Hey guys! Long chapter for you all! We're starting to see the other characters and their backstories, hope you enjoy it! I love hearing from you guys, so reviews are always welcome~

XV: Arthur Monpedite

When Javert had returned to his home in Paris nearly two days later, his maid had left a letter on the desk in his study. His tired eyes brightened as he read his name written in Aimée's elegant, looping hand. He picked up his letter opener, slit the envelope open, and unfolded the letter. She had written a longer one this time, he mused, looking over the words. Before reading, Javert got up and gently closed his door. His maid would know not to disturb him then.

The first day he had arrived in Paris, he was told that his housing was already paid for, housing right next to the jail and courthouse. The house also came with a maid, a portly middle-aged woman by the name of Carlette, her hair always curled in a bun and, much to Javert's happiness, she was quiet and secluded, mostly staying in the kitchen to cook. Carlette was easy to avoid, and Javert tried his best to do just that. Not out of aloofness, but out of pure seclusion. He realized that he had no idea how to act towards someone under his class. So, he just tried his best to let Carlette do her work before she left at exactly six o'clock.

Once he was settled back into his chair, he read Aimée's words, not resisting as her voice shined through her writing. He twirled his letter opener between his fingers as he read, making it seem as if he was spinning a dagger in his hand. Javert felt his eyebrows furrow together as he read that she would be leaving for her father's business. He was unhappy to hear that Gérard's love of finance was still placed above his daughter's comfort. However, he felt his tired muscles relax as he read that Anton was finally gone. Hopefully Beaudet was finally catching some sense and seeing how foolish it was for him to be covering that boy's evils with some flashing coins.

Monpedite…he did not know anyone by the name of Monpedite….

Javert hoped it was a good sign, a man by that name had not gone through the jail anytime soon, and he wasn't in Paris. As much as Javert knew that Aimée would love to live in the bustling city, he couldn't bear the thought of her sharing the streets with the men he looked at every day. If he thought that Toulon was harsh to Aimée Lamenté, Paris would chew her up and spit her out in the gutter with the pleading urchins.

No places for blonde hair and a smile trying to sell flowers.

Aimée had also said that she was running out of books…

A smile graced his lips as Javert leaned over and dug through one of the draws of his big oak desk. He pulled out a small brass key, the key to his old home in Toulon. He hadn't had the chance to move out his old belongings or even to sell the home; he was still paying for the house to sit emptily.

Unfolding a piece of paper, Javert started to write.

Finally back from the mountains…still no sign of Valjean. Do not know when I'll travel next. I would write more, but I need sleep and work early in the morning. It's a shame that you're running out of books. Enclosed is the key to my old house. I still have many books there. Feel free to go and take what you want, although I cannot say how interesting they are. Sometime soon I hope to send a proper letter, but for now this will have to do.

Hope you are well and safe and happy,

Javert

P.S. I do not know anyone by the name of Monpedite.

He sealed the letter with red wax and the eagle from his Inspector's ring. Checking to make sure the ring was not stuck with wax, Javert scooped up Aimée's letter and retreated out of his study to the room down the hall. He had managed to pack up the picture he was so fond of, the lion and bull, along with the large chest that held his memories. Lifting the heavy lid, he revealed a small wicker basket that was nearly overflowing with letters. The basket sat on a blanket that covered the other objects that were housed in the trunk, but he hadn't looked under that blanket in some time. Next to the basket sat a little, dried yellow daffodil. Placing her most recent letter atop all the others, Javert reached into his pocket, felt the silk of his handkerchief, and closed the lid.

His bed looked inviting, beckoning him with clean, pressed linens and soft blankets over a down mattress. Sitting on the edge of the large four-poster, he leaned back, sinking comfortably into the padding. Javert released a sigh as he clasped his hands over his chest and dared to close his eyes for a moment, trying to get the stress of the mountain journey to melt away from the tight muscles of his shoulders and back.

The bishop had unnerved him. Javert had convinced himself that a search of the property was justified and correct, but a nagging sliver of guilt itched at the back of his throat, making him want to grimace as he thought about it. The look in the priest's eyes were as unsettling as lightning over water and his words stung Javert's ears and created an angry heat in his gut.

Pulling out the handkerchief, he clung to it with both hands over the buttons of his coat. This trinket that he continued to keep hold of reminded him that he was a good man, a man that was out in the world to enforce the law and to keep the citizens safe.

I need to find him, Javert thought to himself, tracing his thumb along the silk edging of the hankie. I need to find Valjean.

Groaning, he forced his eyes open and sat up from the comforting embrace of his bed. Javert had to eat and bathe before he allowed himself to go to bed, even though he was tempted just to go to bed with a dirty face and empty stomach. Tucking the cloth back into his pocket, Javert grabbed the envelope, quickly addressed it, and brought it downstairs with him. He left it on the designated table in his entryway. Before she left, Carlette scooped it into her basket and mailed it as Javert slept heavily and dreamlessly after his meal.

After a day of travel, Aimée finally got to peer out of her window to see what Montreuil was like. She had decided to go with her father and meet Arthur Monpedite and see what the town was like. It was a small city, maybe about the size of Toulon, but it was filled with construction. Men crowded around thick wood beams and plastered skeletons of buildings. Huge Clydesdales sat tied to sleds stacked with bricks and logs, their thick harnesses making their heads droop and snort uncomfortably.

"I've never seen such a busy place," Aimée said as she stepped away from the carriage into the streets. The city was filled with the barnyard odor of hay, manure, and sweat. Angry shouts from builders and carpenters cut through the streets and Aimée adjusted the traveling bonnet that sat high on her head. She kept her hand on her skirts, hoisting the hemline free of any muck that clung to the cobblestones.

"It's growing," Gérard said, giving his daughter his arm but setting out at an uncomfortable pace. "Monpedite's factory has attracted many potential investors as well as workers." His brown top hat matched the coat he was wearing that crisp, fall day.

"They have to build all new houses?" Aimée asked, sidestepping a suspicious brown puddle.

"Have to build more, Aimée, Montreuil has to grow, otherwise it'll become overpopulated."

"I see."

Arthur Monpedite's factory was actually still in the process of being built, or at least added on to. It was a brick building, larger and taller than any of the homes or café's around it. The brown walls were in the process of being covered with plaster in order to match all the other buildings that lined the street. The workers that were spreading the surface looked up from their work when she walked by, their arms covered in dried gray up to their elbows.

She felt an uncomfortable itch between her shoulders as she turned her back to them and followed her father into the door of the factory. Inside, Aimée could barely see thought the dust. She smelled the dull scent of clay and sawdust, but she didn't mind it at all. The low, quiet growl of saws on wood and the sharp snap of a hammer on a nail ricocheted around her The door had opened up into a large workroom right off the bat, a wooden staircase in the process of being painted directly to her left. Above was a balcony with a glass door, no doubt Monpedite's office.

The wood creaked pleasantly as father and daughter climbed upwards and knocked at the door. A silhouette stood behind the frosted glass of the office door's window, and the brass knob turned quickly.

Arthur Monpedite was a tall man, one of the tallest men Aimée had ever seen. He actually had to duck his head slightly as he stepped aside to welcome her and her father into the office.

"I'm so glad you arrive without trouble!" Monpedite rumbled, giving Gérard a firm handshake and stooping low to place a polite kiss on Aimée's hand. His eyes were a warm brown, matching his russet hair. "Your daughter is beautiful!"

"Thank you, Monsieur Monpedite," Aimée said in the formal way, giving him a small curtsey.

Monpedite revealed two dimples when he smiled. He wore a blue coat with a high necked white shirt underneath with tan trousers tucked into riding boots. His face was young, yet when he smiled his eyes were ghosted with little wrinkles and his teeth were even.

"I'm so glad you agreed to my employment, Gérard," Arthur Monpedite said as he beckoned for them to sit in the two chairs in front of his desk, a dark oak with leather ink mat. Arthur sat down in his own chair, Aimée still having to nearly crane her neck to meet his chocolate eyes. "I can tell that we will be quite successful. I had to leave Paris to find more room, my work was getting too big!" he barked a short laugh.

"I'm happy to work for you, Monsieur," Gérard said, giving his best business smile. Aimée noticed that Monpedite did not detour the formality.

"We should be finished with construction by Christmastime," Monpedite said, leaning forward and shuffling through some papers on his desk. He found one stamped with a Parisian seal. "This is a contract I would like for you to sign. It states that your services are to be bound to the Monpedite Rosary Company and you will work a minimum of three years in our finances. Does this seem to work for you?"

Aimée tried to read some of the contract as her father signed with a flourish. So Monpedite had started a rosary company. She found it hard to believe that rosaries had been such a booming business opportunity. However, she was starting to realize that faith equaled profit.

"Splendid," Monpedite said, looking over Gérard's signature and blew on the ink. Aimée noticed the gold and emerald glint of a ring on his right middle finger as he folded the contract and tucked it away into the desk drawer. His office smelled of boot polish. "Now, might I treat you two to lunch? I'm sure you're famished from your travel," Arthur added, standing and grabbing a top hat from the coatrack next to his desk. The man was full of big city courtesy as he stepped out from behind his desk and extended a hand to help Aimée stand. She blushed and took it, her fingers ginger as they felt the coolness of his ring.

Gérard allowed Arthur to escort his daughter out of the factory and into the growing city. Aimée thought Arthur was kind enough, yet she felt uncomfortable and shy as she tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow. He towered nearly a full head and shoulders over her and his hat blocked out the sun as he walked. Aimée felt like a small child.

"I think you will really like it here, mademoiselle," Monpedite said, casting his attention away from her father momentarily. The home that is being built for you will be near a bookstore, florist, and a café just a few blocks down the road. It's a clean city, little to know riff-raff in this area."

"Sounds nice, Monsieur Monpedite," his smile was as warm and easy as late-summer sunshine.

"By the time you and your father move, these horses will be gone and most of the houses finished. Construction crews have been working tirelessly day and night. I suppose their contractors are in need of a little coin!" His laughter was strong. Aimée found his chuckle contagious as her lips curled into a smile. Gérard laughed too, but it was the laughter of a man eager to please.

Arthur Monpedite led them to a small little restaurant. They went inside, Arthur holding the door for Aimée and her father. Inside, they were standing in a little teahouse, carved wooden tables and chairs stained to a deep mahogany brown. Servants wearing white aprons approached them and Monpedite ordered tea with biscotti and sausage and cheese. The table was laid with little porcelain bowls holding cinnamon, sugar, and honey. When the waiter brought their tea, he set down a little pitcher of thick cream.

"Normally, I would not waste my time with the Brits, but I will acknowledge they can make a good cup of tea," Monpedite joked as he dropped two cubes of sugar into his cup. The man liked his drink sweet, "When I was in London trying to sell my rosaries, I had some of the English's breakfast tea. I liked it so much I brought a barrel back with me to keep here."

Aimée stirred in some cream and honey, but she thought about the brandy that Anna had added to her drink. She remembered the pleasant biting warmth and lightness that swirled in her head after each sip.

"So, Aimée, your father tells me you're sixteen?" Monpedite asked, snapping her from her memories.

"Um, yes, monsieur, I will turn seventeen next month, in November."

"Ah, to be seventeen again," Monpedite said, leaning back in his chair, his long legs sprawled out under the table. "That was almost eight years ago. I'm going to be twenty-six next spring."

"You're barely a grown man," Gérard joked, sipping his tea plainly, "I'd give my hand to be as young and successful as you are."

"Success will come to you, my friend," Monpedite replied, sipping his sweet tea. "I know that the business will flourish here."

"If you don't mind me asking, monsieur, but how did you come to hire my father?" Aimée asked, hoping to become a part of the conversation. By the look on Gérard's face, maybe her question was a little too bold.

Luckily, Monpedite didn't mind, "When I was traveling to this area, I met up with Mayor Beaudet, I had originally had my heart set on Toulon for my factory, but there was no room. Beaudet had suggested I take a look at Montreuil. Then, I asked him if he knew anyone decent with money, considering I'm horrible at accounts. He suggested your father."

Monpedite smiled and bit into a crusty biscotti, wiping the crumbs from his mouth and quickly sipping his tea, "However, I had to suggest a hefty price, Gérard here seemed pretty fond of the mayor's employment."

Gérard's smile was pleasant, yet not sincere. Aimée could tell that his grin did not quite reach his eyes. Monpedite did not notice as he continued talk and snack. Aimée helped herself to a slice of sausage and chunk of cheese, stabbing them both with a little silver fork and eating them together. The peppercorns from the sausage crisped pleasantly as she chewed and the cheese was smooth on her palate. The waiter brought some fresh rolls, still warm from the oven and covered in small sesame seeds. Arthur Monpedite took one and spread butter over it, then sprinkling it in cinnamon.

Sweet teeth make for kind hearts, Aimée heard her mother whisper in her ear. Another one of her little quips.

Slowly, as they ate their lunch, Aimée started to grow comfortable towards Arthur Monpedite. He seemed kind enough, yet strong-willed, ignoring many of her father's small, manipulative tricks. She liked that, liked seeing Gérard slightly stiff and polite towards a man more successful than he.

After lunch, they continued to walk around the city, Monpedite as her guide once again. The fabric of his coat was smooth and tightly knit, the kind of fabric that would bear a high price tag. The sleek beaver of his top hat shone in the autumn sun and his smile was calm and easy as he looked about the town that was being built around his factory. Aimée's head barely bobbed at his shoulder as she listened to the conversation between Monpedite and her father.

"The busiest times are Christmas, Lent, and Easter," Monpedite told Gérard as they turned a corner. Aimée smelled the familiar ocean tang.

"We're near the sea?" she asked, craning her head. Sure enough she could see the spindly tips of masts peek through the far off alleys.

"Yes, Montreuil has a shipyard, quite handy for shipping out our merchandise right away," Monpedite said, looking through the houses where a sliver of blue could be seen, "But I would suggest you stay away from there, mademoiselle, a lot of undesirables tend to hover around the docks."

"I was just curious," she murmured. She couldn't help but think of Javert, how he complained to her about the salt that clung to his skin. Aimée felt comforted as she breathed in the hinted brininess of the ocean, felt like she wouldn't be traveling far from home after all.

"You'll stay away from there," Gérard said, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked. He glanced at his daughter out of the corner of his eye and she knew he was making the decision for her.

"Yes, father, of course I will," Aimée said politely as she reached up and touched the side of her bonnet.

Aimée didn't listen for the rest of the way back to the factory. The talk of finances, money, and entrepreneurship bored her almost to death. She wished she was back home, reading a book or gossiping with Anna. But what she really found herself wishing for was to sit and talk with Javert…to hear his low baritone telling her something in the matter-of-fact way he relayed information to her. Aimée wished she had the courage to ask him to visit her, to write down what she really was thinking in a letter instead of the trivial things that didn't matter.

However, she could never bring herself to do that. Aimée clung so desperately to the fact that he would write to her at all, she was fearful that if she wrote the wrong thing he would drop contact with her forever.

Keep your head. You're acting like a smitten child again. Don't do anything foolish, Aimée, just be happy with what you have.

"Now, I'm assuming that you two have quite a bit of a drive ahead of you, so I'll let you get going," Monpedite said, giving Aimée's hand a pat when they reached the factory again. Their coach was waiting for them. "Thank you so much for visiting, Gérard, and thank you for introducing your charming daughter." The easy, good-natured smile graced his lips again. " I do think that you will like it here, I'm looking forward to your permanent arrival."

"Thank you, monsieur," Aimée chirped, trained in the song of civility. She gave Arthur Monpedite a curtsey before she climbed into the carriage. The book that she was reading on their ride over to Montreuil was sitting where she had left it on the cushioned bench.

Gérard gave his new boss another firm handshake and climbed into the coach as well. Monpedite was very polite for his young age, never turning his back to his visitors and giving the coachman a wave. With a snap of the reigns, father and daughter were off, swaying to and fro in their carriage towards Toulon.

"Must you keep reading like that, Aimée? It's not ladylike," Gérard grumbled, loosening fabric tie around his neck.

"I like to read," she replied, closing the book around her finger to momentarily mark her place. "You never seemed to mind before."

Gérard huffed and glanced out the window. "That Monpedite is a nice fellow, smart too. Lord, I've never seen anyone so tall in my life."

Aimée watched him, suspicious of where the conversation would be heading. When he didn't continue, she chimed, "Yes, I suppose he was rather tall, wasn't he?"

"You suppose? You were only clinging to his arm the entire afternoon," Gérard's smile was unpleasant.

"He offered it to me, it would've been rude to deny it," Aimée said, scowling, "And besides, that's probably the custom in Paris."

Her father huffed and slouched on his bench, the toes of his shoes pressing up on the wood seat opposite him. "Something's off about him, though," he muttered, thinking to himself. "I can't place it. He's so easy-going…hard to believe that a man became that successful out of kindness."

"What's so hard to believe about that?" Aimée said, "Mother used to say you would get farther with sugar than-"

"I know what your mother used to say," Gérard interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips as he regarded his daughter with an annoyed gaze.

Aimée lapsed into silence.

"I suppose if I suggested you court him, you would cause a massive scene like you had at Beaudet's."

The ocean held in Aimée's eyes started to roil and darken. "I was making a scene?"

"The man saved you from an attack and you begged me not to make a marriage proposal to Beaudet," her father blustered, itching the side of his jaw.

Aimée bit her lip out of anger and opened her book again, "I'm pretty sure it was Officer Javert that saved me, not Anton."

"Yes, yes, the guard…I suppose he was helpful that night."

The lines of her book were blurred as her agitation grew. "Maybe a little more than helpful," she muttered, her voice low.

Gérard, as was his custom, ignored his daughter. He let his head fall back and soon he was snoring, his head swaying form side to side with every rock of the carriage. When he was asleep, Aimée glared at him and thought all the things she was too craven to speak aloud.

Bastard, trying to wed me off like a business pawn. Already scheming to sell me off to a man that's pretty much a complete stranger to us.

Aimée hoped with all her heart he was just amusing himself by seeing what her reaction would be like. She hoped he wasn't actually thinking of trying a whole new marriage arrangement. And, if he was, she hoped that Monpedite was far kinder than Anton had been. Aimée started to drift off into her own nap as she already started planning a new letter to send to Javert.

Anna already had dinner on the table when Gérard and his daughter finally arrived back in Toulon. A roast crusted in herbs and garlic sat nestled on top of roasted turnips, onions, and carrots, the vegetables glistening from the fat of the meat. The maid was in the corner of the kitchen, sawing at a fresh loaf of bread with a knife, the thick slices falling into a wicker serving basket.

Even though the smell from dinner was mouthwatering and tempting, Aimée did not feel hungry. She had decided she had enough of her father's company for one day and she only wished to go upstairs to her room and sit alone. She told Anna she wasn't feeling well, placing a hand at her stomach and making an unpleasant face to pass off the lie. Aimée was able to go upstairs without trouble.

She flopped on her bed, her bun digging into the base of her neck uncomfortably, but she ignored it for a while as she tugged at the satin ribbons of her bonnet. Once the stupid thing was wrenched off her head, she started digging in her hair for the pins that secured her bun in place. Lifting her head, she uncoiled her dusty blonde tresses and spread them over her mattress, sighing in the small relief the feeling gave her.

The sunlight that shone through her window was starting to grow warmer as it started to sink towards the horizon, the yellow of the day starting darken into oranges and reds. Aimée craned her neck to try and look out over the city, but gave up and stood when her neck grew sore. Her window unlatched easily and she opened it to the crisp, briny air. Aimée retreated to her bed and grabbed her blanket then her hairbrush from her nightstand. Padding over to the sill again, she climbed up and sat, curled in her blanket. As she began to brush the tangles from her hair, Aimée spotted the fountain that sat towards the center of town. A little smile graced her lips as she remembered the night she snuck out of her home, two bread rolls cradled in her arms. Javert had found her that night, crying and nibbling at her snack. That was probably only the second or third time they had met, it seemed so long ago now.

The poor man was so awkward, Aimée thought as the bristles of her brush started to glide easily through the dusty gold. But he was kind…concerned. He escorted me home.

Anna's words swam though her head.

"It was like you were the only thing he could bare to look at…the only thing he could see." The words gave her chills and some sliver of far-fetched hope.

Her smile started to twinge in sadness. Javert was not here, he was in Paris, miles and miles away. She hoped he was happy as she sat on that window sill. A man like him deserved some kind of happiness and success in his career. Who knows, maybe he would even meet a woman, a beautiful woman of the city that possessed elegance and maturity.

Someone that's not a child like you, Aimée couldn't help but think as she set her brush down and clutched the blanket closer around her shoulders. She tried to convince herself that she wanted Javert to be happy and successful, but she couldn't ignore the feeling of brooding disappointment.

There was a knock at her door that interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she said, turning her head and looking at the door. She hoped it wasn't her father. Luckily, the cautious head that poked thought the threshold was Anna's, her red hair messy from cooking. She was holding a plate and silverware.

"You're eating," she said, without question, "I slaved over this. You'll love it."

Aimée smiled and beckoned her over. The window was large and there was room for Anna to sit across from her and place the plate in between them. Steam from the roasted vegetables curled lazily as it met the cool air. Anna handed Aimée a fork and pulled out her little leather flask.

When Aimée glanced at it reservedly, Anna held up a hand, "Don't worry, it's just wine. I stole some from one of Gérard's bottles." The maid winked, "You seem sad, a little girl like you shouldn't be brooding at her window."

"I'm not a little girl," Aimée scowled, stabbing an orange spear of carrot with the prongs of her fork and popping it into her mouth.

Anna sighed and leaned her head back against the sill and took a sip of wine. "Tell me what's wrong, we have to look after each other." The maid was always blunt with her words, but Aimée was quiet as she picked at her food. She was shy and embarrassed to admit that she had been thinking about Javert.

"Miss, here," Anna said softly, handing the wine to her friend. Aimée never really liked wine but found that it was a sweet white and she was relieved to find she liked it. Handing it back, she clutched the blanket tighter when Anna spoke again. "I know what you're thinking about, Aimée." She smiled.

Aimée looked down and ate a few more bites of her dinner. "I miss him."

"That part is obvious," Anna said, but not unkindly or with sarcasm. She took another sip and screwed the cap of her flask. She set it on the windowsill and reached for Aimée's fork. Taking a piece of the roast, she took a bite and handed the fork back to Aimée. "Wish to speak to me about it?"

Aimée was quiet as she ate. They started handing the fork back and forth, two people sharing a meal. The ginger-haired maid watched the young woman and gave her a sigh.

"You're in love, aren't you?"

Aimée looked up, yet she was calm. "I'm sixteen…I don't think I know what love is."

Anna gave her a smile, "If you're mature enough to admit that, then you are mature enough for love, Aimée."

Aimée found herself blushing.

"I was in love once," Anna said, turning her head and looking out over the sunset-washed Toulon streets.

The sincerity in her voice made Aimée set her fork down and regard her. "You were?"

"Oh, yes, head over heels. In fact, I was almost engaged."

"Tell me about it?" Aimée asked, handing Anna the fork and allowing her to finish up the food on the plate. "Please? I would like to hear."

Anna gave a rueful little smile. "His name was Mattieu and he was a carpenter in the mountain town where I used to live. He was tall, brown hair, strong like an ox, but gentle and kind. He used to bring me flowers." She reopened the flask and took a sip, handing it to Aimée. "I wasn't poor, but I wasn't rich either. My father was a metalworker and my mother a maid, like me. They came from Ireland long before I was born and set up shop out in the mountains, a tiny village with a crumbling church on one end and a market on the other. .

"Anyway, I was walking from the market one day when I tripped in a hole by the road. I fell, muddied my dress, and the loaf of bread I had bought was ruined as it fell in a puddle. Mattieu was also coming from the market that day when he saw me fall. He rushed over and lifted me up. Then he gave me the bread he had bought, fresh out of his bag. I remember he had to walk all the way back into town."

Aimée chuckled when Anna did, picturing the events in her head.

Anna looked up and met her eyes, "I was fifteen then, he nineteen, and I was as sure as day itself that I loved that man. He met me the next day in the market with flowers in his hands and a goofy smile on his face. Mattieu asked me if he could buy me some soup at the inn down the way, so I agreed. After that, he escorted me home and asked my father if he could court me."

"What happened then?"

"My father refused, saying that I was just a mere little girl, too young for courting or fantasies of love. I was heartbroken, cried all night."

Aimée's heart fell a little, sympathetic for her friend.

"But then, I heard a tapping at my window. He had climbed up the wood and plaster wall and snuck into my room. He stayed the night with me…"

"Anna!" Aimée exclaimed as realization smacked her across the face. Her mother had told her about what goes on underneath the sheets behind closed bedroom doors. She was not naïve.

"I was young! I knew no better," Anna said defensively, scowling at Aimée. "It was a mistake anyway, three weeks later, I missed a bleeding and found out I was with child."

The look of horrification that slapped on Aimée's face did not go unnoticed. The maid winced as she sipped and Aimée took the flask, taking a drink as well.

"I was mortified," Anna said, sniffing as she remembered. Her green eyes shone as the sun started to set. "A baby by a fifteen year old, not married, barely even courted…no shame was as large as that."

Aimée couldn't bring herself to witness Anna in her shame. Instead, she watched as the fat from the roast started to solidify in the cool air, going from glistening oil into a white mass.

"I didn't tell my parents…or Mattieu. Instead, I went to the church, a little building on the end of town, just a bishop with a couple nuns. He was a kind old man, I remember his hair was white and his eyes were so full of life, almost like he was a young man.

"Anyway, he let me stay the evening there and he gave me some council after I confessed to him. He told me that one of the Sisters in his care had desperately wished for a child, but couldn't dream of having one because she was barren. After she had found out, she took the oath of faith. The bishop said that if I needed a place to send my child after I gave birth, he would accept it in the church and the Sister would consider it a gift from God to raise it."

By this time, the sun had nearly disappeared behind the horizon. The autumn chill started to grow bolder as it nipped at Aimée's ears and nose. She huddled under her blanket and watched as Anna continued to speak.

"My belly grew and it was harder to hide, so finally I confessed to my parents. They were outraged, threatened to force Mattieu to marry me, but I refused and told them the Bishop's offer. I told them that I would give the child away if they kept quiet and didn't tell Mattieu or anyone else in the village. They agreed, but under one condition, after the birth I had to leave."

"You had to leave?"

"Yes…I had to leave the home, the village, my family. Knowing I had no choice, I agreed."

She sipped more wine, the sweet white filling the two women up with warmth against the past and against the cold.

"I gave birth in that tiny, ramshackle mountain church. They took my baby away without even telling me if it was a strong little boy, or a sweet little girl. My mother said it would be easier that way. After a day of recovery, I packed up what I could, and set off on a little mule, going south. When my money ran out, I sold the mule and became a housemaid."

With one large drink each, they finished off the flask.

"And here I am today," Anna finally finished, looking at the dirty plate. She gathered up the silverware and started to stand.

Aimée stopped her. "I think I might be," she answered. "I think about him all the time."

Anna gave her a smile. "You are as easy to read as a children's book, Miss."