JULIET'S QUILL

CHAPTER 10: Lost and Found

The cramped interior of the house made me feel nauseous. The parlor consisted of two chairs and a small table. At the side of the room was another table with a sewing machine and a knitting frame. A small kitchen was there,at the back.The staircase was narrow and rotten. And all i could smell was a stinging smell of moisture and moss.

"Marcus?" The old woman called from upstairs.

"Yes."

She came down, smiling. She was holding something under her arm.

"These belong to my son.They will fit you perfectly."

"Thank you so much. You're too kind."

It was hard to believe that she trusted me without knowing nothing more than my name. I could have been a thief but then I looked around, and realized that there wasn't much to steal.

"You remind me of my son." She sighed.

"Your son?" I asked, taking the bundle of clothes from her.

"He's dead. Anyway, go upstairs and change the clothes. I'll make something for lunch"

"What shall I call you?"

"You can call me Mrs. Renard. Now, off you go!"

I climbed the stairs, and the smell of moisture filled my nostrils. I held my breath and kept climbing the rotten staircase. There were two rooms upstairs, smaller than the parlor and a small bathroom at the right corner of one of them.

I changed into strange clothes,which weren't comfortable at all but atleast,they fit well.

I looked at my face in the mirror. What would I do? I had no idea how to find my parents, and as far as I knew, this was the least favorable Era to appear. I couldn't stay at Mrs.Renard's place forever.But I had no job and no place else to go. I wasn't even aware of the situation of this place. Reading history books about French Revolution, and living through one was totally a different from each other. Besides, this was Paris; the center of French revolution.

I went downstairs, with my mind exploding with so many queries. My empty stomach rumbled like a chained beast,as I walked towards the table. It was hard thinking about anything, with a growling tummy. But the sight of the table made me disappointed. There was a half loaf of breast cut in two unequal portions. She placed the larger one in my plate, while saving just a bite for herself.

"This is all I have." She sighed, looking at her old sewing machine. I felt horrible, sitting there and eating the last bit of food she had for herself. I divided my portion in two halves, and spoke.

"I'm not hungry at all. I'll just have a bite"

She smiled silently,"We'll get something for dinner. You don't have to worry." I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued. "Now, What's your story? I have to know a little about my grandson after all"

I nodded, swallowing the sentence I was about to utter earlier. "I'm Marcus Alexander Breton. I'm from a 'different' place, not from Paris. I'm here in search of my parents. They came here almost 8 years ago,and got stuck in this place."

She raised her eyebrow. I knew, how stupid it seemed to say that my parents couldn't get out of a city for 8 years. But this was the best excuse, I could think of.

I spoke again,"There's a long story behind it. Unfortunately, this is all I could share."

"8 years...It's a long time. Anyway, you can stay here as long as you wish."

"But if I'm staying here then I'm helping you. I could do anything, I just need a job"

"What are you best at?"