Hello everyone! I hope I find you well!
In this chapter I returned to the original plotline and introduced my version of Gaston, Belle's father and another glimpse at Belle's mother.
Let me know what you think of them!
Just to clarify, chronologically, this chapter preceds the previous one.
Hope you enjoy! Thanks for the Reviews! They are profoundly appreciated!
R&R!
Chapter 3
Helene's p.o.v. once she left the bookstore.
Approaching the woods was my least favorite part of walking home after dark. The tall trees looked almost menacing, their twisted leafless branches emphasizing the sinister atmosphere. The autumn fog, which now constantly formed at night, didn't exactly help alleviate my restlessness.
Tugging at my cloak, I tried to wrap it closer to my body; this unusual chill at night foretold a heavy winter. Without wanting to jinx it, I imagined it was going to be the coldest our village had yet to face.
Azor, sensing my uneasiness, came closer to walk beside me. I was grateful for his presence, but for some reason he was unusually not able to soothe me. A fact that had me perplexed; why would I feel so restless (dare I say scared?) this particular evening?
The path was one I walked every day since I could remember; sure the limited light of the moon, coupled with the light fog and the evil-looking trees painted a less than happy picture, but they remained familiar to me. They shouldn't frighten me.
That was when I saw an unexpected figure in the near distance start to take form. Admittedly, it was a small town and I was on one of the main roads (even though it hardly seemed like it) and I shouldn't be that surprised to encounter someone on it. But there were almost no people using it after the sun had set, and those who did occasionally, I knew all too well to not want to encounter.
Out of that small group did someone emerge; a certain someone I couldn't seem to shake off nowadays; who had taken a sudden interest in me, bringing up some, frankly, lame excuses for it.
Yes, the last person I wanted (ever) to see was becoming something of a nuisance (and also explained my slight panic attack earlier) and his name was Lestrange Bouchard. A quite glorious name you would think; it wasn't, believe me. And its bearer was even less glorious.
'Ah, there you are my love! I was just at your house looking for you.' He said approaching me. I didn't stop however to talk to him, but he came and stood in front of me blocking my way. 'You can imagine my surprise at my finding out you had left for the village center after dark and alone.' His voice came out as a drawl; no doubt he thought he sounded irresistible.
Admittedly, Lestrange was good-looking. More so than average with his tall muscular figure, strong chin and flowing dark hair. In many ways he was the village stud and every virgin's dream-man (even the married ones had a thing for him). But I just couldn't get over the fact that he was completely airheaded; he wasn't the brightest star in the sky and, additionally, his archaic beliefs about men-women relationships didn't quite sit well with me (to put it mildly).
'You should know that these kind of 'outings' are not going to be aloud once we're married.'
Remember the nuisance I was telling you about?
'Lestrange' I greeted, nodding curtly. 'As you can see I'm not alone' I added gesturing at Azor who had already half-bared his teeth at him. A low growl was emanating from the enormous guard-dog as a warning.
But I couldn't have him attack Lestrange. I had seen what the proud huntsman was capable of doing to any animal that he didn't like or had decided to kill. No one had ever said anything to him or even tried to stop him, since most of the villagers thought a man with a gun could kill any animal he chose. It was the only other form of entertainment, besides alcohol consumption for them.
'Yes indeed. That mutt is still alive and well, I see.' He said sizing Azor up with the well-known killing glint shining in his eyes. I put a protective hand on my guard's head trying to calm him down. If push came to shove, at least Lestrange would also count a few loses; Azor was quite passionate to protect.
'As always, nice to see you Lestrange, but I really should be going. My father will be worried.' I said desperately trying to end the encounter as quick as possible.
Stepping around him I was about to resume my walk, but, as always, things are never so simple.
He surprised me by snatching my basket from my arm. Opening it he rummaged through it looking curiously for what was inside. He was not too happy with what he found.
'A book?! That was why you were in town at this hour? Ha!' what followed was a violent explosion of laughter, which shook his massive form and made him drop my basket. Clutching his stomach he tried to regain composure, but failed miserably.
'Lestrabge, give me my book back. Stop acting like a five-year-old, will you?' I tried reaching out to take it back, but he held it above his head.
'Your book? Don't you just borrow these useless things? What sort of payment did you offer Pierre this time? Peanuts?' he laughed some more at my expense; apparently my lack of recourses amused him. Simple minded imbecile!
'None of this is any of your business, Lestrange, nor will it ever be'. I warned as I picked up my basket. I held my hand out waiting for my book, all the while unleashing my famous death-stare; I had scared more than one teachers with this inherit (courtesy to my mother) stare of mine.
'You shouldn't read books, Helene. They make you think about things. Thinking is never good for women.' He said full of repulsion, either to books or women, I couldn't tell. Or maybe he just wasn't fond of thinking altogether.
'And how exactly did you come to that conclusion? By reading, or by observing the world around you?' I asked, unable to completely mask the sarcasm in my voice. He didn't seem to notice however.
'By knowing that women's brain cannot understand things like a man's brain can, of course. Flimsy, little females can't even fire a gun or swing a sword! And they also can't even kill a squirrel if it's sitting in front of them!' his mind worked in very different ways; I didn't even have the will to talk to him more than was necessary.
Heaving heavily, I repeated my request more firmly than before, hoping I would get through to him. Eventually he dropped the book in my hand but not without adding:
'No matter. This will all change when you become my wife.'
'I'm not going to marry you, Lestrange. When will you finally get it through your head?' I looked away in order to place the book back in my basket and so missed his movement. His hand darted out again snatching mine. I let out a small yelp of surprise, enough to spur Azor into action. He started barking and sat at his rear legs ready to spur at the offending male.
'Azor no! Down!' I yelled yanking my arm trying to go near him and prevent him from jumping at Lestrange.
'Better keep that hazardous animal under control, Helene, or I will be forced to help deal with this threat of an animal.' His mouth was at my ear as he yanked me closer to him. Azor was about to lose his head from barking. He had obeyed to my command but was certainly not happy about it.
'Azor stay.' I repeated steadily before turning to the oaf that held my hand a little too tight than was comfortable.
'Let my hand go, Lestrange and he will stop. Continue to grip it like a mad man without my permission, and although we will lose the war you will lose an arm, a leg and an eye in the battle. Do I make myself clear, or do I need to spell it out for you?' my voice was steady; a low murmur only for him to hear. If someone would have seen us from afar, he would have thought we were having a lovers' conversation. My conviction, however, left no room for doubt, and even this delusional simpleton understood the truth of the threat.
He pulled his head back, eyeing me with speculation (as much as he could muster) and finally let me go.
'Very well. I'll forgive you this maidenly reserve. It's only natural. But that dog will be gone by the time we marry.' He said pointing at Azor, a snarl on his face. He wasn't bluffing; I knew that snarly twist to be his killing face.
Heading towards Azor to soothe him and stop his barking, I felt exasperated and almost to my limit. Which is why, as an afterthought, I regretted what I said at that moment.
'Why are you so fixed on marrying me?! I have repeatedly refused you in the past five months you decided to show your interest! What part of "I don't want to marry you" are you unable to comprehend?!' I was nearly screaming at his absurdity.
And then came the lame excuse I wasn't aware of, up to that moment.
'Why because you are the prettiest girl in the villge! You would look great next to me! I can't have some cow marrying me!' he actually sounded excited at his statement.
My astonishment was such that I could only stare at him dumbfounded. That was the reason he was pestering me for nearly half a year now? He thought I was the prettiest in the village?
Now I knew how I looked. I owned mirrors. I also knew I was far from the prettiest among all the other girls in our settlement. He must have been a little dumber than I thought.
'You're delusional.' I could only mutter in awe. He didn't seem to hear me however, and instead, completely at ease with himself, send me home with a wave of his hand, as if dismissing me.
'Now run along, my love, you need your beauty-sleep in order to maintain that little face of yours. I am needed at the tavern for a late night discussion on our next hunting spree.' He eyed Azor at that last statement. The latter growled in return.
I continued to just stare at the man's retreating back, rooted on spot. The audacity of some people always rendered me speechless.
Shaking my head to clear it of its haze, I turned towards my house, an uneasy feeling creeping up my spine; Lestrange may be an idiot but he was also an extremely determined individual. I feared I wouldn't come out of this situation unscathed.
I arrived home on time to hear an explosion coming from the basement (which was turned into a makeshift laboratory), where I had left my father earlier. I rushed towards the hatch door leading to the foundation of our house and, yanking it open, I was greeted with an enormous amount of smoke.
Coughing violently, I raised my cloak above my mouth and nose, calling out my father's name in panic. Had he been close enough to get burned?
'I'm ok, dear! It was just a minor thing!' relieved, I rushed to where I heard his voice come from. The smoke had cleared now and as I helped him up, I saw that he had no serious injuries; just a few cuts and bruises.
'Are you sure you're fine?' I asked fretting a little; after losing one parent I was extremely protective of the one I had left. Although he wasn't always there as a conscious companion (he was usually a little out of it, muttering a formula or other) he was still present. I had developed a sort of paranoia for losing him.
'Yes, yes child I'm fine. I just put the wrong modulator that's all.' He sounded a little breathless in his reassurance; no more than usual, however. He always seemed out of breath lately; as if he had been running all the time. His movements were abrupt and forceful; as if agitated or nervous. I had no inclination as to why, though.
Helping him get up I immediately proposed we turn in for the night. He dismissed my offer and only said I should get some sleep and not wait for him. He apparently had to finish something up first. At my worried, uncertain expression he paused just to say:
'Worry not, my daughter. You're far too young to wear an expression like that.' His voice now a low murmur as he pated my head, before leaning in to plant a tender kiss on my forehead, as he always had done when wishing me goodnight.
'Your eyes should be free of weary shadows.' He added at last, more to himself than to me; it sounded like he was stating a vow; a conviction of sorts that renewed his determination. He turned to what looked to me as scraps of metal, and began rearranging its' parts with one of his tools in his right hand. He was very thin and tall, as if he had never fully grown into his body. With a slight hunch in his back and a head full of grey hair (nearly white) he presented the very image of weariness.
Deciding that he had regained control of his bearings I bid him goodnight, certain he would never retire to his room; no, I would find him sleeping once again over that contraption of his in the morning, his bed as empty as it had been for nearly five months.
Now that I thought of it, many things had changed in the aforementioned period of time. I was too tired to contemplate on that thought, however, so I made my way out of the basement and into the front yard, searching for my discarded basket. The poor thing had suffered excessively in the past hour (it was already falling apart).
Picking it up, I patted Azor once more in goodnight as he reclaimed his spot in front of the house steps.
Once inside, I let out a heavy sigh, I hadn't realized I was holding and took my cloak off. I would have to wash it first thing in the morning due to the smoke from the explosion.
As I lay my newly acquired book on the kitchen table, I decided to make use of a device my father had come up with. Using water from the well in our front yard, papa was able to transport a certain sum into a large basin situated over a stove adjoining the west side of the house. Once in there, the water would warm to a certain degree (fit for a nice hot bath), and then be transported to the room me and my father named "washroom", since it was only used to wash up.
Entering said room, which was next to the kitchen, I pulled the lever to check if there was water in the basin. With relief (and endless gratitude towards papa) I discovered that everything was prepared. Making a mental note to thank my father for thinking in advance to prepare the stove and heat the water, I quickly gathered all my utensils for bathing.
Soaps and fragrances, crèmes and oils, all recipes my mother had left behind. She had perfected the art of pampering and preserving health, youth, moisture and softness, using recipes my grandmother had, and, even perfecting them. Thanks to her my necessary rough rural life hadn't deprived me of soft skin and hair. Alexandrie Bellerose was absolute on matters of beauty, in the sense that a woman must never neglect herself, because once she starts losing interest into keeping her external appearance pleasing to her own eye, than she starts losing interest into her own femininity, thus, eventually, losing herself in life's hardships.
I understand now, that what my mother meant by preserving one's outer appearance was not to be vain or shallow, but rather, to never reach a point where any woman would feel not worthy of being desired or, even, loved. She believed that if a woman feels clean and soft and smooth, no insecurities will ever plague her mind and soul.
Chamomile and honey, lavender, olive oil, vanilla-extract, all were combined in such a precise way that provided nourishment and even rejuvenation for the hardworking body. In a world of agriculture, youth is seldom and painstakingly preserved after eighteen years of age, and it had become a habit of mine to apply these products after bathing. I had to admit it felt good.
I was eternally grateful to my mother for a myriad of reasons, but the lesson of preserving beauty – Aphrodite's lesson – was the one I enjoyed the most. For, let's face it, being a woman – being feminine- is an art; an art which is very complicated to master and which requires years of dedication to complete (if there ever is a completion).
In fact, my mother was so famous for her creations that we even had requests from neighbors to pass them around. As time passed she started exchanging them for products we couldn't produce (most people didn't have money to give), going as far as to strike up deals with women form the neighboring villages.
That was one of the reasons Victor was such a vital addition to our family. After mama had passed away I continued producing them (she had taught me from an early age) and with the help of our horse I could travel to the other villages and sell, even in the heart of winter.
After I was done with my bath, finally relaxed and comfortable in my nightgown (albeit a little tired) I heated a cup of milk over the fire-place, and, book in hand, ascended the staircase to my room. Keeping only one candle lit, I lay it on my night-table and headed towards my window sill. It was big enough to be considered a bench and as I opened the glass a nice cool breeze hit my fatigued form. It was kind of rejuvenating, actually.
At nights when I wasn't too exhausted, I loved sitting for a while at my window. It overlooked the forest; in the distance I could clearly see the landlords' castle and also hear the river. Admittedly not the best view in a matter of context; I had come to despise the wealthy, self-centered and indifferent ruler for taking no interest in our lives, apart from extracting his rent.
But even I had to admit his castle was a breathtaking building. In nights like these I liked to imagine an entire different scenario for the inhabitants of the magnificent castle; namely, I would picture a happy couple enjoying their solitude together; away from the world and its problems, living peacefully with no responsibilities and involved in nothing more than the ruling of their own castle. I guess you could say that, at the end of the day, I was something of a romantic.
Slowly sipping my warm milk I relished in the scenery and took the moment to feel grateful for everything me and papa had. It would not do well to be ungrateful.
My eyes started closing involuntarily, and though I knew I should definitely close the window and turn in for the night, I felt comfortable gazing at the scenery and just dreaming of what could be. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep, till Azor barked at something and startled me.
Feeling a little disoriented, I hastily shut the window and headed to my bed, blew out the candle and tucked my-self under the covers, succumbing to Morpheus.
