Another week and another update! Right on time too. Also thank you for all the reviews and input, I really appreciate them. Just a quicknote to R.S. Javert will Not be in this chapter so please donnot get mad! He willme a pretty main character in the next chapter though! Please read and review...
ALWAYS
Always hope even in the darkest night when no one dreams and the stillness speaks only for its self,
Always live even in the darkest depths when no one speaks and the dreams die like the old and alone,
Always fight even in the darkest hours when no one tries and the flame never burns like it use to.
She had waited, anticipating a momentary lapse in attention, it had come. She fled, sweeping past the men and all their shouting ways, out into the street and from there all she did was run. The people called after her as she legged down the streets, with her hair completely out of it once neat set up. It flew behind her like a vast sea of dark brown filth. She used her palms and elbows to move people from her way as she sped through the gutter, the gendarme close at her boots heals. The scene in front of her came and went in a rushing format, as if she were sitting in one of the carriages of the fine beasts called trains. The buildings loomed high before sweeping behind her and turning into dust. She could barely make out a thing as she gave in to the primal urge to flee. Then, as if the hand was conjured from the air by some mysterious perpetrator, it appeared out of nothing. It attached itself to the lapels of her worn tan coat, fingers curling round and locking the material in between the two sides of a hand in a steal grip. Èponine tried to move away from the obstacle which presented its self as a hand but failed. Before she knew what had happened to her, she was crushed against the hard chest of a strong male while she watched the gendarme run past.
When Èponine turned to see who her silent saviour was, she could hardly believe what she saw. It was as if the wind was completely knocked from her lungs, as if she had fallen a great height and landed upon her chest. She was breathtakingly shocked to see the handsome stranger from earlier, who now stood tall and proud.
"What was that done for?" she asked astounded that someone would even think to help her. "You couldn't really have fought them off by yourself, I suppose." He said in tone that suggested the end of the conversation but Éponine was far from done. He had turned slightly, so that his shoulder was facing Éponine and his face was turned to her shoulder, this carefully planned movement had set a physical barrier between the pair and made it hard for them to converse but Éponine persisted. "Monsieur, pray tell me yer names?" she asked desperately wanting to know. "Names?" he replied, turning slightly to her. She blushed and repeated in a louder voice, "Yer names! Like yer first name and yer family name." they shared a brief look and he moved his hand so it lay behind his neck, then answered. "My name is Henri, family name, Dubois." He smiled and turned to face her fully stretching his hands out so that he could hold Èponine by her frail shoulders and smile into her face. At this time Henri thought that Èponine was wrongly accused for whatever crime she had been committing and was thankful he had helped her get away from the gendarme who had been perusing her. He tightened his grip on her shoulders slightly, to give her a friendly gesture then asked, "What should I call you, Mademoiselle?"
Èponine felt a shudder race down her spine and shoot through her bones. To be called Mademoiselle was not to be pitied, it was to be known. She felt her face erupt in a truly genuine smile, the first in months. Her lips drew back and her eyes shawn and her shoulders raised, transforming her into a person who was alive and bright. She told him, almost as if with pride, "My name is Èponine Jondredette." The pride had diminished ever so slightly when she had spoken her family name as she remembered the scars which came with it. Scars that were too deep to ever be healed, and too large to ever go unnoticed. "You were watching my sœur and I earlier But you ran." Henri was silently asking her why but Éponine wasn't ready to admit som things, so instead she replied. "She looked so happy, with ye, what is her name?" Henri picked up this subtle shift in tere conversation but didn't remark, instead he answered her question. "She is called Estelle and I love her very much." Éponine gazed wistfully at him when he uttered the words 'love her very much' all Éponine ever wanted was that phrase to be said to her. She was starved of love and affection, so many years without the slightest drop had lead her near insane. "Thats for her mama to do, where is she?" asked Éponine and instantly regretted it. Henri's face turned ashen. "Our mama died, last year at Christmas. It was horrible and now we are closer than ever, me and Estelle." He explained through clenched teeth. Éponine's face sobered and she whispered out, "I'm sorry for what happened Henri."
Henri was, in fact the first to leave with a slight tip of his head and a mock bow, which made Èponine laugh slowly. When he was gone, Èponine felt herself staring into the space which had once held his person. She spread her fingers out into said place and wished she could summon him with her very mind. He was good and sweet and kind, not to mention tall, dark and handsome in a way that so nicely complimented each of his traits and he had held her shoulders. This was something that Monsieur Marius had never done. It made her heart fill with the hope of love, for surely that is what Henri intended. She was shrouded in the blissful serenity of hope. A delicate and beautiful feeling which had Éponine smiling in glee. Henri was different to Marius but at this early stage, Èponine could not yet contemplate why.
Throughout the next few weeks Èponine stumbled as if in a daze. With every thought, she would spend reliving her encounters with Monsieur Henri Dubois. When she was cold he would blow on her fingers to warm them, when she was scared he would sing softly to her and chase her fears from existence, when she was angry he would lay a genteel hand upon her back and coax her into serenity. Although she had not seen him since, he had followed her in spirit. She was addicted to him, his smile and the way he spoke to her, the way he had even saved her! It was all deleriously romantic and had caused her to barley think of Monsieur Marius.
It was beginning to turn from autumn to winter, the november days growing colder and darker and the people on the streets of saint Michelle were now seen in fewer numbers with coat or scarf when lucky. Èponine herself now always wore her cap, pulled tightly around her ears as a permanent barricade to the winds. Not owning a scarf, she turned out the lapels of her own tanned overall, and tried to shelter her neck and jaw in this manner. Somedays, it would be so frightfully cold that Éponine's hands would grow stiff and sore and she wouldn't be able to move them at all. Only last week Éponine had spotted the touchings of frost, ghosting around the streets of Paris.
Ever since the attack of inspector Javert, the Patron Minette and the Jondredette family had been much more scarce upon the streets. Éponine, knowing the dangers would still venture out as often as once a day, in the hope of seeing Henri again. After the attack, her father had been in a foul mood, worse than usual, when he had found out that the police inspector was indeed still standing. This unsuccessful assassination attempt had then been blamed on Èponine, as well as the sickness which now resided in Azelma.
At present, Èponine was bent double over Azelma's sleeping form which was wracked with coughs and shivers. She was crouched with a clothe in hand, which she held lightly, dabbing it on Azelma's forehead. Her mother was out and her father was sitting cross legged against the wall, tightly grasping a shiny green bottle in his palm, which when the time was correct, he would take a mouthful from. She turned her attention back on her sister whose pale face looked deathly sick. Èponine forced herself not to cry as she raised to her feet and turned for the door. A doctor would surely be able to save poor Azelma thought Èponine. As she placed her hand against the rotting handle of the door, she felt a bony hand that was hard and cold, wrap itself around her ankle.
She turned to see the twisted frown of her fathers face, "Get off pa!" She shouted trying to remove her emaciated ankle from his tight grasp. "Ponine, where are ya going to?" He slurred out, in his inebriated state which caused Èponine to retract in disgust when she smelt his breath. "I am off to the places I go and it won't be any of her business, I say!" He immediately spat out, "It's all my business! I am the man of this house my dear, don't ye dare think to out do me! Now tell me where it is yer off to, for I have a job for ye." She quickly paled at the word job, as she remembered back to the last one, where she had nearly been caught and would have surly hung. "I am going for a doctor, Azelma shall be dead in a day if I don't!" Thènardier laughed, "Where do ye suppose ye will find the money for a doctor! Have ye no whit, is my own child this simple? A doctor! If I had the money for a doctor do you think we would be living in this saleté! Ye will do nothing of the sort! Ye will bring this letter, to said address and ye will not hesitate!" With a mighty shove, he released her leg and threw a letter in the general direction of her person.
She stooped low to lift the paper, taking a glance at the address and leaving the room quickly. Éponine tried to hold back the tears which collected against her lids, If Azelma died, then Éponine would be left alone with only the cruelty of her father and the bitterness of her mother. She didnt know what to do, at only seventeen, Éponine already carried a great load atop her frail shoulders and if she had to also bare the weight of her sister death she would perish too.
Instead of finding a good respectable doctor, Éponine found herself in the court of miracles, a place that was known to have gypsies hiding in every twist of the road. Being unable to read, Éponine had already passed by a vast number of signs offering a pharmaceutical aid and it was only when she heard an old woman, twisted and withered who was lent against the ivy covered wall. The woman could be heard calling, "Any illness cured, any fever stilled, any cold warmed-" Éponine nearly ran to her with such eagerness that the tired woman nearly died of shock. She turned her tanned and freckled face towards Éponine and stopped mid sentence. "Dame, please I need yer help, my sœur is ill, will ye come?" The woman looked down into Éponine's face before nodding and not uttering a word. "Oh mon dieu! I thought she were done for! Like a fox in hunting season! Now she will be good, now she shall be alright. Don't ye worry about money because my pa is a good and decent old coot, he'll see you through."
By the time that Éponine had trailed the woman all the way back to saint Michelle, nearly three hours had passed from when she had set out. The passing of time was clearly evident in Azelma, who was now shaking from the fever and was practically delirious with the cold. The woman paused at the door, pressing her eyes shut and drawing in a breath, she could tell that the child lay in her grave. With a professional like accuracy she pushed Éponine towards where the bucket lay empty and gestured wildly, for Éponine to go and fetch some water. Éponine did so,bending low and clutching the handle tightly, she quickly picked up haste and went for he door, having to step over her fathers drunken person that lay asleep by on the floor. She lifted her head and sped down the hallway to the stairs, ignoring the thumps and furious shouts from her neighbours. Her boots hit the stairs loudly, waking the spirits and clearing a path through the dust and the dirt. Once in the street, she made a harsh turn right and ran, as if she were being chased by lightning, to where the old well sat, with crumbling rock and a rusted iron hook. She began to hurriedly tie the knot that would hold her bucket firmly to the rope but her hands were shaking far to much for it to stay still. Then a voice spoke up from the madness and said, "What with the rush, I don't see fire?" Although the question was light and playful the response was not. When Éponine turned and saw it was Henri Dubois, who she was so fascinated by, she had nearly fallen to his feet but her inner self control had forced her to compose herself. "Damn you Monsieur! My sister, she is on her death bed, I must fetch her the water!" Without any consultation beforehand, Henri had swiftly taken the bucket and rope, then in practised movements he had tied it and cast it off. He looked at her with a sort of steely determination and then concentrated on using the muscles in his arms to haul the bucket up, out of the well and into his hands. "Lead the way," he shouted, and like two wild cats they tore through the streets, filled with the desperation to save a life. Éponine did not even have time to concern herself with thoughts of the boy who strode beside her. She was not ignorant to the apparent risks of loosing the only sister that she ever had.
"Thank you." She panted as they climbed the steps. "I am grateful." she breathed as the reached the hall. "I am in your debt." she laboured as she opened the door. The scene which greater them was death. Death crouched by the old mat on which Azelma's weak form once lay, it had taken her by the hand and looked into her eyes, where the dark depths of death had appeared. Without harshness or tenderness it had cast her sole from the living world and drained her body of all life. Death was smiling at Azelma, the child who would never see womanhood. The little girl who would never see anything again.
A bucket fell to the floor, a shriek was heard and Éponine threw herself against her sister. Clutching her with all her might in the hope that death wold reconsider, no such miracle happened. Azelma, the child which once had rosy cheeks, now lay like a listless being deprived of energy, hungering for time and diminished of life. She would never feel pain again.
Henri came behind Éponine, who was near inconsolable with grief and held her. He held her in a way that Éponine had never been held before, full of promise and hope, as if he cared for her, as if it was also him who felt the pain of the departure which Azelma had taken. The old gypsy woman left with a bow of her head and no demand for money, there had been nothing she could do. The child had died in spirit, many days before she had arrived, leaving her only a carcass. An empty body full of pain and suffering which was seeking the sweet relief that death would bring.
Henri watched her leave, turning back to the girl who lay in his arms, chocking on her sobs, drowning in her misery. It sickened him, how a person could live like this. The room where he stood was so disease ridden and poverty stricken that he feared catching an illness from his brief time inside. He pulled her head onto his shoulder and rubbed her back, his eyes moved across to the skeletal girl who had just died. The dead child reminded him of his own sœur and that only made him feel more protective. he had an urge to shelter this girl, the one who remained alive and crying in his arms. He wanted to sow her that there was more than just this, than just death and he would start now.
"Éponine," he spoke softly, his voice lined with tenderness. "Éponine, where are your father and mother, is there anyone to help?" he asked this quietly not wanting to disturb the silence which had shrouded the room now that Éponine's cries had turned to small whimpers. She turned to him her face now streaked with tears as well as dirt, she looked exhausted, broken, used. "I don't know where no one is. Their all gone!" her voice rose up into a shrill cry as she spoke the last line, she turned to watch her sisters motionless body. He just held her tighter and whispered to her. "When I saw you, that day, many moons ago. You were running, so quick. You were also alive and bright. You deserved to be helped, so I helped you. I know your brave and now I know you need help, so let me help you." she turned her head back to him, shocked. "M'aider?" she asked breathless. He smiled lightly, "Oui, vous aider. Tell me about her, show me who your sœur was."
Éponine sat up against the bed and held Azelma's hand. Who had Azelma been? Other than the scared, barefoot gamine that she had become. Who was she inside? It was distant but Éponine could still remember. "She loved mama more than pa, she would always be found in the kitchen of the inn right beside the fire, sucking in the heat. Preferred sewing and knitting to running. Always wore her favourite ribbons, yellow ones, really silly with lace and all. She liked to watch the stars, every damn night she would climb to the attic and peer out the windows, I don't really know why, she just did. She loved singing too, ye would have loved to hear her, I remember her being really good. She stopped all that when we came to Paris." Henri had listened intently, he would not associate a person with their last moments, he would only think of them when they were happy. "Then Éponine, we shall remember her every time the stars shine and forget la terminasion. I will help you remember."
Éponine smiled and dried her eyes of the tears they had once shed. She would remember Azelma every night in which the stars shone. "I'll remember her, as she was, not as she is. I'll promise." Éponine said. Henri's smile was the only reply she got.
That hour Azelma had been sent off. Henri had lifted her frail body from where it had lain and then Éponine had wrapped her in the blanket she used to sleep on. They had walked side by side both of them sharing the unsubstantial weight of Azelma, when they reached the first bridge which stood atop the river Seine they stopped. "We should cast her off here, shouldn't we?" asked Henri. Éponine nodded, "Should we say words? I ain't never been to any funeral before?" They both stood, thinking for a while before Henri began. "For all those who have fallen in the true faith of Thy Holy Name, that they may enter into the rest which Thou hast prepared for those who believe in Thee." Éponine turned to him, "I didn't know ye were religious but me and Azelma, we were good Christians, like our fathers and mothers before us." He gave a small smile and counted.
"Una, dos, très!" and with that, they both let go. Éponine clung tightly to the bridge as she followed, with her eyes, as Azelma's body dropped like a stone, into the rushing, raging water. It impacted, bottomed out, then returned to the surface as if it were gasping for the last drops of air, or searching for the last rays of light. Éponine gave out a shrill cry, as she watched this horrific display. The body shook, trembling with the force of the current and slowly slipped away. Funerals are not really for the dead. They are for those left behind. The dead are long gone by the time a funeral is held. Who would wait when the doors of Heaven are open? Only the living would be foolish enough to still hang around on earth. So, with this knew outlook on what had just taken place, Éponine was able to steady her breathing, calm her muscles and control her emotions. Azelma was in a new place, certainly better than the first, Éponine thought, for it would be hard to find worse places. Azelma had left before Éponine, this was for sure and although that was not what should have been. It had happened and she was gone.
So, as one light leaves a life another takes its place and Henri Dubois was adamant that he would not leave Éponine, not like those who had already abandoned her. He would stay with her, help her, protect her. And that was his promise. Even when life looses its brightness, there will always be someone, holding their flaming torch high, fighting the shadowing darkness and guiding you home. Even Then.
Even then, when you have been through the darkness and back, the shadows do not seem so large, Even then.