Blanche tore the sheet into long strips before coiling them around her hands. Bandages, for the barricades, the men needed every sheet she could spare. Which was every sheet she owned. She shuddered as she ripped another sheet, just thinking of those boys needing bandages was terrifying. The thought of her Combeferre needing bandages brought a tear to her eyes. Blanche was scared for her husband's life. For the hundredth time that day she thought of sharing her secret with him, to keep him close to her. Another sheet torn into strips and ready to be rolled. Shaking her head, she began to roll again. She couldn't tell him. She picked up her last sheet and paused, no, she would leave this one to cover Combeferre when he came home exhausted from the barricade.
Bandages nestled in her basket, she made her way to the barricade with the other women. Squeezing through the narrow gap left for their entrance, a smile broke out on her face as she spotted her Combeferre. She ran to him and nestled in his embrace, feeling safe and secure in his arms.
"Blanche," he whispered, his voice filled with nervous tension.
"Yes, Combeferre?" she smiled up at him.
"It's began, my love," he pointed to the barricade. "The fight for freedom."
Again that nagging little voice in her head told her to tell him, and she tried to push it down.
"Combeferre, I…" She started.
"Yes?"
"Nothing," she back peddled. "Just...be safe."
She gazed upon the still face of the girl, Eponine, and gingerly lay her handkerchief over the young face. Those eyes, so cold and still, she shivered and prayed to God to protect her husband.
The first attack was over and they had made it without any losses. How frightening, to hear the guns, hear the bullets scream. To know your beloved is among the bayonets. But Combeferre had survived it without a scratch, and she prayed that he would stay that way.
Hands encircled her waist and she looked up into her husband's weary face. No words needed to be spoken, they could communicate with their eyes alone.
The people had not yet joined them. How could they hold off the National Guard without them? Their noble plans began to bleed from the wounds of failure. Hope, was hanging by a thread.
Enjolras ordered a rest, leaving a watch in case the Guard came back in the night. Blanche settled down beside her husband, leaning her head against his shoulder.
Drink with me
To days gone by
Sing with me
The songs we knew
Closing her eyes, Blanche listened to the resoluted song vibrated on the deathly still air. Combeferre's arm was around her shoulders and she played with his other hand.
Drink with me
To days
Gone by
To the life
That used
To be
Let the wine of friendship
Never run dry
She joined the others singing, clasping her husband's hand tightly. All this talk of death scared her. A tear unknowingly slipped down her cheek, to be caught by Combeferre's forefinger. A kiss was pressed to her cheek, a gentle reassurance.
Here's to you
And here's
To me…
"Let all the women and fathers of children go from here."
A hope sprung into her heart as she watched Combeferre talking with Enjolras. But no, she couldn't take him away. The young leader needed her husband by his side, and who was she to take him away at this crucial moment. His wife. Clenching her fists she shook her head, ignoring that tempting voice. Combeferre took at as a refusal to leave and hastened to her side.
"You must leave, Blanche," he said softly.
"I will," she choked back a sob.
"Good, now go before they attack," her husband urged.
"Combeferre, don't you dare…"
Her demand that he stay alive was cut off as Combeferre pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. A kiss that was filled with all the love he could muster as he drew her close, caressing her cheeks.
"Now go," he murmured, breaking the kiss. "I love you, my Blanche."
With that he turned back to the barricade grabbing his gun and stood by Enjolras' side. Tears pooling in her eyes she whispered.
"I love you, my Combeferre."
An agonizing scream wrenched itself from her throat as she collapsed by his body. She had held it together for so long, keeping silent even when the message was brought. Your husband is dead. The words were pounded into her memory. Blanche sobbed for breath as she cradled Combeferre's stiff, cold body in her arms. Her warm hands clasped his hands, as she begged his comforting warmth to come back, for this all to be a lie. For Combeferre to be alive. His eyes, that had once conversed deep matters with her were silent and empty. Tears ran down her cheeks, slipping off her chin to wet his face. She rocked, back and forth, holding him as she would a babe. Her words were hardly heard through the sobs.
"Combeferre, oh my love, why didn't I tell you? I might have saved you. Combeferre I am pregnant. Forgive me for not telling you."
"She will make it, so will the baby. Ah, it is a boy."
The midwife's words drifted away as she conversed with the doctor. Blanche lay on the bed, pale and wan, glowing with pride and love. In her arms, a baby boy was nestled, red faced with a strands of brown hair sticking up all over the place. A perfect picture of his father, in smaller form, was her son. Blanche held him close as tears rolled down her cheeks.
"You will never know your father," she whispered sadly. "But I will tell you everything about him. You will grow up to be like him someday I believe."
She fell silent, rocking the sleeping newborn and breathing in his clean smell. Resting her cheek against his head for a moment, she brought him back down and gazed at him with love shining in her eyes.
"Combeferre, I name you," she tapped his little nose. "Combeferre is a good name for you. But as it is also your father's name, so you will be Ferre for short."
Gently, she held little Ferre closer and breathed a sigh of content. She imagined Combeferre looking down from heaven to watch his son closely, to keep him safe from harm, and it comforted her. He would be watching her as well. Feeling a warmth she had lost for many months, she relaxed and sung softly to her baby, and smiled.
The End
