The Price of Innocence (The Legacy Series)

by Vicki Hopkins

  How ironic that he would never spend eternity alongside the woman he so ardently loved. Instead, in five years, his bones would be exhumed and thrown into a pit to rest with thousands of others, unmarked and unnamed until the day of resurrection. She thought the final destination a terrible price to pay just to give his departed wife dignity in death.

  The men patted down the last clods of wet soil. The burial was over. Suzette felt a warm arm wrap around her waist.

  “Monsieur Pelletier and I have been talking, my dear. We wish you to stay with us for a while until you get back on your feet.”

  “Yes, Suzette,” he heartily agreed. “It’s the least we can do, but I’m afraid it cannot be for long.”

  Suzette looked at her neighbors while drying her cheeks with her handkerchief. They glanced at each other with painful expressions.

  “I appreciate your offer of generosity.”

  “You see, Suzette, before your father died, Adele and I made arrangements to move at the end of the month to Rouen to be with our daughter.” He glanced at his wife and continued. “We can only keep you for two weeks, and then I’m afraid you’ll have to make other arrangements.”

  Suzette felt dead and akin to the corpses underneath her feet. She merely accepted their proposal, afraid to think beyond the moment.

  “Yes, of course, I understand. I sincerely appreciate your help. I’m sure I will find something soon.” A feeling of dread clawed at her heels as she turned away from her father’s grave.

  * * *

  After the burial, Suzette was plagued by sleepless nights and sickening grief. She cried for days, unable to receive comfort from her neighbors and refused any food they brought for her to eat.

  A court order arrived setting a date for the estate sale. Suzette would be allowed to remove her own personal items, such as clothing and other essentials, but all other property was to be tagged, priced, and set for auction.

  Employees from a Parisian auction house arrived a few days beforehand and began to inventory the contents of their apartment. Suzette insisted on standing nearby as they sifted through the household goods. She collected what she could keep for herself, along with a few pictures of her mother and father. Items deemed of value were set aside for auction, while those deemed as trash were hauled away.

  By the end of the week, movers arrived to clear the apartment. The entire contents were stripped bare before her eyes, and what remained of her earthy belongings, fit into a small suitcase. The apartment landlord took the keys and made arrangements to rent out the residence she had once called home.

  Totally destitute, her neighbors showered her in sympathy and gave her the divan in their parlor as a bed. To her chagrin, however, they had begun to pack for their move to Rouen. Suzette felt threatened and insecure. As the time drew closer to their departure, the hopelessness of her situation gnawed at her heart.

  All her life someone had taken care of her. Somehow, she needed to find the strength to survive on her own, but she was frightened. Suzette listened to the kind advice of her neighbors, seeking wisdom on what to do next.

  “I think it’s time, Suzette. Perhaps you should talk with Father Joseph about temporary housing.”

  Monsieur Pelletier’s sympathetic voice offered the suggestion in earnest. He had noticed that Suzette’s depression and despondency worsened as the days progressed. She needed to take action soon, as he and his wife feared she would be on the streets alone as soon as they departed.

  “Yes, of course,” she agreed. “I know I need to speak with him, even if I do feel like a beggar.”

  “I’m sure Father Joseph can find you housing with the Daughters of Charity,” Monsieur Pelletier counseled. “Don’t be ashamed to ask for help, Suzette. They do the work of God.”

  “Why, yes,” his wife agreed enthusiastically. “I’ve heard the Daughters of Charity are very helpful in these situations.”

  Suzette smiled and tried to reassure them both. “I will take care of it tomorrow. I promise.”

  The next day, she visited Father Joseph at St. Cecilia’s, a neighborhood parish. The Father extended his sympathy, but Suzette purposely avoided discussing spiritual matters. She realized her anger toward God, about the death of her father, had poisoned her heart.

  Suzette controlled her emotions during their meeting, as the priest told her about the outreach to the poor by St. Vincent de Paul and the Daughters of Charity. He would arrange for her to find housing under their roof, until she could find work and a permanent place to live.

  When the day arrived for her to venture out on her own, sadness bore upon her heart like a heavy stone. She stood in the doorway of her neighbors’ apartment, holding her life’s belongings in a small leather suitcase. Crushed inside were as many clothes as she could carry, along with her rosary, pictures, and precious letter.

  She looked gratefully at Monsieur and Madame Pelletier. Suzette loved them for their kindness and unselfish nature.

  “Thank you for being here for me. I don’t know what I would have done without your help and guidance.” She gave each of them a tight hug, finding it difficult to let go.

  “Please,” Madame Pelletier implored with tears, “take care of yourself. There are bound to be brighter days ahead. I just know it!”

  In a fatherly fashion, Monsieur Pelletier bent down and kissed Suzette on the forehead. “Be well, my child. God be with you.”

  Suzette forced a smile, said her final goodbye, and walked out of the apartment building into a frightening world of uncertainty.

  Chapter Three

  The walk to the Daughters of Charity proved long and arduous as she hauled her bulky suitcase though the city streets. Suzette’s feet dragged as if weights were tied around her ankles. Her former life faded away with each step she took in the opposite direction of her former life. The foggy, grief-stricken days of the past weeks had lifted to reveal the cold, stark reality of her plight.

  On the way to the shelter, Suzette nervously traversed the streets nearing the poorer sections of eastern Paris. Her entire life had been lived modestly, in a relatively clean and secure environment. Now, as she walked further into the bowels of the ancient city, the sights, smells, and sounds assaulted her senses. The streets, riddled with debris and garbage, merged with the stench of urine. Suzette battled nausea from the myriad of aromas and struggled with fear as she passed drunkards, beggars, and street prostitutes glaring at her along the way.

  As she continued to walk down the crowded sidewalk, an odor of rotting human flesh grew stronger as the moments passed. She thought that she had experienced all that death had to offer, until Suzette found herself face-to-face with bodies in the picture window of the local morgue. Horrified, she gazed upon corpses displayed to the public for the purpose of identification. The awful smell turned her stomach. Quickly, she pulled out her hankie, covered her nose, and ran down the sidewalk to escape the stench.

  Finally, able to breathe fresher air, she spotted her destination and sighed in relief seeing the sign of St. Vincent de Paul. It was housed in an old brick building. The façade appeared crumbling from age, which made the building look unstable. As she glanced around at the squalor surrounding her, she concluded it had to be better than the poverty of the cold and dirty streets.

  Hesitantly, she closed the distance and stood in front of the open door. Not once in her eighteen years of life did she give thought to the struggle of the poor. Now, that she was among them, she felt ashamed over her lack of empathy. She hoped the Daughters of Charity would be her salvation and the nightmare of her circumstance would be short lived.

  She took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold unsure of what to expect. Her heart beat thunderously in her chest. Suzette glanced around at the surroundings to get her bearings. A long corridor lay ahead with multiple doors extending to the right and left. One displayed a sign with the word “Enregistrement.” She walked to the entrance and spotted a nun sitting behind a small desk. The Sister, engrossed in her p
aperwork, did not see her in the doorway, so Suzette cleared her throat until she caught her attention.

  “May I help you?” Her eyes glanced at Suzette’s suitcase, and the Sister returned a warm, welcoming smile that eased Suzette’s anxiousness.

  “Yes, I am in need of temporary shelter, Sister.”

  “Of course, dear. Come in and sit down.”

  Suzette approached a wooden chair, and the legs wobbled as her body met the seat.

  “I’m Sister Mary,” the nun said warmly. “What is your name?”

  “My name is Suzette Rousseau. Father Joseph of St. Cecilia’s wrote to you about me.”

  “Oh, yes,” the Sister said. “I have his letter here somewhere.” She shoved the papers around on her desk until she finally found the correspondence. She adjusted her reading glasses and perused it once more.

  “My father passed away a few weeks ago,” Suzette interjected, adding to her recitation of the letter. She paused for a moment as her knees began to bounce up and down, making her look like a frightened child. “They sold his estate to pay his debts, and I am now without a home. I need somewhere to stay until I can find work and housing.” Her voice shook with desperation.

  The Sister lifted her head and looked compassionately at Suzette. “I am very sorry, my dear, for your loss. It is always difficult when we lose someone we love, oui?”

  Her sincere compassion touched Suzette’s heart like a warm embrace, and unbridled tears fell from her eyes.

  “We are here to help. Don’t be dismayed.”

  Suzette wiped her wet face with the palm of her hands and tried to compose herself.

  “We just need to fill out some paperwork. Do you feel up to answering a few questions for me?”

  Suzette blew her nose in her hankie. “Yes,” she mumbled.

  “What is full your name?”

  “Suzette Camille Rousseau.”

  “Ah, Suzette, I love that name. Lily.”

  “Lily?” she replied, quizzically.

  “Yes, it’s the meaning of your name. Didn’t you know?” Sister Mary smiled warmly. “My favorite lily is the Lily of the Valley. It’s a reference to our Savior in the Song of Solomon in scripture. The meaning of the flower is that you will find happiness.”

  “That’s lovely,” Suzette responded with an insincere grin. “Lilies have always been my favorite flowers, but happiness seems far away right now.” Her mind recalled the lily she threw upon her father’s body in the common grave.

  “I understand, Suzette, but have faith. All things work together for good. God will make sure you live out the full meaning of your name.” The nun returned her focus to the paperwork. After finishing, she explained the regulations.

  “I’m afraid, Suzette, we can only give you temporary housing for a short period of time. You are lucky that today, I even have a bed for you.” Earlier that morning, one of the former female residents passed away from consumption. The Sister decided not to mention the cause, in case it frightened Suzette.

  “The men, of course, are housed in a different building a block away. We keep strict rules. There is to be no consorting between male and females. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course, Sister.”

  “Very well then. Follow me, and I’ll show you the dormitory quarters.”

  She led Suzette down a long hallway to the entrance of a large room filled with bunk beds and cots. Suzette glanced around at the dark and dingy quarters and sighed, trying to be thankful it wasn’t the cold pavement of the street outdoors. The Sister escorted her to an empty top bunk.

  “You can sleep here, and there is room for your suitcase in the corner.” She paused for a bit, and then gave a warning. “I’m sorry to say that not all the girls who are here are good hearted. Though we turn no one away, we have problems with thefts of personal belongings, so I suggest you keep an eye on anything you do not wish to lose.”

  “Yes, of course,” Suzette replied, wondering why anyone would want to steal her meager belongings.

  “There is a common bath chamber down the end of the hall with two bathtubs. We have chamber attendants who can help you carry hot water to the tubs. I’m afraid our plumbing is rather antiquated. Follow me, and I’ll show you where that is located.”

  Suzette set her suitcase down upon her mattress and then followed Sister Mary. After a brief tour of the bath facilities, the Sister directed her to the dining area.

  “We serve one meal a day,” she announced, with a tone of sadness. “Unfortunately, our funding is limited, but we do try to give our residents one hearty meal.”

  Sister Mary then led her down the hallway to a wall board covered with pieces of paper. “You’ll have your work cut out for you, dear, I’m sorry to say, in finding employment. We pray for all our girls that God will provide, but sometimes it takes time. Don’t get discouraged.”

  She pointed to the pinned notices dangling from the board. “Occasionally, some of the larger washhouses or other industries hiring women post help wanted announcements here. I encourage everyone to look daily at the new postings. Of course, you should also go out each day and search for work on your own.”

  Suzette walked back to the dormitory, while Sister Mary continued to expound on life at the charity house.

  “We have a chapel where you can visit for prayer and light a candle for your father, if you wish. All of the Sisters gather for vespers at six o’clock in the evening, and you are welcome to join us.”

  “Thank you, Sister Mary. You are most helpful.”

  “Very good then. I must return to my paperwork. You may come to me at any time if you need something.”

  After flashing a warm smile, she turned and walked back to her modest office. Suzette watched her bobbing, starched- white cornet flap up and down like the wings of a bird. She chuckled aloud at the sight. It was the first time she had laughed about anything in weeks, and it surprised her that she was able to find a morsel of humor amidst the bleak surroundings.

  * * *

  “So, what brings you here?”

  The voice startled Suzette out of a sound sleep. Her eyelids shot open, and she turned her head to the right. A pair of inquisitive brown lashes flapped up and down. The stranger emanated a foul odor from her breath, which caused Suzette to wrinkle her nose.

  “I beg your pardon?” she responded.

  “Well now, what don’t you understand, eh? What brings you here?”

  Suzette sat up in bed and yawned. Alarmed over the brash introduction, she pulled her scratchy, wool blanket up to her neck to shield her body. “I’m homeless,” she retorted, a bit annoyed. “What brings you here?”

  “My lover threw me out on the street. That’s what brought me here. Life of a lourette, you know,” she slurred in a tone of disgust. “Now I’m out trying to find work and a place to live, but I swear I’m about to go out again and sell my body to the highest bidder. Can’t stand all these nuns. Too much religion around here for my taste.”

  Suzette’s eyes widened at her irreverent admission. “Is that necessary?”

  “Necessary?” The woman laughed. “What? You mean to sell your body for food?” She studied Suzette more closely and then leaned into her face. “Well, you’re a pretty little thing that would bring a good price on the street.” She grinned and then whispered in a low voice. “You know, the Sisters can’t keep you here forever, love. They’ll give you ‘bout a week and you’ll be out on your derrière.”

  “Please don’t speak of such things,” Suzette snapped in disgust.

  The woman threw her head back and laughed.

  Suzette wanted to escape her taunting visitor, so she reached out to grab her robe, which she placed at the foot of her bed the night before. It wasn’t there.

  “Where’s my robe?” she squeaked in surprise.

  Her eyes darted to the floor, wondering if it had fallen off the bed. Most of the cots and bunks in the room were empty. The women remaining merely shrugged their shoulders and turned away with
indifference.

  “Don’t know,” said her neighbor. “Perhaps somebody took it!” She smiled deviously at Suzette.

  Suzette shocked, didn’t know what to say. She looked at her suitcase on the floor and discovered to her horror it lay open. Her belongings were strewn about.

  “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed, jumping out of the upper bunk. Her feet hit the cold floor with a thud. She bent down on her knees and examined the remaining contents. The best of her clothes were gone, and only one old dress and a few undergarments remained. Frantic, she looked for her shoes and discovered them missing, as well. She stood up enraged at the thievery and glared at the occupants of the room, demanding answers.

  “What are you, animals?” she snarled. Suzette shook from anger. Their attitudes were as cold as the chilly morning air of the dormitory. She picked up her suitcase, slammed it shut, and fled down the hall to the bath chamber carrying it underneath her arm. Clad only in her linen gown, she was too angry to care if anyone saw her hasty departure.

  She burst inside and was relieved to find it empty. After slamming the door shut behind her, Suzette leaned against the stone wall, dropped the suitcase at her feet, and sobbed. Sister Mary had warned her, but instead of heeding her advice, she had trusted others. She scolded herself for acting like a foolish child and not taking the advice to heart. She could have kept the suitcase closer to her side. Unable to understand human cruelty, her first lesson left a bitter taste in her mouth that she would not soon forget.

  After washing her face with freezing water, she attempted to brush the tangles out of her hair. She dressed in her undergarments and slipped on her one remaining dress. The thieves had stolen the best of her clothing, along with her cloak, leaving her with a modest blue, cotton day dress she wore when housecleaning. The sleeves displayed wear at the elbows, and the lace trim around the collar was frayed.