrille said as they clip-clopped down the road, her voice steady and her words not rushed now.
Gaetan smiled. “I've made my way. And you love? How did you get out here?”
Cyrille fingered and empty chain around her neck, wondering what he would think.
She was silent for so long that Gaetan repeated his question. “Cyrille? How did you get out here?”
“I...” she hesitated.
Gaetan turned eyes on her and cocked his head. “You?”
She finally unclasped the large, bronze chain, and held it in front of his eyes. “I sold my ring.”
He stopped the cart and fingered the chain. “Which ring?”
She let her hands fall to her lap, and brushed at some mud on her lace sleeves. “The ruby one.”
“Ahh. I see. The one from me.”
She looked up, tears glistening in her eyes. “Gaetan, I'm sorry. It was all I had with me and-”
“With you? Cyrille, you said you left without a thought.”
“That's why it was on a chain. With me. Toujours, Gaetan. Remember?” she whispered.
He smiled at her, and let the chain fall back into her hands. “Toujours, Cyrille. I remember. Would forever suffice?” from the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled a ring. Set with not a ruby, but emeralds, all around the, inlaid with gold and a sapphire centered.
Cyrille looked up at him, eyes wide. “Gaetan...”
“Always and forever, maybe?” he said with a hopeful smile.
She laughed, then threw her arms around him. “Yes, Gaetan. Always and forever.”
He pulled her away and slid the ring on her finger. “Now let's go see about that horse.”
The End
Marissa's Writing
PROLOGUE
I was an orphan. No one cared about me, nor even pretended to. It had always been hard. But in July of 1789, my life got much worse.
My parents were both beheaded that year. My brother was forced into the service and killed. I was alone.
I was sixteen at the time. I worked for anyone who would take me, and somehow I managed to make ends meet. Although I was down to one scanty meal a day, I found an old abandoned church and it became my home. I was content, in spite of the pain that constantly clawed at my belly.
CHAPTER ONE
There it was; sparkling in the sunshine that was streaming through a nearby window.
A beautiful ruby ring that fit perfectly on the finger of the noble woman who walked through the door. I was working at an inn and had been as shocked as the others when she floated past me and sat at the corner table. She had an arrogant air but my eyes saw only that luminous piece of jewelry.
As a lucky young man took her elaborate order, a plan started forming in my head. After she was done ordering and the young man had gone, I slipped up to her table.
"Excusez-moi, Mademoiselle," I said, smiling sweetly.
The woman glanced in my direction. "Yes? What do you want, child?"
"I was just admiring your beautiful ring, Mademoiselle," I said, allowing some of the awe I felt to creep into my voice.
The woman's face brightened. "Do you like it?"
I nodded enthusiastically. "It is gorgeous." I paused for a moment, as if thinking. "It would be a pity if it got dirty; it would lose its shine."
"Yes, I suppose it would." She said slowly.
"The inn has a vault where we keep our guest's valuables." I lied. "Perhaps you would like it put in there?"
The woman nodded and slipped it off her finger. "Thank you, dear. You are very kind."
I felt guilty for a moment, but the feeling passed as the ring was pressed into my palm. Think of all the food it could buy I told myself as I walked toward the back door. I slipped outside as soon as no one was looking and broke into a run, heading toward the church.
I reached the church safely, hoping that no one had seen where I had gone. I examined the ring as I climbed the staircase, dreaming of the things it could buy. A house. Food. That night I fell asleep with my fingers still wrapped around the ring.
CHAPTER TWO
I awoke to pounding on the old wooden door. My eyes shot open, my fingers tightening around the ring. The pounding continued and I shot to my feet, descending the stairs quickly and slipping out a hidden side door. I heard shouts and broke into a run, knowing I had been seen. I dashed into the streets and, seeing an unattended horse and swung up onto its back.
I dug my heels into its sides as I urged it to a run. Lightening flashed, silhouetting the town against the sky for a split second. The shouts faded slowly, and I knew I was losing them. But I didn't stop. The only thought that ran through my head was I am a thief. I had not only stolen a ring, but now a horse as well.
Rain cascaded from the sky, drenching me immediately. The horse slipped in the mud and fell to the ground, pinning my leg under it. I cried out in pain and squeezed my eyes shut as I struggled to free myself.
I finally gave up and lay there, shivering and helpless. Then the weight was lifted off my leg and I opened my eyes to see a tall figure dragging the injured horse off of me. "Are you alright?" I heard him call.
"My leg..." I replied, wincing as I tried to move it.
Then I felt myself being lifted into his arms. "Keep still, Mademoiselle. You're safe." He said over the rain.
Then he walked. I do not know how far; all I was aware of was the pain that shot through my leg with each step he took. The throbbing got worse every second and it wasn't long before it got to be too much and I blacked out.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I awoke in a small cabin. My leg had been bandaged, but it still throbbed terribly. I heard hoof beats and sat up. I suddenly realized what a mess I was, but could do nothing about my appearance at that moment. The front door opened and in came the tall figure I had seen the night before. He saw me awake and swept a bow. "Bonjour Mademoiselle! Stephen, at your service."
I decided not to attempt a curtsy, so I simply inclined my head in acknowledgement. "I'm Margurite. I must thank you for coming to my aid."
Stephen waved it aside with a grin. "No thanks are needed. You may stay here as long as is necessary."
So I did. My leg wasn't broken, thankfully, and it was only a week before I could walk again. I had lost the ring in the storm, but I didn't mind a bit; I was glad to be rid of it.
During the time I stayed there, I got to know Stephen. He was always cheery and very easy to please. He had a sharp mind and always went out of his way to make sure I was comfortable. He had a steady job and was far better off than I had been, and during that week I ate more than I usually do in a month. As my leg healed, I knew I would have to leave, but soon I found I didn't want to.
CHAPTER THREE
The time had come; my leg had healed, and I had to leave. There was a little voice in the back of my head that whispered 'stay' but I knew I couldn't. The horse I had taken was lame, so Stephen loaned me one of his stallions.
"Thank you Stephen, for everything." I said as I swung up on the horse's back.
Stephen grinned and shook his head. "It was my pleasure, Margurite. Safe travels." And, to my utter surprise, he kissed my hand.
I was so flustered I could only mutter something that I hoped made sense and urge the stallion to a trot. My mind was whirling. I knew that usually that a kiss on the hand was simply a formal gesture, but I knew Stephen wasn't one for formalities.
I finally decided that it didn't matter, as I wouldn't see him again. I was traveling north, where I would eventually catch a boat to England. However, that kiss still lingered in the back of my mind.
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I had been traveling for a few hours when I stopped to have my mid-day meal. Stephen had packed me bread and cheese and I ate it slowly in the shade of a tree. I was nearly finished when I heard hoof beats. I looked up and my eyes widened as I saw Stephen coming down the road. I stood as he brought his horse to a stop next to mine.
"Wh-what're you doing here?" I asked.
Stephen shook his head. "I saved you once. I'm not going to let you run off and get in trouble again."
The corners of his mouth twitched as he held out his hand. A grin spread across my face as I took it and he swung me up behind him. He grabbed the reigns of the other stallion and whispered, "Hang on tight."
I wrapped my arms around my waist as the horse broke into a run. The wind whipped my hair away from my face and I laughed, tightening my hold on Stephen.
This is where I belong.
The End
