Past Lives

by Chartier, Shana

  Staying true to my promise to Bastien, I brought Jacqueline with me to read to Giselle a few times a week. Giselle would stare out with glassy eyes, and sometimes tears would snake down her face. When I asked why she was so distraught, she would wave me off and ask us to leave. I began to fear that it was not alcohol that had brought her to this state, but something far worse. I just wished I knew what it could be. In our free time, Jacqueline and I rode in the woods, often seeking out our favorite little nook in the forest where we had first picnicked together. I read fervently, and even began picking up on recent news so that we could have lively discussions about politics and religion and the battle of classes.

  Neither of us really believed that things were as bad as they said. Not only did we not want to, but we also lacked proof. As they say, out of sight, out of mind. The summer passed with my mind blossoming with new ideas and concepts, and our general fear growing at each new dire piece of news that came in from Paris. After the fall of Bastille, so many of our cousins and friends in Paris feared for their lives that several arrived to take refuge in Versailles. The rest simply went off to their own country estates, as far away as possible. The ones who had arrived had unbelievable tales of dirty, impoverished urchins in the street, throwing rotten food at their carriages and spitting on their shoes. One woman had even had someone spit in her face.

  Their stories brought the fear to a new level in our cozy hideaway, and I found my gaze constantly darting around my room, planning on places to hide if the people came for us. I continued to tell myself that we were safe…that it wouldn’t be so bad that they would harm us all the way out here. When October hit and the weather turned cool, Jacqueline and I were reading quietly in my rooms when we heard the noises from outside. There was no mistaking the angry shouts, and I made my way quickly to the window to look out at the palace gates.

  Horrified, I watched as thousands of dirty women carrying weapons stormed their way up the front walk, heading right for us.

  “Jacqueline!” I cried, and she ran over to the window to join me. Her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing a scream. We held each other close, wide-eyed and terrified. Though I knew we needed to hide, fear clouded my brain, paralyzing me. Luckily, Jacqueline recovered first.

  “They’ll be looking for the king. We should find a room as far away from him as possible,” she said, grabbing my cold, sweaty hand as we ran for the door. We wound our way through Versailles, trying to find any nook or cranny that might be safe for us. Finally, Jacqueline found a small closet filled with cleaning supplies…presumably for servants who didn’t want to walk all the way to their chambers to tidy up. I realized that I had never really thought about how hard a servant’s life must be, the irony of the realization not lost on me as we jammed ourselves into the smelly crevice and closed the door.

  At first we sat in complete silence, the sound of our racing hearts and breath the only thing keeping us company. The sweat from our bodies reeked of hot fear, but we held each other close anyway. We could hear people running up and down the hallways, panicked whispers passing us by. Suddenly there was a scream, a thunk, and the sound of a body falling to the floor.

  “You want to take bread from our mouths so that you can buy a new ring, huh?” a grating, womanly voice growled. We heard sobbing coming from the vicinity of the ground.

  “Answer me!” the furious woman demanded. Jacqueline and I held our breath, and my lungs screamed for air. Still, we dared not make a sound.

  “I…I have nothing to do with your bread…please!” I recognized the voice of one of the women in Jeannette’s circle. One whom I knew particularly hated the poor. She didn’t seem to now.

  “You have everything to do with it. Your privilege is at the cost of our sacrifice no more!” the woman shouted. Jeannette’s friend screamed, another heavy thunk sounded, and then there was silence. We heard the woman sorting through her victim’s dress pockets, the jingling of a few coins, a chuckle, and footsteps heading in the opposite direction. After a few minutes, Jacqueline and I let out our breath in a chorus of muted sobs. Hot tears mingled with misty sweat as we waited and waited, hunger and thirst fighting for attention against the brick wall of our terror. We sat in the darkness all day and into the night, waiting. When it seemed like help would never come…

  “Jacqueline! J!” We both sobbed in relief at the sound of Bastien’s panicked voice.

  “Bastien!” Jacqueline screamed. We heard his heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

  “Bastien! We’re in here!” Jacqueline choked. I felt rather than heard him place his hand on the closet door.

  “Don’t come out,” he said, breathless. “There’s a body I must remove.” We cried some more. Unable to bear it, I covered my ears to block out the sound of him dragging the body away from the door. After what seemed like two lifetimes, I could hear his muffled voice through my hands.

  “Is J with you?”

  “Yes,” Jacqueline said.

  “I’m going to open the door, alright?”

  “Alright!” we cried out, still holding each other close. As the crack in the door widened, our eyes squinted as they adjusted to the blazing candle sconces on the walls. The tall, broad shouldered shadow of Bastien stood over us, and before I could react, Jacqueline burst out of the closet and rushed into his arms. He embraced her fervently, his head pressed firmly against the top of her head.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes darting up to meet mine from above her. I rose clumsily, my legs weak from being cramped for so long, my heart sick at all that I had heard. Glancing down at the rug, I could see the stain of blood that led down the hall to wherever Bastien had left the poor woman. Gingerly, I began to circle my ankles, my feet tingling painfully back to life after going to sleep hours before. Finally, Jacqueline stepped back from her brother’s embrace, and he faced me, his hands gently on either shoulder.

  “And you, J? Are you alright?” he asked, his dark eyes searching mine. I wanted to tell him that no, I was not alright, that violence had taken away the innocence I had never bothered to cherish because I hadn’t known it was there until it was gone. Instead, I nodded, and smiled weakly when he looked unconvinced. With his dusky complexion in the candlelight, he was like a dark angel, just as he had appeared the night he had rescued me before.

  “Do you know who all has been…injured?” Jacqueline asked, unwilling to ask about the dead. It made me realize that Giselle had been an invalid, her room easily invaded. I had to get to her immediately. Before Bastien could answer, I cried “Giselle!” and ran down the hallway on wobbly legs. When I turned the corner, I froze at the sight of the corpse of Jeannette’s friend, leaning haphazardly against a beautifully painted wall. Vomit welled up in my throat, and I tried to swallow it down as I rushed past her and down the path to Giselle’s room. Her door was burst open, wood splintered on the ground.

  “No!” I screamed, running into the room, which was destroyed. Bedding and feathers covered knocked over dressers and shards of expensive vases. The canopy was in shambles on the floor. I quickly grabbed a candle from a hallway sconce and made my way into the room, searching the bed and then the ground for any sign of Giselle. Hot candle wax burned down the stick and stung my tightly gripped hand.

  “Giselle, can you hear me?” I cried, unable to shed more tears for a lack of water. My throat was bone dry, making my voice unrecognizable even to myself.

  “J…” I heard, barely, from behind the other side of the bed. I rushed over to find Giselle pinned under her bed, a pool of blood draining from her middle. Without a second thought to the blood surrounding her, I knelt down by her side and cradled her head gently into my lap. Blearily, she opened her eyes enough for her gaze to meet mine.

  “I think it is better this way,” she said, her voice small, like a child’s.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked desperately. She cracked a small smile, though it held no humor.

  “I’ve been trying to ki
ll myself for a while now, and it wasn’t working,” she admitted, and my heart stopped. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Why would you say such a thing, my darling? What are you talking about?”

  This time her gaze was more direct. I could feel the life bleeding out of her with every second that passed, helpless to do anything about it.

  “The marquis…the one you were rescued from. No one was there to rescue me…he…he…” she began to cry, and then winced as the sob shot pain through her open wound. She coughed, a gob of blood landing on her lower lip, and I quickly wiped it away with my dress.

  “He took my soul, J. He took everything from me…he promised he would save my family…and now death will set me free from his torment.” Her gaze turned heavenward, and I found that in spite of my dehydration, tears still found their way down my cheek. I gently stroked her face with the back of my fingers, knowing that any minute she would leave me for another world—hopefully one far better than this.

  “I wish you all the happiness of heaven, my darling friend,” I sniffed, and she smiled as the life left her eyes. Her body then fell unnaturally limp, and her grin turned eerie in death. Bastien found me minutes later, huddled over my friend, bathing in the pool of her blood. I remember him picking me up and carrying me back to my room. I allowed him to wash my face, but refused to remove my dress. I didn’t know where my maid was anyway…probably joined the riot. We sat quietly in my room for some time.

  “Shouldn’t you be with your sister?” I asked finally. It seemed unfair that I should get his strength when she deserved it more. Bastien was standing at the window, looking out at the ruin. He did not turn around.

  “She is strong, and she specifically asked me to look after you. We have been prepared for something like this for a long time. It is newly dawned on you.”

  I tugged at my hands, not knowing what else to do. Finally he turned around and knelt at my feet.

  “It is not safe here for you anymore, J. I strongly recommend that you return to your country estate, and I have another request,” he said. I could no longer deny him the moon, if he asked for it, seeing what had happened to Giselle. I waited patiently for his question.

  “Take Jacqueline with you. Your father has a grand estate that is far enough from Paris and the feud. I think you would both be safer and happier with each other.”

  “There is no question,” I agreed, fervently. “I am entirely at your service, and would be happy to provide for her in any way I can. It is the very least I can do.” His expression changed as his eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “You are different,” he said, wonderingly. “Not just from this. I can see a change in you since we last met.”

  “You made me promise, did you not?” I asked gently, grateful for his approval. He gave me a small smile that barely reached his eyes.

  “Yes, indeed I did. Though I hope that you change for yourself, and not simply to please me.”

  “At first that was not the case, though I find with time I enjoy becoming an enriched and educated person. It has indeed changed my life for the better.”

  He hesitated before asking, “And have your studies changed your opinion on the matter of marriage between the classes?”

  I said nothing. Of course I had thought about it. Seeing the world from a new pair of eyes, eyes that had continuously sought the horizon for this man for months at a time, had indeed changed my perspective on the matter.

  “I don’t believe classes will exist for very much longer anyway, if this revolution has anything to say about it,” I said, grasping his hands in mine, my true answer in my eyes. Too somber to celebrate, Bastien simply sat by my side and wrapped me in his arms, where I was finally allowed to melt into him and feel safe.

  “I will always keep you safe, J. Once all this is over, I would give anything for you to be my wife.”

  I sighed, knowing that that could be a long, long way away.

  “Then you’d better keep fighting soldier, so that you can come home all the sooner.”

  “I’ll always come back for you, J. Still, now that I know you are both safe and well, I will have to go straight back to Paris, tonight most likely.”

  I wanted to cry again, but I didn’t want to burden him more with my distress. He was already carrying all three of our woes on his shoulders, and I refused to pile on more.

  “I will be brave and wait for you then,” I said stoutly, and he finally pulled back from our embrace to delicately kiss me one last time. Absently, I thought about how I must look, and even worse, smell. I may have become a bit more enlightened, but I still cringed at the thought that the first man I ever loved would see me in such a state. I pushed the thought back as he pressed his forehead against mine, his hand cradling my neck.

  “I love you,” he whispered, kissing my forehead fiercely and then briskly exiting the room, not giving me the chance to say it back. I wondered at the sensation of love—the dull ache and maddening butterflies vying for my attention all at once. It mixed poorly with the distress and anxiety that tore me apart, and I tried to calm myself with the only truth I could hold onto.

  That I loved him, too. More than I could possibly know.

  Chapter Seven

  And the Lights Go Out

  Jacqueline and I spent our days in my favorite sitting room, which was a pale yellow, trimmed in white. Fresh daisies were replaced daily in our delicate family vases. My father was very surprised when I told him that we wanted to be updated on everything happening in Paris, though he seemed pleased. The pressure to get married to a high society man was diminished in the fear for our lives and our station. Winter passed by cold and empty, our only solace the occasional letters from Bastien, which had become my air in a suffocated, gilded prison.

  He wrote to Jacqueline about the riots and the poor conditions of the city, the uprisings that he was a part of stopping on a daily basis. To me he wrote his innermost thoughts, his philosophies and his desires. He spoke of family, and of how much he wished to raise a son in a world that would know peace. I daydreamed of being the mother to that imaginary little boy, and held the letter to my beating heart as I stared out to the south, where he was risking his life day in and day out.

  Have you lived long enough to have experienced the insanely quick passage of time? Like, years of your life go by, and you are stuck in such a routine that one day you wake up and realize that it’s three years later and you don’t know where the time went? Well, that’s kind of what happened to us. I mean, horrible things happened. In May of 1790, the aristocracy was abolished in the new legislature that was forcing its way into our lives. Our tenants tried to revolt against us, and my father made them a deal to keep things peaceful, though we lost much of our fortune providing them with the land they declared as their own. Our massive house was costing us to keep up, and we discovered that many aristo families were cutting down or even losing their homes. Many had even fled the country to England, a nation that we had always despised.

  The next year passed by, the riots getting more and more violent. The revolution was recruiting en masse, and I found myself looking out my front window just waiting for them to come for me…again. My dreams were wrought with violence, the bloody corpses of Giselle and that poor girl in the hallway tugging at my mind while I slept. I would wake up sweaty and afraid. When I woke from a nightmare, I pulled out one of Bastien’s letters and read his words of love over and over again, allowing them to caress my mind back into calm.

  By the end of 1792, a man named Robespierre began calling for the head of the king after many, many attempts to maintain the peace. It was around that time, in December, when Jeanette and her father showed up at our door, shivering. Although we had had our differences at court, I graciously ushered them in and called for hot tea…a delicacy at that point. Jeannette and her father eyed the servants with mistrust.

  “I hope you can trust these bastards,” her father said, and I grimaced at his foul language. He was beyond caring. “Our servan
ts were the ones who ratted us out to the damn revolutionaries. We’re lucky we got out with our lives.”

  “And your mother?” I asked Jeannette quietly. She stared at the ground, refusing to respond, her silence confirming the worst. My father came in then and saved me from the conversation, offering them our home for as long as they needed. They both hesitated, clearly seeing us as an unfortunate last resort despite their dire circumstances. Finding no alternative, Jeannette’s father reluctantly accepted the offer. It was a strange addition to our household, and Jeannette sat in hostile silence in my reading room as Jacqueline and I went about our usual business of reading, sewing or otherwise occupying our time. We continued to get letters from Bastien, though they become more infrequent, much to our chagrin. It was the first subject Jeannette deigned to comment on.

  “So you’re really going to debase yourself by marrying a soldier?” she asked one day, interrupting a conversation Jacqueline and I were having. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.

  “You, who have no home and exist on the whim of my father’s mercy, have an objection to my marriage to a soldier? Or haven’t you heard that the classes no longer exist?”

  “They will always exist,” she hissed, her anger boiling over. I was sure she had repressed plenty of it, as I watched her seethe through every conversation in the house. Jeannette was not one to keep silent about anything, and I was amazed it had taken this long. Still, that was all she blurted before storming out of the room, and Jacqueline and I smirked at each other before carrying on.