Child of Freedom

Chapter 1- Abandoned

A/N: You wanted a sequel, so here it is. Enjoy!

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I watched as the people of Paris went about their daily lives, oblivious to everyone's problems but their own. The air was thick with the scent of baked bread, fresh fruit, and manure. It reminded me of the countryside back home. I picked up a fruit and gently felt the skin around it to see if it was fresh.

"I assure you, Mademoiselle, these are the finest and freshest fruits in all of Paris." The man behind the stall said. I assumed that he thought I didn't believe the fruit to be fresh, which I didn't.

"You've said that before, Philippe," I said. "And it hasn't always been true." I smiled.

The man, Philippe, put his hand to his heart as though he were injured. "Ah!" He said in mock pain. "You have insulted my person, Mademoiselle. I am injured." He pretended to swoon and fall down.

I put the fruit in my basket, satisfied that it was good enough, and leaned over the table of the stall. "Philippe," I said. "If you want to make any money, you're going to have to stand up and prevent little people from stealing all your fruit." At that, Phillipe jumped up. But as he did, he banged his head on the roof of his stall.

He rubbed his head and muttered a few curses in French. I handed him the money and tried to hide my smile.

"Philippe, you should be an entertainer." I said. With his slightly hooked nose, and his dark, almost black, hair, as well as his interesting personality, he could provide immense entertainment.

"You think so?" He asked. I nodded. "Ah," He said. "I would look good in tights, non?"

"Non." I replied to him, shaking my head at his silly antics. "I mean the kind of entertainer who makes jokes, and does comedic routines." I said.

"But," He replied. "You are the only person I know of who has heard of such an entertainer." He smiled.

"I must be going now," I said to him. "Madame Rouleau will be needing these fruits for her party tomorrow."

"Is that tomorrow?" He asked, surprised. I began to walk away. "Well, then," he continued. "I better get my wife to fix my old suit right away." I smiled and waved at him as I hurried through the crowd. "Au revoir, Mademoiselle Rebecca!" He called, and I pushed past some rotund women in extravagant clothing.

-

Erik was watching her. He always watched her. He made sure she stayed out of trouble, and that trouble stayed away from her. He made sure that she didn't get into fights, and that the thugs that liked to lurk in alleys always stayed in the alleys whenever she walked by. He had made it his job to watch over her.

Rebecca was from the future; she didn't know what Paris was like in this century; what dangers lurked around every corner. Of course, Erik was sure that the twenty-first century had it's own dangers, but he was also sure that Rebecca wasn't prepared for the dangers that the nineteenth century held. In the nineteenth century, women were not respected, and men were held high above them. So if something were to happen to Rebecca, the authorities wouldn't do anything to fix it.

Erik watched as Rebecca finished her shopping and began the trek home. Rebecca now worked for a splendidly rich couple that had just happened to need a maid and cook's helper when she came calling.

Actually, after Rebecca's first day of job-searching had been fruitless, Erik had gone to one of the noble's homes and... asked the maid/cook's helper to quit her job. Actually, he hadn't asked. He had pretended to be a ghost (knowing that the woman happened to be very superstitious) and had told her that if she didn't quit her job, she would find bad luck following her for the rest of her life. The woman had quit first thing the next morning.

Erik chuckled at the memory of the overweight woman shivering in terror in the middle of the might.

Rebecca reached her patrons' house in good time, and entered through the kitchen door. He heard her preparing some things and chatting and laughing animatedly with the cook, who Erik didn't trust, and who happened to be male as well as handsome.

Erik had promised himself that he wouldn't interfere with Rebecca's life unless there was danger. But it was difficult for him to not run into the kitchen and strangle the man with his lasso.

Erik sighed and admonished himself. He was supposed to be turning over a new leaf, but he simply couldn't get rid of the idea that strangling annoying people with his lasso would be so much fun. Of course, he would never actually do such a thing on purpose. Unless, of course, they were a threat to Rebecca in some way. Now all he had to do was figure out some way that the cook was a threat to Rebecca's safety.

Erik sighed again for the umpteenth time and moved away from the window. He returned to his home under the Opera Populaire and tried composing. But no matter how he tried to push them away, thoughts of Rebecca, laughing at whatever it was that the cook said, kept coming back to him.

-

I laughed. Pierre was so funny. He would do impressions of M. and Mme. Rouleau. His black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and he was wearing an apron covered in flour. So when he acted all pompous, like the M, and Mme, he ended up being very comical.

I was glad that I could count on Pierre as a friend. After leaving Erik in the Notre Dame Cathedral six months ago, I was glad to have someone to talk to. It was often lonely during the evenings, but that was okay because Pierre was always already in the kitchen in the morning, greeting me with a warm smile and a joke about how I looked like a drowned rat before my morning coffee.

I worked on chopping some onions and peppers while Pierre stirred the broth for the soup. It smelled delicious, and I hoped that the servants would be allowed to have some after the guess were served.

Suddenly, my head filled with thoughts of Erik. I wondered what he was doing. I hadn't seen him in months, and I found it strange that he hadn't tried to speak to me again. I don't know why I thought that. Maybe it was because, even though Pierre was my friend, I felt more comfortable around Erik.

"Rebecca?" I was pulled out of my thoughts by Pierre calling my name.

"Hm, what?" I said, distracted.

"I said, could you please go get some potatoes from the cellar?" He repeated.

"Oh, sure." I said, and I headed towards the wooden door in the far corner of the kitchen. I opened the door, and ran down the stone steps.

As I neared the bottom, I thought I heard a sound. I strained my ears. Silence greeted me. The potatoes were near the steps, so I didn't have to go very far. As I reached out to grab some and put them in the small cloth I had brought, I heard a faint, mewing sound. I peered into the dark.

"Hello?" I whispered softly into the black.

A whimpering sound, coming from my left, greeted me. I turned and slowly walked towards the sound. My foot bumped up against something and the cry began again, louder and more insistent. I felt around the where my foot had bumped something, and picked up the object. Then I slowly climbed up the stairs to the kitchen.

As I neared the top of the steps, the light form the kitchen window spilled down through the open door. It allowed me to see what the object was. It was a wicker basket. I nearly fell down the stairs when I saw what was inside.

"Pierre?" I called from the open door. I heard him sigh and come over.

"What is the-" He stopped short when he saw what I held in my arms. Nestled in the basket, among some rough, old blankets, was a baby.

A/N: Here is the first chapter. Review and let me know what you think. Please and thank you!