If you haven't read the Giver of Life chapters, you probably should before Chapter 9. It's important, I swear! (Well, last 9 pertain to this.)

Kire8

Alex and Lisette proved astoundingly helpful and Bessie remarkably patient. With the dog tied to the ramp, I stood to the side and offered instruction while the children bathed the sulking, suddenly forlorn animal whose games had come to a disparaging end.

She looked at me with her pleading eyes, but didn't attempt to escape Lisette and Alex washing and rinsing her off.

In past attempts at washing Bessie, Alex had taken up the obnoxious role of commanding her, which never worked. Yelling out "down girl!" from the top of his lungs did nothing more than further rile her, which left me soaked more than the hound.

Once they finally had her sufficiently dried, Alex insisted they give her a sniff and make certain she was clean and suitable to be in the same house as two babies.

"Sniff the dog?" Lisette asked, her face contorted with sheer repulsion.

"Well, someone must," he said with a shrug before burying his face in the dog's scruff. He took a deep breath, then pulled away and exhaled. "She smells like Ruby," he said with a dreamy sigh.

Lisette inhaled sharply and shook her head. "Alex," she admonished.

Alex issued a quizzical look, finding nothing wrong with his comparison between canine and human. In his eyes, he most likely thought Ruby should have been honored to share a trait with Bessie.

"Take Bessie inside," I ordered as I checked my pocket watch. Just over an hour had passed since I had left Julia's side. "And put her into the parlor with her food," I told them to prevent Alex from marching her in to Meg and Charles' room.

Together Alex and Lisette led Bessie into the house while I followed behind and quietly returned upstairs. Hermine Leach was still present and apparently trying her routine on the newborn babies, who were both undoubtedly stunned into silence or deaf from her screeching. If she kept up her racket, they would learn to crawl faster than any infants in all of Paris, if only to escape her.

When I entered my bedroom I found Julia asleep on her side and Aria curled up beside her head. I watched them both for a moment, then considered how Julia would react to a kitten in her face when she woke. I left the small parcel on my dresser and quietly moved across the room to remove Aria.

The moment I swept my hand beneath her curled up form, Aria gave a meow of protest and dug her nails into the pillowcase, which effectively prevented me from moving her aside without incident. Patience wearing thin, I attempted to dislodge her nail by tiny, razor sharp nail until I had removed one paw.

"What are you doing?" Julia asked as she slid her hand over mine.

"Attempting to remove the cat before you wake," I said with a sigh.

She smiled and opened her eyes. "She's been here the entire time, purring nonstop," she replied. There was thankfully no hint of frustration in her tone. "Though she does tend to take up as much of the bed as you."

I released the cat, which issued an arched look at me, then crawled to the end of the bed and stretched out. Julia sat up and rubbed her eyes before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and smoothed her skirts.

"How is Meg?" she asked.

"I didn't check, I'm afraid," I answered. The thought hadn't crossed my mind as I had reservations of intruding mere hours after she had given birth. I recalled very distinctly how I wanted no interruptions when I had first held Alex. Selfishly I wanted him all to myself, to memorize each expression and coo he made. I assumed Meg wanted the same with her twins.

"Did Alex and Lisette behave?" Julia asked.

"Like angels," I assured her.

Julia smiled. "I think they could have robbed you blind and you would have said they were perfect angels."

"Thankfully I carry little of worth," I answered.

"Were they disappointed we didn't leave today?" she asked.

"Not at all," I told her. "They were more than preoccupied with a filthy dog."

She started to speak, but her words were cut off by a chorus consisting of Hermine, Alex, and Listte. Shoulders hunched, I prepared to stand and march down the stairs in order to silence that woman for good, but Julia anchored me beside her with a tug.

I wanted to protest, but she drew me closer and offered an irresistible, seductive smile. The look in her eyes was almost enough to make me forget Hermine howling below.

"Let them serenade us," Julia suggested as she pressed her lips to mine.

My lips curled into a scowl as Hermine failed to hit a particularly high and irritatingly ear-splitting note. "They could use Mademoiselle Leach as a form of torture in the next revolution," I complained.

"Oh, stop," she said playfully. "She's having fun and keeping the children entertained."

So had a dog, I wanted to remind Julia.

I noticed her look past me and twisted around, following her gaze toward the dresser where I had left the box Joshua had given me.

"What's that?" she questioned.

"Something apparently sent to me a while ago," I answered. "A very long while ago."

"It's quite tattered." She furrowed her brow. "Did you just find it now?"

"No, Joshua gave this to me today when he saw us out to breakfast," I replied casually. "This was sent to his home thirty years ago."

Surprise flashed through her gaze and she turned, drawing one leg beneath her on the bed. "Thirty years ago?"

"Approximately," I answered.

"From your uncle?" she asked hopefully.

I shook my head, still slightly disappointed I had nothing else from the man who had given me so much when I was younger. "He sent letters," I answered. "And Joshua already said it wasn't from his father."

"You haven't opened it yet?" She craned her neck, perhaps more curious of the contents than me.

"I haven't had a moment to do so," I explained as I stood and retrieved the small box.

"Would you like privacy?" she asked once I returned to the bed beside her.

I doubted the parcel contained anything of a private nature and shook my head. "I would rather have you with me than not," I answered as I stared at the box.

"Good. I would have lingered outside the door," she admitted with a smile. "Who do you think sent this? Your parents?"

I gave her a look. "Your daughter asked the same question," I commented.

With a sullen expression, she nodded. "I couldn't think of anyone else who would send you a package that long ago. Do you have any idea who it's from?"

I couldn't think of anyone either. As far as I could recall, no one had my cousin's address in Paris. Part of me wondered if this was merely a ruse and the box contained a wedding gift from Joshua.

"None at all," I answered at last.

Julia impatiently nudged me. "What could it be? Please, open it before I take the box from you," she teased.

Taking a breath, I slid my finger beneath the brown paper's edge and ripped open one side while Julia leaned forward as though she would somehow miss whatever was hidden inside.

My hands unexpectedly trembled as I opened the box and found faded, crumpled papers smashed within the container. Julia's breathing turned harsh as she leaned into me, which I found distracting. She noticed before I said a word and finally straightened.

Removing the paper, I found a small purse, the white cloth discolored over time. Satin strings kept the bag closed, and I pulled up the small treasure and settled the weighted contents in my hand.

The object wasn't heavy, the bottom portion almost the length of my palm and hard, like a piece of wood or bone. Without a word, I untied the strings and drew the top open, peering inside.

"There's a note," Julia commented. She reached into the bottom of the box and pulled a small envelope with perfect, feminine penmanship on the outside. "Addressed to you."

My breath caught in my throat as I looked within the depths of the small cloth bag. With my heart thudding, I stared at a memory I had managed to push aside for over thirty years. One evening—a perfect evening-rushed into the forefront of my mind. Music, plates overflowing with food, and the beauty of a swan left my chest coiled tightly and my stomach in knots.

I didn't need to read the note to know what had been sent so many years ago—or from whom.