Felicite Found

by Julia King

  He withdrew one of his hands from around her waist at the same time as he brushed his lips across her hair. Cupping his hand on her jaw, he twisted her face to his.

  “Félicité, you’re what I have wanted all my life but never allowed myself to have. Your falling into my life has changed me to a guy who isn’t afraid of the future. If that helps you in any way to see how great you are, then please let it.”

  He hugged her close. Sniffing, she started to cry.

  “You can cry all you want. I love each and every one of your tears.” He kissed one of them from her face.

  Félicité looked into his eyes and whispered, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. At least, I am pretty sure of that.” She nuzzled her head into his chest.

  “Go back to bed for a while, my beautiful Félicité. Mom will wake you up before she leaves.”

  “Get to school or else you will be late.” She shooed him away as she sat on the bed. He staggered back to give her a kiss laced with longing. He couldn’t believe how much he wished he were just arriving home from school. He was whooped by this girl—oddly enough—in his bed. He laughed at the thought.

  “See you later,” he said. She sighed, lying down.

  School

  The day wore on at a turtle’s pace. Pierre had looked at the clock at least a hundred times as he moved from one class to the next. He couldn’t pay attention to his teachers and schoolwork held little appeal to him. He resorted to sketching pictures of Félicité in his notes but was unable to capture her as perfectly as she was in person.

  Luc kept eyeing him when they had the same classes. But Pierre had been busy talking to his teachers after his class to make sure he hadn’t missed much with being absent for a couple days. His friend scowled at him for his lack of attention. Fortunately for Pierre, they hadn’t had a chance to talk until lunchtime. But now he had to walk the plank. Luc was going to pry to find out what happened between Félicité and him.

  They sat at their usual center table in the lunchroom. Luc wore a gargantuan smirk on his face that spoke louder than words. He planned on getting information out of Pierre if it were the last thing he did.

  “Come on, I know there’s something up that you’re not telling me. You never miss school—uh, not until a girl is in your life.” His pestering was like a girl prying for information. The boy even pouted. “I know that more has happened than you’re telling. You totally got with her, didn’t you?”

  Pierre couldn’t hold back a smile, thinking about all the kissing going on lately.

  “What’re you smiling about? You’re hiding something from your best friend.” He pounded his fists on his chest, all macho-like. More like a gorilla, though.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m smiling about: you’re acting like a girl.” He picked up his pen and chucked it at Luc. It hit him square on the nose.

  “Ouch! You don’t have to get all sensitive.”

  Luc threw the pen back. If it weren’t for Pierre’s great reflexes, it would have hit him straight on the head. “Hey, what was that for?”

  “I think you’re even crazier about her than I am.” Luc exploded with laughter. “You’re not in love, are you?” Luc took Pierre by his shirt collar after a long sigh came from his friend’s mouth. “I so don’t believe it, man.”

  “Luc, you’re an idiot. You know that, right?”

  “I’ll admit to my idiocy, only if you admit you’re in love with . . . What’s her name, anyway?” He released his grip on Pierre.

  “Félicité.” Just saying her name aloud made his heart thump faster. He could feel his face flushing.

  Please, Luc, don’t notice.

  “Nice name. Okay, I’ve admitted to my idiocy, your turn.” Luc pointed his finger at him, demanding an answer.

  “I’m not saying a word.” Pierre folded his arms across his chest.

  “I don’t need an answer. You just gave it away by turning red. But, really Pierre, you’re happier than I’ve ever seen you. What has this girl done to my best friend? I hope the old Pierre never comes back, though. No offence.” Luc snorted while holding his hands palm up.

  “You’re funny, Luc. I’ll be honest with you, I do feel happier, but that’s all I’m going to say. You’re in the dark about everything else.”

  “Just tell me, you’ve made out with her, right?”

  Pierre studied his friend and debated telling him. No, Luc didn’t need to know anything. Félicité was too special to kiss and tell. He stood, grabbed his belongings, and marched out of the lunchroom after he dumped his lunch tray.

  “Come on, man. Tell me?” He could hear Luc from down the hall. He shook his head.

  Why do I like that guy so much?

  School was more like five days’ worth of classes than one. As he placed his books in his bag, a manila folder fell from it. He picked it up as he had hundreds of times before. The police department allowed him to make a photocopy of his father’s unsolved murder file after he had begged them so many times they were annoyed with him. They were pretty shocked he even wanted it but agreed by only giving him a few documents.

  Pierre stared at the photo of his father. He lay in a pool of blood with a knife on the floor just outside of the flat where he and his mom had lived for a short time when he was a boy.

  Unfortunately, as the file stated, Hélène Rousseaux had found her husband’s body moments after the fatal stabbing. She had heard a struggle outside and went to see what the matter was. She opened the door to see someone racing away. Her husband lay on the hallway floor bleeding.

  Pierre counted the gruesome stab wounds on his father’s body as he had many times before—ten in all. He closed it with a moan and placed it back in his bag. It was morbid that he carried it around, but it always reminded him of his goal in life: to solve his father’s murder.

  Madame Rose

  Félicité tapped on Madame Rose’s door. It opened just as she removed her hand. Madame Rose squealed with excitement. The next thing Félicité knew, she was in a surprisingly tight hug that sort of hurt her ribs. The elderly woman withdrew from the embrace and kissed Félicité’s now flushed cheeks, once on each side.

  “Oh, Félicité, it’s so nice to meet you. Come in and relax.” Pulled by her wrist, she was ushered into the flat and directed into an armchair.

  “I appreciate the invitation.” She sat poised and erect on the chair, hands wringing her skirt. Madame Rose busied herself preparing coffee. “Can I help?”

  “Don’t be silly, I’m an old woman but can still make coffee like a young maid.” She giggled as she bobbed up and down in place.

  Félicité stood anyway. Her fingers twinged with some deep knit obligation to help prepare the coffee service as though she was well accustomed to the task. “I am but a young maid who is eager to help a very able woman,” Félicité said, not wanting to hurt her hostess’ feelings.

  In minutes, they were both comfortably situated in their respective armchairs enjoying their coffee and one another’s company. Although there was not much to be told, Madame Rose wanted to know everything she could find out about Félicité. The girl told what little she could offer and then was eager to learn more about the aged woman.

  “Please tell me about yourself, Madame Rose.” She leaned forward, face held up by her hand.

  “Where do I begin? I was born in Southern France. I spent many days on the beach with my sisters and friends. My parents died when I was young, leaving my sisters and I to be brought up by an aunt and uncle in Switzerland. They couldn’t have children so it was nice to have us there.” Madame Rose smiled as if thinking of fond memories.

  “Unfortunately, two of my sisters passed away before I was eighteen, leaving my thirteen-year-old sister and me alive. I decided to move back to France with her. We struggled for many years because I couldn’t find proper employment. But then I met my dear husband, Charles. We married some months later. When my sister turned seventeen, she moved to America. A month after her leaving,
I found out that she had died of pneumonia. The only consolation to my grief was the companionship of my Charles.

  “We had many good years together, but weren’t able to have children.” Madame Rose looked to the wall, a slight frown on her face.

  “Since he died, I’ve lived a good life spending time with friends, reading good books, and taking care of my sweet Hélène and Pierre. She’s as close to a daughter as I could ever have wished for.” She sighed. “And Pierre is like a grandson to me. I love them both with all of my heart. I have to tell you that you have made a good match with him.”

  Félicité coughed, choking on a sip of her coffee and then tried to object, but Madame Rose cut her off before she could say anything. “You may protest my young little bird, but I can tell he is head over heels for you. And whenever I say his name you can’t hold back a smile.”

  “Oh, it’s true.” She found it hard to lie to the little woman. “I do like Pierre. I just wish I could remember who I am. It would make our relationship easier—him knowing who I am and all.”

  Madame Rose scanned the room until her eyes fell upon the bookshelf. She bumped clumsily into an end table, straightened herself quickly, then made it over to a shelf and collected a tiny tin box. She blew dust off of it; the tiny particles spread throughout the air until they rested upon the shelf again. Opening it revealed a necklace with a simple brass key hanging from the chain. She held it dangling from her hand and explained the great value the necklace had for her.

  “My father gave me this as a present when I was eight. He said it would help me find myself and unlock what the future had in store for me. I wore it every day of my life until the death of my dear Charles. At that point, I felt that I had no more need for it. I keep it on the shelf as a reminder of the happy life I’ve lived. Félicité, I want you to have it now, so you can find happiness in your future.” With shaking hands, Madame Rose unclasped the chain with some difficulty.

  “No, no. I cannot accept it. I appreciate the offer, though.”

  The old woman’s expression became solemn, her shoulders slumping. “Félicité, my father told me that, at some point in my life, someone else may have a greater need for it than me. I’ve been waiting twenty long years to find someone who could use it more than me. That person is you, Félicité.”

  She teetered the short distance across the room to Félicité, placed the necklace around her neck and clasped it. The key dropped just above her chest.

  Félicité’s throat tightened as moisture filled her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Madame Roses’ body. “You will never know how much I appreciate this.” She wiped her tears away and noticed that Madame Rose was crying, too.

  The old woman pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket for Félicité and one for herself. “I always carry two just in case someone else needs one.” They both laughed as they dabbed their eyes.

  Many hours and great conversation later, Madame Rose led Félicité the short distance home. “You are welcome anytime, dear.”

  “I will probably take you up on that offer. I’ll be bored out of my mind with Pierre and Hélène gone all day.”

  “Like I said, anytime.” Madame Rose gave Félicité a tight squeeze.

  Félicité clutched at the small key necklace that was now hers and thought, Please, help me to remember, little necklace. Please.

  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.