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With a heavy heart, Lafayette walked down the narrow hallway of La Grange, rubbing his thumb against his golden locket, which had his wife’s portrait inside. It had been a sad week for the 50-year-old, losing his wife on Christmas Eve to the illness she had caught at Olmütz prison, having been in bad condition ever since. She was only 48-years-old.
He solemnly walked past the master bedroom, where he and his late wife slept, and where they said their final goodbyes, surprised to see his granddaughter, weeping on Adrienne’s side of the bed, clutching a doll she had gotten for her birthday that year. At the sight, his heart shattered. Adrienne was so happy that she had received a grandchild, and thus she had become a mother to a young child again.
“Celestine-”, he whispered warily, sitting down next to her, stroking the eight-year-old’s back, glancing at the open wooden door, “do you want me to get your mother?” He was already ready to come downstairs and get Anastasie, who was reading to her niece, Nathalie, in the living room.
“She deserved more time…”, she whimpered, burying her tearful face into the bedsheets. “She deserved more years…” he sighed softly, moving his hand up to her golden locks. “I agree with you, dear…”
“We should have taken her to Paris. Or the Auvergne. Or near our old home in the Netherlands. Didn’t she love Versailles?”
“Yes, she did, Celestine…”
“We could have taken her on a horse ride…” she looked up, and her doll almost fell to the floor, with Gilbert catching it by its poor porcelain leg. He touched her shoulder, gently consoling her. “I do not think she would have been able to focus on all those beautiful things… she was very sick, Celestine…”
Celestine’s face scrunched up, and Gilbert was preparing for the girl to sob while her eyes turned to glass and her face turned pink. “I should have said more things to her… I should have hugged her close…” Tears began to fall, and he did not know whether to hug her or not.
“Celestine!” Anastasie ran into the room, as if sensing something was wrong, cupping the little girl's face. “Oh, dear, my sweet girl…” her gentle, dainty hands caught the tears, which were curving off of her fingers.
“I miss grandma…”
“We miss her, too…” all three of them were sitting on the bed now, with Celestine on Anastasie’s heavily skirted lap. “Celestine”, Gilbert whispered, brushing Anastasie’s blonde hair to the side, “You look very much like her.” Celestine looked up from resting her head on her mother’s bosom, staring into his eyes.
“Oh yes, you have her face shape, her golden hair, her brown eyes, her charming smile.” he ruffled her hair. “Though your grandmother is no longer with us, her looks are being passed through generations, and she will be forever here”, he pointed to his chest, “in our hearts.”
He whisked her off Anastasie’s lap, “I would like to show you something, my dear, something I haven’t shown anyone else.”
Opening a drawer, there were piles of letters, laced with green ribbon to keep them secure and in place. He picked up a pile, tears brimming through his eyes and a small smile showing on his face. “She wrote letters to me, and I kept every single one.”
“Oh, father, are you sure you want to show Celestine the letters?”, Anastasie asked warily.
“They will be found in history, anyway.” he put Celestine down on the bed, giving her some letters to read, dating all the way back to 1774.
“...I love you…”
“...With our wedding coming our way…”
“...I wish you to hold me in your arms when you come back…”
“This is exactly how she would write… oh, papa, she loved you so much…” Gilbert chuckled a little, brushing a strand of her hair to the side. “She sure did, she was giddy ever since she met me.” he looked down at the pile, a smile showing although his eyes were turning glossy.
“Oh, Papa…” Celeste noticed the tears.
“Oh, you need not worry about me, dear…”
“She is forever with us, remember?”
Gilbert smiled a little, eyeing his granddaughter. “Right you are, my dear.”