A/N: Something from Jehan's POV

21: On Mothers

March 1, 1834

2 Place Saint-Pierre, Bordeaux

Dear Son,

I am writing in reply to your letter of the 20th of February. It is clear that regardless of all reasoning and entreaties that you still intend to wed that greedy little strumpet. I have given you the opportunity to repent of your choice, but it seems you are intent on being disobedient. I must say that I am nothing but thoroughly disappointed with you. Have you no filial piety or at least any pity for your ailing father? Have you lost all sense of propriety so you will soil your good name and that of this family with such a disgusting match? You claim that you love her, which is a shame because such a creature is incapable of love; you are only wasting your sentiments. Her recent scandal alone shows her character enough. I do not need to even consider her low birth, her shameful older sister and brother-in-law, or even that she may have hardly had any virtue left when you first met her. She has obviously corrupted you. I cannot believe I have raised a son with such moral turpitude! Isn't it bad enough you've turned poet and playwright, and now you will ruin the rest of the family?

I will make it clear here and now that no one will welcome that whore into this family or even acknowledge her. You can also expect that your father and I, as well as all our relations will not attend the wedding, or have any further communication with you from this point onwards. I have forbidden it since now I have no son. No child of mine would dare as you did.

Sincerely,

Athenais Prouvaire

Although Jehan had been aware and even bracing for the possibility of such a missive, it still had taken him more than half a minute before he could set down the letter. Even after hours had passed, during which he'd attended to errands and made a visit to the Rue des Macons, he still felt as if a millstone was occupying his chest.

'I'll never be able to convince them,' he thought despondently as he swallowed hard, afraid that his breath would leave his throat as a sob. He knew better than to conceal entirely the facts of Azelma's background and her part in recent political affairs; the stories were too public to be dismissed even in delicate correspondence. Nevertheless he had done his best to be discreet and occasionally circumspect with this matter, and to call more attention to Azelma's musical talents, her eye for aesthetics, her grace, her wit, her gentleness, and a myriad of other redeeming and endearing qualities. 'Did I do enough?' he wondered.

Nearby, Eponine looked up from a page that Jehan had asked her to edit. Her eyes were dark and her lips quirked upwards as she studied him for a moment concernedly before setting down her pencil. "Are you sure you're well Jehan?"

The poet let out a sigh, knowing that some way or another she would find out. 'She's practically my sister-in-law, so I can't hide this from her,' he thought as he composed himself. He rested his chin in his hands. "My mother wrote."

Eponine nodded, understanding what this could mean. After all they had discussed this problem on a number of other occasions. "What did she say?"

Jehan paused to figure out the best way to phrase the situation. "This may be the very last letter she'll send to me, unless I do as she wishes and break my engagement with Azelma." Some part of him had once wished that his mother would be kind or at least cordial towards Azelma especially since Azelma's own mother was deceased, but now he knew better than to hope for such bliss.

Eponine bit her lip. "I'm sorry. Is that all she said in the letter?"

Jehan shook his head. "She went as far as insulting everything about Azelma. We've fought before about what I do and who I associate with, but this...I cannot believe it even from my mother." For a moment the image of his mother flashed in his mind: a statuesque, commanding woman with a classical nose, a clear brow, cold green eyes, full lips too accustomed to screeching, and light brown hair pulled back into a severe chignon. It was a staggering contrast to Azelma's thin face, dark eyes, her raven hair always tied up in a braid, as well as her more lilting, gay and fey manner. "I know I shouldn't be angry with her, of all people in the world," he added contritely when he saw Eponine frown at this information.

"But I s'pose anyone would be in your place, even if they weren't as protective of my sister as you are. It's just as well she didn't tell you this to your face here in Paris, or I'd be standing right with you to make a reply," Eponine said. "Does Azelma know?"

"Not yet. She's been working with the costumers all day," Jehan replied. He took another deep breath and was relieved to find that the effort was far easier this time around. "I had imagined that maybe my father or some older relative would write that way to me. Not my own mother. I thought she'd at least hold me at a distance, but not cut the tie entirely. I wonder how Azelma will take it."

"That sort of thing will not be a surprise to her."

"Has it happened before?"

"My mother did such a thing, at least to my brothers," Eponine deadpanned. She shifted a little in her seat in an attempt to get comfortable despite the obvious swell of her belly. "It wasn't exactly because we didn't have money. I remember Gavroche cried a lot even when we were living in Montfermeil and things were still good."

"Azelma described her as being gentle," Jehan pointed out.

"To us girls and never to anyone else. Zelma was Maman's treasure; Maman said so herself," Eponine said wistfully. "I was Papa's favourite since he thought I was useful and he'd trust me to help with some of the things he was doing like standing lookout or giving letters. He'd ask Zelma sometimes to help but he always called her a booby, an idiot or things like that when things went wrong."

Jehan felt bile rise into the back of his throat from this revelation as well as his recollection of his first and only encounter with the former innkeeper. "Didn't your mother do anything to stop him?"

Eponine shook her head. "I s'pose she could have but she hardly said no to my father about anything." Her expression grew pensive as she reached out to stop her pencil from rolling off the desk. "She could have left, you know. Azelma and I would have gone with her if she asked. Nothing was really stopping her but she just didn't do it. I don't think she really knew where to go or what to do next."

The poet shut his eyes as a bleak and gray landscape arose before his vision; somehow he always saw this every time he heard a sordid tale of women and children with nowhere to go. It was not an unusual story even in a city like Paris, a place considered to hold more opportunities than most other areas in France. This time he could see Azelma wandering all alone in that featureless wilderness, calling out even as her voice was lost on the wind. "I wish she hadn't passed on while in prison."

"So do I," she said. "Sometimes I wonder what she would think of how things are now."

"Maybe they'd be better for her?" he asked hopefully.

She shrugged. "That would depend maybe if she could find something to do or if she'd like how we girls are getting on. Maman might have liked you for Azelma. She was a romantic. It's too bad Papa was anything but that, but maybe he was that way before."

This time Jehan had to fight not to cringe at the lurid mental images of his prospective father-in-law that these words conjured. "Azelma told me that your mother preferred the dashing hero sort."

"Now that I think about it, maybe she liked those only in books."

"Would she have approved of Enjolras as a son-in-law?"

Eponine burst out laughing. "Not at all! If Maman ever met Antoine, she would find him handsome and charming but also so odd especially with how serious and practical he is."

Jehan chuckled at this very apt description of his friend. "But if she was a romantic, she would have wanted you to marry for love."

"I s'pose in the end that might have mattered more," Eponine said with a smile. She looked again at the page she had been editing and then added a few notes to it before handing it back to Jehan. "Maybe things will come out right with you, Zelma, and your mother someday. I don't s'pose she can really stay away forever."

"She can do it for a very long time at least," Jehan said. Who knew what could transpire in a matter of months or years with such a cessation of communication?

"In the end you're still her son. She loves you," Eponine pointed out. "That counts for something, especially if you will remind her of it."

Jehan took a deep breath, willing himself to hang on to the optimism in Eponine's words. "It will," he said decisively. There was much he still felt he could put even with a one-sided correspondence.