Kire14
Ever since the second baby had been taken from my grasp, I had worried for him. I wondered if he would stop breathing, if his heart would beat too fast or too slow or if he had an affliction that no one was aware of. There were far too many dreadful possibilities to consider when babies were involved and my thoughts were rampant with the worst situations.
"What's wrong with him? Is he blue? Does he need a physician?" I questioned. "When did you see him last? Have you spoken to Julia? My God, you should have said something at once, Charles!"
Charles appeared overwhelmed by the rapid fire of questions directed at him. He lifted his hand, palm out, as though to silence me.
"No, no, he's fine. Madame has both of them while Meg is resting," he assured me. He had turned several shades whiter on account of my sudden outburst.
"When did Julia last look at him? Within the hour?" I demanded. Despite my love for her, she was no doctor. I feared she would miss some important detail, a vital moment between life and death.
"Please, Monsieur, you sound more worried than me," he said with a nervous chuckle.
I caught myself before I said another word. Clearing my throat, I nodded for him to resume.
For a long moment he sat studying the wall. "Madame and your wife said my son was not well when he was first born," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.
I shrugged. "Coloring is what Julia stated."
"But you helped him," Charles blurted out.
"I held him," I corrected.
"And you brought back his color."
"I was asked to pat his back and make certain he cried," I said, growing irritated with the conversation. "There was nothing more I did than that. Certainly no miracle or heroic aid."
"Are you upset?" Charles asked suddenly.
"Why would I be upset?" I countered, realizing the tone of my voice was most likely the reason behind his question.
"Because…you sound awfully angry for me stating my appreciation," Charles said. He appeared mortified and bewildered.
"I did nothing, nothing at all," I harshly explained. "I held him, he cried, and I handed him to Madeline. That is all I did."
"However small of an act you performed, you perhaps saved his life," Charles said, his words rushed as though he had waited for hours to speak. He wrung his hands out of nervousness, his gaze darting around the room but never once falling upon me. "Please, Monsieur, I only wish to thank you. All morning long I have attempted to find a way to offer my gratitude, financially or otherwise, but there is no compensation I can think of that would suffice."
I couldn't think of a singled damned thing to say in return. Charles spent hours each day with my son. For the past year he had devoted more time to Alex than I had, and despite the mistakes I had foolishly made, I was still profoundly grateful that Charles showed so much devotion to a child he called his nephew.
"My only request has always been my son's education," I said at last. "I have asked for nothing more." I paused, regretting an exorbitant amount of ignorance I always seemed to carry. I wished I had been more receptive to his attempts at conversation over the years, more welcoming to his offer of friendship and family. "You have always done for Alex what I could not. I owe you a great deal more than you will ever owe me."
"A drink, then?" Charles asked, looking at me for the first time since I had entered the room.
"I beg your pardon?" Quite frankly I had no idea what the act of indulgence had to do with a newborn.
"A drink, Monsieur, a toast to our sons."
I blinked at him, wondering if this is what was considered a social rite of fatherhood, to celebrate our families with others. Alex I had taken into my room and kept for myself, unable to believe he was truly mine.
Now I wished I had been able to properly celebrate the greatest gift I had been given. Unfortunately, due to my father, I had attempted to stay clear from any form of inebriation. The designs for abusive indulgence were already inscribed within me. I feared I would not stop with a mere taste or a bit of warmth in my veins; my father had strived for his blood to become liquid fire and his temper an entity of its own.
I had not forgotten how I had nearly downed an entire bottle in one sitting while within Julia's home. That was the monster I feared above all else.
"A toast," I confirmed.
"Tonight, then?" Charles asked hopefully.
Why he wanted to spend his evening or a drink with me was beyond recall, but I nodded. "If the house is settled."
He seemed to relax at last. "My apologies again, Monsieur. I didn't mean to interrupt your afternoon spent with your daughter."
I stared at him for a moment, his words finally registering. Your daughter. The words were like a foreign language I had never heard before, but still beautiful and intriguing.
"A toast to our sons and daughters," I said.
"The children who make us better men," Charles added.
I could only hope.
"Good afternoon, Charles," I mumbled before I turned and walked out of the study.
Lisette had not moved from where she stood at the front door, the picture of a perfect little angel with her hair tied back from her face and her best day frock concealed beneath her coat. She curtsied when she saw me approach, which made me smile and chuckle. To my surprise, she was quite the trained actress performing the part of a demur young lady. I found it hard to believe she was the same girl who had swallowed a worm.
"Are you confident in leading the way?" I asked.
Her eyes grew wide. "For our adventure?" she asked.
This would indeed be an adventure.
"I trust you know the best places to look?"
"Well, that depends on what we're looking for," she pointed out in the most polite tone I had ever heard. She had a high, breathy quality to her voice I had not previously recognized, as I had always been more concerned with the content of our conversations rather than the manner in which they were delivered.
I opened the door and squinted in the blindingly bright sun. For the middle of May the temperatures still seemed a bit chilly, the wind strong and carrying a hint of rain. Before I shut the door, I reached back and grabbed an umbrella Madeline had most likely left from her last excursion, as well as my hat.
"We are in search of the perfect gift," I told her. "Two of them, actually."
She furrowed her brow and tapped her index finger against her chin as though deep in thought. "Papa Milo's," she said as though she had made up her mind.
I had never heard of the place and had no idea what the establishment would sell.
"Why this place?" I asked.
"Because Mother never allows me to walk inside."
Her answer did nothing to encourage me toward the shop. "Why is that?"
"She says she will want everything in sight and I will probably break something," she said with a heavy sigh of despair.
I couldn't decide if this sounded promising or disastrous.
"I promise I will be careful," she said as though she realized my trepidation.
"I have no doubt of that," I replied as we neared the corner.
Several children that looked to be around her age watched in silence as we approached. I glanced at Lisette, who seemed disinterested in them. She kept her gaze carefully away from them, purposely avoiding any chance of conversation or acknowledgment.
"Do you know them?" I asked.
Lisette nodded. "They are not very nice," she said under her breath.
I felt heat rise along the back of my neck. If they said one damned cruel word to Lisette, they would be running down the street, fearing for their lives. I would not tolerate anyone making an unfavorable remark toward her.
"To you?"
"No," she said quickly, which I assumed was a lie.
"To Alex?"
She hesitated. "We don't play with them," she said miserably.
I was all too familiar with the cruelty set forth by children. I feared what they would think of her as she walked through Paris escorted by a masked stranger. If they had been mean or hurtful to her in the past, I could only imagine what they would say to her the next time they crossed paths.
My greatest fear was that she would be taunted for being seen in my company or feel as though she owed them an explanation.
"Who do they treat poorly?" I asked impatiently. We were no more than twenty paces from them and I could see them all blatantly staring.
"Everyone," she said under her breath.
"What do they do?"
"They've thrown rocks at other children, they tried to pull my skirt up once…" She paused suddenly, perhaps too ashamed to continue. Her chin nearly touched her chest as she trudged along beside me. "Alex wouldn't let them do it."
Her words horrified me. "Recently?" I asked.
"Not for a while," she answered, which hinted that this had happened on multiple occasions.
I knew her posture too well and recalled the long walks I had taken with my uncle. Despite his illness, he had always stood tall and unafraid. I marveled at his strength, even up until the end.
"Hold your head up," I commanded.
She glanced at me and immediately obeyed.
"If they say one word I disapprove of, they will never speak again," I said through my teeth. "If they ever lay a hand on you…they will regret it for a lifetime."
Lisette reached out and grabbed the end of my coat sleeve, which caught me by surprise. Just when I expected she would have no desire to be seen with me, she clung to me, nearly pressed herself against my arm. She pursed her lips and looked absolutely terrified, but she did as I requested and never once lowered her gaze.
I watched her briefly, then turned my attention ahead to the group of boys who no longer looked so smug and confident. Perhaps it was the manner in which Lisette presented herself. Perhaps it was the way I pinned my gaze on their ignorant gathering of imbeciles that made them shrivel away.
"Please do not say anything to them," she requested softly.
Despite wanting to threaten them, I nodded in agreement. We crossed the street without incident and continued down the street with Lisette walking considerably faster.
"May I ask a question?" she said suddenly.
Her words surprised me, as Alex would never have asked for permission; he would have started off rambling with the hopes that I could keep up.
"What would you have done so that those boys could no longer speak?" she asked.
A year before I would not have curbed nor censored my answer. I would have told her quite plainly that I would either strangle or poison every last one of them.
Instead, I offered a smile and looked at her from the corner of my eye. "I haven't any idea," I answered. "Consider my words an idle threat."
She seemed amused by my answer. "You protected me," she said thoughtfully.
As any father should, I wanted to tell her, though I knew we both shared an early childhood marred by brutal, cruel men we called our fathers. I wondered how much she remembered of Louis Serratti, that horrible bastard who had no business calling Lisette his daughter.
I recalled very little of my early childhood. The first perhaps five or six years were summed up by cold, lightless days and just enough food to sustain me. In a way, Lisette's childhood had been much darker. Her suffering was different than mine, much worse than I had endured. She had not merely been struck, she had been violated in a way no child should ever hurt, especially at the hands of her own father.
Lisette did not deserve to ever be burdened with a single second of her life with Louis. She was worthy of pleasant memories; a holiday spent at the sea, an afternoon planting flowers or washing a dog, an evening eating cookies by the fire while she and Alex read stories on the rug.
I would protect her no matter the circumstances. I would die to keep her safe and I would not allow anyone to harm her, her mother, or my son.
Just as I had so often done with Alex, I placed my hand on the top of her head, then quickly moved away. Her hair was laid perfectly over her shoulders and I feared a strand would be out of place.
"Of course I protected you," I said, my voice a little too stern. I took a breath and eased my tone. "Like a dragon protecting its treasure," I assured her.
She looked up at me and giggled. Without hesitation, she slid her hand into mine and smiled as though we had spent every afternoon out for a walk.
"Papa," she whispered as thought testing out the word for the first time.
Until that moment, I hadn't realized I wanted a daughter.
