Marshall remained in the parlor, and gazed deeply into the flames, that were licking hungrily at the firewood. An unseen force was drawing his face closer and closer towards the fireplace. Marshall wasn't exactly sure how he was able to withstand the intense heat, hitting him square in the face, but still his gaze lingered. The stable boy reached his hand outward, feeling the uncomfortable hotness of it all. Fire was so destructive. Fire... it was the very force that stole his family right out from under him. An hour... that was all it took. Marshall was only gone for an hour, but by the time he returned, his home had been burnt to the ground. He never learned how the fire started, but the fact didn't matter. Not really. Not at all. Things could have been at least slightly different, Marshall reminisced sadly.

He and his father had just finished another long day of hard work, while on their way home, his father mentioned by chance, that they still needed to purchase the goose for that night's dinner. If they didn't come home with the bird, his mother would skin them both alive. Marshall knew that his father was exhausted after their long shift, of course he would be. David Stoddard was not a young man, anymore. So, Marshall generously offered to make a solo trip to the butcher, and buy the goose himself. That way, his father would have some extra time to rest. Marshall could easily handle such a task on his own, for he was a man now, not a child. David clapped his son on his shoulder, but didn't speak a word, and he didn't have to. Marshall knew what the simple gesture meant. David was proud of his boy.

A tear slowly slid down the length of Marshall's cheek, mixing with the perspiration already moistening his face. If only David had decided to accompany his son to the butcher's shop... then Marshall would still have his father, at least. Instead, Marshall was left with absolutely nothing but a heart, shredded to pieces. Here he had made this epic journey to a foreign country, to escape all the memories, but obviously his efforts were in vain. Marshall wanted to turn away from the terrible flames, that seemed to be mocking him, laughing at his pain, but he simply couldn't. It was all so unfair. Memory after memory, returned to Marshall's brain in a sudden flood. Those long days working with his father, learning everything he could from the man he admired so much... listening to his mother's expert story telling after a casual dinner with the family... wrestling playfully with his younger brother, Phil... God, that kid had so much energy... helping his little sister Adel with her reading... Marshall had even carved the girl her own doll out of wood for her birthday... Adel loved that thing. All these simultaneous memories were far to much for Marshall's fragile state, and the boy let out a single, heart wrenching sob.

Ami tossed an turned in her bed, unable to surrender herself to sleep. Really, how could the girl be expected to get to any rest at a time like this? A handsome stranger, a foreigner would be living under the same roof as her. Ami hadn't known this much excitement since she had befriended Siren, the mermaid, when her family lived near Cean... not that anyone ever believed that story, anyway. Ami sighed to herself, in slight aggravation. She found herself strangely enamored with this Monsieur Stoddard, but he barely seemed to notice her! Oh, well, Ami resolved, she was just going to have to make him notice her, then. The teen sat up in bed. It was no use; she simply couldn't get to sleep. There had to be something else she could do to entertain herself. Ah! Ami reached into the drawer of her nightstand, and produced a tinderbox of matches that her papa didn't know about, stuck a flame, and lit a candle. She still had some embroidery work that was in need of finishing, but where did she leave her sewing project? Ami didn't remember. The girl blew a stray tendril of her brown hair away from her face, concentrating, but then she remembered. Ami had left her sewing in the parlor. She casually picked up the candle stick, and made her way, downstairs.

Upon entering the parlor, Ami was surprised to see that Monsieur Stoddard was still up, and gazing intensely into the fire. Even with his back towards her, Ami could tell that the man appeared to be very pensive, but his face was dreadfully near the fire. How could he possibly endure the extreme heat?

Ami smiled to herself, "You'd better be careful, Monsieur, or you'll singe the eyebrows right off your face!"

The man turned his attention from the roaring flames, and looked up at Ami with a start. The teen blushed slightly at this. She hadn't expected for him to be up at this hour, and Ami was still in her nightgown. Oh well, Ami tried to comfort herself, at least this was a good way to get the man to notice her.

"Oh, hello, Ami."

She could have sworn that she heard a sniffle escape from Monsieur Stoddard. Had he been weeping? What ever for?

"I-I was just making my way to bed," explained the man, as he too blushed slightly.

Ami supposed that Monsieur Stoddard had finally realized that she was wearing nothing but a nightgown. If her papa were to see this... he'd probably throw the poor man out on the spot, but luckily, her papa was fast asleep.

"Monsieur..." Ami began.

"Please, call me Marshall," he begged, "Monsieur makes me feel like an old man."

Ami regarded the man curiously. His sea green eyes expressed a great sorrow, and that moment, he looked more like a boy than a man. Something about him just didn't seem right, his tone... his body language... something was definitely off. Ami could tell that much, despite the fact that she had only met Marshall, as he wished to be called, earlier that afternoon. Ami frowned and walked up to were the man was seated near the hearth. His face was glistening with beads of water, and covered in ashes. Ami couldn't rightly tell if the moisture was tears, or sweat brought about by sitting so near the fire. She kindly picked up a handkerchief, that was laying on a nearby table, and wiped the soot clean from the boy's face.

"Marshall it is, then," the girl said softly.

"Thank you," he smiled weakly.

"Merci," Ami repeated.

"I'm sorry?" Marshall was confused.

"En Français, we say, merci... thank you," she explained.

"Oh," he paused, "merci."

"Is there something on your mind, Marshall?" Ami asked abruptly.

"I," the boy sighed, "I was just thinking of my family."

"Do you miss them?" Ami inquired, as she took a seat next to Marshall, in front of the hearthstone.

"Yes."

"Tomorrow," Ami began, "I can show you to the post office... so that you can write your family soon... tell them how you're doing..."

"That won't be necessary," Marshall stood, and threw a pail of water on the red and orange flames, "goodnight, Ami."

Before Ami could even blink, Marshall had disappeared from the parlor and she was left alone. The poor girl didn't have any clue as to what just happened. Whatever it was, it seemed that Marshall wasn't one to open his feelings to strangers. Well, he couldn't possible consider her a stranger for ever, now could he? Ami shook her head, retrieved her embroidery from atop the same table she had found the handkerchief, and returned to her own room.

Quick French Lesson

En Français = In French