Régine allowed me to spin a story about my injuries and I told a very complicated lie about falling down several times. Understandably, the old man squinted his disbelieving eyes at me the entire time I talked. For the moment it seemed as if I had gotten away with it, even if I still couldn't get Gaston’s mistrustful gaze out of my head.
When the brutal half of winter set in weeks after my fight and Papa had still not returned, things took a turn for the worse. Food became scarce and for a child that had been plucked from the luxurious nest of privilege, I had never suffered an afternoon, much less a day without a full meal.
Lem hadn't come by either and for weeks I missed him.
That evening I was eyeing the flat orange disk hovering over the black mountains that lanced the sky. I was straggling through the billowing gales slicing down Dusek, my frigid hands jammed into two fleece coat pockets. The bitter wind nipped at my nose and the tips of my ears, but at least that distracted from the pain in my stomach. I wanted to scream from how badly I ached, how every muscle in my body was tight and tired all at once.
I told myself comforting lies about Papa bringing back food and clothing and money.
My castle of daydreams with their pillars of baked sweets and lavish gowns vanished upon glimpsing the very edge of the village by Gaston's land.
Smoke ballooned from the chimney in puffy grey clouds.
The Picoux's home was cramped and cold, and Gaston's was enormous, it seemed so unfair. Even his shack for the chickens looked warmer. I glared at it, Cosette’s moth-eaten boots grinding themselves into the frigid snow and ice particles seeping into my bones, until all my frustrations built up to a breaking point and I bolted into the dark hut.
Chickens were nestled in their roosts, their white plumage ruffled like a dozen feather dusters pressed together.
A gurgling rippled from my stomach, and I drifted to the unattended nests. I stood over one with three small eggs gathered in the centre. My left hand wrapped around the smooth, fragile surface and pulled it close.
I had no plan for the egg; I was so frustrated and furious it didn’t concern me anymore than the morality. I knew I couldn't cook. I just wanted it, I felt I was owed it for taking so much upon myself when it wasn't my fault that we were poor.
Cooking the egg was the least of my problems when I heard the rigid squeak of a wooden board under a heavy weight and wheeled around to face Gaston.
A high pitched gasp hit the back of my clenched teeth, and the old man's grey eyes pierced right through me. He had caught me stealing.
Tears were already dribbling down my chin and I snivelled pitifully. He took two steps towards me, our eyes locked in a painful stare.
"Come with me," he ordered.
My heels stuck to the wooden floor like lead weights.
"Well, come on," Gaston growled under his breath. My heart was railed against the stiff structure of my ribs as it tried to force its way into my throat.
I should have known that had I even managed to evade Gaston, he would catch up to me eventually.
His tone became a little more firm when I had failed to obey any of his commands. "Put it down."
I leapt forwards and wiggled past the large man. The whites of his eyes gleamed as a mixture of squawks and the startled roar erupted behind in an explosion of feathers.
The forest line was blurry as I scrambled over the winter bluffs, catching my feet on the frozen sunflower stalks. Was Bora Les really where I planned to escape to? My lungs were burning as they desperately sucked in the frosty air, but I still managed to release a sharp shriek when my legs were taken out from under me.
My shin split open on the stone edge and I lurched forward. I dropped the egg down... down... while the rest of me was thrown over the opening of the well I had not seen buried amongst the snow drifts. The pale egg blinked out of existence inside the great, dark hole as if it had been eaten by the void. Many seconds later I heard the splatter and stared in horror as I scrambled.
I couldn't lift myself up. I was stuck with my bare hands braced on the cold crumbling stone until it broke underneath my fingertips and I cried out again.
Before anything else happened, the scruff of my dress pulled up and back.
The well's mouth disappeared behind the mound of white snow. A hand carried me three yards back the way of the chicken coop before Gaston released me and I landed in a puff of white. His arms were crossed tightly against his abdomen and the old man's beard bristled.
"Well?" His voice was strung out by emotion, but he didn't wait for a second before he shook his head and stomped back to the chicken coop without me.
"Well, come on!" the grisly old man barked from inside the coop.
My arms were shaking as I approached with tears streaming down my red cheeks.
"Only eleven this week," Gaston murmured to himself as he emerged with a basket of eggs. "Twelve if you count that one down the well."
I choked back several paltry sobs and a rough snort that caught in my nose.
The old man's beard and moustache were bristling with the rawness of the weather and he turned sharply.
"Follow me," he said, handing the basket to me and then walking back to the fence.
He looked at me with a tired, hardened face which was enough to get me to run after him, tripping once or twice, but catching myself before I fell.
"Careful." Gaston grimaced as I slipped between posts in his fence.
We made it to the Lalumiere's grounds and then took a left at the village square.
I couldn't even look at him to ask where we were headed until we stopped at the local inn.
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