Finding Gabriel

by Rachel L. Demeter

  “How does it look, Doctor?” she asked.

  “Not bad at all, if I may say. No infection. Seems to be healing up rather nicely. The skin’s scabbing remarkably well. Even the bone is on its way to recovery. Indeed, I am quite pleased.” He nodded and set the bandage atop the end table. The material was tinted a faint yellow and drizzled with blood. “In fact, it’s truly a wonder that you’ve healed so well, monsieur. Even a miracle, one might surmise.”

  “Well, we have you to thank for that.” Ariah spoke on Gabriel’s behalf.

  Doctor Mongeau’s shoulders quaked with lighthearted laughter. Then, swept by a fit of coughs, he clasped onto the center of his chest before responding. “You are as humble as you are charming, madame. But it’s no secret that without you Gabriel here would be good as dead.” Silence grew between them. Doctor Mongeau slid the spectacles up his nose and examined Gabriel’s greatcoat. Weathered fingertips brushed over the emblems one by one. “I recognize these,” he mumbled, speaking more to himself. “Most impressive … most impressive indeed. You commanded many regiments?”

  Pride swelled in Gabriel’s chest. He nodded and gazed down at the ornaments. They shone brilliantly in the afternoon light, contrasting against the greatcoat’s dark material. “Fought directly beside the emperor himself, at both Wagram and Leipzig.”

  “You don’t say?” Doctor Mongeau passed the cane to Ariah and plopped onto the mattress. His eyes sparkled with youthful vibrancy. “Believe it or not, I participated in several battles during my golden years. This was some time before the emperor crowned himself, mind you.”

  “I believe it.” Gabriel observed as the memories surfaced in the doctor’s eyes – handfuls of bloodstained battlefields, faded cries of despair, the burden of a hundred victories and losses.

  “I remember the Battle of Valmy as if it were only yesterday,” Doctor Mongeau muttered. “If I live to be a hundred years, I shall never forget when Commander Kellermann raised his hat and cried out, ‘Vive la Nation!’ The very soil quaked from the force of it.” He chuckled and trailed a palm over his bald patch. “Naturally, we all joined in and marched forward as one entity. Half of us were volunteers, myself included. Quite suddenly, we were inspired … filled with purpose and determination.” Doctor Mongeau’s eyes fastened shut. “‘Vive la Nation! Vive la Nation! Vive la Nation!’ The army was composed of over thirty thousand men, and those words were chanted in but a single voice. The fighting had hardly begun – and yet, God as my witness, we won the battle at that moment.”

  His eyes snapped open and lowered to Gabriel’s hands. Shaking his head, he tentatively reached out and tracked a fingertip over the linen. Then he sighed to himself and pressed a palm against the center of his chest. He massaged the area, again as if relieving some unseen ache. “Call me an old, sentimental fool – but I sincerely believe that victory, as well as defeat, are nothing greater than a state of mind.”

  •

  Warm afternoon light speared through the buildings and set the chipped cobblestone walkways aglow. Ariah gently closed the home’s little wooden door while she escorted Doctor Mongeau to the awaiting carriage. She smiled to herself as he grasped onto her arm with surprising strength. Indeed, speaking to Gabriel seemed to have stoked a fire in his belly. After a lengthy and rather heated political debate, he’d paid a visit to Emmaline, who he’d discovered to be extraordinarily well.

  My prayers have been answered.

  Doctor Mongeau’s fingers curled around her forearm and dug into the material of her dress. The cane’s smooth lacquered wood reflected the surrounding light that undulated across the polished surface. The tip melodically tapped at the pavement, relieving the silence that drifted overhead.

  Doctor Mongeau adjusted his hold on the enameled crest with an irritated grunt. “What a damned blasted thing it is. Makes me feel like a common invalid.”

  Ariah reached over and helped guide the cane into a comfortable position. Patting his wrinkled hand, she leaned forward and offered her brightest smile yet. “Oh, come now! Your will is stronger than ever. So you have a helping hand? You really shan’t feel ashamed.”

  Doctor Mongeau shot her a sly grin. Then his brows curved into two inquisitive, bushy arches. “Ashamed? Most certainly not, madame! Why, have you not heard? Walking sticks are all the rage now.”

  Ariah tossed her head back and laughed. She wrapped both hands around his forearm and gave a tender squeeze. “And I dare say you shall be the most eligible bachelor in all Paris.”

  He looked away with a small grunt of satisfaction, turning his attention to the carriage. Marius was still shielded by his hat and fast asleep.

  Grunting, Doctor Mongeau halted several meters away from the carriage. All humor faded away within the following silence. A brisk wind shuddered through the branches, rattling them like frail bones. Balancing on his cane, he turned to Ariah and caught her gaze. When he at last spoke, his voice was grim and dull – rid of its usual playfulness and youth. “I am dying, madame. I’m afraid I don’t have long. Perhaps weeks, God willing.”

  Ariah felt the blood drain from her cheeks. She took an unconscious step backward and lowered her eyes to the pavement. “No … don’t say that. It cannot be.” She locked onto his stare and clasped his hand.

  “Expect it is. The pain crept up on me several weeks ago. I didn’t want to say anything then, with everything you’ve been enduring as of late.”

  “Surely something can be done,” she said, clutching onto his fragile shoulders. “Is there no cure?”

  “For a failing heart? Ah, I fear not, ma chérie.”

  Ariah’s throat went bone-dry. She tried to speak, but all words disappeared on her tongue. Aching fear speared through her body and threatened to crush her. What now? What shall I do without Doctor Mongeau in my life?

  Doctor Mongeau pressed two fingertips beneath her chin and propped her head with a smile. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I shall try my best to make arrangements for little Emmaline.”

  An unsteady sigh escaped Ariah’s lips. She nodded, forcing herself to breathe. But the despair was unshakable. Doctor Mongeau hesitated before continuing. “I’m afraid I can’t make any promises – but I’m confident I’ll find someone with enough heart to take on her case. Though, I’m quite sure it won’t be free of any charges – ”

  “Please,” Ariah interrupted, raising her hand, “whatever you can manage. You have enough on your mind as it is.” She swallowed and nervously shuffled her feet. Then she pressed a deft kiss to Doctor Mongeau’s cheek and embraced him. In spite of the balmy weather, his skin felt ice-cold. He blushed like a young schoolboy and adjusted his grip on the cane. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she inhaled the scents of his jacket – cigar smoke and pine – and committed each one to eternal memory. “You are family to me,” she whispered against his coat. Then she tightened her grip, as if the gesture might prevent him from ever leaving.

  •

  Nighttime eclipsed the home and infused the walls with tranquil silence. Nerves racing, Ariah drew a shawl around her shoulders and joined her sister in the drawing room. Miriam greeted her with a warm smile, set down her needles, and gestured for her to sit. The adjacent rocking chair screeched against the boards as she urged it closer to her sister. Nearby, Oliver lay across his beloved threadbare rug and absorbed the flames. Shallow pants contracted his thin body as he groaned and stretched his limbs. A pot hung low over the hearth, flavoring the atmosphere with the rich scents of stewed vegetables.

  Miriam paused her knitting and held up the material. Firelight danced across the wool, igniting the black cloth with various shades of gray. It appeared to be her customary sock – though it was considerably longer than usual. A light tint colored her cheekbones while she examined her handiwork. “I made it for Monsieur Gabriel. I th-thought he might fancy some fresh s-socks,” she said by way of explanation.

  Ariah felt a grin crawl across her lips. She leaned forward and examined the aforementioned sock wit
h a nod of approval. “Ah. How thoughtful of you. I believe he shall like them very much.”

  Retuning the smile, Miriam lowered the material to her lap and exhaled a small sigh. Then she rested her elbow on the chair’s arm. Cradling her chin, she absently stared into the wavering flames. Tonight, her curls were free of their customary coiffure; they hung about her shoulders, cloaking her body beneath a dense cloud of chocolate waves. The sea-green depths of her eyes stirred to life as she continued to glare forward. “I haven’t been very k-kind to him. Gabriel, I m-mean. And he’s only brought Emmaline h-happiness.”

  Ariah shook her face and waved off her sister’s remark. “Don’t be silly. You have been perfectly fine. And besides … neither one of us knew what to expect. We both took a chance.”

  “He’s brought you h-happiness, as w-well.”

  Ariah responded with silence. Ancient memories surfaced within Miriam’s eyes and drained the color from her cheeks. Her sister fondled the material in her lap, not coping well with idle hands and wandering thoughts. Then she turned away from the hearth and stared at her wringing hands with a haunting intensity.

  Out-of-doors, a gust of air shook the home and urged the wind chime into song. The tender melody coiled around Ariah’s heart.

  “Miriam? Are … are you quite all right?” Only silence prevailed. Ariah’s gut twisted at the sight of her sister’s distress. “What’s on your mind?”

  Miriam inhaled deeply, as if summoning the courage to speak. Then she lifted her chin, leaned in close, and locked onto Ariah’s gaze. “When you came to m-me that night and we ran away together … I wanted nothing m-more than to emerge a s-stronger person, a whole p-person. And yet I still f-f-fear the unknown. I am still s-shadowed by those memories.” With a profound sigh, she shook her head and toyed with the needles once more.

  Ariah recalled that evening with flawless clarity. Sneaking to Thina Gamet’s flat in the dead of night. Climbing up the fire escape. Gazing through the second-story window as her sister changed into her night rail – and catching sight of the welts that covered her back. Miriam had ushered her through the double doors, embracing her with tears and a loving hug. Indeed, in spite of Ariah’s threadbare clothing and the years they’d spent apart, Miriam had recognized her at once. A nostalgic grin formed on Ariah’s lips. After their heartfelt reunion, she and Miriam proceeded to rob Thina of her valuables, concealing them in bed sheets, and made their heroic departure. Together, arm in arm, they’d raced into the night – their steps empowered by endless possibilities and the future that lay ahead.

  But they’d quickly discovered that the past always remained a step behind. For Ariah, giving birth to Emmaline had changed everything; she’d found an inner strength that knew no barriers. The survival instinct she’d acquired over the years had consumed her – and Ariah vowed that she and her family would never again become victims.

  “The s-scars,” Miriam said, her voice a choked whisper. “They are like b-brands. Reminders.” Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

  Ariah leaned forward and seized Miriam’s hands. She smoothed her thumbs over her sister’s delicate knuckles in repetitive, pacifying strokes. “Had Papa known the truth, he would have never allowed you to live with Thina. He loved you, Miriam – with all of his heart. He was your father as much as he was my own. Surely you know this?”

  Miriam nodded. “I do. And I know he w-was b-blinded.”

  “Listen to me. You are strong, Miriam. I have witnessed your strength through the years – and I saw it just today! Whether you can recognize it or not, it’s God’s truth.”

  Miriam dabbed her eyes with the sock, nodded, and hastily cleared her throat. “Thank y-you. Dieu. I still c-cannot believe Doctor Mongeau is so ill. It breaks my h-heart.”

  Staring into the wavering flames, Ariah sagged against the chair as an icy chill swept through her body.

  Chapter Twelve

  The following evening, Gabriel lingered beneath the archway while he observed little Emmaline at play.

  The oak floorboards absorbed the hearth’s flames and were set aglow with vibrant shades of orange and red. Remnants of firelight caught in the child’s hair like a halo, awarding her with an angelic quality. She appeared radiant and brimming with life … much healthier than Gabriel had ever seen her. The apples of her cheeks were alive with a bright flush, those sapphire eyes wide and attentive. She chattered happily as she guided her dolls into an enthusiastic waltz. The two cloth bodies swirled across the floorboards, moving in sync with the melody of the child’s humming.

  “Won’t you dance with me?” the gentleman dolly inquired as he was bent into a clumsy bow. Red tufts spiked out from the cloth while a swarm of equally red freckles peppered his cheeks.

  “Why, I would adore it! There just so happens to be an empty space on my card!” the lady answered with a reciprocated curtsy. Cloth hands were pressed against her mouth as she looked at the gentleman dolly. Then the cloth bodies skirted across the floor, whirling in every direction, while Emmaline hummed her complementary tune.

  Gabriel smiled to himself as he watched the precious scene unfold. Peace and contentment surged through his veins. He leaned against the doorjamb as his thoughts trailed to a different time and place …

  When he opened his eyes again, curls of gold darkened to a deep raven hue. Eyes of blue turned a pristine shade of emerald. The child’s gaze grew intense and solemn. The faded cotton of her nightdress transformed into silks of rich crimson. And the rag dolls’ woven faces hardened to a glowing porcelain.

  Rich mahogany furnishings decorated the room, exotic Persian carpets concealed the floorboards, and thick draperies shut out the moonlight.

  It was eleven years prior – and Gabriel had returned to his chateau.

  A woman’s elegant silhouette appeared in the rocking chair. A dress woven from pure silk draped her curves and skimmed the intricate floorboards. Wavering firelight illuminated her beauty, accenting the delicate lines of her face. Luscious raven strands spilled over her shoulders as she rocked back and forth. She clutched a book and hummed softly. Tragically naive and wide-eyed, she was, in many ways, as much a girl as the child who sat at her heels.

  The little one paused her frolicking and gazed up at the woman. An unbearable sadness filled those soulful green eyes, spiriting away some of their light. “Maman?”

  “Hmm? What is it now?” Nimble fingertips flipped a crisp white page.

  “Papa will come home tonight, won’t he?” The woman paused her reading and set the book in the cradle of her lap. The chair continued rocking, emitting a haunting clink, clink, clink within the quiet din. “He … he promised he would,” the child said. “He promised he’d read to me.”

  The rocking chair came to a standstill. The window wobbled against its pane, reverberating in an eerie requiem. Branches clawed at the oversized windows and fought to tear inside. A weary sigh resonated as the woman stared into the flames. The raven locks of her hair came to life, brightening to a rich copper hue. She pressed two fingertips against her temple and inhaled deeply. Then her slender shoulders trembled as she surrendered to a cynical laugh. The child visibly tensed at the sound, laying her dolly across the Persian rug.

  “When have you ever known Papa to keep his promises? Hmm? Best if you remember that. It shall save you great heartache in the end.”

  The little girl sniffled and ran her fingertips over her dolly’s gown. She inclined her chin while her bottom lip quivered. “But why doesn’t he like to come home? Doesn’t he love me?”

  The woman shook her head as she resumed the rhythmic rocking motion. The repetitive thumping mated with the grating call of the wind.

  “How like-minded we are, my sweet darling. I stopped tormenting myself with that very question years ago.” Another cynical laugh erupted from the woman’s slender throat. “Don’t you understand?” the mother asked in a rhetorical tone that was lost to a five-year-old child. “Your papa loves only himself and the bottle.”
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  Then the woman and child faded away, leaving Emmaline in their wake.

  Weak at the knees, Gabriel groped his chest as he fought to ease the pain within. He’d abandoned himself to the battlefield, fully intending to meet his inevitable fate. His plight hadn’t been for glory or for supremacy or decorations. It had been an act of self-punishment.

  •

  Battle of Eylau, February 8, 1807

  Gabriel marched through a hostile world of ice.

  The smell of death encircled him. God help him – somehow he’d returned to the damned battlefield. He was back on Prussian soil in the quaint town of Preussisch-Eylau.

  But nothing was quaint about the town on this winter’s morning. In the heart of the square, a windmill churned as it inhaled the frigid air. Blood stained the snow-capped ground and faded cries filled the town. The rhythmic beat of hooves streamed from all directions, unified through the sounds of gunshots and thundering cannons.

  The fighting had lasted well into the previous night. Now fingers of sunlight peeked through the blanket of clouds and illuminated the countless dead. A fierce snowstorm swept across the field in violent slashes. It was nasty weather for gunfire – Mother Nature was working against every man.

  The wind howled in Gabriel’s ear and spirited the hat from his head. It somersaulted through the field of broken bodies and dying horses like some hostage tumbleweed. Good. He had no need for it. He shoved away his forelock and urged his mount forward. Suntaria, his magnificent destrier, was a loyal creature bred for the heat of the battle. A soldier’s heart beat within the animal’s breast. Gabriel loosened the reins and patted the side of his dark neck. Suntaria swung his head to the side and acknowledged the gesture with a low, friendly nicker.