by Fleur Le Marc
81225.0000
Following Silent Dance
-=Bajor=-
81225.0000
Following Silent Dance
-=Bajor=-
As the last of the fever fought to hold her captive against the valiant efforts of the treatment serum developed by Dr. Hartcort, Fleur's mind raced in vivid memories of a very significant event in her childhood.
It returned to a day she received a gift from a person who changed her world- more than she ever could have understood at the time the gift was given.
-=Flashback: Twenty-seven years ago: Paris, France, Earth=-
Fleur fussed with the lace at the edge of her small apron. It hung longer than the skirt of her pink-pinstriped dress, and it was itchy.
She was trying so hard to be good today.
After all, it wasn't every day that a young lady was asked for, specifically, to help out with a big party like this one.
That was exactly what had happened, and Fleur was so very concerned with not dropping anything, not tripping over any of the feet of the elegantly dressed ladies that filled the parlor of the grand house, or spilling anything on her starched, perfectly pressed white apron.
Even if it was itchy.
This was the house of the very fancy, and very pretty Madame Brézé. Those were, in fact, the first two words that Fleur always thought of whenever she imagined Madame: fancy, and pretty.
Madame was something else too, though, it seemed. Something that the other ladies whispered about, but it was word that Fleur didn't understand. She hoped that it wasn't a bad thing, whatever it was, because she did rather like Madame and hated to think that anyone would ever call her anything bad.
What they called her was 'widow'.
She was a physically beautiful woman, older than Fleur's mother for sure but the girl had no idea how old the lady really was...and knew that it would be too impolite to ask.
Madame was a wonder, so kind and soft-spoken. She was different from anyone else that Fleur had ever known for another reason as well.
Her nose had the most amazing little wrinkles in it.
Fleur would try to scrunch up her own face to make it look like Madame Brézé's, but when she watched herself in the mirror she found that it only made her look like she was angry, or like she had just stood too close to the peppermill in the kitchen and she was about to sneeze.
One day, Madame came to the café to purchase some pastries for a tea she was planning and observed Fleur trying again to embed such wrinkles into the bridge her nose by the single-minded force of four-year-old determination.
Much to the woman's amusement, the little girl was staring intently into the window glass at the bakery, pushing her tiny, fairy-sized fingertip against her nose to try to accomplish the task that way, before giving up on that and once again squinting her eyes and crinkling the bridge of her nose.
"Hello, little morning flower. How are you today?"
Fleur startled, looking again and seeing the reflection of the woman standing over her shoulder.
For an instant she was terrified that Madame would be angry with her, but instead, Élise Brézé' gently turned her around by the shoulders and stooped down as she looked Fleur in her bright, round eyes. She laughed; the most musical, kind laugh that Fleur had ever heard.
"You can try as you like, chou chou," she continued laughing until she had tears glimmering in her eyes and had to stop speaking to catch her breath. "But your nose will never wrinkle quite like mine."
"Why not?" Fleur's face was a study in pure innocence and sincerity as she expressed her disappointment at the thought. "I like your nose."
Madame was so beautiful. Her long red hair was swept up into an elaborate roll that she kept tucked beneath a hat most of the time. A few wayward curls cascaded down at the back of her neck, and she looked like she could be a figure in one of Papa's paintings of ladies from what he called the old times.
Madame had perfectly shaded lips of the deepest pink and she always smelled like roses. Her dresses, and she always wore dresses, were soft and fine and Fleur often wondered if she had any children of her own and if not, if maybe she would consider taking Fleur home with her along with her parcel of cookies, someday.
"Why not? I'll tell you why not, my darling. The planet where my mother was born is very far away from here," Brézé' whispered into her ear. "She came to Earth after she married my father. Where she came from, everyone has noses like mine."
"I want to go there." Fleur decided without a second's hesitation. "Please, will you take me there?"
The honest, pleading tone of the small girl's voice almost stopped Brézé's heart.
"But your family is from Earth, Fleur. To go to Bajor would take you very far away from them."
"I would like to go far away." Fleur revealed what she felt to be her darkest secret, to the only person she felt safe enough to tell it to.
The concern in Brézé's eyes turned to sorrow, and she blinked as she considered what she should try to say.
"Fleur!" An angry female voice called from the kitchen. "Get in here! Stop bothering the customers."
"Fleur is never any bother, Madame Le Marc." Brézé raised her hand to dismiss the notion. "In fact, I cannot think of a child I have ever seen that was as well behaved as she is."
Le Marc scoffed and tilted her head in disbelief. "I apologize if she has disturbed you."
"Not at all." Brézé accepted the box of cookies and cakes tied closed with string that Le Marc extended toward her. "Merci."
"Thank you, Madame. Come to see us again soon."
Fleur was peeking out from around the kitchen door, and Brézé waited until Brigitte Le Marc had turned away to tend to the money she had been given in exchange for the bakery. Then, Brézé blew Fleur a small kiss, with an elegantly gloved hand. Fleur simply stared at her, and then ran away before her mother could catch her at the door.
Now, some months later, here Fleur was, playing 'waitress' complete with miniature uniform at Madame Brézé's request.
In fact, Brézé had been so insistent upon the idea that when Brigitte Le Marc had resisted, she informed her that if Fleur was not invited to come along to the tea that the Le Marc's were catering for her, that she would be forced to employ an alternate provider of refreshments for her guests.
Finally, Le Marc gave in.
Fleur's eyes were the size of saucers as they arrived at Brézé's grand home. She had never seen a house so big in her young life, let alone so many lights, or such a big Christmas tree.
"Fleur, stop fidgeting!" Le Marc demanded, handing the girl a large plate of delicately decorated petits fours. "Be sure to offer them to every single guest."
Fleur nodded slowly, trying very hard to hold onto the heavy, slippery plate without touching the tips of her fingers to any of the pastries, as she'd been taught.
"I hope that the auction will go well this year," A woman with a round face and a bright yellow dress reached out and took two of the small cakes from Fleur's platter with such enthusiasm that she nearly set her listing to the side. Her knees wobbled, but much to her relief, she recovered.
"Well, with the wonderful entertainment this year and the lovely selection of toys that we have to show, I hope that we will do well." Madame Brézé replied. "Besides, it is nearly Christmas, and you know that the people of Earth are nothing of not most generous this time of the year." She only wished that such care and concern for those less fortunate carried over into the other eleven months of the year as well.
She noticed the small child with the large plate and smiled down upon her. "Well, hello, Mademoiselle Fleur aren't you doing a fine job this afternoon? Thank you so much for your help."
Fleur curtsied to the best of her ability without upending her plate. "Would you care for one, Madame?" She asked, saying the sentence exactly the way that she'd been instructed.
"Yes, please. Thank you." She watched sadly as the child had moved along to the next assembled group, wishing that there was more she could do for her than simply offering a kind word now and again.
In fact, she had been so concerned at the condition of Fleur's clothing most days when she visited the bakery and the very manner of the child and the way her mother spoke to her, that she'd asked an old friend of her late husband Jean to look into the Le Marc family and their history.
That friend, who earned his living as a private investigator, had returned to her saying that while he suspected that things were not all quite right with the household, that he had not been able to unearth
enough proof of actual abuse of the children which would be sufficient to involve the authorities. There was, for the present, simply nothing more she could do than show the girl as much kindness as she could, when she could.
"Would you like one?" Fleur asked softly, approaching a lady in an enormous hat, adorned with tall, gray feathers. The lady emptied Fleur's plate of the last of the treats and the child returned to her mother.
She had a question to ask, one that she had put off as long as she could but sadly could not put off any longer.
Noticing the look on the girl's face, Le Marc automatically scowled. "What is your problem, child?"
Fleur stood on tip toes and tried to whisper into Le Marc's ear.
"Absolutely not. You will have to wait."
Fleur shook her head, indicating sadly she could not wait. Brigitte sighed. "You must, child! I cannot ask the Madame to allow you to-"
"Is there a problem, Madame Le Marc?" Brézé was suddenly just behind Fleur again, gently patting her on the shoulder.
"Not as such, Madame. I am sorry to trouble you, but Fleur," she growled the name more than spoke it, "Was asking if she could possibly visit your powder room."
"Oh? Oh! But of course, it is no trouble at all." Brézé smiled upon her and gave her a gentle wink. "I will direct her, Madame Le Marc. I believe that we are running low on tea, if you would be so kind as to put some more on,"
The tea supply was holding out fine, but Brézé liked to use any opportunity she had to spare Fleur her mother's attention.
"This way, little one." Fleur gratefully accepted her hand, and followed as Madame led her down a long hallway.
"There is a little powder room just off of the parlor," Brézé confided conspiratorially to the girl who seemed more awestruck by the house with every step she took and sight she saw. "But I wanted to show you the one attached to my boudoir. I think that you will like it, ah?"
She patted Fleur on the head, then frowned as she heard her name being called by one of her guests in question.
"I am sorry, chou chou. I have to go back. You can find your way, can't you? It's the second door, just down there." She gave Fleur a gentle push. "Don't be shy, little one. I will see you soon." Before Fleur could express her thanks for Madame's continued kindness, Brézé was gone.
Fleur struggled to pull open the large, heavy door. With a hinge designed to close it again automatically, the door actually pushed her into the bathroom, and then clicked loudly shut. Fleur stood on tiptoes, feeling along the wall until she found the switch for the lights. She inhaled and gasped with wonder when those lights illuminated the space around her.
*This powder room is bigger than our whole apartment,* Fleur was astonished.
There was an amazing crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, lovely floral wallpaper decorated the space and fine, shining fixtures inhabited it along with the biggest bathtub that Fleur had ever seen in her life.
She felt guilty even touching the towel to dry her hands after at last washing them before preparing to return to work.
She thought about how she wanted to do a very good job for Madame and her friends, because she hoped she would get to come back to serve at another party here, someday.
She could barely see her reflection in the mirror hanging behind the elegant pedestal sink, but once again she tried to force wrinkles onto her nose, just by wishing them there, so she could be like Madame Brézé.
As she finally gave up her latest attempt with a promise to herself to try again later, Fleur looked up and realized suddenly that she had a dilemma.
The bathroom had two doors, and she couldn't remember which one she'd come in through.
She tried to pull the handle of the one that she believed she'd entered through, but it would not turn. She lacked sufficient strength it seemed to open it again, and so she had no choice at last but to try the second door, which was propped open, it seemed, by a satin slipper that had gotten trapped beneath it.
When the door opened, it revealed a room of such beauty and size that Fleur was certain she had died, and that this was heaven.
Fleur Le Marc
Currently on Bajor
Currently on Bajor