Page 6

“And why is this?” she cried. Glances were shared, but no one answered.

“Why?” she asked again from the depths of her belly.

“We were promised bread. We were promised safety and security. As an older child, my aunt saved me from my father but only to exploit me as a child thief, stealing from the poor to feed my aunt’s family.

My cousins and I stole; if we did not steal enough, we were left to sleep outside with nothing but our clothes and nothing to eat or drink except the water from the gutters.

Her family ate while her kin lay in the dirt with grumbling stomachs!

Is that not how the elite, the king, the nobility, and the clergy all eat while we, their countrymen and women, lie in the dirt, unable to make bread and eat the most basic food of all?

They feast while we starve!” she yelled, pointing west toward the Palace of Versailles.

Fists raised with angry growls of agreement.

“So I ask you again. Why? Why do we stand here in the shadows, starving and poor, forgotten, while they hoard gold in their coffers and eat as to fatten a calf?”

Nostrils flared, and feet shifted.

“Is it that we are less than them?”

“No!” The response blasted her in the face.

“Is it that we are not worthy?”

“No!” The people yelled.

“You want to know why?”

“Yes!”

“Because we allowed it to happen!”

The people shut their mouths and looked upon her with wide eyes.

“Yes, that’s right. We let them take our money and waste it.

We let them take the fruits of our fields and squander them and hoard them for the wealthy and the powerful.

We let them squeeze every drop of sweat and blood from our brows and veins.

We were promised bread in return. What a weak deal we made.

They kept it all for themselves. So what should we do?

” She asked with a heartbeat in her ears. “What should we do?!”

“Take it back!” a man yelled.

“Take. It. Back!” she repeated and pointed at the man who answered correctly.

The people chanted. “Take it back. Take it back!”

Her cheeks flushed with triumph. Gabin’s eyes found hers.

He was not chanting. She couldn’t hide her smile of victory.

It was odd how Gabin claimed to fight for the same cause, yet he was no different than the elite.

He used her in the same way. She assumed every person would use someone for their own gain.

It was all she knew, but she hoped it might be better in another world than the current one.

The only way to truly know was to fight for a better France, one with equality and justice, where suffering would be no more.

It was her dream. It didn’t matter how strong Gabin was or how hard his fists hit her body; it was worth it to have the people rally around her words, captivated by her message of unity and rebellion.

A tall stranger slipped into their meeting place—she alone saw as the others were engrossed in chanting, jumping up and down with fists in the air.

Upon first glance, he seemed to be the same as the others—an ordinary man there to hear the words of the meeting.

But the details slipped through her initial glance.

Her focus faltered momentarily as her gaze returned to the stranger who came to lean upon the side wall with an unreadable expression.

Though he wore the clothes of a commoner, his shirt was pressed cleanly and bright white beneath an untorn coat.

He was well-fed, not with a round belly but with firm muscle beneath his breeches and poet blouse.

No soot graced his face, and any sweat he might have had was dabbed away.

Her first thought was a king’s informant.

There was an air of unforced confidence and authority around him, the way his eyes surveyed the place—measured and detached.

He seemed unfazed by the dirt and desperation around him.

There had been rumors that entire meeting places would go silent because the attendees were thrown into prison.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she ignored her growing unease and curiosity about the man’s identity.

She didn’t know how to steer the people away from rebellion anyway, given that she had already fanned the flame with their chanting.

Her natural ability to orate only went so far.

Her gaze lingered on the stranger, and she could feel Gabin’s hot stare burning the side of her face.

It was too late, she reasoned, to save them from prison if the stranger indeed were there to silence them.

The people needed to hear her last words, and she did not want to instill doubt.

“United!” she yelled, and they repeated.

“United, we shall be heard. United, we shall demand our needs. And united, we shall take back what is ours. Sleep well tonight, my fellow countrymen and women. Sleep well, for a time is coming when we shall be heard around the world.”

The bakery and the people in the streets pressed in, erupting in cheers, applause, whoops, and hollers.

She stepped down, and her shoulders, back, and hands attracted the happy pats of her peers.

Gabin approached her. She ignored his heavy footsteps and, instead, made her way out of his path and toward the stranger in the back.

The stranger met her gaze, and his jaw fell slack at the sight of her.

It was as if he had forgotten everyone else in the room.

Something about his longing eyes drew her closer.

His silent attention sent a familiar shiver through her legs.

He stood like a sculptor’s greatest masterpiece; his beauty needed no exaggerated gesture or show.

His relaxed posture deceived his powerful build and surely hidden strength.

Every detail seemed crafted with purpose, from the contours of his face to the shadow of stubble that softened his cut jawline.

Gabin was handsome, but this man was striking.

Gabin flaunted his beauty and bragged about his strength, but this man’s allure lay in subtleness and mystery that boasted of both strength and restraint.

Though his exterior called her to come hither, she shut her falling jaw and told herself he was probably like every other man she had ever met, and if not, he would surely throw her in prison for her words that evening.