Felicite Found (11 page)

Go Away Dreams

Hélène had left some money for Félicité just in case she needed it. She marched out of the flat to pick up some food for dinner. She thought it would be nice for Hélène and Pierre to have a home-cooked meal ready when they arrived home from work and school. The thought of trying to make the stove function made her laugh, but she would figure it out if it were
the last thing she ever did.

She strolled down the street, the necklace bobbing back and forth on her chest; she ended up playing with it, making it spin in circles around the chain.

As she went from market to market buying ingredients for dinner, she savored the delicious smells of the many cheeses, fruits, and pastries. She reveled in the feeling of independence. Well-pleased with herself, she made it a goal to go out alone more often. Since she didn’t remember the city, it would be as if she were a tourist seeing the city for the first time. She also hoped it would help her remember something.

Looking at the clock on the wall when she came home, she knew it was far too early to prepare dinner, so she decided to start reading another book. Before she knew it, she would have to go to the library with Madame Rose to pick up more books; she had almost read all of the Rousseaux’s collection.

Reading Pierre’s textbooks bored her, though. He said he would tutor her until she remembered her identity; she very well couldn’t go to school without knowing who she was. That turned out to be quite the challenge. She hardly remembered anything.

Scanning the collection on the shelf, she picked one. Cuddling onto the couch with a blanket, she opened the book. Soon her eyes fluttered shut and sleep overcame her. 

Ten-year-old Félicité entered the front door of the châteaux where she would live. The older man who had picked her up when she arrived in Paris told her to wait in the foyer for the Madame of the house to meet her.

While Félicité waited, she examined the inside of the châteaux. It was the most exquisite place she had ever seen. The walls were frescoed with ornate and elaborate paintings—most featured naked cherubs dancing in flowered gardens. The staircase boasted gold railing and banisters. The windows were curtained with something sheer that looked soft. Temptation to brush her hand up and down the fine fabric was almost unbearable, but she resisted. She wasn’t about to have her first impression be that of a disobedient child. Her father told her always to be obedient, no matter what, and she was determined to do as he instructed.

After some time, a woman—nose up and with perfect posture—descended the staircase. She was the most beautiful person Félicité had ever laid eyes on. The woman had dark brown hair and chocolaty-colored eyes. Her dress fell to her ankles like a bell. The sleek fabric was plum-colored with lace at the neckline. The woman’s pale skin most certainly meant she had not seen the sun’s rays much, or at all. Félicité held out her hand to see it was tan compared to the beautiful woman’s skin. Her heart sank; she felt like a peasant compared to the majestic woman who stood in front of her.

Madame said nothing, only scrutinized Félicité up and down. She
turned her from side to side without the courtesy of asking permission to do so and lifted up her skirt with her boot to find Félicité’s worn shoes.

After what seemed like twenty years to Félicité, the woman
spoke, “You will need to be scrubbed clean, but you will have to do. Claire clearly will . . .” She muffled a laugh with her hand. “Need to provide you with proper attire.” Madame’s
voice lowered to a
whisper, but Félicité could still distinguish the words. “You will prove to be a problem with my sons. You are too beautiful, even now at your age.” Félicité looked away, heat rising into her cheeks.

“Your name is Félicité Moreau, correct?”

Félicité struggled to produce any audible sound. “Yes, Madame.”

“You must speak louder,” the woman said, her voice echoing throughout the foyer.

“Yes, Madame.” She spoke louder this time.

“That is better. You will be responsible for much here, Félicité. I expect only the best from your performance. Do you understand?”

She answered with the loudest voice she could force from her quivering lips, “Yes, Madame.” Confusion swept over her; she was supposed to live with this family, not work for them. Félicité wondered if
her father had misunderstood the situation. She looked down at her shoes trying to hide her tears. There was no going back. She was here to stay.

“You will wait here until Claire comes to collect you. You will be shown to your duties straight away.” The curt woman made her way back up the grand staircase, turned to the left, and was eaten up by the hallway.

Sometime later, Félicité’s feet ached from the pressure of standing. The lengthy trip and all this waiting made her eyelids droop. A long drawn out yawn rushed out from her lungs. Félicité pinched herself on the arm to stay awake.

She heard yelling and stamping of feet coming from outside and then the door crashed open. Two boys, maybe a few years older than her ran into the room at full speed. One of them crashed right into Félicité, knocking her painfully to the floor.

He didn’t make any attempt to help her back to her feet. It was as if he had run into a wall, not a human being. The other boy—a taller one—yelled at him. “You will help her up and apologize for your behavior.”

“I do not need to apologize to
her
.” He stomped his foot in defiance, nose up to the ceiling. Félicité rose to her feet without any help, her knees and wrists stabbing with pain.

“You will do it, or I will tell father about your behavior.” He took a step forward and straightened his posture, making him even taller and more intimidating.

With the threat, the shorter boy turned back toward Félicité and said with a gruff voice, “I apologize for my behavior, but you should not have stood right in front of the door. What were you thinking?” He looked at her for the first time; his eyes widened, and he took a step back. Playing with the skirt of her dress, she tried to forget about the boy.

Stop looking at me
, she thought.

The taller one spoke again. “That was the worst apology I have ever heard. Now apologize to her as if you mean it.”

“Please forgive me for knocking you over and for being so rude.” He offered her his hand. A waterfall of moisture pooled on Félicité’s palms; she casually wiped her hand on her skirt before offering him her hand. Still gawking at her, the boy took hold of her hand but didn’t let go.

The tall boy spoke, and the short boy released her hand. “That was much better. Please excuse my
younger
brother’s lack of manners.”

The younger boy directed his eyes to his brother and said, “You are just jealous of my handsome looks
and
that all the girls love me more than you.” He eyed Félicité again and then turned away.

A woman shuffled her way into the room. She curtsied to the young boys. They acknowledged her with nods as they ascended the stairs. Félicité noticed the younger brother glance back at her as he disappeared out of sight. It made her stomach flutter and her heart beat faster. The feelings seemed so foreign to her.

She thought about the two brothers for a quick moment. They were much the same in facial features: light skin with sharp features, and they had dark hair like their mothers. The younger brother seemed rebellious, the older brother kind. She couldn’t stop thinking about the younger brother, though, and how he had looked at her.

She snapped back into the present when the plump, button-nosed woman spoke to her. “You must be Félicité Moreau. It is a great pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she said with a quiet voice.

“Oh, you are a sight.” The woman appraised Félicité. “What gorgeous eyes you have. Oh, I almost forgot to introduce myself. I am Claire.” The woman extended her hand to Félicité; it was accepted. Claire’s hand was rough and calloused but warm.

The dream faded to the grounds of the châteaux. Félicité was now a stunning young woman. Kneeling in the garden, she proceeded to plant some purple flowers. Smelling their aroma made her enjoy the outdoors even more. Being outside reminded her of her father as though he was near—with her even. She hadn’t seen him since she left their humble home six years before. The time spent with him felt like a dream now.

While she planted, the younger brother, now eighteen-years-old swaggered toward her. She had the strange suspicion that he had been watching her for some time, of which made warmth spread out like a lightning storm throughout her chest.

“Hello, Félicité?” Her heart pounded in her ribcage at him saying her name. He knelt beside her, and his finger traced the freckles on her arm. His touch sent fire throughout her body. 

“Monsieur.” She nodded, noticing the corner of his familiar journal peeking out of his coat jacket. She had always wanted to read it to know what his deep, secret thoughts were.

“Félicité, you know how I hate it when you call me that. Please, call me Anton.” His hand now traveled up her arm and to her neck. A welcome shiver formed on the skin he touched.

“I will try, Monsieur.” Her face fell into his hand. “Anton, I mean.”

“I love how my name sounds coming from your lips.” His finger outlined her lower lip. Quickly, his hand withdrew. He slid away from her side. His eyes directed Félicité to a servant leading a horse in the distance. Anton never stayed close when someone else was near.

His voice became quiet and pressing. “How about you meet me in the garden? We can go on a walk. I desperately need some company—
your
company.”

“You know just as well as I do that we cannot, Anton. I could be fired.” She frowned. “I wish very much that I could come, however.”

“How about we meet in secret?” He shimmied back to her side, his hand instantly in hers. “I will be waiting for you by the stables tonight at midnight.” He gazed at her lips and then was gone, giving her no chance to answer.

What should I do?
She stood, pacing back and forth. Sweat formed on her brow. Her stomach churned with anxiety.

She longed to be with Anton even though there was no chance for them as a couple. His family situation would never permit such a relationship as he was destined to marry someone rich, something Félicité certainly was not.

Meeting him tonight would be wrong. Father
would be disappointed with her; she could not bear for him to think less of her.

Her thoughts pressed upon her.
Plus, what would that make me: Anton’s secret mistress?
No
,
I will not lead that kind of life no matter how much I want to be with him. No matter how much I love him.

That night, she tossed and turned in her bed, struggling to fall asleep. The time turtled to the set meeting time. She knew he would be waiting for her. Midnight came and went. After many hours, she finally fell asleep.

“Félicité,” Claire said, startling her out of sleep. “You slept in, dear child. Get up, you silly girl.” Claire laughed as she threw some clothes at Félicité. “Quick, get to the barn and gather the eggs. We did not buy those chickens just to look at. They save us a trip to the market every morning.”

After dressing and splashing some water on her face, Félicité tore out of the kitchen to go outside. She was out of breath and had a stitch in her side by the time she reached the barn. She put all her weight into the heavy wood door to open it. After closing it so no loose chickens could escape, Anton appeared in front of her. A startled gasp came from her mouth.

“You scared me to death, Monsieur
Anton,” she said, still out of breath.

“You are late,” he said with no trace of a smile on his face. “Did you not wake up on time?” He wouldn’t look at her, only stood there playing with a piece of straw in his hands.

“I . . .” She stammered. “I was doing something else that needed to be done,” she lied. “How did you know I would be here?”

Now, he looked at her with an odd smile she had never seen before. “I always know where you are, Félicité.” Unease flashed through her body until goose bumps frosted her skin. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. “I think you are lying to me.” His voice was not sweet and kind as it normally sounded. Right now, it was lathered with cruelty.

“I did not sleep very well last night. Monsieur, please excuse me, I have to get to my duties. I am running very late.”

She attempted to move around him, but he grabbed her by the wrist and threw her to the straw covered ground. She picked herself up, her lower lip quivered. Her mind ran in circles, trying to make sense of why Anton was being so cruel. She loved him and thought he loved her, too.

“Why did you not come last night, Mademoiselle?” He stepped closer to her.

“You know
very
well why I did not come last night.” She gasped, knowing she should not have spoken to him like that.

He dropped the piece of straw and struck her with brutal force on the face; she crumpled to the ground. She stayed still for a moment, her hand on her cheek and then she stood. Looking at him made her stomach cramp as though she was about to retch. She stared at the ground instead.