Quand Le Vie Vous Donne Des Citrons

Part One: The Beauty of the Beast



I : Citrons



They say “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade”, or as we French understand it: “quand le vie vous donne des citrons, faire de la limonade”. But unfortunately, without fresh, cool water, and a nice lump of sugar, this task becomes very easily impossible.



I guess that this saying could be the thought behind my very existence, my life, and my story. This would be the part where I should probably explain all this nonsense that I speak of.



But what fun would a story be without suspense? I certainly wouldn’t enjoy a book that lacked suspense for all the money in the world. Besides, in order to fully explain, I must go into detail about my tale. And so I do in chronological order.



So, here I will start at the beginning, with lemonade. The lemonade saying means to take opportunities when they are put in front of you. After all, you never know what day will be your last. It means to fight for your beliefs, your liberty, and, most importantly, your aimer, or love.



When we lived in La Maison de la Violette, my Mere taught me how to make lemonade. We were a well-off family, and made a nice sum of money from my Pere’s trading business. In his free time, Pere also invented. This helped with some costs, too, as he was quite brilliant. Some of his inventions lacked the finishing touch, but he claimed that someday he would come back and perfect his engineering. So we did have chefs to do kitchen work and maids to clean and landscapers to keep up with outdoor duties.



However, my mother saw a value in knowing how to take care of yourself.Mere believed that any person, filled with good or bad luck alike, should work for each and every half-penny they received. And, my, did she teach me to work hard. No, I daresay, I was never an aimless, pampered young lady. I worked like an ox every day of my life. I am eternally grateful for her thoughts on what I might need to know later on.



So, down in the kitchens on a bright summer day, I stood with Mere, squeezing citrus and throwing spoonfuls of sugar into our glasses at the age of six.



"Isabella," Mere laughed as I dumped more than my fill of sugar into the cup when I had believed she was turned the other direction. She had the sweetest laugh I have ever heard. She smiled that kind, gentle smile that made her bright blue eyes light up, shaking her finger at me. "What have I told you about adding in too much sugar?"



I looked up at her, a grin spreading across my face. "It will upset the balance of sweet and sour." I recited the phrase perfectly from what she had exactly said only moments before.



She laughed once more, her eyes twinkling still brighter. "Very good, Belle. Now, taste it, and you will understand my precautions."



I put the glass up to my lips. The cool liquid dripped into my mouth slowly, and sweetly. But as it went down, it suddenly tasted much too sugary, and I barely stopped myself from spewing all out over the kitchen. Mere was right indeed.



She smiled at me. "You know what they say, Belle. When life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade, or as we French understand it, ‘quand le vie vous donne des citrons, faire de la limonade’. What do you think that means?"



I giggled, and said the first thing that popped into my six-year-old mind: "When you have lemons, lemonade is a definite possibility."



Mere smiled at me once more, and elaborated. "Belle, this means that when you get an exceptional opportunity in life, you should take it. No matter what the risk. That you will do what is necessary to accomplish whatever you need to in order to complete the task. But life is hard, and people go through many trials. It is difficult, sometimes, to see a good opportunity when it appears, and to try to achieve it. And even more frequently, people do not add the right amount of sugar or the correct temperature of water. In the end, this results in a not-so-refreshing glass of lemonade. And the opportunity is gone. Do you understand, Isabella?"



Somewhere in my six-year-old thoughts, I must have been able to comprehend what she said, and I nodded. She smiled, took my hand, and kissed it gently. "Good," she whispered quietly. "You must never forget to add the right ingredients, to produce the proper outcome."



Mere taught me how to ride a horse. She taught me how to shoot arrows, and hunt, and fish. She believed that everyone should learn to survive in the wild, in case of an emergency. She taught me how to sew, and sewed me a beautiful crimson cloak with a large hood. I loved to wear it, and it was made for traveling. It was too big for me, meant for a grown woman. But she told me I'd someday grow into it. She taught me so much, and I will always remember how much she loved me.



I began to describe Mere, if you have noticed, in the past-tense. The reason for this is simple: she has gone on. She is not with us anymore. She passed away when I had almost reached eleven years. I had known her for barely a decade, but I could not bear to live without her. I was stricken with horror when we found that she would not make it to my eleventh birthday anniversary celebration.



She became sick one day, retiring to bed early with a slight cough and a giant head ache. It became increasingly worse, and soon Mere was sentenced to bed-rest. She despised that part of being sick, more than the pains of being ill. She worked so hard every day that it was difficult for her to just lay there upon her bottom day after day, every minute. I felt sorry for her.



I didn't actually think of Mere as sick, when the Physician explained her troubles to us all- she was with child. I was to have a little baby sibling! How excited I was when I heard the news. I rushed in, gave Mere a gigantic hug, and kissed her belly, not yet plump. Her angelic laugh turned into a gasping wheeze and then to a hacking cough. I remembered that cough for some reason- it was the first of many.



Mere conceived Joseph Matthew Janvier on a bright snowy winter's day. The birds had just begun to come back, and there were a few singing outside in the dead trees. He was a sweetheart! He would go to anyone, and I was even permitted to hold him. He would cuddle close to anyone who held him. Joseph had ivory skin, curly black locks, and deep blue eyes, just like Mere. I loved him from the moment I laid eyes on his dimpled face.



I'm not quite sure when I figured out Mere would never be the same. Probably after Joseph was born. She became less and less manageable. She continually ate massive amounts of food all day long, and had raged tantrums. I had never seen that side of her. She finally cracked.



By cracked, I mean that she lost her mind entirely. She threw fits to get Pere's attention. He was far too busy with his trading business, and was often away for months at a time. It became so difficult that Mere had tried to commit the most unforgiveable crime- to take her own life. She tried to slit her throat with broken china, overdose on her pain medication, and inhale toxic fumes from the maid's cleaning chemicals. Each time she was either caught by her maid or couldn’t finish herself off.



But one day, I witnessed an attempt she made at ending her life. It was one of those cold but sunny spring days in April. I walked into her bedroom to check on her, to see how she was. I carried her supper into her chambers, and when I walked through the door, I dropped the entire tray of food, screamed at the top of my lungs, and ran towards who I knew was not the woman who had raised me.



Mere had tied one of her thick, pale blue curtains to the end of the sturdy curtain rod. She had climbed atop a chair, and made a noose. And lastly, she put her head through the noose, and pulled tightly. Her feet now dangled in the air; she twitched and seized as she dropped the rope that she could no longer hold. I ran up to her, only ten feet away; now five. Time seemed to slow as I ran towards what my mother had become.



I tried so hard to undo the noose that was around her neck, but she had great skill in knot-tying, and I had not yet been taught that technique. Mere whispered to me, right before her blue eyes turned to a foggy, unseeing shade: “Quand le vie vous donne des citrons.”



Two guards came rushing in seconds too late. Mere was gone for good.



The next week was the nearest time Pere could handle the funeral. It was a cold rainy day, and the sky was filled with dark gray clouds. Everyone darned heavy, thick black attire. Most carried parasols over their heads to shield from the cold, wet pounding precipitation. Even the servants and maids and cooks came to the depressing occasion. Mere was loved by everyone she met.



As the procession went on, I felt a drop roll down my cheek, and I knew it wasn't the rain. I held Joseph through the entire service, held him close to my heart. I rocked him, trying dearly to hold back my sobs. Pere tried his best to comfort me, but I had just lost my Mere. He had lost his wife, and wasn’t holding up well, either.



I used books to recover from Mere’s passing. Reading took my mind off of the sudden sadness. I could lose myself anytime in an adventure with a dashing prince, or a gracious benefactor who took care of a little orphan. These stories always had joyous conclusions, and made me happy with the last phrase: “And they all lived happily ever after”. I someday wanted to find love and have my own happily ever after.



Pere, however, coped in a much different way. He decided to do what he thought was best for all of us, and began courting, again. After about a month, he found a worthy companion and they were married shortly thereafter. And in only a few months, Pere’s new wife was with child- a set of twins (which would be her second), a couple of boys who looked exactly like Pere, Matthieu and Lucas.



My new Mere’s name was Lady Tremaine, who had that beautiful long silvery golden hair and eyes almost so dark they were completely black. She had two twin daughters, Jacqueline, who had long ebony hair and bright green eyes, and Anastasie, who was an exact younger copy of her mother. Both girls were a year older than I, and were not the most handsome. They envied my looks.



I had always been known in town as a true form of my pet name, “Belle”. People had, from the time I was an infant, informed me on how gorgeous I was. I had been excluded because of this. People thought that I should be thinking of hair and jewelry and gowns and balls, but instead I had always been lost in a book. My village thought of me as rather peculiar. But I didn’t mind. That was, until Lady Tremaine and daughters came to live with us.



They all dressed in the fanciest clothes, big and boastful, as if to say for them that they thought of themselves as better than anyone else they came into contact with. None of them had worked a day in their lives. They were all petty and filthy rich.



My father explained how they were good to be with us. I wasn’t so sure, however, as the twins called me profane names day after day and mocked me because of my calloused hands and feet. They poked fun at my hair, which was long and brown, and difficult to manage, especially in humidity. That summer hurt in a load of ways.



It hurt the most a few years later. I was fifteen, when Pere unexpectedly lost his occupation as a merchant. We were forced to move out of La Maison de la Violette, and into a tiny cottage. This was even worse news when we found that Lady Tremaine was with child- another set of twins. This time, however, it was a couple of boys who looked exactly like Pere, Matthieu and Lucas.



I took up most responsibility for the house and outdoors, although we did have two servants, a brother and sister, named Juliette and Benjamin Karon, who were in their early twenties. Juliette became my best friend, as I continued to be made into a joke by my step- and half-siblings for years to come, from eleven years of age to seventeen. The two had light blonde hair, and little noses. They both had a few freckles splashed across their faces, and big blue eyes, and darling little dimples, one on either cheek. Juliette was petite, and funny. I loved to talk with her. She always had the best things to say to me when I was angry, and we were soon close friends. She had a way about her, and my sixth sense told me that she could be trusted.



We talked about everything. Juliette was in love with our one other hand, the stable boy, named Olivier Illian. She had talked to him a few times, and claimed that he was an angel in disguise. He treated her like a princess, from what she told me. I believed her totally; Olivier still talked to me.



I was often found in the morning by the fireplace, with a book in my arms and ashes across my body. Instead of calling me the nickname of Belle, my sisters thought that a better pet name for Isabella would be Cinder-ella. I was treated like a servant except to my Pere and my brother, Joseph, who loved me more than anyone, I believe.



You see, I was thrown out of the family, slowly, but surely. I was not part of the perfection of Lady Tremaine. So, they cast me aside, using me for what they could. Jacqueline would sometimes whisper to me at night, I being the only person who would listen to her. I told you, I cannot judge. People can always talk to me.



My brother, Joseph, was always there. No, he didn't understand much as a toddler, but whenever I cried, he would hold me close, and wipe away my tears. I would often sneak up to his room at night, and snuggle him until he fell asleep.



Father had completed an invention, and was traveling to find anyone to buy it from him. We needed the income. He had been away for seven months now, after he came back for my sixteenth birthday. It was rare that we heard from him. He didn’t have money to buy postage to send us anything by express, so we waited for him to return in anxiety. I was treated terrible without him being there to protect me. 



No one in our house took education seriously but me. I was not allowed to be tutored, however, because of my many house hold responsibilities.



“Besides,” Lady Tremaine would often tell me. “You don’t need an education. You will be here with me for the rest of your life. You wouldn’t leave your poor step-Mere to fend for herself, now, would you?”



But, in secret, the new tutor from a far off village would teach me. Monsieur Daniel Marquand was a well-known lord. He was tutor to all of my siblings, and was not allowed to teach me anything. But this man, in his early twenties, was kind-hearted, more than anyone I knew. He secretly taught me great new findings, as well as the regular calculations, literature, and writing.



Monsieur Marquand always had some factoid that didn't really matter. It was just interesting to know. And he always had a logic puzzle to give me. He was the best tutor I had ever had. I loved how much he cared for each of his students, no matter what.



One day, as I studied, he looked up, and asked a peculiar question. "Isabella, why... Why do stay?"



His brown eyes sparkled, and he ran a hand through his luscious light brown hair. He had a short haircut, like a country boy. His face was studded with a five-o'clock shadow. The bright evening sky that day in May was gorgeous and splashed with color.



I thought for a moment. Why did I stay? It was hard work, and I wasn't at all accepted into my family. I answered finally, when I had come up with the most truthful response, "Because of everyone I will leave behind."



Mr. Marquand smiled that half-grin that brings out the dimple in his left cheek. "Well, I am glad you didn't leave. I need someone who cares about what I teach them. And I don't think I could have been as strong as you have been to stay."



I smiled back. "I don't know about that. You seem strong to me."



He just shook his head, and gave a laugh. But it was more of a melancholy chuckle. It saddened me. He was the strongest person I knew. I wasn't even able to compare the possibility that I was close to as strong as Daniel Marquand.



That night, I truly thought about my life. What was the point of staying, if I couldn't actually live? What did have to live for, anyways? The random facts spewed by Mr. Marquand, the scrolls he gave me to decipher, the way my baby brother hugged me close when I cried, the night-time whispers from Jacqueline, the words of admiration for Olivier from Juliette? What was all of that if I was stuck here, as a servant, and a brood that no one actually cared for?



The next day I woke well and rested. I felt fine, and abandoned the thoughts from the previous night. I went up to Lady Tremaine's chambers to bring her breakfast, and was astonished when I heard two voices whispering about Monsieur Marquand. It was Anastasie and her Mere, in hushed tones, but I could make out what they said.



"I saw them, Mere! He was teaching her, and they were laughing together, yesterday, in the closet behind the kitchens!" Anastasie looked as if she was going to faint.



"Are you sure, my flower? It could have been a servant talking to her, couldn't it have?" Lady Tremaine asked. Her brows were knitted together in a look of great concern.



"No, Mere. It was them both, Monsieur Marquand and Isabella. I swear on my life!" Anastasie's dark eyes were wide, as she made the covenant that bound her.



Her Mere pulled her close. "Hush, now, daughter. There is no need to get worked up about little matters. I will deal with them."



"Mere, they way they looked at each other! It was like this had been going on for a long, long time." She sobbed quietly.



"It's alright my flower. Everything will be alright." Lady Tremaine smiled that soulless, icy smile. And I knew that it was time to leave. For good.



I ran out of the room as quietly as I could. Pere was out on business, as previously stated, so he couldn’t stop anything from happening. I raced to Monsieur Marquand's chambers, and threw open the door. I rushed in, and he looked back to me. He was wearing tan pantaloons, with a bright yellow shirt. He had a jacket to go with his pants slung across an armchair, and he looked dazzling in the morning light protruding from the window behind him. He stood at his tall mirror, combing his hair exactly right. His eyes sparkled, and that's when I realized that I shouldn't have done it.



I shouldn't have let him tutor me. I should have told him no when he had asked me. Then he wouldn't be in trouble. The strongest man I knew was brought down by none other but Isabella Jeanne Janvier.



He looked at me, confused. "Belle?" he asked.



"You have to go," I said, shutting the door fast. "Lady Tremaine is going to make you suffer, and it's all my fault. Anastasie saw us and told her, and now she's going to either throw you out, or do something horrible, like torture you. You have to leave, before the guards come for you."



He just stood there and nodded, taking in everything I said, completely calm. When I finished, he walked over to me, and took my hand. "Isabella Jeanne Janvier," he said. "Do you know who were named after? Jeanne D’Arc. She was one of France’s biggest heroines. There is something heroic that I have seen in you, every day since we first met. It's been a pleasure knowing you, and I hope we meet again someday. I hope you don't let this place hold you back from becoming who you are destined to be. You are special, don't let anything that happens to you drag you down. Do you understand me?" He looked me right in the eyes, and I held on to the gaze of his gorgeous brown irises.



I nodded, and a tear streaked down my face. He lifted my head, kissed my cheek, and hugged me close. He smelt of honey and perfume. "Don't cry for me. You'll be fine. Keep studying. I have loved every moment of teaching you. You are special, always remember that, Belle. Je t'aime."



And with those words, Monsieur Daniel Marquand let me go. He grabbed his messenger bag, which I had no doubt he had prepared for this moment. He had known he would be caught.



He then ran out of the room, and down to the kitchens, opened the trap door, and ran through the secret underground tunnel. I didn't think I would ever see him again.



I was punished for my misbehavior. I was starved of food for three days, only allowed water to drink, locked away in a prison cell. I wasn't held there for more time, however because Joseph begged and cried for my release. He had to plead with my father, and I was given even more responsibilities when I got out. Anastasie and Lady Tremaine gave me lecture after lecture about how it was unacceptable.



All that Lady Tremaine said about Monsieur Marquand was that she had thrown him out, and would not release any more information on the subject of his disappearance. I prayed that she had not found him, but that he had got away. I hoped he was safe and unharmed somewhere far away from here.



Life went on as it was. The children received a new tutor, “this one more apt to follow orders,” as Lady Tremaine would have said. I gained even more duties to accomplish around the cottage, and was banished to the attic to sleep. I was isolated even more, and Jacqueline ceased talking to me. I could no longer hug Joseph when anyone was around, could not snuggle close to him at night. I was becoming more of an outcast than the servants.



Then came the day, a couple of months later, when we received a letter. Pere would not be returning home. He had been found, along with his invention, somewhere within the Woods of Manifest. Along with the letter came the only thing Pere had in his possession- a single red rose.



My mind raced wildly back to months earlier, on my birthday, when Pere said he would be leaving for a long journey. He sat in my room, explaining why he needed to go. I didn’t want him to, but of course I knew the need. We needed money, and Lady Tremaine hated spending her infinite savings on us commoners, especially me.



Pere had said that he’d make it up to me somehow. Jacqueline and Anastasie asked him to buy them new gowns and slippers, and perfumes when he had sold his invention. He asked me at that time what I wanted him to bring back when he had sold the invention. I told him I wanted nothing, but Pere was persistent, and would not take no for an answer. So, I asked for a single red rose. Here, roses do not come up correctly. The air about the cottage cannot take the rose seeds and produce the right outcome.



So, I asked if he would bring me a crimson rose, and he agreed. He had fulfilled his promise to me, even in death. I sobbed when I saw that rose. And just when I was about to pick it up, Anastasie did just that. There was a note attatched to it, and she read it aloud in a mocking voice.



“My dearest daughter, Isabella Jeanne Javier,” she laughed as she read on. “I love you with all my heart, and hope that this rose makes its way to you safely. It shall never wilt, and is like unto my love for you. Never forget the deep love that I have for you. We will be together again someday, in Paradise. I truly believe this. With all my love and undying effection, Je t’aime, Isabella. –Pere.” She finished the letter with high-pitched laughter, and then threw the rose into the fire.



I screamed, ran over to the fire, and burnt my hand. But I salvaged the rose, just as it began to burn. To my astonishment, it returned to its natural color and feel. It was just as new as before. It was as if… As if it healed.



I stood and glared at Anastasie, but decided just to walk away. She wasn’t worth yelling at, or slugging in the face. She wasn’t worth my feelings. So I tried to forget what she had done and continued my terrible life.



That day, I realized something. I realized that I could not stay. I needed to find myself, and I couldn't do that while I was trapped here looking after my siblings. I knew that I would be back someday, but I needed to figure everything out for myself, and I needed to experience life.



I told Julliette my decision, and she helped me gather things I might need and stashed them into a traveler's canvas sack that used to be Pere’s.



About a week later, on a sunny day, I talked to everyone I loved. Anastasie and Lady Tremaine were wished well. I embraced Jacqueline, and my half-brothers. I sang a lullaby to Joseph Joseph, and felt him fall asleep in my arms. Addorned in my cloak, that I now almost fit perfectly, though it was still a little big, I went out to the stables, where Juliette, Benjamin, and Olivier stood in wait for me. Mere’s old horse, Fidelite, was saddled and ready to go. My canvas bag was tied on, and I was all ready.



I embraced all three of them tighter than ever before. I had no idea what would happen, or if I’d ever return.



“Where will you go?” Juliette asked with a concerned countenance. I held her tighter to me.



“I don’t know,” I answered. “I can’t send you anything by express, but…” I pulled a photo of me from my sack. “Look at this picture, and know that I am fine.”



Juliette kissed me on the cheek, which I returned. I hugged Olivier again, whispering to him that Juliette admired him. I hugged Ben, and told him to take care of everyone. I hopped up onto the back of Fidelite’s coppery coat and took one last look around. Then I galloped into the moonlight.



All I could do was mix the lemons, sugar, and cool clear water, and hope optimistically for the correct outcome.