Child of Freedom

Chapter 5- An Invitation

"So," Mme. Jeanette began. "Where do you come from?" She was trying to appear casual, but I knew that she was really trying to get me to say something embarrassing that she could use against me.

"France," I said bluntly I knew it wasn't true, but there was no way she would be able to tell the difference. I had developed a very convincing French accent during my time there. "Why? Where do you come from?" I challenged.

"Here, of course." She said proudly.

"You come from the Rouleau mansion?" I asked sarcastically.

She blushed and said indignantly, "Of course not! I meant France." And she tucked her hand through her husband's arm. Their daughter, Jacqueline, seemed to feel very out of place, and she blushed, embarrassed, at her mother's rude words.

I decided to change the subject, and asked M. Didier where he came from.

"I was born in France, if that's what you mean." He said. He had a deep voice. "But if you mean my background, I'm not sure where."

"That's all right." I said, trying to be polite. We began a long discussion then about the origins of names. Before I knew it, he had asked me to dance, and I had graciously accepted. The band struck up a waltz, and I had trouble keeping up with the swift and elegant moves of M. Didier.

"M. Didier," I began.

"Please," he said. "Call me Jacques."

"Um, okay, M. Jacques." I said, unsure of what to make of the request.

"Not M. Jacques, just Jacques." He said, and he smiled, showing his pearly white teeth.

"Okay," I said slowly. "Ummm, Jacques, could you slow down a bit? I only learned to dance a few months ago an dam not as good a dancer as you."

"Of course," M. Didier inclined his head, and he slowed down enough for me to be able to dance without looking at my feet and becoming dizzy.

M. Didier and I flew across the dance floor. As Jacques whisked me along, I caught a glimpse of Mme Jeanette. She was glaring at me fiercely and frowning. After about ten more minutes of dancing, M. Didier led me over to one of the small tables. As we passed the others, I caught a glimpse of M. Rouleau. He was smiling knowingly. A warning light went off in my head, but I dismissed it as extremely unlikely.

As soon as we were seated, M. Didier spoke. "Mademoiselle," He addressed me formally. "I am going to be visiting my brother-in-law's home again tomorrow, and I would very much enjoy your company."

I immediately realized that this was this century's version of a date invite. For a moment, I was stunned. I had never been asked out before, and his offer startled me. I quickly gathered my thoughts and made a decision.

"Well," I said slowly. "I'm not sure if my employer would allow that." I said, trying to sound professional.

"I've already spoken with my brother-in-law," he said. "And he has allowed you to take the day off."

"You know that I work for M. Rouleau?" I asked, stunned.

"Of course," He sad. "After all, he is my brother-in-law, and he likes to talk. He's mentioned your cooking on numerous occasions."

I sat there staring at M. Didier with my mouth hanging open like a codfish for a long moment before I quickly snapped it shut. He chuckled.

"As I recall," He continued, "He said you were like the child he never had."

I sat there without saying anything for a long moment. Then I blushed. I had had no idea that M. Rouleau thought of me like a daughter. I smiled.

"Well, then," I said. "I would love to be attend." He smiled. M. Didier seemed like such a pleasant fellow, but I knew from experience that looks can be deceiving.

-

Erik had no idea what to make of it. When Rebecca had come to retrieve the baby, she had asked Erik if he could watch her the next day.

"I can't," Erik said. "She's too much of a hassle."

"Please, Erik?" Rebecca pleaded. "I can't take care of her; I have a date."

"A date?" Erik asked incredulously.

"Yes, a date," she looked at him pointedly. "And you're so good with her. Please?"

Erik sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll take care of Lynaea."

"Oh, is that what you named her?" Rebecca asked. Erik nodded. "It's pretty." she complemented.

"Yes, well, I couldn't think of anything to name her, so I thought that something different would be nice." He shrugged and rocked Lynaea a little.

"Thank you so much, Erik." Rebecca said, and she hugged me. Then she kissed me on the cheek.

"Ummm..." Erik began, unsure of what to say. "You're welcome." He replied, and set the baby down in the basket.

Rebecca left right away to find something that she could where. The thought suddenly gave Erik an idea.

-

"What?" Pierre asked incredulously as I stood there in the kitchen helping him wash dishes late into the evening.

"You heard me," I said. "I have been given permission to take the day off, and there is someone who is expecting me to meet him."

"Him?" Pierre questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, him." I replied, rinsing a plate.

"Well, there's no way I'm going to allow you to go spend time with some rich guy-who probably doesn't even care about you-and have you leave me with all the cooking and dishes.

"M. Rouleau is the one who decides that for one," I returned. "And secondly, why do you care who I spend time with?"

"Well, I," Pierre stuttered, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment.

"Besides," I continued, ignoring his embarrassment. "What makes you think that he doesn't like me? Why else would he ask me?"

"Well, uh," Pierre began. His cheeks turned even redder than before. "Well, you're a pretty girl, and those rich guys just want to make themselves look good by dating, and perhaps marrying, pretty girls." he rubbed the back of his neck with a soapy hand and looked at me sheepishly.

I smiled slightly. "Pierre," I said gently. "You don't have to be worried about me. I'm a big girl. In fact, I'm a young woman; I'm not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself." I put my hand on his shoulder encouragingly.

"Yeah, I guess so," he said, but he didn't sound very sure of himself. I as about to say something more, but he interrupted me. "Rebecca," he said. "The reason I don't think it's a good idea is because, well, I like you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

It took me a moment to understand his meaning. "Pierre, I'm not going to get hurt or anything like that." I said. "Believe me, I can take care of myself." i didn't mention how he had said he liked me. The truth was, I didn't like him; at least, not in the way he was thinking. I liked him as a friend, but only as a friend. I didn't want to hurt his feelings by saying so, though.

Suddenly, I remembered something that I had heard during the party. "Pierre," asked. "Who are the chosen?"

Pierre's face became clouded with an emotion I could not name. "The Chosen are a certain people who, for reason that no one knows, are taken from their parents at birth." he took in a deep breath, and I had a feeling that he was preparing himself for a long tale.

"A long time ago," he began. "People in France lived in harmony with each other. There was no conflict, and no one argued. Then one day, a child was born. The child was forever asking questions that everyone else thought obvious, and the child was forever going places that he shouldn't have, and messing with things that didn't belong o him, and he never learned that those things were wrong. His parents tried to tell him no, and they even would give him a time out, but nothing seemed to work. So he was cast out of society. He was the first Chosen." Pierre sighed and handed me a dish. I took it from him and rinsed it. "The boy was only the first of many children who were deemed unfit to be a part of society."

"But, I don't understand," I said. "Aren't all kids like that?"

"Now they are," Pierre replied, "But back then, the people believed that if you were disobedient, then you were somehow cursed. The boy would always tell his parents that he was trying to be good, but time and again he would disobey."

"So, why would people mention it nowadays?" I asked.

"Because," Pierre replied, "There are still people who follow the old ways. They are obedient, and they don't question those in authority." he shifted his weight. "And because, if such a child should be born among those who still believe those things, then the child would be cast out. Sometimes, if the mother or father was disobedient even once, any child that person has will be cast out because they believe it to be a curse that is passed on from parent to child." Pierre shrugged suddenly, as though he were trying to get rid of an awful memory.

"So why doesn't anyone do something about this?" I asked.

"Because," Pierre replied. "Not enough people care to make a difference."

A/N: Well, that was interesting. Review, please and tell me what you think.