Chapter Three: How Does A Moment Last Forever?
Hanging up her basket in the entryway, Christine descended the steps to the small basement workshop where her father, Gustave, sat gazing longingly at a portrait of a beautiful red-haired woman, her sky-blue eyes full of love as she gazed down at the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms.
"How does a moment last forever?" he murmured to himself, seemingly unaware of Christine's presence.
"How can a story never die?
It is love we must hold onto.
Never easy, but we try..." he broke off with a sob.
Christine moved forward, placing a soft hand on her father's shoulder.
"Sometimes our happiness is captured," she answered gently.
"Somehow a time and place stand still.
Love lives on inside our hearts,
And always will..."
Holding her father as he wept in her arms, Christine knew that something had to change.
Her poor father had never fully recovered from the grief of losing his wife to a sudden outbreak of plague, and was extremely protective of his only child as a result.
"Papa, do you think I'm odd?" she asked curiously a few hours later, as her father was tinkering with a music box that was shaped like a rose.
Gustave jolted in surprise, almost knocking the music box off the workbench in the process.
"My daughter, odd?" he exclaimed almost indignantly.
"Where in the world would you get an idea like that?"
Christine just shrugged.
"This is a small village, Papa," she reminded him.
"People talk."
Gustave sighed regretfully.
"Yes, but small also means 'safe'."
Christine smiled ruefully.
"I know, Papa."
And she did.
Truly, she did.
She just wanted to see more than what little there was to see in the village.
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