Shadows {Cosette}

[Deleted]

It had been two days since the parade. Valjean was forced to remember that he was old; the late night and the stress had made given him a fever, but nothing made him feel as sick as coming face to face with his sins once more. He knew that God had forgiven him, but Javert had not. The man was still after him, he was sure, and if Javert had not recognized his identity yet, he would soon. That meant that he would be back. Back for him, and back for Cosette.

How Javert had not heard him yell Cosette's name when he had been running to meet the intruder, he couldn't be sure, but he was glad of it. It meant Javert would not act immediately to arrest him, and he had enough time to get Cosette and himself away from here. First to their other home in Rue Plumet, and from there... time would tell. Calais, perhaps, and then England. If the parade was any indication, he would not be safe from Javert here, but he would not be safe from the rioting anywhere in France.

He waited anxiously, and prayed, and sweated, as he waited for Cosette's return. Where had she gone, and why? Surely she had not run away to join this Marius. Had he been so unkind a father as to compel her to do such a thing?

He hoped to God he would have the chance to ask her, if she could just return safely to him. He was on his knees praying for this when he heard the door open quietly. Though he raised his head, he made no other motion, and waited for a moment. If the person entering the house were an intruder, he would want to bring some kind of weapon perhaps... or were it Javert... But if it were Cosette, he did not want to frighten her.

Getting to his feet slowly, silently, he moved towards the entryway. “Cosette,” he breathed. “Thank God, thank God.” He relaxed, unaware he'd been tense and holding his breath – only to grasp her arm. Cosette was home now from whereever she had been, and he was glad of it. He was glad that she had not been here earlier. “It is not safe for us here. While you were out, someone tried to rob the house,” he said. This was not a lie, but it was not the sole reason they were leaving. He wanted to keep Cosette safe, both from robbers and from the disgrace of having her father found out as a criminal. “Come, you must pack – we must go. Hurry, my child.”

[followedmyheart]

Cosette wanted life to go on normally. She was jittery, upon learning of Lamarque's death from Marius and the mood that France was in as a result. Would a fight break out as she walked down the cobblestone street? A revolution? She watched the young students around her, looking for signs. Since she knew none of what those signs were supposed to be however, she saw none of them.
After passing out alms with Combeferre, Cosette had called upon the LaMarque's home like many others, offering flowers and a quick prayer for the family. Her pretty face and silk gown had gained her access to the parlor and she had held the hand of a little girl somehow related to LaMarque. All dressed in black, the small child had been crying silently. Cosette sang her lullabies and smoothed her hair until she felt it was her time to go.
For the child's sake, she felt she should attend the funeral parade. For France's sake she felt she should attend the funeral parade! Marius had been quick to advise against it however, it seemed the something was brewing beneath the surface. Courfeyrac had also disclosed in a letter that it would be a less than friendly place to be.
Cosette chewed her lip as she ambled through the streets. A light drizzle was falling, dampening her hats and misting amongst her blonde curls. Why was it that her amis and Marius refused to give her all the details? They wanted to keep her safe, but instead left her confused and irritated. It was a familiar sensation, one she was none too familiar with her Papa. To keep her safe she was kept at a distance and thus kept lonely.
Upon reaching home, her father appeared in the entryway to the parlor. She was glad that he was feeling better, the color had returned to his cheeks and he was up and about. She felt terrible for worrying him; she should have left a note. Cosette barely had her bonnet off before he materialized. She placed her hand over hers on his arm.
"I did not mean to worry you Papa, I merely called upon the Lamarque home to offer condolences and prayers--rob the house?" She was offering where she had been when her father dropped what felt like a heavy stone into the lake of her life, ripples of uncertainty and fear blossoming across the surface in frenzied patterns. "Are you alright? Did they take anything? The candlesticks?"
While there weren't many true treasures in their home, they had a few of worth. Her father's most prized possession were his pair of silver candlesticks which he took with them wherever they moved. Although Cosette had asked repeatedly, he never disclosed their place of origin.
Cosette held onto her father's arms in concern, searching him quickly with her eyes for signs of a fight or any marks that he had encountered the robbers. He seemed all in one piece, thankfully unmarred.
"Pack..." she echoed the word hollowly, as though testing it's worth. Was this true? Had he really just suggested they move to their other home? Her heart rate increased, he must simply mean their apartment across town. Not England. Never England. "Surely...there must be something else we can do Papa, the people of France are just mourning the loss of their Lamarque..."
Cosette clung to him as he made to leave her. Was he already packed? "I'm sure all will be well in a few days. We can't possibly leave now it's too dark!" She offered excuse after excuse, her thoughts tunneling down into despair at the thought of leaving the only place Marius knew where to find her. If only she could tell her Papa of Marius, to expose her emotions for this boy then perhaps he would not be so quick to move her from her home.

[Deleted]

It was his turn to repeat something. “The Lamarque home?” This was said with incredulity and worry. No doubt there had been all sorts of people around the house today. It was not that he thought Cosette was better than people and should away from the sickly and poor – indeed, they had gone to those in need many a time to give them alms and pray with them. Still, he wanted to keep her safe. And that was exactly why they had to leave. He gave a short shake of his head when Cosette asked if the robbers had taken anything. “I am fine,” he assured her, “as you see me. And so is the house. The police were most expeditious in their arrival.” In fact, Javert had gotten to the thief even before he had. It was almost like... Javert had been watching him before.

As he said, he did not appear to have suffered any physical harm. Aside from looking as though he had a fever, he looked like himself – a man who was aging, but still strong. All that would change, however, he was sure, if Cosette was taken from him. His strength came first from God and then from the necessity of caring for his daughter. He could not let himself succumb to death because he was not sure what she would do without him.

But then, as she protested, clinging to his arm all the more intently, he realized... perhaps she didn't need him as much as he would like to think. She had her own opinions, her own plans, didn't she? Blast the boy Marius – this had all begun with him, hadn't it? Ever since they met, things had changed. Looking back, he realized it now and could source the alteration. Never before had Cosette argued with him, not like this, not so stubbornly.

He could not be certain how attached they were to each other. Surely, they could not be too attached; they had barely seen each other. It could not be the reason she wanted to stay... could it? He lowered his eyes, not meeting her gaze, and not answering her first statement. As she kept him in place by holding fast to his arm, he exhaled softly, unable to bring himself to extricate himself from her grasp. “Please, Cosette.” This was said quietly, almost pleadingly, as though she were the one in the position of authority rather than him. He could not bear knowing that he was paining her. But he was only doing what was best! “The carriage will be ready shortly to take us to Rue Plumet.” Gently, he pulled away. “And from there... we will see. To Calais, if we can, and then for England, if things do not, as you say, resolve themselves.”

What could one man do to fix the crisis of a country? He cared for all people, but he cared for Cosette the most, and he must protect her. From the danger in the streets, and from the disgrace Javert would bring if Valjean was caught. He swallowed, afraid to leave her in her room, wondering if she might run away - but willing himself to trust her. Praying that she would trust him as well. "I only do what is best for you, Cosette, you must believe me." He put his hand gently on the door. "Now please - gather your things."

[followedmyheart]

Cosette had never felt her heart break. Her father kept it safe, as well as herself. He always hold her the truth, as long as he wasn't dodging questions about thier past. Papa had given her anything and everything she had ever asked for in life. She did not feel selfish; she shared all of her belongings with him. She rarely asked for anything, so when she did he usually oblidged. Cosette was shocked to find that this time, she was affronted. Cracks began to form in her heart as a chisel chipped away at it. He did not wish to see her unhappy! His concern was always her well being. And yet - as he father lowered her eyes and exhaled softly, she knew that for the first time in her life, something other than her well-being was on her father's mind. He had his own agenda to keep, regardless of what she wanted.
Tears stung her eyes as her breathe seemed to hitch in her chest. Never before had he placed her aside. As much as his pained him, he did not pause from becoming cold and withdrawn. Her father was pleading with her, not just to pack, but to understand. He was urging her to follow his example, to keep herself safe and sound, not to question him. She wanted to shake her head, to deny everything that was happening. It should not be like this. They should understand each other perfectly; they should be able to communicate and speak things through. What was this detached life they had begun to live? Was this the result of her being in love with Marius?
Cosette was a small child, clinging to her father's arm. Her large blue eyes wanted him so much to believe in her and her love for Marius, she wanted this one wish more than anything. She wanted to stay in her familiar home and wake up to wake with him in the gardens. For everything to stay the same. She did not want to greet the harsh light of morning forced to grow into a young woman. It would bring grief and heavy weight, a burden of age upon her delicate shoulders. She feared she would be crushed. He could not ask her to do this, to be this girl who fled. He could not deny her the only thing she had truly ever asked for.
The chisel that had been chipping away at her heart plunged through as he father pulled his arm free from her pale hands. It shattered as she gripped at the empty air, the world moving in slow motion. He was pulling away, taking her prayers and hopes with him. Cosette felt she could hear her heart breaking, the sound of a stone hurled through a stunning glass window. The peices of her heart fell around her feet as the tears that welled up in her eyes finally spilled to trail down her cheeks in clear lines. She didn't bother to wipe them away.
At least they would be stopping by Rue Plumet. She could leave a note for Marius there perhaps in the garden. Would he think to look for her there? She did not answer her father, but merely wiped at her cheeks and turned away. Something had surely broken inside her and she could not ask him to fix it.
Cosette gathered what little belongings she could in a shorter amount of time than she had expected. A few dresses and such were easy to pack. It were the sentimental belongings that she had scattered around her room that took longer. Letters from Marius and his student friends, a fan that Feuilly had painted for her and her small diary. She even packed the ribbon that she had worn in her hair when Marius had first encountered her.
Although she doubted Marius would come to call, she decided to leave a note for him all the same. Would he know which home to visit? She most often spoke of her love of Rue Plummet and yet here she was not staying there. Combeferre and Courfeyrac knew of this home, perhaps Eponine did too.
Cosette settled into her vanity chair, hoping she would have enough time to write while he father packed his own belongings.
Marius,
While I was calling upon the Lemarque estate, this house in Fauborg was the unfortunate intended mark of a robbery. Papa is unharmed and nothing was stolen, but it has created unease. This adds to the already building tension at the events of the Mayday Parade and unrest since Lemarque's death. Papa has decided it best if we move from this place and ultimately from France. We will be dwelling in our two other homes for a short time to gather our more precious belongings. First at Rue Plumet and then Calais before ultimately making the passage to England.
It grieves me to be parted from you. Will we ever meet again? It feels as though fate wants us to be driven apart as much as it wants us together. God could not have placed you on this Earth without destining me to love you, only to find us parted by the sea. I pray that we see each other again before I am taken to England, if only to say farewells. I will always be yours regardless of where I am.
Cosette ran her hand along her face in fatigue. She could write scores of sonnets, but it wouldn't be enough. How could she even get this letter to Marius?

[Deleted]

Valjean moved to his room slowly, all sense of hurry gone from him; he was suddenly exhausted by the despair he saw on his daughter's face. It was obvious that her pain was his pain, and he wished that he could take it away from her by taking it onto himself. The question that remained was, why did it hurt her so to leave? It could not truly be Marius, could it? They had met for a moment... he had given no indication of affection... he had certainly not asked for Cosette's hand in marriage or made any honorable, forward declaration of his intentions... It must be only a girlish lark. Cosette had always had a compassionate heart, but to fall in love... She was sixteen; surely that was too young? Perhasp other girls were married at her age; how would Valjean know? And that was other girls – not his baby.

He had not even thought about leaving Cosette, leaving her to whatever chaos may unfold in Paris. They had never left each other, not for all the years that they had been together. It was unfathomable that it should not be so. He knew that he had prepared for the event of his death, but to have them leave each other willingly... It could not be.

He knelt. He prayed. Please, God, please do not take her from me – physically or emotionally. If Javert were to find them; if he were to reveal that Valjean was a criminal.. would his daughter still love him? Would all the years of care he had given her make up for his one crime? His whole life, he had taught his daughter to love unconditionally, in the same way that Jesus did, and he had loved her in the same way; he trusted in Jesus' forgiveness of him, and he should be able to trust in his daughter's... but... if she did not... That would hurt him worse than if Cosette were physically taken from him. What if she wanted to leave him? What if she wanted to leave him now just because of Marius, even without finding about his crime?

Resting his head against his bed, he closed his eyes and exhaled heavily, almost like a choked sob. For ten years, he had thought and planned only for Cosette; he had given her all her love, and now he had hurt her the worst.

He was not sure how long he prayed fervently. Was this his Gethsemane? He lifted his head as though it were under a heavy burden and then got to his feet. He picked up his trunk, the small box which contained all his earthly belongings, and walked out to the carriage to load it. “Cosette?” he called, moving back into the house with some trepidation, lest a policeman be waiting for him in the time it had taken to go out, or lest Cosette not be there. He waited to hear her voice. “Can I take your things?”

[followedmyheart]

It must only be a girly lark - I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE.


Cosette finished her letter and sealed with with a red wax stamp. She kissed it for good measure after addressing it, her heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings. Was her father done packing? Would he call upon her soon?
She paused at the door to her bedroom, peeking down the hallway. No sign of Papa. She carefully placed her footfalls, making them hasty so that she reached the door to the garden in only a few seconds. Glancing behind her, Cosette made sure her father was no where around before slipping out the door and into the twilight.
Treking through the garden she rushed through the foliage to the opposite gate. Would Marius be there? Should she leave her letter or give it to someone should she see them?
Cosette heard her father's voice calling out to her near the front of the house. She did not want him to know she was in the garden. She wasn't entirely sure why this was, but something inside her was telling her that he must not know she wrote her letter to Marius. Did she still forbid him discovering her love? Why did she hold such a secret so close? Her father would be happy she was in love.......wouldn't he?
Cosette also did not want Papa to feel that she was forgetting him or moving on. She loved him dearly and never wanted him to think that she would leave him. They had always always been together. He was her life. Her saint. He gave up everything for her. All that he asked in return was this one request, that they leave this place tonight. Cosette felt selfish for not willingly following through on this one simple demand. What kind of daughter did that make her? Rebellious?
"Coming Papa!" she called loudly, hoping he wouldn't realize she was out of the house just yet. When she reached the gate she saw a flicker of motion. It didn't appear to be Marius, the shadow too lanky. Whether girl or boy she couldn't tell, but Cosette made a last minute decision and thrust the letter through the bars at the figure.
"By God's prayer above, please make sure that this reaches Monsier Pontmercy at 16 rue de la Ververrie." She reached into her pocked to find some loose change and reached through the gate to gently place it on the ground. The coins shimmered in the moonlight. "For your troubles, merci."
Cosette hurried back to the door that led to the garden, passing silently through. She wound her way through the hallways until she met her father upon the threshold. He looked worn and for the first time she noticed his age. How old was he when she was brought into this world? Cosette did not even know how old he was now. He was so strong and capable, she never thought to question it. There was a tired look in his eyes however that she noticed for the first time. The look of a man who had seen too much in his life and had felt the weight of it all upon his soul.
She went to her father as though she were a little girl again, wrapping her arms around his torso and collapsing against his chest. She wanted him to know that she was alright with leaving this place and following his order. She was his daughter and that was her duty. Even if he hadn't meant to hurt her heart, it had been cracked and no doubt he had felt her pain. Cosette forgave him wholeheartedly and hoped that this hug conveyed all of this with her love.
"I'm all packed Papa."

[Deleted]

At his daughter's answer that she was coming, Valjean couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief – she was still there; it was paranoid and silly of him to think she wouldn't be, but all the same. Her voice was not coming from the house, however. He frowned, craning his head slightly to attempt to see her. When he was unsuccessful in this, he began to move swiftly towards the threshold, but she was there at the same time he was. His shoulders sagged a little as he looked at her, a question in his hazel eyes.

But then she wrapped her arms around him and leaned in, and Valjean exhaled again, somewhat shakily. She still loved him. Of course she must. She was too good to let this get in between them; surely she must know that he was just trying to protect her. Surely she trusted him. Belatedly, softly, he put his hand on her back, returning the embrace, and bent his head to drop a kiss to her fragrant hair. “Then I will help you bring it out,” he said gently, pulling back from the hug at arm's length to look at her in the moonlight. They had reached an understanding, an unspoken agreement. She would go, and there would be no more arguing or complaining or crying. Thank God for that. It was nearly impossible for him to say no to his beloved daughter, especially when tears were involved.

He stroked her hair, tucking one of the loose golden strands behind her ear tenderly, before he moved away. He stooped to pick up her valises and things, feeling strong in the knowledge of his daughter's forgiveness and love, and secured them. Then he helped to hand her into the carriage, ever the gentleman. He spared one last look at their house on Rue Plumet, wondering how much longer they would have to run, how many more houses they must go through, before he and Cosette could truly be safe. The shadows in the moonlight outside the gate made him shiver and draw his coat closer around his shoulders as he followed his daughter into the carriage.

Once seated, he reached for his daughter's hand – an apology, and a source of comfort.

[followedmyheart]

Cosette could never properly convey to her father just how much loved him. She could write a whole novel, spend her whole life talking to him on the subject, even sing a thousand songs and it would never be enough. "I love you" was not a grand enough phrase to cover all the adoration she felt for the man she was hugging. It was different love than what she owned for Marius. The sacred kind that can only exist between a father and daughter. Different in so many ways, yet so in tune that it need not matter. If she was star, he was her sky. If she chose to be a lion, he would build her a jungle with his bare hands. Papa had always treated her as though being her father and loving her was without question. She was truly blessed to be so fortunate.
A tear slid down her cheek when he kissed her head. It was purely out of love. Would she ever stop being his little girl? The one he always cherished and protected? She hoped not. Cosette smiled softly as he held her at arm's length. She was happy that this jagged brokenness was no longer between them. Love is easy when it is with the right person.
She squeezed his hand lightly as he helped her into the carriage, feeling the princess she always did in his presence. Cosette watched as he gave Rue Plumet one last gaze and shifted her own eyes to the house she had called home. Would they ever return? It felt as though change were on the horizon. A change that she could not alter or question, something bigger than herself and this small life she had come to know. She was grateful when Papa took her hand. She held on and hoped he would never let go.