Chapter Ten
Philippe froze, an emotion beyond surprise surged through him; Madeline couldn't read. The thought had never occurred to him. It was so far from his mind that had someone asked him prior to this moment he would have told them it was impossible.
But it wasn't.
In fact, it was completely possible and the reality.
Slowly he shook his head. How could he have been so ignorant? Tons of people didn't know how to read; more probably didn't than did. The poor not only didn't have the means to learn, but the time either.
Philippe told himself he had to remember that.
"You never learned?" he finally asked softly.
Madeline continued to stare across the yard as she spoke, too embarrassed to look him in the eye, "My Mama died when I was five – my father didn't care. Anything anyone might have managed to teach me, I've since forgotten."
Philippe touched her shoulder softly. He didn't like that she was avoiding his gaze. She never needed to do that. There was nothing to be embarrassed of, and he told her just that.
"I bet all the other girls you know can read," she had turned her body towards him, but was looking at her feet.
Philippe gently pushed her chin up with two fingers, "Maybe, but their head are filled with air; you're by fat the smartest I've ever met."
Her face coloured, but a small bashful smile spread across her face.
"You're just saying that."
"I'm not," he shook his head, then paused thoughtfully, "but if you would like… well, I could teach you… to read – write too, if you'd like."
Madeline's face seemed to freeze, as if, like with Philippe moments before, the thought had been inconceivable.
And then slowly, a wide open smile spread across her face.
"I think I would like that very much."
Philippe mirrored her smile.
"Good – I know I would like that very much."
"B… b… baa-baad, Bad!" Madeline beamed up at Philippe as the letters stopped swirling and made sense to her eyes.
After days of going over the letters of the alphabet, Philippe showing her how to draw them, and getting her to remember what sounds they made, they had finally moved on to stringing them together in words.
It was slow going but…
"Good," Philippe beamed at her, "that's really good."
"Actually," Madeline said a coy smile drawing on her face as she tapped the slate, "It's bad. See 'B' 'A' 'D', bad."
Philippe pulled the board from her hand as she laughed.
"Now don't be giving the teacher sass, young lady!" He tried to sound stern but the smile growing on his face destroyed it.
Madeline felt all tingly and alive as Philippe handed her the slate once more, with a new word to discover. It might be rough, but she was reading. She couldn't believe it. Madeline had never thought that she would, but here she was! Reading!
"T…ti… tim… timee?" she squinted at the word, using the low 'I' sound, and pronouncing the 'E'.
"Not quite," Philippe said tapping the board, "This is a tough one." He went on to remind her that vowels made two sounds, and that with an 'e' on the end the word wanted her to use the other one.
Madeline let out a soft 'oh' sound and squinted at the word again, "T-ti-time- Time!"
Philippe smiled in agreement, and Madeline beamed. She let out a small giggle. Her wonder was just too much to contain.
Madeline de Rocha was reading.
Although she didn't realize it, this was the first step in becoming the woman she was always meant to be.
The weeks went by easily in this manor. Everyday Philippe would show up at her home, to spend his morning fixing the place up, and his afternoon with Madeline, helping her with her words.
By the time a little over a month had past, the de Rocha manor had new shutters, shingles and paint. It was looking better than Madeline ever thought it would, and she herself was able to read through small children's books on her own and much larger volumes with Philippe's help when she got stuck.
One of her favourite was a large tome they had found in her father's long forgotten library – a book that spoke of different and far off places.
The book reminded Madeline that there were lives out there completely different to her own. There were struggles far harder than hers and life far lighter too. The book gave her hope – hope for something different.
Presently, the two were sprawled in the sunlight that shone through the big windows in her father's study, reading about a place with little men that were suppose to be lucky, and no snakes at all. Not a single one on the whole island!
Madeline wondered what it would be like to live on an island, with water surrounding you on all sides. Trapping you really – you couldn't leave except by boat – and yet the image Madeline had in her head was much more freeing.
"I want to see this place… sometime," she sighed, running her hand over a vibrant green picture, "and everywhere else in this books too." She paused a moment, rolling onto her back, careful not to get her foot caught up in the chain. Closing her eyes she reveled in the feeling of the sunlight on her face, letting images play on the inside of her eyelids like motion pictures, "I'll travel the world, seeing every place in it; maybe I'll join a carnival – travel with them. That's what I'll do, when I'm…"
She trailed off letting the statement hang in the air, realizing a little too light what affect it might have on Philippe's thoughts. She didn't open her eyes. Madeline was going to dream, and dream for as long as she could.
"Madeline," Philippe's voice was low and hesitant. For a moment Madeline almost thought she detected a note of pain, but that was ridiculous, "If that's what you want – all you have to do is ask; I could get that chain off you… you'd be free, to do as you wish."
Madeline opened her eyes and smiled sadly up at Philippe, who was leaning over her, the sunlight hitting his skin making it sparkling, and his hair spilling into his face. She found she had to resist the urge to push said hair back where it came from. She bet it felt soft.
"Philippe," she sighed, pulling herself into a sitting position, "I want to, I really do, more than anything but… I can't – my father. Even after everything, I wonder who will take care of him if I'm not here. How will he get his food? If I wasn't here he'd…"
Philippe's face contorted into a grimace, "Him! What about you? Who's taking care of you, now?"
Philippe slammed his hand angrily to the ground. Madeline's heart leaped a bit at this display – maybe he… no, he was just concerned for a friend, nothing more.
"You," slowly she covered his hand with her own, "You're taking care of me – and I thank you, even thought it's more than I deserve."
An odd look crossed Philippe's face, and he continued to stare at her for a long time.
"Madeline," he stopped a moment, looking like he wanted to say something important, but then changed his mind, "You deserve it, and so much more. If you don't want to leave, that's fine, but… at least let me take the chain off. I can't…"
Madeline slowly looked between her foot, Philippe and then back again. She so much wanted to be free of it, and she trusted Philippe… but did she trust herself?
What would she do if she could move around the house freely – leave freely?
She could…
A thought struck her.
"Ok, but only if you'll come with me to see something – maybe it will help you understand better why I'm so determined to stay."
Philippe followed Madeline up a set of stairs he didn't know existed, reveling in the silence that followed each of her footsteps. No more clanking. It was music to his ears. It might not have been exactly what he wanted, but it was a start.
The stairs turned out to lead up to the attic, which was as badly lit, and completely cluttered as any attic aught to be.
Philippe picked up a small tarnished hand-mirror and began to choke on the dust that erupted from it.
Madeline apologized, but Philippe waved it off.
"Let's see this mystery item then?"
He was actually getting quite curious, at what could be so important in the attic.
Without any fanfare but with a small nervous smile, Madeline stepped out of the way to reveal a family portrait. Philippe's eyes immediately locked on the pair of blue eyes he now knew so well. This was her family portrait.
Philippe's eyes moved in awe from face to face. It was so much different from the family that he knew today, that he could hardly believe it was the same one.
But of course, it was.
"Is that your mother?" Philippe took a stepped forward to look closer at the blonde woman in the painting, "She's a beautiful woman – you look a lot like her you know."
Madeline blushed and shook her head, "No I don't – you're just trying to be polite."
"I'm not," Philippe said vehemently, looking at the painting to find exactly what about Mrs. de Rocha made him think of her daughter, "not the hair, obviously, you have your father's hair, but… you both have the same small build, and the eyes… they're not just the same colour, but you both have the same look in them – good humor, and barely contained mischief."
Madeline continued to blush, and looked down at her feet.
"I use to come up here, and look at the painting, wondering what she would be like, if she were hear today," she paused and gave Philippe a sad smile, "she died so long ago, I can't really remember her."
"I'm sure she would be a lot like you – kind, sweet…"
Madeline's gaze had moved from the woman to the man, and Philippe trailed off to allow her, her thoughts.
To Philippe's eye de Rocha was the biggest surprise. He looked nothing like the man that Philippe knew. It would be an insult to this de Rocha to say that the man he was now was even a shadow of the former.
"I use to think she'd be disappointed in me," Madeline continued in a sad broken voice, "that she would be disappointed and angry that I didn't keep Papa… that I let Papa…"
Even in the dim attic Philippe was sure he saw he wipe away tears.
At that sight something grew in his stomach, "No- no, she would never be disappointed in you. It's not your fault; you were a child, it wasn't your job, still isn't. If she would be disappointed in anyone it would be him. And even then people have a way of forgiving those the lo—"
Philippe bit his lip, stopping his words suddenly. He knew what this was, what was growing. He had known it downstairs, but hadn't been brave enough to say it.
Could he this time?
"Madeline, I – what I mean to say is – you're…" he stopped and looked away. There was a lump in his throat that he couldn't quite get the words past.
"Philippe? Are you okay?"
He held up a hand. He might not be able to actually say the words, but an old slate that was laying precariously atop a crooked pile of hat boxes gave him an idea.
Dusting it off, he pulled out the chalk he always kept in his pocket now, and wrote what he wasn't able to say.
"I got another sentence for you."
Madeline took the slate while giving him an unsure, appraising look. She knew something was up.
But thankfully she played along.
"I – I L- I Loov—"
"Remember what I told you about vowels and 'E's," Philippe managed to choke out when she started going for the wrong 'O' sound.
"I lo- I lov- I love," Madeline's eyes widened a moment, and she shot Philippe a quick glance before looking back at the words before her, "I love- I love y- yo- you… I love you."
Madeline stood frozen, just staring at the slate in her hands for a long moment. Philippe thought his heart might implode – he was being stupid, foolish; he shouldn't have—
She finally unfroze and locked herself in his gaze.
"You… me…" she stuttered, pointing at the slate. When he nodded she just began to stutter more, "But…"
Philippe could feel every nerve in his body. Every moment that went by without an outright rejection added to his hope.
When he detected the edges of a smile growing on her lips, he lost all control.
Without giving a thought, Philippe stepped forward, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.
A/N: ok well, there is your next chapter! I hope you enjoyed it, and as always please review. I would love to hear what you like or didn't like. Tell me your favourite part if you want, or your least - constructive critism!
