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| Silent Yearning |
Chapter 1: Awakening
She woke up due to unbearable pain in her chest and in her head. It was a dragging pain and a knocking to an unimaginable extent. She remembered the past events vaguely, but she did not want to resurrect those anyway. Where was she?
When she had opened her eyes she was blinded by warm, yet glistening light. Brightly and warmly the sun sent its rays through the open window. The room was small and sparsely furnished. Inside there was only a table with a heavy candleholder out of slightly rusty iron on it, and a broad bed which she herself stayed in.
Her fingers gently ran over the worn out nightgown.
Another wave of pain brought her back from her own world of thought. With her eyes closed, she tried to escape from her torments. She noticed that someone had carefully bandaged her head. Someone had brought her to their house and bothered to nurse her who knows how long. Just when she started thinking about who that someone might be, the wooden door next to her was opened quietly yet creaky.
“Lady Oscar?” sounded a pleasant, exquisitely relieved voice.
“Rosalie?” Oscar called out by surprise, trying to sit up in her bed.
“No! Please don't!” Rosalie came right to her side to stop her from her action.
“The doctor says you have to rest at all costs,” she explained responsibly. Worriedly she watched the pale face of her involuntary patient.
“What happened to me?” Oscar asked and sighed as the pain in her chest started all over again.
With an insecure and a sad look towards Oscar, Rosalie began to tell.
“When you and your soldiers had attacked the Bastille, the commander-in-chief of the Bastille ordered his people to shoot exclusively at you. One bullet hit your chest; another one very scarcely missed your head. But it touched your right temple. The following bullets did not hit you because of only one reason, because a soldier from your troop reacted faster and threw himself over you...” Rosalie could not go on. Too painful were those past events, because Rosalie fought during the Storming of the Bastille as well.
“Which soldier is on my conscience?” Oscar asked, deeply distraught by the just told, bitter truth.
“Jean,” Rosalie whispered and looked at the floor. Oscar could not say anything. The need to change the past in order to stop Jean from his involvement became over powerful. He should not have sacrificed himself for her. Jean was in her regiment at the very beginning she became the commander of the French Guard. He had so many dreams and extraordinary courage. When the turmoil in Paris began, he did not hesitate to announce that the people are right.
Like all of the other soldiers he came from the Bourgeoisie. To him it was certain that he would not fight against his family; unlike Oscar, who had made this decision almost too late and who regretted it up to this day.
“But Jean would not have acted like this if he had not been absolutely sure of the fact that you would save his family,” Rosalie added when she saw the bitter expression on her friend's face. She did not only say that to decrease her guilt about Jean's death. It was simply the truth. Rosalie knew Jean's last words, which expressed that a commander must survive. His last will had been fulfilled. Oscar was alive and the doctor was full of hope about her recovery. At least the wounds that resulted from the battle...It was a shock to find out that Lady Oscar had a dangerous lung disease.
“Jean was a brave man. Braver than I will ever be” Oscar whispered aggrievedly.
“Stop! Don't pity yourself. Jean made his decision and he made it for a good reason, because he expects you to keep fighting. The French Guard and the people needs you! You would have sacrificed yourself for him as well. If possible, for every single man of your regiment, am I right?” Rosalie said softly but clearly. She gained momentum.
In that moment Oscar realized how different the grown up Rosalie was. Since her leaving of the Jarjayes' mansion much time had passed. Rosalie seemed to know her feelings very well. That scared her, because up to now she thought only one person knew her true feelings.
“I did not make a difference.”
“Oh, Lady Oscar. One hour after you had been shot, the white flag was hoisted on the Bastille.” A little smile was shown on the soft facial features of this young woman.
“So you made it.”
“No, we made it.” Oscar smiled sadly and regretted it promptly because new pains emerged in her chest.
“I did not do anything. I was unconscious.”
“You cannot blame yourself for that! You were like a symbol, a silent fire that ignited the spirit of your soldiers.” Rosalie watched Oscar affectionately, but immediately her face was expressing worries again.
“Forgive me, I have not even asked how you feel.”
“Oh Rosalie, I am fine, don't be worried! You certainly have other problems than taking care of just one single person” she calmed her down.
“You were lying in bed unconsciously for more than three weeks. And until now the wounds are not completely cured. I think this is the least I can do for you. After all the things we have been through together. Back then you took me in your house so thoughtfully...I was happy there.” Rosalie liked remembering the time she had spent with Oscar.
“Please, rest some more. You have to sleep a lot to get your strength back soon,” Rosalie requested and pulled the blanket up. She started to laugh quietly. “By the way, the nightgown looks good on you.”
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