After a bit of a break we finally have CHAPTER 3! (insert cheering crowd)

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Thank you and enjoy

Chapter 3: Reflections

3 years later

Belle knelt down on the damp ground retching into the flower bed. Using the edge of the rain water barrel for support she pulled herself up to stand on shaky legs.

Not again! She thought.

This would be her fourth pregnancy—she couldn't do it anymore! Belle loved her children but having them had never been easy on her, each time being more difficult than the last.

As the nausea abated she looked into the barrel. Staring back from the murky water her reflection judged her. Her face, beautiful as always now held an unmistakable permanent weariness that had settled on her features and in her eyes.

Smoothing a few stray hairs back into her neat bun her thoughts turned to her latest quarrel with Gaston.

He had come home in the wee hours of the mourning completely drunk! Not a common thing for him, if there was one thing Gaston was good at (besides killing animals.) it was holding his liquor. And even though she was used to him coming and going as he pleased this time he broke his own record of inconsideration.

In spite of herself she had been concerned when he hadn't come home, thinking that his luck may have finally run out and the wolves in the forest had won.

Any wifely feeling quickly died however when her husband sloshed in singing at the top of his lungs. The memory of which still gave her a headache.

She hadn't argued with him about it (out loud anyway.) She had learned long ago that her life was easier if she gave into him in small matters, saving her strength for the big things. Whereas once she would have fought for every inch, patience was now a virtue she could lay claim to.

Of course Belle wasn't the only one who had changed. Gaston was just as stubborn and vain as ever but as the years had passed he had grown to respect her well-mannered nature and envy her more educated mind, (though he would have never admitted it.)

With time he had come to realize her superior skill at working figures and her ability to read other people's emotions as useful tools. Both of which eluded him and caused countless instances of frustration.

Slowly she had convinced him to yield to her in matters of finance (or at least with what was left after his trips to the tavern.) and even though he still believed he ran his home in all capacities with an iron fist, it would be many years before he would realize how much he owed her for the countless details she quietly took care of before they could catch his attention.

Yes, Belle thought as she studied her reflection. She wasn't pleased with her life, but she admitted it could be worse.

Picking up her basket of eggs she headed back inside trying to beat the sun that was beginning its early climb into the sky. The children would be up soon…as should be Gaston.

An hour later,

Belle beat the dough into submission as she finished making the day's bread. She had been trying to save money by not going to the baker. Hopefully she could save enough to buy new shoes for the children before winter. Gaston never thought of such things and always failed to set aside enough money.

Doesn't he realize that children grow?

Looking out the window at the risen sun she decided it was time to relinquish the quiet of early morning.

Climbing the stairs she went to wake the children crossing the small hallway she arrived at one of only two doors, quietly she opened it and peered inside smiling at the sleeping little figures. They looked so sweet when asleep…too bad it couldn't last.

Walking on silent feet she approached the cradle first, leaning over she looked at the sweet sleeping face of one year old Jacques. Brushing a few blond strands of hair from his forehead Belle noted that it was beginning to change color and would probably be dark like his father's one day. Blue eyes opened and looked back at her before closing again. She smiled.

Very well my love, a little longer.

Leaving the toddler to his dreams she moved to the bed where two small children slept. Belle tried to stifle a laugh at the sight that greeted her. One of the two occupants had managed to steal the blanket from the other and had rolled it around himself, but funnier still was that the other had managed to maneuver the offender to the very edge of the cot procuring for herself the larger section and two thirds of the pillow.

Kneeling down she put herself on eye level with the three-year-old Gaston.

Only Gaston would be vain enough to name a child after himself.

The elder Gaston had been so proud at the birth of his first son that he promptly named the boy after himself before Belle had a chance to intervene. According to Gaston it was to carry on his (mostly imagined) legacy.

She kissed the temple of the dark haired little boy whose hazel eyes looked back unamused from his quilted cocoon. Belle stared back equally determined and motioned for him to get up. The indignant child ignored her and tried to roll onto his stomach to avoid her gaze but ran out of bed in the process and would have fallen to the floor had he not been caught by his mother.

Now fully awake from the shock he kicked her away and stood staring angrily at the still sleeping child on the bed. His little face was full of rage and Belle had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at his serious demeanor. The three-year-old turned in a huff to go downstairs, but paused, turning back he quickly snatched the pillow out from under his sleeping sister's head and ran out of the room before the beast awoke and realized his act of revenge.

The hard sleeper didn't even acknowledge the theft, too lost was she in the world of dreams. As Belle watched her sleeping daughter concern filled her.

Jacqueline was only four years old but already she showed an unbending will that worried her mother.

From personal experience Belle knew that one must be willing to compromise but her daughter showed no such inclination.

Brushing aside the rat's nest of chestnut curls surrounding her face Belle awakened her daughter. The little girl looked back with ill-tempered violet eyes. Keeping a stern gaze on her face she motioned for her to rise, the little girl knew arguing would be pointless.

Sliding off the bed she looked determinedly at her mother who kissed her forehead. Annoyed, the little girl promptly wiped away the kiss. Smiling, Belle left her to dress.

Crossing the narrow stretch of floor that passed for a hall she opened the door to her own room and an unholy stench reached her nose. Crossing her arms she looked at her husband, sprawled across the bed, boots still on.

She debated being kind, but she was still sore about the previous night's recent discovery. So with no remorse she picked up the pitcher of water from the wash basin and poured half the contents on him, (knowing she would have to wash the sheets later for doing so but finding it completely worth it.)

Gaston sputtered as if he was drowning. Looking to see a very cross Belle.

"BELLLLLLLLLE!"

"WHAT?!"

Gaston just glared while water dripped off his nose. (He didn't know what he was planning on saying after that.)

"Nothing to say this morning dear husband?"

"What's wrong with you now?"

Cold fire danced in her eyes. "A problem that you created!"

Gaston had never been one for riddles and had little patience for them.

"Damnit Belle what are you talking about? AND WHY AM I ALL WET!"

"I AM PREGNANT!" she announced unceremoniously "AND YOU STINK!"

Slamming the door before he had a chance to respond, grabbing the baby from his cradle she marched down the stairs to serve her children their breakfast.

The porridge was half gone by the time Gaston clomped down the stairs, grinning from ear to ear. (The news of a new baby always put him in a good mood.)

With large even strides he crossed the floor to where Belle was frying eggs. Pulling her away from the stove he picked her up and kissed her passionately. Then setting her back down he sauntered over to the table.

Belle's righteous anger was shocked right out of her as she watched her husband's back. He hadn't kissed her like that in many years.

Turning back to the eggs she decided that although she was NOT pleased, remaining angry at him wouldn't do her any good. Belle had learned a while ago that manipulation, rather than force or tantrums, would get her farther. (Despite her actions that morning—they had been a rare occurrence.)

Gaston took his seat at the table (not before checking his reflection in the mirror on the wall). Reaching a large hand across the table he affectionately ruffled little Gaston's hair, and leaning back to the high chair he pinched the baby's cheek.

Sitting ignored and unhappy at the other end of the table Jacqueline watched her father forlornly while her brothers received his affection. He didn't even acknowledge her existence.

Seeing her daughter's forgotten face, Belle's heart broke.

Later That Day,

Belle hurried through the village anxious to get to her father's cottage (they were late already). Hosting Jacques higher on her hip she practically ran past the butchers, fighting back the morning sickness that was irritated by the odors from within.

Despite her haste she was careful not to upset the basket on her arm that was full of bread and eggs for her Papa. (Maurice had never been a very good cook.)

Slowing her pace she began to walk leisurely as she neared the edge of town, observantly watching Gaston and Jacqueline running back and forth ahead.

"Belle! Wait for me!"

Belle turned to see the cobbler's wife running towards her, not any easy task since the good woman was well endowed.

"Bonjour Madeleine, we were just walking to my father's, would you care to join us?"

The more rotund woman fanned herself with her apron, her large bosom bobbing up and down with each labored breath.

"Heaven sakes no my dear, you know someone as sickly as I shouldn't be taxing herself by walking about!"

Madeleine d'Aboville had never been sick a day in her life, though you would be hard pressed to convince her of that. The woman was sure that the grim reaper lurked at her door and took great delight in telling her friends of all the ailments that befell her, basking in their tolerant sympathy. A shameless gossip, no one would have trusted her for a moment with any vital information. However, those around her found it harmless enough to feed her folly with what they deemed irrelevant bits of idle gossip. Thus Madeleine naively believed herself the most well-informed woman in the principality, and none took the opportunity to correct her.

Of her more redeeming qualities Madeleine had a kind heart for underdogs and although never put to its full use, she possessed a mind of average intellect that had she developed it could have been much more. For these qualities and the fact that she was one of the few to show genuine interest in her, Belle had come to think of the woman as her only real friend in the town.

"Well my dear Madame Gaston have you heard the news?"

"What fascinating tidbit have you garnered now Madeleine? Is the baker cheating on his wife again?" Belle asked indulgently.

The older woman waved her hand dismissively. "Hardly worth my time, no my dear I mean the talk of the prince!"

"The who?"

"BELLE! How could you have forgotten, the prince that had left years ago but returned again to rule this principality near a decade passed!"

Belle sighed in frustration. "I forgot Madeleine because none of that nonsense has anything to do with my life."

Belle felt guilty as she looked at her friend's crestfallen face.

"What's the news Madeleine?" She asked trying to sound kinder. It worked—the other woman perked up immediately.

"Well, there is speculation that he will take a bride soon, and there has been a lot of talk about which lady of his court it will be, or perhaps he will marry a foreign princess."

At the back of her mind a memory came to Belle. The memory of a large dark castle in the forest, and a frightening beast with claws. A memory so long unthought-of of it had passed into the realm of dreams to the point where on occasion Belle wondered if it had ever all existed or if it had all been a dream.

Shoving the memory aside her attention was reengaged by the sound of a child's screams. Hastily bidding her friend farewell she ran ahead to where little Gaston stood crying his eyes out.

She knelt down in front of the little boy who was holding his arm and screaming with ever increasing conviction. She looked to see a large bruise forming on his forearm. The little boy threw himself on his mother who tried to comfort him while balancing the baby on her hip.

"Gaston what happened?"

With his head still buried in her shoulder the toddler pointed towards his sister who had been watching the whole scene silently from a distance. Muffled from her shoulder he spoke.

"SSShe…(sniff) p-pupppp-inchhhh….ME!" (more tears.)

Finally breaking free from the three year olds grasp she put the baby down and instructed the whimpering little boy to not move and watch his brother.

Careful to not go far so as to be able to catch the boys if they bolted she motioned the little girl to follow her a little ways up the path. Jacqueline did as she was told, holding with her arms behind her back and looking completely unrepentant.

Belle knelt down so she was on eye level with her daughter.

"Jacqueline, did you pinch Gaston?"

The four year old looked back completely unashamed.

"Yes."

"Jacqueline why did you pinch him?"

"He deserved it." She said with the conviction of a priest, (wars had been waged with less conviction then that little girl's statement).

"And what makes you say that?"

"He deserved it."

Clearly that was all the information Belle was going to receive.

"Jacqueline, you hurt your brother, now I want you to go and apologize to him."

Jacqueline straightened to her full height, pocking out her little chest and raising her chin she looked her mother square in the eye.

"I am not sorry."

Belle stared back in equal determination, deciding to take another approach she continued to talk gently.

"Jacqueline do you love me?"

That question took the little girl by surprise, she immediately relaxed her stance and nodded her head vigorously.

"Yes Mama, very much!" the little girl looked hurt that her mother would doubt her love and Belle's heart melted.

"And I love you too my dear, very much."

The little girl's face relaxed.

"But I also love Gaston, and it makes mama very sad when you hurt him."

Belle watched guilt form for the first time on her daughters face. She may not have cared much for her brother's but the little girl loved her mother and that emotion alone was strong enough to coax a conscious out of her.

Bowing her head in shame the little girl whispered. "I am sorry Mama."

Placing a hand on the girls cheek Belle said. "I know ma Cherie, but you must tell him that."

The four year old nodded in agreement and Belle stood taking the little girls hand in hers to lead her back to the other children.

When Jacqueline lifted her hand to her mother's, her sleeve slipped and Belle thought she saw what appeared to be a small bruise on her forearm in exactly the same location as Gaston's, but the little girl pulled her sleeve back before she could tell for sure.

Looking back at her son Belle noticed a smug little look on Gaston's face that now showed no traces of his previous tears.

She was about to broach the subject but a loud explosion sounded from her father's cottage farther up the road.

Picking up the baby and grabbing Gaston by the hand she raced toward the cottage commanding Jacqueline to keep up.

Maurice's Cottage,

(Cough) "PAPA?"

Belle pushed back the cellar doors to reveal a wall of smoke.

"PAPA?"

As the smoke cleared Jacqueline tumbled down the few steps into Maurice's workshop.

"Whoa there!"

Belle breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of her father's voice. In moments she stood in front of her father and daughter.

"You must be more careful Belle, you know what your mother says about running." Maurice said while dusting off the little girl. Belle (the real Belle) looked on in confusion.

Seeing her at the base of the stairs Maurice straightened and placed his hands on Jacqueline's shoulders.

"Oh here she is now, don't worry Louise she's alright no scratches to be found." The old man said smiling.

"Papa?" Belle asked, the old man's smile began to waver in confusion.

"Papa I am Belle, that's Jacqueline…my daughter…your granddaughter."

A look of confusion and panic flashed across the elderly man's face. Quickly being replaced with a smile.

"Belle! Of course! How wonderful to see you my dear, what are you doing here?"

"It's Tuesday Grandpa, we come on Tuesday!" Jacqueline offered.

Once again his smile faltered as he looked at the little girl.

"It's Tuesday?" looking at Belle's concerned face he quickly plastered a too bright smile on his own face, trying to conceal his confusion.

"Of course it is I knew that." It was a lie but not one he was willing to admit to.

He spent the next few minutes showing his grandchildren around the work shop before his daughter interrupted.

"Papa I have brought you some bread and eggs." She held out the basket.

Maurice's face filled with instant delight. "Why thank you dear, but your mother is already making supper, in fact it should be done soon."

Belle felt as if a cold wind had just blown in pushing away the sun and bringing a ghost to stand eerily by her shoulder.

"My what…Papa?"

"Your mother dear, I helped her start supper about an hour ago she should be done soon."

With those words the bitter smell of burning food reached her nostrils and Belle bolted out of the cellar and ran up the short steps into the cottage.

Upon opening the door she was overcome by thick black smoke. Holding her apron the her face she rushed inside, grabbing a pitcher of water from the table she doused the flames rising from a pot of what she supposed had once been food.

After vanquishing the flames she flew about the house opening windows and fanning the smoke away with her apron.

When she was done she collapsed in a chair and looked to see her father and children standing dumbstruck in the door way. The children quickly found things of interest about the room but Maurice walked forward as if coming out of a trance—his face full of bewilderment.

"I can't imagine what happened, it isn't like Louise to be so forgetful…where is she?"

Maurice looked at his daughter with the sad face of a lost child. With tears in her eyes Belle realized that this wasn't some kind of game…her father…her papa…he couldn't remember.

Gently taking his hand she helped him sit and then looking in his eyes she had to watch his heart break all over again.

"Papa…Mama's dead….She's dead Papa…and she has been…for a long time."

Maurice looked off into the distance as if saying goodbye to a lovely vision that left him in a foreign world that frightened him.

"Louise…dead…..Oh yes, I remember…I remember."

And he did…for now.

Belle left that cottage very concerned.

What if Papa forgets again, what if he hurts himself, he's all alone, who will help him?

Making up her mind she marched home, determined to talk to Gaston about it.

That Evening,

Gaston arrived home in a good mood, with the large pheasant he had killed as a gift for his little wife.

Smiling he plopped the bird down on the table waiting for the praise he felt he deserved (and so rarely received) for his contribution. Much to his pleasant surprise he was greeted by a warm smile and kiss on the cheek from his wife.

"Hello Gaston, I need to talk to you."

Gaston's smile disappeared. Belle wanting to talk was never a good thing.

"What about?"

Keeping her smile firmly in place she began.

"I visited my father today…"

"Hmmm"

"And he is very old Gaston and his is memory is fading."

"Hmmmm"

"And I want him to come and live with us."

"WHAT!"

"He won't be any trouble."

"Absolutely NOT! You think I am going to have that crazy old loon in MY HOUSE! NO!"

"GASTON HE'S MY FATHER!"

"THE ANSWER IS NO BELLE!"

And with that Gaston sat down in his chair in front of the fire, kicking off his muddy boots.

Instinctively Belle picked up the boots and put them away beside the door, quickly wiping of the mud as she went. In the early days of their marriage they had fought day and night over those boots until at last she gave up. Deciding that they would only get put away if she did it Belle began picking up her husband's boots. Little by little the action had become so ingrained in both of them that the routine now took place without any thought whereas once the idea would have been unthinkable to Belle. O how far she had gone from that willful and determined 17-year-old girl.

So far had Belle's resolve worn away and been replaced by indifferent servitude that had that 17 –year-old looked at the woman as she was now, she wouldn't have been able to recognize her as herself. It had been a slow transition, so slow that she had not even known it was happening and now she was so changed through the long years of fighting that she would never know.

Someone was judging her silently, across the room a large pair of violet eyes watched her mother clean her father's boots, and those eyes judged her, as no others ever would.

"Complain all you like Gaston, but on this I will not give up. My father will come live with us tomorrow." Having said her piece, she went upstairs to escape the inevitable wrath and to help strengthen her own resolve with the distance.

Gaston stood with anger coursing through his veins, he would not be dictated to in his own house!

"OVER MY DEAD BODY!"