Chapter 9- Emilie

Jean and Clémence Paquet knocked on the door of the Fortier family's home, which was near their own place. They knew that the two sisters didn't work at the Marquis de Brumagne's estate on Sundays, and hoped to see them.

Adelaide opened the door to greet them. "Clémence! Jean! Come in! Would you like me to make some tea?"

"It's all right, Addie," said Clémence to her cousin cheerfully. "I know you both must be heading to work soon."

"Actually, we have a whole four days off!" Adelaide said with pleasure. "The Marquis and their Ladyships Marie-Juliette and Evangeline are on a trip to Versailles. They are going to spend some time at Prince Louis' villa, and even have a visit with the King and Queen themselves! It would have been exciting to come, but they didn't need us."

"I'm glad you have time off, at least," said Clémence. "If you had gone with them, would you have had to endure Evangeline's gossip about the royal families, and spend hours getting her prepared to present herself to them! You wouldn't have had a moment of peace."

"You're right," Adelaide laughed.

"Is Emilie home?" asked Jean, a tense expression on his face. "I'd like to talk to her."

"Yes, she's home," said Adelaide. She went in to fetch her sister. Emilie was sitting on her bed, a sketchpad in hand. She was drawing random pictures of birds, copying them from a book which lay on her lap. As her sister came in, she pulled her white ruffled cap lower on her face.

"Is company here?" she asked quietly.

"Clémence and Jean. Jean wants to talk to you. I like your drawings."

"Merci."

"So can you come out and speak to him?"

"I suppose," Emilie sighed, not too happy to see anyone, to be honest. On her days off, she preferred to be alone in her room. Alone - to daydream, draw pictures of flowers and birds and nature, and imagine a different life, where she could be someone other than who she was. Someone pretty, and normal, and admired. Even at work at Evangeline's, she preferred to sew clothing in a small parlor room alone, where she could withdraw into her own imaginative mind and forget that she was homely, scarred little Emilie Fortier.

She rose from her bed and set the sketchbook aside, following Adelaide into the family room. She gave Jean and Clémence a shy smile.

"Bonjour, Emilie. I need to ask you a favor," Jean said apologetically.

"A favor?"

"It's my friend. He caught smallpox and has been home suffering from it all this last month. I'm very worried about him. I was hoping that you could help him since you have a few days off. Go to his place and try to get him to eat and get his strength back. Like a nurse, I guess. His aunt has been taking care of him, but...well, he's not in a very good place right now. His poor aunt, she's got to be at least seventy years old, she needs a break-"

"Sure. I could help him. I've already had it, so of course I can't catch it from him again. He's your friend?"

"You met him at our wedding. The tall fellow. Luc. Remember?"

Emilie's face tensed; a shadow of apprehension coming over her. "Oh...him?" she blurted out.

"Is something wrong?" Clémence asked.

"I- I don't know...I d-don't think he would want me taking care of him...I'm wouldn't make a very good nurse, I...I-" she stammered, visibly shaking.

"Just for today? Please? I can fetch a cab and we can ride together. I can pay you! Ten livres."

Emilie stood there, tension and nerves wracking her body. The memory of that man, his face and manner, it triggered her despair. She certainly didn't want to see him again.

He'd been the handsomest and most charming man she had ever seen. At Clémence and Jean's wedding party, it was a bit of heaven on earth to just be standing a few meters away from him, listening to him talk about his work. His deep baritone voice, that amazing jawline accented with black stubble, those intense and passionate eyes! Mon Dieu

Then, in the middle of their conversation, just as she was under the influence of that glass of champagne, feeling 'bubbly' and chatty like her sister, about to work up the nerve to ask Luc Avenant where he grew up - he ignored her and asked Adelaide to take a carriage ride alone with him.

But Adelaide - her sweet, lovely big sister - turned him down. She had chosen compassion for her sister over the opportunity to date such a dreamy man!

Later that evening, Adelaide had told Emilie she'd 'dodged a bullet,' because Father had invited Luc to dine with the family, and Luc declined.

"He was bad news, Emilie, I could sense he was up to no good. A scoundrel, I'm sure! A man as good looking as HE is, asking out a woman like me for courtship? I'm not perfect, either. I'm not the type he wants. I've learned by now that some things are just too good to be true in this world."

Emilie had looked at Adelaide when she said that. Despite being a bit thick in figure- though she was not a glutton- her sister was healthy looking and well endowed, with a pretty rosy face, and glossy, dark curled hair. Even she couldn't get the man of her dreams. And that meant that Emilie- in her condition- could never dream of being loved by any man at all. Unless he was blind or elderly, perhaps...

"Emilie?" Clémence's soft voice took her out of her painful musings.

"Yes?"

"Emilie, I understand," Adelaide spoke, knowing the reason for her sister's hesitance. "I know you started out on the wrong foot with Luc. I know you don't want to see him. I didn't like his ignoring you or his motivations at the party, either! But you're the only other person Jean knows who's had smallpox and survived to health. It might make you feel better to get out and help someone else who's gone through what you did."

"How could I help someone like that?"

"I've never seen a man in his mental state before," said Jean. "Even though the smallpox ran its course, he wishes it killed him. Now he's refusing to eat so he can starve. I've tried to see him three times this week, and he hasn't changed. He's gotten worse. His aunt took all the kitchen knives and forks out so he wouldn't stab himself. He wants to die. Honestly it scares me."

"Is it really that bad?" Emilie asked. She put her palm to her cheek. "Does he have...the scarring, like me?"

"Yes. And that's his problem," Jean continued. "He is so used to having people admire him wherever he goes. When I met him last summer, I was almost jealous of him for it, but now that I've known him for a few months, there's things about him that make me think he's well, a little-" Jean put a finger to his temple and twirled it around.

"You think he's crazy?" asked Adelaide.

Jean shook his head, realizing he'd made the wrong gesture. Adelaide wouldn't want her sister alone with a lunatic. "No, no! He just has a lot of insecurity. Needs a lot of attention, a hot temper. And now he lost his will to live. We've noticed that you can be happy sometimes, Emilie. He needs to hear from someone who knows where he's been."

"I'm really not happy at all. I try to...but it's hard. I was happy a moment ago, where I was alone in my room drawing. Now, you just reminded me again how lonely I'll always be! Except for you, Adelaide, and Maman and Papa."

Bitter tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned to go back to her room. She wanted to escape, get away from being reminded of reality, her smallpox scars, her dreary life.

"He's going to die if he keeps this up," she heard Jean quietly tell Clémence and Adelaide. "I don't know what else to do."

Emilie felt a tugging of conscience when she heard his words. Something out of her control urged her to turn around and go back to Jean and Clémence.

"All right. I'll go see him."

Luc was asleep, having another interesting dream.

He was a game hunter, riding a horse on a shady trail in an evergreen forest. He spotted the rack of a large elk, and was thrilled at the idea of taking it down. He shouldered a bow and released his arrow, piercing the stag elk in its heart, watching it fall. A feeling of triumph came over him - until he had to wake up…

"Dear, I made some porridge, with milk and sugar. Please sit up and try to eat something," Aunt Agathe said as she attempted once more to rouse the wasting figure on the straw cot. It was now nearing winter, and the apartment was chilly. Luc appeared to her as a lump beneath a woolen quilt.

"I stoked up a fire. It is much warmer in the sitting room...and it smells much more pleasant there as well," she added, hoping he'd come to life.

The corpse-like lump beneath the quilt moved slightly, indicating a live being beneath, but he didn't answer her.

"Luc, I am going to go away for awhile. I can't keep this up any more. I need to seek out some help to pay our rent and food, since you are still in an invalid state. There are people that I can go to. Charity organizations, the churches. So I'm going to leave you to the care of your friends. Jean said he would stop by today. Please be pleasant for him."

With that, she set his breakfast down before him and left his room. She made certain there was a fire ablaze in the hearth, and took her Magic Mirror from its hiding spot. With her Mirror in one hand, her magic wand in another, she vanished into thin air. A rushing wind caused the front door to slam.

Her destination was eastern France. Prince Adam and Princess Belle's castle, the village of Villeneuve, and the forested lands in between. Her old home.

When Luc heard the door shut and he was alone, hunger and chill won out over his self-induced hibernation. He threw the suffocating covers off his face, sat up, and ate breakfast for the first time in a week. He immediately hated the fact he'd weakened to hunger and gave in. Standing up, he stretched for a moment, then took the bowl to the next room to put in a basin. The desire to sit in front of the fireplace and warm up tempted him to stay out of bed.

For an hour or so, he stared at the crackling and popping flames. When they died down, he put on another log and stoked it with a poker that Agathe had still left in the hearthside. With the iron poker in hand, he considered for a moment whether it was sharp enough to pierce his own heart.

Was the dream a sign? Perhaps Luc was the stag elk. He would have victory over this misery if he just worked up the courage to do it. He felt the still-hot tip with its crossbeam point; it felt more rounded than sharp when he pressed it with his index finger. He doubted it would pierce his skin. It may pierce his eye, and go through his brain if he thrust it hard enough…

He sighed, hating that he was too cowardly and fearful of pain to go through with it.

There was a knock on the door. He ignored it for the first two times, but it persisted.

"Luc!" His meddling friend Jean.

"What is it, Paquet?" Luc muttered dismissively.

"I'm just checking up on you. May we come in?" So he'd come with his little wife. Here to stare at the freak! he supposed. The door opened, and Paquet came in followed by a small woman in an apron and kerchief cap. Luc glanced at them for a brief second, then focused his eyes back on the fireplace.

"You're out of bed, Luc! That's amazing! Good for you!" Paquet exclaimed, beaming.

"Yes!" Luc said, his voice rising in a mockery of Paquet's cheer. "And I can take a piss in the chamber pot all by myself, like a big boy! Would Mamma Jean like to see?"

"Luc, cut it out. There's a lady here, no need for language."

The girl behind Paquet backed away, shuddering. "Jean...I really cannot..."

Luc took a closer look at the petite young lady and realized she wasn't Clémence. She had spots on her face, and looked like the one from Jean's wedding party. The one who had smallpox.

"Luc," Jean explained, "My relative, Emilie, has offered to watch over you when she can, while your aunt is away. Please be kind-"

Luc stood up to his full six-foot-two height, and his mocking tone turned to anger. He began to yell. "Who do you think you are, Paquet? Bringing her to show me that misery needs company? What's your plan? To round us all up for a leper colony?"

"Stop it, Luc! She had the disease, so she can safely be in contact with you. She's a good cook and is willing to stay around and and fetch things for you, if you want to stay inside-"

"What about you, then? You shouldn't be in contact with either of us. Do you want to be next?" he roared. Emilie clutched Jean's shoulder, her eyes fearful.

"The doctor said you're well past recovered by now. It's been six weeks," Jean argued back. "Masson needs you back to work soon. You're too valuable a worker to lose. And Emilie here wanted to help!" He pointed to Emilie, who looked at Luc as if he were a monster.

Emilie was very intimidated at the sight of the man. She could barely believe that this was the same enchanting person she'd met only a month and a half before. His long black hair was unkempt and matted, falling over his haggard, pox-spotted face. She could still recognize the handsome features, but his bitter expression completely overpowered whatever pleasant countenance he still possessed. His clothes were wrinkled and he didn't have shoes on. What was worst about him, though, was his raging, shouting voice and attitude.

She watched wide-eyed as he scowled at her in contempt, then flopped himself back on the chair. His messy long hair whipped around in front of his face as he turned back to the fireplace.

"Jean, please stay," Emilie pleaded. "I do not want to be alone with him at all! I changed my mind!"

"It's okay, Emilie. I'll stay. So Luc, if you want to sit and stare at the fireplace, she and I can both tidy up the place a little bit. We can go to the market and pick up some groceries, too. Anything you'd like?"

"A gun, Paquet. Then come back and shoot me," he mumbled in a quiet and rather pathetic tone.

Emilie immediately felt courage rise up within her as she realized that this beastly fellow's bark was worse than his bite. She knew the thoughts and feelings he was experiencing, she'd had them herself. She had turned all her despair inward. She never shouted or was angry at anyone, nor expressed to others a desire to die. At one point, she'd wished it in private, praying for a just God to take her in her sleep- until knowing how her parents and Adelaide would be grieved at such a thought.

She walked over and stood between him and the fireplace, staring down at his bowed head of matted hair.

"Monsieur! For the sake of all things good, please stop it right now. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!" she chided in a loud, clear voice, wondering how the nerve to confront this brute had come over her.

He sat motionless, his bloodshot gaze falling on her apron and shifting back and forth, attempting to look through her. He mumbled to her in a low voice.

"You still don't know what I'm going through...being just a plain woman, you aren't me."

"You selfish oaf!" Emilie shot back, getting increasingly angry. "Because I'm 'just a woman', my looks determine my entire life. If my father dies, I could live in poverty unless I learn a skill without a husband. I do believe being a woman and having a ruined face is just as bad, if not worse. Being a woman in this world is no easy thing! So yes, Monsieur Luc, I do know what you're going through!"

Luc glanced up at her. She was more spirited than he'd thought. Her face was flushed, her brown eyes were fiery, and the pox spots suddenly didn't look so bad. He looked around the dingy tiny apartment. Truly Aunt Agathe had gone without a husband as well, and look at her pathetic life…

"I suppose you have a point." He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Luc," Jean spoke up, "Another thing. If I hear more talk about wanting to shoot yourself, I'm going to the church and getting the priest. Because if you're determined to off yourself, you need your last rites given."

"Go ahead, Paquet. You'd better do it as soon as possible," he sneered.

"Emilie, go buy a little food at the grocery stand and bakers' for all three of us. I'll stay here and watch over him," Jean said, crossing his arms and standing over Luc with a newfound authority over his older friend.

Emilie went to the markets to buy some things, glad to be away from him. When she came back, Jean and Emilie tidied up the rooms. As they worked and talked, it was an awkward feeling since the man who lived there seemed more to be a part of the furniture than their companion. He continued sitting on the chair in silence. At least he hasn't gone back to bed, Jean thought.

They chatted with each other in a brotherly and sisterly manner. Emilie offered to give Jean and Clémence some of her and her mother's recipes. Jean praised his new wife's housekeeping, and changed the subject to Emilie's drawing and painting hobby when the topic of being a wife seemed to sadden her. Jean brought up the hotel's grand opening in an effort to bring Luc into the conversation, but Luc stayed silent. Later in the afternoon when the small apartment was clean, Emilie cooked some onions and carrots in butter and added a few slabs of meat from the butchers' shop, frying it up for a dinner.

She served out two plates for her cousin-in-law and herself. "This smells heavenly," Jean said. He took a bite. "Tastes heavenly, too!"

"The butcher said it was wild game," said Emilie. "Venison from a forest doe, it's a delicacy that country and village folks enjoy all the time. Hard to come by in the city."

When they sat down on an old bench together with their plates, a hoarse voice spoke up.

"Serve some up for me, too."

Jean and Emilie turned to see Luc, perking up at the delicious culinary smell. "Please," he added.

...