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I.
Fantine knew she was going to die. There was no doubt in her mind- not after the long, cold nights alone in the garret, and this cough that had settled in her chest so long ago she hardly remembered what it was like to breathe without it. With all that had happened this winter, she would almost have welcomed it- if not for Cosette.
The thoughts of her daughter almost overwhelmed her, made her forget the struggle to breathe, the way her limbs felt heavy even in this bed, how thirsty she was and how hot it seemed to be here. She wanted to see Cosette one last time. She had asked, but nobody seemed willing to bring her child to see her. It was almost as if she could hear Cosette playing outside in the street, the way she probably played with the children whose kind mother was looking after her. Fantine could almost comfort herself with the idea of Cosette being happy and cared for.
But it was not enough, and nothing would do except to see her daughter, hold her little hand one last time, and tell her how deeply she was loved. Fantine expressed this to the Sisters who were bringing in wood for the fire.
“Has Mother Superior sent for the daughter?” one of the nuns asked the other, low enough that their patient couldn’t hear them.
Her Sister nodded. “But we daren’t tell her, in case the child cannot be brought in time.”
“But would it not give her hope?”
“It might- or it might only make her worse, if the child cannot be found, or there is some delay and she frets.”
They finished the fire in silence. Somehow, it’s cheerful crackling failed to brighten the room much.
That night, the Sister on duty in the infirmary spent all night by Fantine’s bed, watching, praying, and hoping that she would still be breathing when morning came. The whole convent knew of her desire to see her daughter, for word travels fast in such communities, and the Sisters had gathered to say a Novena the previous evening for the daughter’s safe and quick arrival.
Whether the Novena had the intended effect, or whether it was the milder character which the weather assumed that day, it was nearly dusk when a cart flew up to the gates of the convent and the Portress hurried to open the gates and wave it in.
“Is it she?” she whispered to the driver of the cart, a man called Fauchelevent. He nodded.
“And the mother?” he replied, in a similar undertone.
“She awaits her daughter in the infirmary,” the Sister replied. They shared a quick smile and Fauchelevent hurried along to the door of the Convent, where the Sister in charge of the school pupils was waiting to welcome the girl.
The Sisters ensured that Cosette was washed and dressed in something clean before they took her to see her mother. The state of the child had been shocking and they pursed their lips and muttered behind closed doors about what sort of monsters she had been subject to live with. But where the child could see them, they only smiled and spoke gently to her of how happy her mother would be and how nice it would be for her to spend time with Maman.
While Cosette was readied for her visit, the Sisters provided similar service to Fantine, so as not to scare the child. They could do very little about the pallor and the thinness of her face and the cough, but they helped her clean up as best she could and sit up in bed with a pretty shawl around her shoulders.
More than any of their ministrations, it was the promise of her child that breathed life into Fantine. For the first time since her arrival, she looked truly alert and it seemed clear to all of them that she knew where she was and what was going on. She smiled and warmed her hands in the direction of the fire and stroked the fringe on the soft shawl. She seemed to have finally relaxed.
When she heard footsteps in the hall, Fantine felt her heart pounding. It had been years since she had seen her Cosette. What would she look like now? Would she even remember her mother? Fantine knew that Cosette would be beautiful and that she would recognize her daughter immediately, no matter how tall she had gotten. A mother always knows.
It was true. The door opened slowly and admitted a child with soft brown hair and an inquisitive gaze that she cast around the room. She was thin and twisted her hands nervously and there was a bruise fading on one cheek, but Fantine saw none of that. To her, the child was an angel.
“Cosette?” she said, as if she was afraid that the spell would be broken and the girl would disappear.
When she spoke, Fantine had the pleasure of watching her daughter’s gaze turn directly to her and the whole face brighten in a smile.
“Maman!” she exclaimed and came running to the bed to throw her arms around Fantine.
For mother and child, it was a dream come true. Every night of their years apart, or so it had seemed, Fantine had dreamed of her daughter. And all the while, Cosette had dreamed of her mother. She had not remembered her mother’s looks, but she had remembered the warmth and safety of her arms and it was to this memory that she ran. It barely registered to her that her mother was thin and ragged and coughed when emotion overtook her. It was the same warm, safe hug that she remembered and that was all she needed.
When the first hugs and long, examining looks were over, Fantine invited Cosette to climb up on her bed. The girl did so and immediately took her mother’s hand again, as if she could not bear to let it go for even a moment. It took only one question to get her talking, a comfort and willingness to communicate that would have infuriated the Thenardiers and surprised even kind Mr. Fauchelevent, who had tried to engage her in conversation during the carriage ride. But Cosette felt no reticence in the presence of the one person she had always known loved her.
They talked long into the afternoon and, to the Sisters’ surprise, Fantine barely seemed to tire. Cosette blossomed under her mother’s love and when it was time to sleep, they curled up next to each other and drifted off.
II.
Spring came early that year and Fantine walked out into the warmth of the sunshine and surveyed the garden. It was still brown and empty from winter, but she could already picture how it would look in bloom. Best of all, Cosette would be finishing up school any time now. Fantine smiled at the thought and bent to pick a few weeds that were already struggling up through the dirt ahead of the flowers.
Roses over there, she thought to herself. And the herb garden there. The convent had never had its own before, but Fantine was confident that she could grow much of what they needed. Sister Infirmarer had provided a list and if she planted them early enough in the season, she could hang them to dry and have them ready for the infirmary. They would smell so good in her cottage!
With a stick, she drew lines in the dirt, marking out the space she expected to need. She could turn the dirt over this week and mix in the leaves that had collected in the dirt patch after last year’s garden died away, and then next week she would go to market, with Mother Superior’s garden money in her pocket, and begin finding the seeds and plants that would provide a start…
Fantine worked happily until the bell sounded, calling the Sisters to prayer and reminding her that school would be done for the day and Cosette would be on her way home. She stood up, dusted off her hands, and headed back to the cottage in the corner of the convent grounds.
It was the arrangement Fantine had worked out with the Sisters who saved her life. She had told them, quietly, when Cosette wasn’t listening, of what her life had been like the past few years- of the cold, the loneliness, the insecurity, and of what she had been forced to do to survive. They knew some of it, from knowing the frailty of her body and the gap in her smile.
“Never again!” Mother Superior barked, when she heard the story. This made Fantine smile. She knew Mother Superior well enough, by now, to know that it was not Fantine she was angry with. It was God, most likely, for not arranging things better, so that Fantine had been spared the suffering. If the Lord knew what was good for him, Fantine was sure, He would do as Mother Superior instructed.
And it seemed that He had, with Mother Superior as his faithful advisor, arranging it all. Fantine and Cosette had been sent to a convent in Paris that needed another pair of hands. Armed with a letter of introduction from one Mother Superior to another, they had been installed in the cozy little cottage. Fantine would tend the garden, help in the kitchen, and run errands outside the walls of the convent. In return, they would have a home and Cosette would go to the convent school.
Now, Fantine washed her hands, tidied her hair, and put a kettle on to boil. She smiled to herself as Cosette skipped through the door and made herself comfortable on the bed. She sighed deeply.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to spell properly,” Cosette sighed. “Spelling is impossible.” She buried her head in the pillow and made a frustrated sound that might have been a growl.
Fantine was fairly sure there wouldn’t be so many books for sale if spelling was as bad as Cosette claimed, but she didn’t think it would be helpful to say so.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” She went over and sat down on the bed and rubbed Cosette’s back. After a few moments, Cosette relaxed. Slowly, she pulled her head out of the pillow and rolled over to rest her head in Fantine’s lap. Fantine rubbed her back for a while longer, and then tickled her ribs, just to watch the smile pop up on her face. Finally, Cosette sat up and wrapped her arms around her mother, leaning in for a hug.
“I’m glad I’m home,” she sighed.
III.
Their new home in the Rue Plumet was a revelation. Exactly how she came to be in possession of the resources to move there, Fantine was never quite sure. There had been a delivery to the convent of a gift from some benefactor- despite the note, it hadn’t been at all clear. Mother Superior had taken the delivery and asked Fantine for an explanation she had been unable to give. They had conferred at some length and asked questions of the postman who delivered it, but no answers had been forthcoming. All that was clear was that the gift was, indeed, for Fantine and Cosette.
That had been some years earlier and Fantine had considered it beneficial for Cosette to finish her schooling and Fantine to identify and train a successor to take her place in the garden. It would be M. Fauchelevent, her neighbor back in M. sur M., and getting to know him as he prepared for the job had been a delight.
The intervening years between the gift and the move had allowed her to accustom herself to the knowledge that she was, suddenly and unexpectedly, financially stable. Better than stable- she was comfortable, an unexpected luxury. No need to rush into spending the money, when she had no need of money in the convent. Better for Cosette to finish her schooling with her friends, in the care of the Sisters she knew and trusted, and to keep their little home as it had always been.
But when the time came for Cosette to leave school, Fantine knew it was best to leave the convent, unless Cosette decided that she had a vocation to stay as a nun herself. She did not, which relieved Fantine’s worries a little. Of course, Cosette would probably have her own home one day, but being a nun seemed so final, especially here, where the Sisters were so withdrawn from the world. Fantine could not pretend it hadn’t concerned her slightly.
No matter. Cosette wanted to go with her back into the world, to see all that there was to enjoy. Fantine, who had not been in the city much for some years, was both excited and nervous to join the city of Paris as it whirled round and round in the fast rhythm that was life in a bustling city.
As they settled into their new home, Fantine found that she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. Cosette had none of her mother’s fears, and treated each homemaking task as an adventure. Fantine would have been content with a simple bed frame and a plain rug for her room, but Cosette’s eyes lit up when she saw the empty space.
“Think what we could do with the room!” she exclaimed. “It’s huge! Maman, which room will you take?”
“Oh,” Fantine said, still a little overwhelmed at the size of it all. “I may only stay in the garden, perhaps in the-”
“No! Maman,” Cosette protested, in that voice that managed to be more wheedling than complaining, “you must pick a room in here, with me.” She put her arm around Fantine’s shoulders and Fantine marveled, not for the first time, at how tall her daughter had gotten. They were the same height now. But of course, Cosette was a woman, more or less. Where had the time flown off to?
“Oh, well, if you insist,” Fantine relented, but in her heart she was glad to be staying near her daughter. My dear Cosette, she thought. What should I ever do without you? And she felt grateful that there was still some time before Cosette would begin to think of men and of moving on.
Fantine shook the thought from her head and let herself enjoy her daughter’s enthusiasm as Cosette walked her into a pretty room in the back of the house, overlooking the garden.
“I think you should have this one,” she said, “and I’ll take the one in the front. It’s nice and peaceful and green.” Already, Cosette was mentally decorating the room. “What would you think of the bed in that corner, across from the window? And a washstand here, and maybe a pretty dressing table and a mirror here.”
“I think it will be beautiful,” Fantine agreed.
“And a nice rug,” Cosette went on. “I think the room will feel cold without it.” As she talked, Fantine felt she could almost see Cosette’s vision and she found that the more the daydreamed, the more excited she was. Cosette was right, it would be a very cozy room.
IV.
Fantine remembered the conversations about decorating some months later, on a quiet night as she sat with Cosette in their sitting room in front of a warm fire. Cosette was reading the newspaper and Fantine was working on some embroidery, though not much work was getting done. Mostly she was listening to Cosette read while she watched the flames dance in the grate.
It was snowing, and Fantine was remembering another snowy night, long ago, when she had been much colder and more alone. She looked over at her daughter, so well-educated that she could not only read the newspaper, but had opinions on the news of the day. And she was kind and beautiful, besides. Fantine felt herself warm deep down inside, in a way that had nothing to do with the roaring fire and the soft, high-backed chair she was reclining in.
Cosette finished the column she was reading and folded the paper in her lap.
“Mama?” she asked.
“Yes?”
Cosette bit her lip and smiled in a funny way- almost embarrassed. “Did you see that young man in the Luxembourg Gardens last week?”
“There were a number of young men there,” Fantine pointed out. “Are you thinking of one in particular?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how to describe him.” Cosette thought a moment and then said. “He was rather tall and wore all black and had black hair. Oh, I don’t know- that doesn’t sound very memorable. But I am sure I should know him if I saw him again.”
Fantine had to smile, though it was also true that her stomach tightened a little. “Was he very handsome?” she asked.
Cosette sighed dreamily. “Yes, I rather think he was.”
Fantine just nodded in case she wanted to say more. She was not prepared for the next question.
“How did you meet my father?”
Fantine’s eyebrows shot up and Cosette hastened to add, “You needn’t talk about him if you’d rather not. I was only curious.”
“Do you mind very much about not having a father?”
“No, not really. Haven’t we always done well for ourselves?”
Fantine smiled more genuinely this time. “I think we have.”
“We really have. I’ve certainly always been happy. Haven’t you?” Fantine agreed that she had. “And I have no complaints, of course. But he’s… sort of a question. What was he like? Where did he go?”
Fantine had known, at least vaguely, that this day would come and she supposed she should be happy it hadn’t come earlier. But Cosette was a young lady and it was probably for the best that Fantine was honest with her about what men could be like. Who was to say what her fancy for the lad in the Luxembourg Gardens might lead to?
So, slowly at first and then gathering speed, Fantine told Cosette everything she knew about Cosette’s father. It was… comforting, in a way, to watch Cosette’s reaction as she spoke. Her face started out open with the simple curiosity she professed, but then grew angry as Fantine explained how she had been left, alone and expecting a child.
“Well.” The child’s jaw was set as Fantine finished her tale. “Then we are clearly better off without him. What a horrid, worthless…” she continued in this vein for a few moments until Fantine couldn’t help but laugh.
“He is,” she agreed with her daughter. “All that, and probably more. There are almost certainly other children by now, you know.”
“Then they may have him.” Cosette was still outraged on her mother’s behalf. “We have done very well, just the two of us. And we will always have each other, no matter what.”
It never even occurred to Fantine not to believe her and the certainty of this love, the first and most lasting love in her life, made her heart dance for joy.
V.
Cosette had not forgotten about the boy from the Luxembourg Gardens when the snows melted and they went back for the first walk of spring.
“Do you think we’ll see him?” she had asked Fantine, who, as she often did, smiled indulgently.
“I wondered if you had not forgotten the boy in all black,” she teased. “Since you seem to have a talent for sitting by the window whenever that lancer with the magnificent mustache passes by.”
Cosette blushed and laughed. “Maman! Of course I haven’t forgotten him. The lancer is handsome,” (she blushed again) “But the boy from the gardens is really… He seems remarkable.”
Despite her occasional nervous feeling when she considered the idea of Cosette’s getting married, Fantine felt herself remembering the fun of spotting young men whom one admired and the sport of attempting to cross paths with them. She couldn’t help but be entertained by Cosette’s first foray into the world of romance.
This little fancy was so entertaining, in fact, that she was quite surprised when they happened to spot the boy himself. Fantine shot a glance over at Cosette, who was suddenly extremely interested in a statue of some kind and was studiously not looking at the boy at all. Fantine would have burst out laughing if it wouldn’t have embarrassed her daughter deeply.
“There he is!” Fantine whispered. She was fairly sure only Cosette could hear her, but Cosette hissed back an exasperated, “Maman!”
There was a moment’s silence and then Cosette whispered, more tentatively, “Do you think he sees me?”
Now Fantine did laugh. “Yes, dear, I rather think he has.”
“Oh, goodness me. What should I do?”
“Nothing but be your wonderful self, of course.” Cosette shot her a loving but despairing look at this less-than-actionable advice. “All right,” Fantine relented. “On another day, when it is not so muddy, drop your handkerchief where he is sure to see it. If he has gentlemanly manners, he will pick it up and I may be able to make his acquaintance and find some means of introduction.”
“Thank you,” Cosette murmured, smiling and blushing again.
VI.
The boy’s name turned out to be Marius Pontmercy, and to Fantine’s relief, he was poor as a church mouse and worked for a living. There seemed to be some complicated family history with a rich relative who had disowned him- or been disowned by him, Fantine wasn’t entirely clear.
She had been apprehensive, at first, to get to know the young man who might take Cosette away from her. But whenever she thought of getting between them, even inadvertently, she found that she couldn’t bear the thought of how sad Cosette would be. So, instead, she invited Marius over to sit in the parlor where the young people could be at least lightly supervised.
And in spite of it all, Fantine found that she approved of the match. He seemed to make Cosette happy and that was the most important thing. Cosette’s happiness was Fantine’s happiness. Marius’ presence brought about a new way for the two of them to relate to each other, as women with their own, independent lives, in addition to the fact of their being family.
It was a bit of a revelation to Fantine, who found that she was, even after all these years, still learning to be a mother to Cosette at each new stage of her daughter’s life. She had figured out how to help Cosette heal after their disastrous early years, and then helped her settle in to life in the convent and the peace and calm that they lived in, so different from what they were both used to. She had been making things up as she went along when Cosette had her first argument with a friend, when she had fallen down the stairs and sprained her ankle, and when she had begun her monthly cycles. These were all milestones Fantine had managed on her own, without any guidance, and each time Cosette had a new experience, Fantine was freshly, painfully aware that she had no idea what mothers were supposed to do.
This new stage of life seemed to consist of long talks by the fire in the evenings, after Marius had decorously retired to his own home. Like so many of Cosette’s new life experiences, Fantine reveled in it. She could tell when Cosette wanted to talk from the way that Cosette put the paper down and sighed, and Fantine got into the habit of hearing that sigh and standing to make tea.
Once they were each holding a cup, she would say, “What are you thinking about?” and Cosette would begin to explain. Sometimes she had some problem she needed her mother’s advice about, but just as often, Fantine found that Cosette simply wanted to daydream with her. They talked about all sorts of things, but Marius generally tended to crop up before the evening was over.
Fantine loved the warm, cozy feeling of being taken into her daughter’s confidence. It had taken her what later seemed like a surprisingly long time to figure out how it made her feel, but in the end she decided that the word was “loved”.
VII.
Fantine had largely forgotten the flashes of anxiety she had once felt about the prospect of Cosette leaving home and leaving her. Their lives were taken up with the ordinary business of living as Cosette’s relationship with Marius deepened and Fantine found herself slowly making friends with the neighboring women. There were teas after church on Sundays and walks in the Luxembourg gardens and Cosette reading aloud from the newspaper.
Then life had become abruptly chaotic when Marius was brought home, dying, from the barricades and Fantine had kept Cosette company while she picked lint and made bandages and waited for news. She had clung to Fantine, then, as a stable place in a rapidly tilting world and Fantine had been preoccupied fully with Cosette’s ability to cope with the daily sad news and the lingering possibility of Marius’ death.
Then Marius had recovered and everything had changed. They had been invited inside the great house, which apparently belonged to Marius’ grandfather. Fantine didn’t think much of the old man, knowing what Marius’ childhood had been like, but they went, since it would please Cosette and Marius. Fantine had perched herself on a chair in the corner and sat awkwardly across from Marius’ aunt while the young people talked.
Marius had looked awful, even though somebody had clearly gone to the trouble of helping him try to look like himself. He was pale and wan and his hair was strangely short and he could barely move with his arm braced to cushion a fracture. Poor lad, Fantine thought to herself, and was glad she could help him, by bringing Cosette to see him, if nothing else.
For their part, the two young people sat, grasping hands and talking at speed, apparently catching up on several weeks’ worth of personal news and gossip. When she saw Cosette’s face light up at the sight of Marius, and they way Cosette doted on him, Fantine knew. They were going to be married and everything was going to change.
The old anxious feeling had returned to her stomach, even as she smiled to hide her apprehension from Cosette. It was not Cosette’s fault if she was insecure. Cosette deserved to be happy. Wasn’t that what every mother wanted? Was it?
The wedding was beautiful and Fantine forgot her sadness at the sight of Cosette in her wedding gown, glowing with excitement and young love. Marius’ grandfather walked Cosette to the altar, but Cosette insisted that Fantine sit with the Gillenormands, in pride of place, right at the front. Cosette had even helped her pick out a dress that was suitable for the occasion. It was much fancier than Fantine usually wore, but she trusted Cosette, who had an eye for these things and a small group of equally fashionable friends to advise.
The wedding mass was solemn and dignified and beautiful, and the bridal pair were radiant. Fantine’s anxiety had given way completely to a deep, warm, beneficent happiness and she was as happy as she had ever been as she watched her daughter dance and laugh and celebrate with her friends.
As the party began to quiet down, Cosette came over to where Fantine was enjoying a glass of wine and a gossip with her friends from the neighborhood and took her mother by the arm.
“Maman, I feel as if I’ve barely seen you,” she said, leading Fantine out into the little garden by the church. They strolled along the path together in the dusk, with the sky lit up in reds and oranges over the rooftops.
“It has been a busy day!” Fantine laughed. “A busy week, in fact.”
“It will feel strange not to be in our home tonight,” Cosette said, all in a rush.
“I imagine it will, but I suspect you will not notice for long,” Fantine teased. It had been Fantine’s turn, a week or two before, to begin one of their long, late-night conversations and they had discussed in some detail what married life entailed and what Cosette could expect. Fantine was not worried for her on this account; Marius was thoughtful and kind and besotted with Cosette and would not ask of her anything she was not happy to do. Fantine was almost weak-kneed with relief at the thought that Cosette would be so much more gently treated than she had been.
Cosette, for her part, was thinking of other things. She only rolled her eyes and laughed. “But I wanted to talk to you about the new home,” she said. “It will be strange to move.”
“I imagine it will! Remember how it was when we moved out of the convent?”
“Vividly. I had never had a whole room to myself before.”
“But you got used to it. And you’ll get used to the new room, just the same.”
“Yes. But I’ve never lived without you there. That is, not since…” Cosette’s voice trailed off, but Fantine knew what she meant. They almost never spoke of those days, and neither wanted to do so now.
“You will grow used to that, also,” Fantine said gently.
“I don’t want to!” Despite her bridal gown and the ring on her finger, Cosette spoke like a little girl again, the words coming all in a rush. “The only time I have lived without you was… and I don’t like the thought of you living in that house all by yourself. I have already talked to Marius and he is more than amenable, and the house is so big. And besides, you will probably have grandchildren before too long and then you could see them every day. There would be a whole wing of the house to yourself, so you don’t have to live cheek by jowl with Aunt Gillenormand and- say you will come with us.”
Cosette had stopped walking and taken Fantine’s hands and was all but begging. Fantine had to laugh at the pleading look on her face, the same look Fantine knew from many, many years of requests. Then she had the deep pleasure of watching Cosette’s face light up as she replied, “Of course I will.”