Her fathers raised voice was the first inclination that anything was wrong. She couldn't make out the exact words, just a ranting, furious, torrent of what were probably curses and insults, probably directed at her mother. She heard a fist slam down on the rickety table, and heard him stomping around. She was blocked from his sight by a thin screen. She wondered why she had woken up. It wasn't that cold out. Eponine had long since learned to deal with sleeping in cold and uncomfortable circumstances. Azelma, however, was not as adaptable as she herself was, and was huddled under a thin cover of stained newspapers, hunched into a small shivering ball. At least living here was better then under the bridge, freezing cold, soaked by the wind on the water. It had been a miserable time, and they had barely scrapped by, relying only on whatever they had managed to beg. Or steal. Azelma had cried constantly then. It had been the first time Eponine had seriously considered suicide.
"Ponine, Ponine"
" What is it, Azelma?"
"I'm so cold. I'm so cold Eponine."
"Shh. You might wake papa. He'll beat us if we do."
"I don't care! Can't we leave?" Azelma spoke in a loud whisper.
"We have nowhere to go Zelma. And you will care when it comes morning."
Silence, except for Azelma's mute sobs, and the whispering of the wind on the river. She could not sleep, and the spray of water that the wind blew from the river stung her face and soaked her clothes. It was completely black outside, and there was no moon. Eponine fancied that the moon was inside because it was too cold. Her stomach growled.
" P-Ponine?" she could see that the younger girls teeth were chattering, and her skin was blue.
" Yes Azelma?"
"Can i come lie next to you? I can-t get warm."
" Alright."
The side and top of the bridge was made of gray and black stones. Eponine fancied that she heard them talking, and that the occasional wheels was the sound of the troll under the bridge. Then she woke up and remembered. She was the one under the bridge.
Her mother's scream drew her back to the present. That must have been what had woken her, she realized. Her mother was not one for screaming. She wondered in her cold-addled mind what had prompted this display of temper from her usually sullen mother. She could not see anything from behind the screen, and wondered fuzzily if they were being kicked out of the room. Again. Then as her brain cleared, she was able to pick out more words from her fathers rant. Then she realized that the screams were not anger directed toward her father, but wails of pain. She propped herself up on her bony elbow, and squinted, trying to see through the ripped gauze of the tattered and discolored screen. She couldn't. Being careful not to rustle her newspapers, she slowly stood up, shaking out her ragged skirt, and smoothing her chemise over her shivering body. She tiptoed over her sisters shivering form, and peeked around the screen. Her eyes widened at what she saw.
Her father was pacing around his hands in the pockets of his ragged trousers; the woman's chemise her wore was torn at the edges and stained with spilled beer. His graying beard was scraggly and unkempt, and he looked positively furious. Her mother, bony yet flabby was sitting on the pallet by the empty grate, looking considerably less flabbier. Her patched apron was rumpled and stained, and her rusty hair was tied up with a bit of string. In her arms was a newborn baby, wrapped in a newspaper! The baby was screaming like a banshee, and waving around a tiny fist. Eponine gasped in surprise, and quick as a flash her father turned on her.
"'Ey you! Yes I see ya there ponine, come out now that's a good girl." He yanked her forward by the front of her chemise, and she could hear the flimsy cloth star to rip.
" Ey! Don't ya touch me ya oaf! Let goa me!" she yanked herself out of her fathers grasp. He gives her a shove into a wall, then goes on ranting at her mother. Now she can hear the words perfectly. Now she wishes she couldn't.
" You Slut! What 'ave you done you bitch! The last thing we need in this shithole is another bleedin' mouth to feed! What 'ave ya got to say about yerself then? And another thing then. 'Os the father? Ain't me, i know it ain't. That makes it a bleedin' basterd don't it? I ain't 'aven it. Another bleedin' lark! I ain't aven it!" he raised his fists at his wife, and she hunches over the infant who is screaming in her lap.
"Alright, alright. I'm sorry. You 'appy now?"
"No i bleedin ain't! I ain't keepin it!"
" I'm sorry i ever said i wanted to."
" You better be! What do we need wiv a bleedin baby?"
"Whater we gonna do wiv 'er then?" Mme Thenardier crossed her arms and glared at her husband, a protective arm over the baby. Eponine could see what this meant. She could tell her mother wanted the baby, at least a little, and was willing to protect it from her father. That meant it wasn't a boy. Her mother hated boys. She had had three and abandoned all of them. Eponine looked at the wailing baby on her mothers lap and wondered what was to become of it. Her. Not it. She wasn't her father.
"Well?"
" Jus toss it in the river. Nobody'll notice." Her father looked pleased with this idea. So did her mother, who obviously didn't care, however much she wanted the child.
" I ain't gonna do that! That's murder. Anyway i'm tired. We'll do it tomorrer."
" Naw. Gotta do it at night. Safest way." He thought for a second, casting his eye around the room. Then his gaze fell on Eponine. " 'Ere, Ponine. Take the brat and dump 'er in the river."
Eponine gasped! She wouldn't do such a thing! Not to a baby! But she knew she had to. Her father's word was law. She opened her mouth to try to protest, but didn't even have a chance to start. Her mother trust the baby at her, and Eponine clutched at her, so as not to drop her. She looked at her mother. Was she really going to let her daughter be drowned, like a stray kitten? Her mother's eyes were blank of emotion. She looked at her father, who made a crude hand gesture at her.
" Go on Ponine. Run on down to the river an dump 'er in. Hurry and be quick about it. 'Urry back and do it quickly." He motioned toward the door, and she no chance to leave. She ran as quickly as she could down the stairs, making as little noise as possible. She was outside under the starless sky by the time she remembered to look down at the baby in her arms.
"Shh. Be quiet. Shh!" she whispered franticly. The baby's lusty screams rang in the velvety night. "Be quiet please! At last, she gave the baby a ripped-off corner of her filthy chemise to suck, and her screams at last lessened. "That's a good girl, good girl." Eponine crooned in what she thought was a comforting whisper. She looked at the baby. The little girl had fuzzy black hair, not unlike her own, and pale pretty skin unsoiled by the dirt and sun of Paris. Her eyes were closed, her long black lashes curled on her cheek. Eponine felt a small pang in her heart, which she chose to ignore. She walked quickly through the quiet streets of Paris, the baby sleeping in her arms. She felt strangely natural there. Eponines feet made a strangely musicale sound on the snowy road. Her lackluster eyes swept the road ahead, and she saw a glint of river, cold and shiny. Immediately she slowed her pace, and her arms tightened protectively around the baby.
Eponine stood at the bank of the river, staring into the icy depths. Her hands shook.
" Just to it quick, and it'll be over with." She told herself. With trembling fingers she started to unwrap the papers. There was no sense in wasting good newspapers. The little baby took that moment to open her eyes. Eponine did a double take. The large eyes staring up at her were, in all respects, Azelma's. Large and green, and helpless. What was she thinking? Why was she doing this? She sighed, and began to wrap the baby up again. she knew she could not kill the bay who's eyes reminded her so of her little sisters. But what could she do?
Eponine ran through the dark streets of Paris to the address she knew so well. She could not bear to bring this little girl home. She wanted her to have a better life then her sister Azelma. If she couldn't help Azelma, she could help this green-eyed baby. So she placed her hopes were she felt sure the child would be safe. So she ran, the baby clutched to her chest.
She set the baby down on the doorstep. It had been so easy to slip through the bars of the gate. "Goodbye baby" she whispered, and kissed her forehead. As a last thought, she reached into her pocket. She pulled out two things. A coin, not worth much, but enough. And a bracelet, gold and small, made for a child. It had been the only thing she had salvaged from her old life. she tucked both things into the baby's newspaper, and left.
As she was walking home, she thought of marius. She sighed. She knew he would never love her. She began to sing under her breath.
And now the night is near.
Now i can make believe,
He's here.
When Cosette opened the door the next morning, she screamed.
When Montparnasse informed Eponine that she was with child, she cried. She cried even harder when she lost it at five months.