FicWad

Marius Groad and his wife Amelie were a very happy couple, despite the fact that everything they had was just short of being perfect. They had a house in Paris, if rather small and run-down; a bakery, if somewhat less successful than could be desired; a good marriage, but no children. Nevertheless, they were content. They were the sort of people who wanted things quietly and pursued them just as quietly, and if the things they wanted could not be had, they were satisfied in having at least made the attempt.

The Groads were humble folk, and celebrated their holidays with simple but cheery festivities. New Year's Eve of 1772 found them eating a dinner consisting mostly of stale pastries that had failed to sell, eggs of somewhat dubious freshness, two mugs of cheap wine, and their prize: a leg of ham, only a bit off, salted to conceal the taste. Their Christmas tree, a stumpy little thing with sparse branches and needles starting to brown, was set beside their dinner table, as the table was too small to fit the tree and the dinner both. A small fire crackled in the fireplace. In an attempt to make the whole room look more festive, Mrs. Groad had strung garlands about the room. The effect of the bright silver amongst the earth tones of the house was startling, but pleasant once you adjusted.

"Do you like the ham?" Mrs. Groad asked anxiously.

Mr. Groad, a jolly, friendly sort of man, would have wanted a thousand failed bakeries before insulting his wife's cooking. "Yes, it was delicious." He smiled warmly and chomped down on a stale sourdough roll. It wasn't bad after you soaked it in a bit of wine and let it sit in your mouth for a moment before chewing.

Mrs. Groad beamed. "I'm glad you like it." She adjusted her skirt and sat up straighter. "Look, Mr. Groad, I realize this may not be the perfect time to discuss this, but with the new year comes new chances, and...oh, why will the good Lord not give us a child?" She buried her face in her hands.

Mr. Groad reached across the table and took her hand. "Amelie, dear, the Lord will give us a child when we--and He--are ready. Do not rush His works."

Mrs. Groad dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. "But I am nearly thirty-five! The Dauphine will have children before I do! What if--"

"Hush, sweetheart," Mr. Groad said softly, stroking her hand with both of his. "The time will come."

The time came in precisely five minutes from then, when someone knocked at the door while Mrs. Groad was bringing her glorious Christmas pudding to the table.

"Who could be out in this weather?" Mr. Groad wondered aloud.

Mrs. Groad bustled to the door, wrapped her shawls around her more tightly, and opened it just enough to poke her head out.

"I don't see anyone, Mr. Groad. It must have been the--OH!"

Mr. Groad sprang to his feet, his thoughts filled with robbers and rapists and other unscrupulous types who haunted the streets looking for sweet, beautiful young women (it should be noted that Mrs. Amelie Groad was years past being any of the above) like his Amelie. "What is it?"

Mrs. Groad bent over and picked something up off the step. "It's..." For the first time in her nearly thirty-five years of life, Amelie Groad was speechless. She stepped inside, holding a tea crate that seemed to be filled with blankets. She looked at her husband with joy in her eyes. "The Lord has heard our prayers."

Mr. Groad frowned for a moment. Then he finished comprehending his wife's words, and his mouth dropped into a huge O.

Mrs. Groad set the tea crate down gingerly on her chair and lifted the bundle to her chest. She tenderly pushed back the folds to reveal the face of a tiny baby no more than a day old, fast asleep.

"There's a note pinned to the blankets," Mrs. Groad whispered, so as not to wake the baby. She unpinned it and held it out to Mr. Groad. "Here, Marius, my eyes are none too good." The above here has the meaning of "entirely illiterate."

He took the note and held it to the light of the two candles on the table. "It says, 'Her name is Josephine.'"

"Josephine," Mrs. Groad cooed, stroking the baby's cheek with one finger. "I'd rather like to give her a second name, though. Second names are pretty for girls."

"What about Marie, for our dear late Queen?" Mr. Groad suggested.

"Josephine Marie Groad," Mrs. Groad said experimentally. "I rather fancy Caroline."

"Josephine Caroline Groad." Mr. Groad laughed. "A grand name for such a little girl."

Mrs. Groad smiled at baby Josephine. "It fits her."

Mr. Groad wrapped his arm around his wife and cradled the arm that held his infant daughter. "Yes. Yes, it does."