A/N: Hey guys! I don't have ANY time right now, so i'll write my typical author's note next chapter...or i might add on later! enjoy, thanx for the reviews, and I'M GOIN TO THE BEACH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! tootley-doodles! i hope y'all like it! don't forget to review! =o)

~Jenny the chica~








Three


It turns out, however, that Rosemarie rarely went by her true name. Although her father did not blame her in the least anymore, he could not stand to have her go by his beloved wife's name. Colette understood, and they agreed to call her Rose. Even that name remained only in their family.

The midwife had told everyone the story, of course, so she was always known as "Beauty" since that was what everyone believed her mother Rosemarie had named her. Henri believed that his wife had been describing the baby, so he called her Rose.

Rose grew up in a happy home. Although her father had planned on keeping their nurse to care for the children, Colette and her husband, along with their two children, had offered to live with them, at least until the children grew up enough to care for themselves.

Henri and Marc returned to trading after two months of grieving. Henri developed a fierce love for Rose. He loved all his children, of course, but she was special. There was so much of her mother in her that he never ceased to be amazed. Every time he would come home, he would long for her smile and laugh when she was still very small, and then, long after he had greeted everyone else and talked with them, he would listen to her endless chatter about all that had happened while he was away.

Rose as well grew very close to her father. She missed him ever so much whenever he was gone, but she would seek comfort in her brothers and sisters, who all took literally their father's words of "take care of Rose while I'm away...or else" when they had been small, so now it seemed as if she was half their little sister and half their adopted daughter.

Naturally, Rose did not mind all the attention, but her aunt created a good balance of everything, so she luckily did not grow up selfish and spoiled, as she could have easily done.

Colette lived with the children for nearly five years, until the winter that Gabrielle turned sixteen. Colette, her husband, Alain, and their two sons, Robert and Geoffrey, then moved into the country, where Alain owned a decent plot of land, and Estelle moved with them. She had too many bittersweet memories of town life to remain there any longer.

Their departure was a sad one. Henri, Marc, and Jacques, who was now twelve and helping his father and brother, returned home for a longer than normal stay, to say goodbye and order the household before they had to return to business.

I cannot truthfully say that tears were scarce that morning, when the traveling group of five said their farewells. Henri knew already that things would be much harder without Alain's wise advice, and Colette's strength and love in the household. He would miss his two nephews, who were very close to being his own children. But it was Estelle that he would miss most. She was one of those mother in laws that very few were blessed with. She had given him shelter and food when he was unexpected, worked behind the scenes to secure his job, and helped him keep the merchant business. Her love and joy for life, even without her husband or her precious Rosemarie, had strengthened him to go on. He was reminded daily, even when he was not at home, that he could still find strength to go on. She had lost her husband and eldest daughter, each more precious to her than anything in the world, and she found strength to continue living. How much more strength could he then find in himself?

The parting was even harder on the children. Gabrielle dreaded the responsibility that she would assume the next day, and worried constantly that she did not know enough, could not know enough, must have missed something or other, would not be able to do it...but every time her aunt dropped her an encouraging word, without Gabrielle saying anything, and she knew by the time that they left that she could do it.

Marc knew that he would miss his cousins, like younger brothers to him, but he also dreaded his aunt's departure. He was quite apprehensive about leaving the household to his younger sister. But his doubts did not run deep. He had other fears. He was already nineteen, and it was time that he should be searching for a wife. His father, uncle, aunt, and even grandmother had all dropped him not-so-subtle hints, but he feared getting close to someone, only to have them slip away. Like his mother.

He knew in his head, of course, that chances of this were very slim. But his heart...his heart still ached over the loss of his mother, and of seeing his father's grief. Often on voyages he would watch his father gaze into nothingness and the bow of the boat. Marc always knew what - or who - he was thinking about. Marc did not want that for himself.

Jacques missed his cousins already, as Robert was his age, twelve, and they were often confused as twins, in spite of the fact that they looked nothing alike. Jacques with his medium brown hair, somewhere between curly and wavy, and always a silly grin on his face and a practical joke planned in his mind, hidden behind his brilliant green eyes. Robert had dark black hair, curlier that Jacques', with soft brown eyes. However, they shared the same fun-loving nature, which, more often that not, got then in quite a lot of trouble.

Sylvie was now eleven, and it was obvious that she was going to be a classic beauty. She had long, dark, dark brown hair, which appeared black until one was extremely close. She had the same brilliant emerald eyes as her brother Jacques, but a more beautiful smile, unlike Jacques', which could only be described as "goofy." Sylvie was very close to her aunt and uncle, but she was still in the stage of "boys-have-cooties-and-I-don't-want-then" (the cooties, that is), so she shared a rather stiff goodbye with her two cousins, even worse since she was right between them in age, with Robert at twelve and Geoffrey at ten.

Bernard, at nine, had spent the majority of his remembered life under his aunt's care, so her sudden departure made absolutely no sense to him. Everyone tried to explain, but he wept and wailed, moaning about his "aunty" and his not being important, and the like. He clung to Sylvie, to her obvious chagrin, as if the world was about to leave then they watched the party leave. He wept until he had no tears to cry, and then he had hiccups for five hours - Sylvie counted.

It was Rose who already held the strength that her siblings ended up relying on, which was terribly ironic considering that they had practically raised her. Although she was only five, she had been graced with a strange, contented spirit of peace and calmness. It had been evident since she began to talk, and no longer needed to wail for food, attention, or anything else. She was both talkative and quiet, a strange combination to say the least. Rose endlessly chattered to her father, siblings, aunt, uncle, cousins, and her grandmother. But she was extremely shy to anyone else, and would almost never talk to anyone outside her family circle. Colette suspected that it was because of her lack of a mother, but Henri insisted that is was just a phase, and that she would grow out of it.

Colette begged Henri to let her out more, but he refused, although she often would when he was away. When he was home, he barely let Rose outside the house, and never alone, which is not extremely strange for a five year-old, but Rose was definitely overprotected. Colette knew that it was because Henri felt that Rose was all he had left of Rosemarie, and she often told him that he had more. But he refused to listen. He had a fiercer love for her than anything else, even her other siblings. Thankfully, they were all too wrapped up in their own devoted love, affection, and care of Rose that they did not notice it until later, and, surprisingly, seemed to understand. Even they could see how much she was like their mother, both in looks and attitude. Rose had the peace and kindness her mother had possessed with ease, her beautiful smile, already more stunning that Sylvie's, who didn't mind because she adored her little sister. Rose also looked exactly like a younger version of her mother, at least in the face. She had long, wavy hair, but it was light brown where her mother's had been a shimmering blond, and although her mother had possessed sparkling blue eyes, Rose's were a deep gray that seemed dull and boring at first, but entranced those who took time to look deep into them. At five years old, she had already lived up to the name the entire town was convinced her mother had given her.

Rose, in her heart, missed her aunt, uncle, cousins, and grandmother very much, but she had a strange sense that this was the time she needed to be strong. She smiled at them and their tears, gave them those huge, warm hugs, that only five year-olds can give, and cheerfully waved goodbye as the rest of her family wept. Rose knew that she would see them again, and soon. Didn't they?

Everyone eventually turned to go inside, one by one, as the coach descended out of their line of sight. Rose was almost the last to go, still joyfully waving her hand off, when she finally turned to go in, only to see Sylvie, with Bernard permanently attached to her, his arms locked in a circle around her waist, and his head on her side.

Rose walked up to them, hugged a bewildered Sylvie, and kissed Bernard on the cheek. Then she walked inside, out of the sudden cold.


~*~*~*~*~*~


At dinner that evening, thankfully not the disaster that Gabrielle had dreaded, along with many of her siblings, reality had finally sunk in. Bernard had finally finished hiccupping, to everyone's relied, and the children all felt the void of those absent.

Dinner was silent, and the elegant table was surrounded by sober faces, with only one cheerful smile in their midst. Rose's, of course.

No one noticed her smile until Henri happened to glance up and see her. "Rose," he asked, "is anything the matter?"

Rose, still smiling, replied, "Nothing, Papa. But why is everyone so sad?"

At this remark, her five siblings glanced up at her in disbelief, but she was still cheerful as ever. Marc cleared his throat.

Rose smiled through the uncomfortable silence, until Gabrielle was compelled to ask, "Rose, don't you miss Aunt Colette, Uncle Alain, Robert, Geoffrey, or even Grandmère?"

Rose shook her head vigorously. "Of course I miss them, but we will see them again soon. Isn't that right, Papa?"

Gabrielle and Marc looked downwards when Henri looked towards them for help. Jacques and Sylvie looked slightly hopeful, and Bernard was practically glowing with joy at this new possibility.

Smiling, Henri answered, "Of course, Rose. We will see them very soon."

Henri had only said this to reassure his daughter. In truth, he doubted that it would be less than ten years, at the very least, before they saw each other again. The country was a long ways away, and the journey was long and difficult. When he had talked to Alain, Colette, and Estelle alone, they had discussed the fact that it would be a long time before they saw each other. They would probably not even be able to come back into town for the weddings of Marc or Gabrielle, or even Jacques, even though plans for them were nowhere near underway. The older children had realized this. They had overheard how long and hard the journey was, and how their family members would not be able to return for a long time. Bernard and Rose had not realized this, but Bernard had caught onto the sober atmosphere around him and had immediately suspected the worst. Rose, however, although she was usually quite sensitive to the moods around her, seemed oblivious. The rest of her family only smiled at her innocent nature, partly amused and even a bit encouraged, as though they had finally realized that hope was not gone for good.

Unbeknownst to all of them, Rose had been right. They saw the group much sooner than anyone had suspected.