Blades of brittle grass bent under the girl's leather soles, crunching with every step. She had initially resisted the idea of such uncomfortable shoes, but winter was well on its way and it was threatening to be a harsh one. Shifting her shawl around her, she exhaled and raised her eyes to the silver expanse above her. Though the mass of clouds promised cold, drenching rain, it would likely turn to sleet in a few weeks, perhaps even snow. She squinted at the sky in disappointment.
"Why are you scowling at the clouds?" Asked a well-loved voice.
The young woman turned her gaze to the boy trekking beside her. Offering a gentle smile, she comfortably met his eyes. They were lively, green, and wonderfully calming.
"It looks like it might rain," she stated, blinking up into the pale light again.
"Well, that is what clouds do best," he noted with a chuckle.
"It might turn to snow."
The boy disagreed mildly. "Not likely. It's a bit too warm for that."
"For now." Her tone was traced with worry.
His green eyes blinked at her with gentle interest through his dark locks. He breathed a foggy sigh in the cool air.
"Isabeau, don't worry yourself. We'll reach Paris soon, I promise."
"And if we do? And if it snows too heavily to travel? What then?" She bit her lip in worry. "What will happen to you and your mother, Honorin? You'd be stranded there and Paris has a reputation for being less than friendly to gypsies. You might not have enough to..." She refused to finish that sentence.
He rested a reassuring hand on her arm.
"That won't happen," he responded firmly. "And don't you worry about us, mon fifille.Gypsies might not do well in cities, but we're resourceful. We'll do fine."
"I just don't want to put you and Maman Cocotte through any more hardship. You've already been so generous to me."
Isabeau's warm blue eyes flicked up to the back of the wooden wagon. The paint decorating it still showed gaily despite years of weathering. It had the appearance of being well-loved.
"Don't worry yourself, mon chérie. This was our choice and we're happy to do it. Think of how worried we would have been had we let you make the journey by yourself! No, don't be concerned about us. It puts us at ease knowing that you're safe and warm and well-fed."
It was silent for a while after he said this. Isabeau kept her eyes on the back of the homey wagon as it lazily rumbled its way up the road. Fidgeting, she fingered her locket. It was one of the few remaining shreds of her previous life, the life she had no memory of. She was lost in her thoughts. There was so much weighing on her mind.
The mop-headed boy smiled at his friend. All too often, he had seen her get fidgety like this and he knew exactly what was going through her head. The poor girl needed a distraction.
"You know, you haven't told me what you plan to do exactly when you reach Paris," he stated. "What will you do?"
"Er... well." She faltered, uncertain. "I figured that I would visit the Opera Populaire, for one thing. Then I'd see from there."
He stared at her in disbelief.
"You can't be serious. That's all? That's your plan?" She nodded to him in meek affirmation. "What if there's nothing there?"
"It's all I've got, Honorin."
"Because of the photo of your parents?" He knew this to be true, though his young companion lowered her eyes in embarrassment. "Just because they got a photo made in front of the opera house, doesn't mean that going there will help you remember."
"You think I haven't considered that already, Honorin?!" The girl tossed her curls as she turned her head away bitterly. She was battling back worried tears. Everything he said was true and she was terrified that she will have dragged the boy and his mother all the way to Paris for naught. "B-But... what choice do I have?"
Honorin looked somber.
"Forgive me, Isabeau," he besought. "It's true. This is your only clue to your past and I daresay you have every right to pursue it. Who am I to discourage you?" He chuckled softly to himself. "Just a moment ago, I tried to convince you that we were happy to accompany you on this journey of yours, but it would seem that I'm not doing a very good job of it, am I?"
She gave a light chuckle as well, before growing a bit more solemn.
"Are you happy to be here? Are you really?"
Stopping in his tracks, the boy took her by the hand, warming her fingers with his. He gazed into her eyes with fondness.
"Isabeau, I am happy to be here, with you." His emerald eyes were true. "I am happy if for no other reason than I can spend these last few weeks protecting and helping you, my little Isabeau, before you find out that you're the granddaughter of some countess or high-bred lady, as I'm sure you will be." One of his hands found its way to her cheek and cupped it, the wool of his fingerless gloves itchy against her skin. "But for now, before we reach Paris, you're just Isabeau, my dear little friend."
Dragging his fingers down from her face, she held them fast and kissed them once in sincerest thanks. A smile appeared on her lips for the first time since that morning.
"Thank you, Honorin. You're my angel."
Grasping tightly to each other's hands, the two continued down the road after the lone wagon.
"What will you do if... when you find out who you were?" He inquired, nervousness tinging his question.
"It depends on who I was, I suppose, and if I was left anything by my parents... or if they are still alive or not," she responded pensively. "It all depends on what I find." She gave his hand a squeeze. "But I'll come back to you and Maman Cocotte," she promised. "No matter who I find, or what I remember, you two will always be family to me."
There was a handsome smile on the gypsy boy's lips.
"I'm glad."
They travelled on for a week and a half more, each day bringing them closer to both Paris and Winter. On the morn of the last full day between them and their journey's end, they awoke to a fine spread of white powder covering the ground as far as the eye could see. It was rather worrying to Isabeau and initially put her in dreary spirits, but after several words of encouragement from her companions, she regained her resolve.
After a long day's travel, they stopped for the night in a little grove just outside Paris. By noon the next day, they would be deep in the renowned city. The thought thrilled and terrified the young woman in equal parts. Needless to say, that night as they all sat around the campfire, Isabeau found herself becoming increasingly restless. The food that Maman Cocotte had prepared was sitting uneasily in her stomach.
Gazing, hypnotized, into the leaping flames, she sat with her knees to her chest and her chin on her knees. She looked like a sullen ten-year-old rather than the eighteen-year-old she was.
"No need to fret, dear," Maman Cocotte comforted. "I'm sure you'll find something about them... about you in Paris."
She returned the well-meant words with a grateful smile, but did not reply. After all, the kind, motherly woman was a gypsy, but she was no soothsayer or medium. How could she possibly know what the future held?
As the girl remained silent, Maman Cocotte and her son exchanged several wordless glances. The significance of them was plain as light.
Speak to her, son.
The middle-aged gypsy rose from her seat by the fire and stretched her aching joints, causing them to give a dull crack.
"I'm going to go look in on Lad," she stated with a groan. "It's not a good idea for someone with my back and knees to be still for so long. Besides, that beast has had a trying day, maybe I can cheer him with a carrot or two."
Swiveling on her heels, she turned in the direction where their cart-donkey had been tied up to a tree. Before leaving however, she flashed an insisting look at her son. She was giving him the perfect opportunity.
Once the sound of the gypsy woman's footfalls had faded, Honorin looked to Isabeau with loving eyes. It was no secret that he cared deeply for the girl and his mother did nothing to discourage his affections, neither did Isabeau for that matter.
He was just as worried about her future as she was, though in a very different way. He fretted over the thought of his precious Isabeau being swept away into a world larger than that of their little painted wagon and forgetting all about him. She had promised not to let that happen, but he still worried nonetheless.
It was quite convenient, however, that his mother had provided them with this time alone. There was something he had been meaning to give her.
Rustling in his satchel, he extracted a small parcel wrapped in old newspapers and trussed with a piece of twine. His fingers began to tremble with excitement and nervousness.
"I have a gift for you," he told her suddenly.
The girl's head popped up off of her knees and turned towards him in surprise, rather like a startled rabbit. Her eyes were confused.
"What?"
"Here," Honorin said softly, extending the package out to her. "I meant to give it to you when we reached Paris, but now's as good a time as any."
She accepted it humbly, though she still looked a bit confused.
"You didn't have to give me a gift."
"Yes, I did." The boy smiled, his eyes merry once more. "Now, please. Open it!"
Obediently, she unravelled the twine and unfolded the inky newspaper from the rectangular shape inside. A small leather-bound journal lay in her lap a moment later, its skin a lovely dark red, like cherry-wood. The warm, sharp scent of leather filled her nose.
"Oh, Honorin..." She breathed. Tracing her forefinger over the texture of the leather cover, she admired the rose imprint stamped in the center. "It's so beautiful! Did you make this yourself?"
"Well, I did the sewing," he admitted. "But Cenn back at camp provided me with the leather and did the rose impression." Raising his fingers to his lips as he grinned, he looked positively giddy. "Turn to the first page," he urged.
As she opened the cover, she saw the curving letters of her name spread out on the page before her. Every line was beautifully penned, though she thought the handwriting looked familiar. She turned her gaze back up to the boy, who was grinning from ear to ear.
"It's my name."
He nodded earnestly.
She blinked before darting her eyes between him and the word on the page several times.
"Honorin, did you write this?" She asked slowly, her eyes wide and incredulous.
His head bobbed in excitement.
She smiled widely at him and gave a short laugh.
"How?! I thought you couldn't write."
"I can't," he affirmed. "But I copied your name from your photo. I practiced writing it over and over again until I got it correct. I think I might've memorized it in the process."
She gave a lovely lilting laugh.
"You didn't just copy how to spell my name! You've also copied the handwriting on the picture perfectly!" Her expression became more serene and she smiled at him lovingly. The thought that the first word he learned to write was her name thoroughly flattered her. "Thank you, Honorin."
That wasn't all, however.
The boy held out a pencil to her, which she accepted.
"Since that first time I saw you four years ago, Isabeau," he began. "Ever since that day my mother and I found you wandering around in the forest, I've wanted to be someone you could rely on, someone who could fulfill your every need. But as we've grown, I've come to realize that there are some things I will never be able to do, some needs I can never fulfill. You've wanted to know who you are for so long now and I curse myself for not knowing how to help you more. But now that you've begun this journey, I just know you'll find your way. You'll learn who you were before you met us." Here he paused, his eyes glassy with emotion. "Truthfully, I'm terrified of what you might find. I'm terrified of losing you. But I desperately want you to be happy, so I truly wish you the best on this... mission of yours," he smiled warmly. "I just... I've seen just how much grief comes from forgetting. So, I made you this journal to write down what you find, what you might remember, so you'll never forget again. And I wrote your name in it so you might not forget me."
Honorin blushed and looked away in embarrassment.
Warm and gentle arms wrapped themselves around the boy's wiry frame as Isabeau clutched him to her. Tears flowed from her blue eyes and she buried her nose into his shoulder.
"Oh, Honorin," she trembled. "I could never, ever forget you."
He held her and stroked a hand over her wild curls.
"Are you sure, my lady?" He chuckled. "I hear Paris often changes people."
"My lady?" She laughed through her tears.
"Yes, my lady. I just hope you remember when you're sitting in a mansion somewhere, your new title evident in the decadence around you, that you were always a lady to me."
"Oh, stop it, Honorin!" She blushed, pulling away slightly in order to wipe her cheeks and show him her smile. "But as for Paris changing me, don't fret. After all, I'm just going to an Opera House. What could possibly find that might change me so?"
Mon fifille - my little one, or my little girl
Maman Cocotte - Mother Hen
Mon cherie - My dear/darling
