Ack! Sooo sorry for the lack of updates guys! There was the civil war football game between University of Montana and Montana State – we killed MSU – and Thanksgiving plans…I've been super busy. Also, writer's block picked a bad time. But I've had a 17 hour car ride to think things over.
And again, I'm trying not to rush things too fast, but I'm trying to put action in as well.
Anyway, Happy [belated] Thanksgiving everyone! Enjoy!
The end of April was rainy and chilly, but May bloomed in all her glory, warm and inviting. The days were longer, and the nights mild. Eponine often sat at the window of her tiny apartment, awake late and looking out the window instead of reading the book in her lap. She didn't miss her old life at all, but sometimes she got an urge to wander at night, like she had when night was her time.
Eponine kept telling herself that it was silly, that she did her wanderings with the man she loved in the daytime. She didn't have to sneak out at night to dream. She was practically living a fairytale. And yet the night seemed so inviting. Maybe she would go out, just this once.
She went quietly out the door and down the steps, automatically adopting the stance of a gamin, shoulders hunched, head down as she shuffled along. Her feet took her here and there, to old familiar haunts. Suddenly, a young girl jumped out, a small knife in her hand.
" 'Ey you! Give me your money!" she cried out. Her voice was vaguely familiar, and her hand trembled. Eponine smiled a little.
"You never were good at stealing, 'Zelma."
" 'Ponine? Is that you?" Azelma asked, nearly dropping the knife. Eponine embraced her.
"How have you been?"
"Not good a'tall. Mama and Papa lost the Inn, an' Mama's in jail."
"What? Where are you living, 'Zelma?"
"With 'Parnasse," Azelma said happily. Eponine grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Azelma, I told you to stay away from him!"
"What was I s'posed to do, 'Ponine?" Azelma whined, "Mama's in jail and Papa took off. 'Parnasse found me an' took me in. 'S not like I could find you easy."
"Well, you've found me now," Eponine said briskly, "and you'll come home with me. To live."
"No!" Azelma shook her head violently, "I'm staying with 'Parnasse. I love him! And 'e loves me!"
"He doesn't!" Eponine cried, "And you'll do as you're told!"
"You ain't the boss of me, 'Ponine. You ran off an' left me. 'Parnasse took care of me. An' I won't betray him. We're gonna get married, 'e says, when we get enough money."
"He's lying to you," Eponine said through clenched teeth. Azelma slapped her.
"Don't you ever talk like that about 'im again! Get away from me, 'Ponine! I 'ope I never see you again!" she ran off into the night. Eponine stood frozen, tears gathering in her eyes. They spilled down her cheeks as she turned slowly and made her way home.
Eponine never told Feuilly about the incident, afraid that he would worry or scold her for being so silly as to go out at night. She managed to keep her spirits up, but he noticed that whenever she saw a female gamin, her eyes would follow the girl. When he asked her about it, she would reply that she missed her sister and refuse to say any more.
Meanwhile, Enjolras was getting more and more fiery at the café Musain. The warmer weather seemed to stoke the fire of revolution within him, and he was making more and more preparations and plans for the barricade. It was only a matter of time, Feuilly knew, until the blasted thing was erected.
Although the idea of a grand revolution stirred Feuilly's blood in a way that even Eponine could not, he was beginning to fear it. The Friends of the ABC were few, and no one was sure how many Parisians would rally around them. And there was more at stake now. Before, he was a street rat, known only by the men who he would fight with. If he died, it would be in the name of the people, of revolution. But what would become of Eponine? The question haunted him.
Feuilly had finally saved up enough to buy a ring, a little thing with a chip of diamond in it, but he had yet to present it to Eponine. He feared leaving her a widow, doomed to be without love all of her life. And the romantic in him wanted to wait until the perfect moment, to sweep her off her feet. He was awake many a night pondering on the topic, and took to keeping the ring with him at all times, telling himself that the perfect moment would come soon enough, and that love was a thing that couldn't be rushed.
But the little piece of jewelry in his pocket was to Feuilly as a toy unplayed with was to a small child. Whenever he was with Eponine, his hand would drift to his pocket, and he would long to drop to one knee and put it on her finger. Sometimes he thought that he must propose or he would burst.
On the last day of May, Eponine surprised Feuilly around noon, with a picnic that she brought to him as he painted.
"They let me go early, it's Madame's birthday," she explained, "let's take a walk into the country, where we've always wanted to go. Please?"
It was a beautiful day, and Eponine looked so excited that he couldn't say no. He smiled and gave her a kiss.
"All right, chère. Just let me pack my things, and we'll be on our way."
They stopped by Feuilly's house to drop off his painting supplies, and set off down the road out of Paris. Eponine frolicked like a child, attempting to pick every flower she saw.
"Eponine, why don't you wait until the walk home, so that they don't wilt?" Feuilly asked, smiling. Eponine stopped, her hands full of a bouquet that consisted of mostly weeds that grew along the roadside.
"But what will I do with these?" she asked, "I can't just leave them."
"They're just weeds," he said patiently, "we'll find you prettier flowers, real ones."
"I was just a street girl," she returned cleverly, "you could have found someone prettier, and richer. So if you can keep me, I can keep my flowers." And she set off down the road, stopping to add a dandelion on her collection.
Feuilly smiled, swelling with pride and love for her. She had never looked lovlier, he decided, as today, in her white cotton dress, with a pink morning glory stuck behind her ear. He followed her patiently, until they found the perfect spot for a picnic. A little road split off from the main one, and crossed a bridge over a sparkling stream. On either side of the bridge was soft green grass filled with dandelions.
Feuilly set the basket down, and caught Eponine before she plopped down into the inviting grass and stained her dress.
"Sit on the blanket, chère. You'll stain your dress." he reminded gently. She waited while he spread the blanket on the ground, then sat and began spreading the lunch of cold meats, bread, and cheese she had brought.
"I was going to get wine, but it's expensive and I didn't know what kind you would like," she explained.
"We don't need wine," Feuilly replied. Being around Eponine today was intoxicating enough. She wasn't classically beautiful, like the blonde haired porcelain dolls that Courfeyrac liked to chase, nor the coy little brunette that Joly loved so. Her hair was an odd shade of auburn, but it shone in the sunlight like copper, and her nose was a bit crooked due to a childhood accident, and her teeth were in horrible shape, but Feuilly wanted no other.
Perhaps it was her new dresses, or that she was clean and well-groomed, or perhaps it was even her newfound confidence, Feuilly had noticed many gentlemen looking at her recently. It caused him an odd feeling, both of pride and of jealousy, and he was as protective of her as ever, thankful for her naiveté in the area of romance.
Just as he was pondering on this concept, a buggy full of young men rolled across the bridge. They spotted Eponine, and one whistled at her. Feuilly, who was sitting in the shade of the bridge, went unnoticed.
"Hey pretty girl, what are you doing all alone out here?" one called out to her. Eponine looked at him wide-eyed, and didn't answer.
"Do you need a ride back into town?" the bold young lad asked. Eponine shook her head, looking at Feuilly. He stood.
"Gentleman, I assure you that the lady is in good hands. You may go on your way now," he said, sounding much calmer than he felt. The boy looked startled, and the carriage rolled on. Feuilly sat down again, a surge of anger and frustration rising in him at the mental picture of Eponine with another man.
"What's wrong?" Eponine asked him. She had, in her sweet innocence, passed the event off as nothing more than a boy offering her a ride.
"Oh, 'Ponine," Feuilly said, the anger subsiding into tenderness. He took her hand in his and kissed it,
"I'm just a bit jealous, that's all."
"Jealous? Why?" she asked, laughing and kissing his cheek playfully.
"Because…of the way they looked at you, chère. They wanted to take you from me."
"Well, I wouldn't let them!" Eponine said, putting her chin out defiantly. Feuilly smiled and kissed her, and they returned to their meal. Afterward, he leaned against the bridge, and she lay with her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, still trying to rid himself of the image of Eponine with another man. His thoughts were racing.
"Eponine," Feuilly said abruptly, "stand up."
"Why? Do I have an ant on me?" she asked, jumping to her feet and brushing at her skirts. Feuilly's stomach lurched, and his heart was beating very fast as he got up onto one knee. He had never been more sure of anything in his life as he was of this. He wanted Eponine with him, to be his. It was now or never.