A Gift for Charity

Chapter 1- Charity

August 12th, 1887

My name is Charity and I am fifteen years old. This is the first time in my life I have bothered to write anything of significance. Gabriella, the librarian taught me to read and write. She's teaching Dominique now. Sometimes, Dominique comes home with a book that she uses to practice.

For as long as I can remember, I have been in charge. Dominique is eight years younger than me. She doesn't know how lucky she is. We are orphans. We have nothing but the rags we call clothes, and whatever food I can steal.

Steal. I hate the word. Everything it represents is evil. But I have no choice. We haven't any money, so I go out and steal food.

Dominique doesn't know I steal. She doesn't know how much trouble I could be in if I were caught. I have been stealing for us since I was nine, and Dominique was three. I love my little sister. I couldn't bear it if she had to go even one day without food. So every day I sneak out and steal. I have no choice.

Today, I hurried through the streets of Paris. In my hands was a whole loaf of bread. I felt pride that I would be able to bring home a loaf of bread. But I wasn't safe yet.

I skirted a cart filled with oranges. I stopped. Oranges were rare in these parts. Even one or two would be a feast. I needed to make a feast today. Today was Dominique's birthday, and I wanted it to be special.

I could hear the soldiers shouting behind me. I quickly grabbed two oranges and stuffed them into my pack. Then I dashed past the owner of the cart. He was picking up an orange that had fallen. I ran off into the crowd. Then I slowed my pace. I wanted to blend in. I melted into the crowd and easily made my way across the marketplace.

When I neared the area where out home was, I quickened my pace. The crowd was thinning, and if I wanted to return home in time, I needed to hurry. I arrived home and knocked three short knocks on the door, then two long. Now Dominique would know it was me.

I opened the small door to the warehouse and stepped inside. The wood creaked as I closed the door behind me. Empty wooden crates were stacked along the wall. I whistled and called Dominique's name. I saw her peek her head out from behind a crate. When she saw me, she ran out from behind the crate.

"You're back!" She cried, and ran up to me. She threw her arms around me and squeezed me in a big hug. I nearly dropped the bread and oranges.

"Look what I brought," I said when she released me. She jumped up and down and squealed in delight when she saw the bread and oranges. "We'll feast tonight," I declared. I ruffled my sister's blond hair. "Happy birthday, Dominique," I said. She beamed up at me.

"I'm seven now," she said proudly.

"That you are," I agreed, and dragged a crate a little away from the wall to use as a table. As I did, I heard something bang against the wall.

Dominique came up to me and said," Um, Charity? I don't know if you know this, but someone knows we live here."

I stared at her dumbly for a moment. "What do you mean?" I asked her.

"Well," she said nervously. "Someone was here today. He left a package and it's addressed to you."

She bent down behind a crate and picked up a small, flat, rectangular package. I turned it around form side to side.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I didn't open it." She sat down with it on her lap. I took it from her and examined it from all angles. Then I put it to my ear. I didn't hear anything, so I figured it wasn't dangerous. However, I think that it would be wise for us to have an adult around when we open it. That's what I told Dominique.

"How about Gabriella?" Dominique suggested.

"Sure," I agreed, and nodded. Actually, Gabriella would be a perfect person to help us out, seeing as how she's very well educated and, I mean, come on! She can read and write! Few women can do that. We are lucky that she taught us how.

I packed the loaf of bread and the two oranges into the pack that I always keep with me, and we set off for the library.

I held Dominique's hand as we crossed the street. Everywhere we went, people were chatting. Dominique was pulling me along, so I hurried to the library with her. When we arrived, Dominique knocked on the big doors and I opened them. Gabriella's one rule is that we knock before we enter. That way, she's knows that someone is at the door.

I walked in and let go of Dominique's hand. She ran into the main room where all the books were. It always seems to amaze me how she gets so excited every time she walks in there. But maybe that's because she doesn't remember our mother.

I remember her. I don't remember much about her, but I remember that she was smart, and beautiful. She would often read me stories, and she would take me to the library. Gabriella remembers her, too. But she promised me she wouldn't say anything to Dominique.

Dominique never knew our mother. You see, our mother died in childbirth with Dominique. If I were to mention her, Dominique would immediately become sad. She blames herself. She says that she was the reason why our mother died. I have tried to persuade her otherwise, but she won't listen. So my only other alternative is to make sure that no one brings up the subject of our mother in front o Dominique.

I watched as Dominique knocked on Gabriella's office door. Gabriella opened the door, and Dominique threw her arms around the librarian.

Gabriella is about seventeen years old and is very nice. She has blond curly hair, and brown eyes. She has to wear spectacles, but that's okay. She says they make her look old and ugly. I think they make her look intelligent and sophisticated. She won't listen to me, though. Few people do.

She lives with the old librarian, who has a room in the back of the building. The librarian, whose name I don't know, is very old, and so she can't take care of the library anymore. Gabriella does the work instead.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Gabriella asked pleasantly. She always talks like that. She uses big words and sentences that have funny meanings. She often has to explain them to us. Fortunately, I have heard that phrase before.

"This," I said, holding up the package.

"Did someone send Dominique a birthday present?" Gabriella asked.

"It's addressed to charity," Dominique said. "I know because I read it." She stood up straight. Her face glowed with pride.

She's only just beginning to learn to read and write, and she's very proud of her accomplishments. Actually, she reads almost as good as I do. Then again, she also enjoys reading a lot more than I do.

"Here," she offered. "I'll prove it." Gabriella sat down and Dominique sat down beside her. She read, "To, Mademoiselle Charity, who's lies-"

"Who lives," Gabriella corrected.

"Who lives in the old warehouse with her sister." Dominique finished. It took her several long minutes to read it, but she was proud of being able to do so. She says that she wants to be just like Gabriella when she grows up.

"Why don't we open it, then?" Gabriella suggested. I sat down and nodded. She handed me a pair of scissors. "You should do the honors," she said. "Since it's addressed to you."

"Okay," I agreed. I took the package and picked up the scissors.

A/N: I hope you liked that. I promised you a third story, and here it is. If you have any suspicions about the origin of Charity and Dominique's parents, please keep it to yourself. I don't want to answer questions about the parents until the story is well established. Review, please!