Episode 2-Loss Turns to Hope

Loss Turns to Hope

Upon Your Return - Episode 2

At the balcony landing, she noticed a gentleman who stood below. He was dressed in a dark coat and trousers. “Monsieur,” she greeted him and curtsied.

A grave expression settled over his face. “You must be Fara. I am your uncle, Michel de Bellamont. You will be living with me now.”

Fara hesitated to meet him on the floor below. A nervous ache grew in the pit of her stomach. She'd been led to believe that her uncle wasn’t a man who gave over to emotions. He was much like the stuffy gentlemen her father brought to dinner at times. She was overcome with a sense of dread.

“He's your uncle,” Rosalie whispered, urging her forward.

She reluctantly went down the last few steps and came to stand before Michel de Bellamont. He seemed to tower over her. Uneasy, she shifted her feet.

Raising one eyebrow, he studied her. “You look like your mother.”

Fara felt the beginnings of a smile creep across her face for the first time that day, and the thought that she might truly resemble her mother brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.” He turned on his heel and left the house, calling over his shoulder, “Hurry along now. I have a business meeting this afternoon.”

She sighed deeply, her heart heavier than before. Perhaps the man would grow accustomed to her. Would he behave differently in that case? She wasn't sure he would. She just knew it was going to be a long day and she wanted to be much older so she could decide where she was to live.

***

It had been a long ride to La Rochelle. Her uncle hadn't said much to her. He simply sat across from her, absorbed in a pile of business documents. Rosalie wasn’t allowed to ride with them in the carriage; she'd had to come separately. Fara's uncle had made it plain that her nursemaid's station was completely different from her own. So she would sit alone in the carriage with him, bored out of her wits.

He wasn’t a lively man, not like her father. At least Papa had spoken to her. Her father had been protective and careful to remind her of her position in life, yet he had still made the time to appear interested in her activities, whether she helped her mother with errands in the afternoon or received lessons from a tutor.

Her uncle, though, was a very quiet man. At the same time, she sensed he was not too friendly when pushed. She was wary to appear curious about her life with him later on. She remembered how hard his face had seemed when she greeted him for the first time. Was he really as harsh as her mother had thought? She began to wonder if he would treat her as family or simply tolerate her. The man didn’t seem affected by anything. She wondered if there was even a heart beneath his suit jacket. But perhaps he was more of an intellectual. She had heard of men like that.

Her father had commented about some gentlemen he had done business with once. They were scholars and taught at the university in Paris. After they had left the house and she had been standing behind him, he turned to her and claimed they were odd men, much like pieces of furniture. You could throw a valise at them, and they'd never feel it. She'd giggled at the thought of people that tense.

But now, as she glanced at her uncle from beneath her eyelashes, she considered the possibility that he was just as unmoved by all that surrounded him. She frowned. It was hard to understand how anyone, even some of the dull gentlemen she'd met through her father's business liaisons, could be so detached from everything. Her uncle was a simple gentleman, dressed in a waistcoat and slacks, and well-groomed. His age was beginning to show; the once completely black hair had begun to gray slightly. She imagined he was a bit older than her father. Papa had told her that some men were so laden with responsibility, and they couldn’t enjoy life's pleasures. Was her uncle that way?

What was it that made him different from everyone else? Had he never felt pain, never broken a bone as a child, or gone off to war as a young man? Had he never looked across the room at a soiree and seen the most beautiful young lady and hadn't he wanted to dance with her, perhaps even marry her? According to the servants, he was unmarried. And he was a very important businessman. It seemed to her that he'd felt none of the sentiments that most people did. Did he not dream of those things? He was a serious man, the sort she was not at all accustomed to. Papa had been a businessman as well, but he had always had time for her. He knew how to laugh. She wondered if her uncle ever did.

Michel de Bellamont shifted his feet and cleared his throat. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment. “Perhaps you should rest. It is a long ride.”

She nodded absently but noticed his eyes. They were a harsh shade of brown, dull and void of life. Whenever he looked at her, he wasn't looking. It was as if he stared right through her to a place she couldn’t see.

For the most part, he seemed preoccupied with his business dealings. His very lack of joy in the world made her young heart sink like an anchor.

She knew as clear as day that she would never see her uncle smile. And suddenly, she knew why she had never been told about her father's brother. Not only did he dislike children, it seemed he hated life as well. How could someone live like that, every day despising the pride and excitement that everyone else felt?

Fara had been born into a loving world, a place where duty was only a side note and laughter made the tough times better. Again, the dread seeped within her belly. She didn’t wish to enter her uncle's world if it was a cold and lifeless place.

With a sigh, she knew she was powerless. An eight-year-old girl could do nothing in this world run by adults. According to her parents' will, she was to be placed in his care. It was so unfair. She’d have to go to La Rochelle, to call it home.

The carriage bounced a little as it went up a hill. Fara glanced out the window for the first time. The harbor was still there, the sea a dizzying crash of waves. Perhaps one day her restless spirit would subside, and she would no longer need the sea to calm her. She wouldn’t feel the pull of the ocean, encouraging her with its peaceful cadence. The carriage veered off, moving farther away from that vista and she couldn’t help the yearning she felt to be out there, somehow united with her parents once more. But it was not to be.

She tore her eyes away from the sight, sullen with a heavy, sinking feeling in her chest. “Monsieur…” she cleared her throat and began again. “Oncle?”

He lifted his head, his gaze slow to focus, like he'd never heard a child speak to him and it was somehow puzzling. “What is it?”

His irritability didn’t ease her wave of grief. “What will I do once we are in La Rochelle, once I am settled?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“At home, I helped my mother with the duties of the household. My father had also hired a tutor near the end…” She blinked away her tears. If he was as harsh as she thought, emotions would be seen as a weakness.

“Oh, well, of course you will be educated. I have sent payments to an abbey in Burgundy.”

“An abbey?” She didn’t understand.

“You will be trained in your proper station. The nuns there know how to prepare young ladies for the future.”

“You're sending me to live in a convent?” She gasped. She had heard of the girls' schools. They had all been moved to the nunneries. Rosalie had informed her that it was a possibility, a fate she might be forced to endure. Most parents hired tutors, taught their children themselves, or settled for the latter. She had never dreamed she'd live out her days in a convent though.

He frowned. “For a while. Until they feel you are ready. When time has passed, your season will begin. And then, I will find you a suitor.”

Already he was speaking of marriage? That was so many years down the road! “I'm only eight!” she cried.

“You will remember your position, Fara,” he lowered his voice by degrees.

She swallowed hard. “Oui, oncle.”

***

The morning sun streamed through the doors of her new room. Fara hesitantly lifted her eyelids to the light of the day. White, nearly transparent curtains enveloped the bedposts, hanging around her like a cocoon. Caught off guard by a sudden chill in the room, she pulled the bedclothes closer to her chest.

It would be hard to live a different life than she was used to. In a few days’ time, she would travel to the abbey. She shouldn’t be all that surprised. With what she had gathered about her uncle, it was no wonder that he wanted her out of his hair as soon as possible. This was his chance to dispense with obligation, by letting someone else tend to her needs.

However, she wasn’t too certain that the nuns would know what she needed. Her parents could not be replaced. But Fara missed her mother's easy smile and the way she would casually ruffle her hair in an affectionate manner. She yearned for her father to pick her up in his arms and hold her to his hip while he laughed at her stories. Her eyes closed on the thought. Some things she would have to learn to live without. She couldn’t forget what her uncle had said after she had spoken out to him in the carriage.

“Your father, it seems, was very lenient with you. He was always different. I didn’t imagine he would be lax with conventions, however. You have not been instructed of your place. You will learn it in time.”

Her uncle was wrong. She had a tendency to speak before thinking, but that didn’t mean her father had not taught her in the right way. She was sure her parents had done nothing wrong. They’d loved her. It had seemed enough then.

Sighing heavily, Fara slid off the mattress and landed softly on the floor in her bare feet. She picked up the dressing gown which lay near the bed, gathered it around her, and pulled the string tight. At the basin, she splashed water on her face and toweled it dry. She finished her morning ritual by dragging a brush through her unruly length of auburn curls. Then, she reached over and pulled the cord.

Within a few minutes, a maid entered demurely. It was not Rosalie. “Mademoiselle?”

She tried to hide her disappointment that her nursemaid had not appeared. “I wish a gown please.”

“Of course. Your uncle is expecting you at the breakfast table.” The maid, an average-sized woman with plain features and brown hair shoved beneath a white cap, shuffled around, and removed a crimson-colored dress from a set of drawers. She began to shake out the wrinkles.

“Oh? I thought perhaps he’d have business to tend to.”

“Usually he appears at breakfast, but rarely for dinner unless he does not have plans.”

“I see.” Fara swallowed back the dread of having to appear before her uncle again. Averting her thoughts, she watched the maid working. “What is your name?”

“Marie, at your service, Mademoiselle.”

She smiled pleasantly and took the woman's hand. “It is good to meet you, Marie.”

The maid blushed and busied herself with helping Fara into the gown.

When she was prepared for breakfast, Fara thanked Marie and left the room. As she ascended the stairs, a chill ran over her arms, dousing them with goosebumps. Her uncle was not a terrible man, she supposed, only difficult to approach. She doubted they would ever be close.

When she rounded the corner and came to the door of the dining room, her hand rested on the knob, lingering on its cold metal. Her uncle would be her sole caretaker now. She was his responsibility until one day when he would relinquish her to another man. The very thought filled her with terror.

Why did they have to die? Why couldn't her life go back to the way it was?

She shook her head. There was no use lamenting things she could not change.

Fara would never forget her parents. But perhaps she’d learn to love her uncle in time. And he might feel the same in return one day.

Her heart clenched on the hope of future happiness, and she turned the doorknob, and then stepped into the room. She sat down with the assistance of a butler and glanced across the table at her uncle. He was reading a newspaper. When he glanced up, she thought she saw surprise in his eyes.

“Good morning, Fara.”

Her heart soared. “Good morning, oncle.”