The Frost of Springtime Read Online Free

his boots
shattered the quiet. Christophe veered down one of the sharp corners and eased
into the long, dank alleyway.
    A rather impressive and unexpected sight greeted him. Christophe laid
down his belongings, knotted both arms across his chest, and observed the
action with a rekindled patriotism inside his heart.
    Several rows of uniformed men stood single-file, bodies erect and
rifles propped over their shoulders. All eyes were staring forward and fixed on
the Captain of the Guard. Representing everything that a good captain should
be, the figure was stationed front and center, hands tucked behind his dark
coat. Almost comically, a coal-black mustache twitched in time with each of his
words. “Citizens of Paris! Our National Guard has
become a federation—a federation that challenges a government that has betrayed
us!”
    A chorus of hoots and applause sounded out. Christophe felt his pulse
quicken in anticipation. He leaned in closer so as not to miss a word. “Prime
Minister Thiers violates our rights! We must unite against this tyranny and
exploitation. Long live brotherhood and solidarity!”
    Christophe collected his belongings from the pavement and headed back
to the boulevard. With each step, the cheers dissolved into an empty and sullen
silence. And yet, inside his mind, the message remained loud and clear.
    •
    Pacing back and forth, Aleksender waited as his comrade sated his
curiosity. He felt himself grow increasingly impatient and uneasy. A mounting
detachment was steadily forming between him and what was left of his home. Not
for the first time, his eyes ran across a placard that was tacked onto the shop’s
door:
    French Republic
    Liberty—equality—fraternity
    The Commune de Paris decrees all citizens
    as a part of the
National Guard.
    Aleksender scoffed at Paris’s insolence and stupidity. It was as though
the people longed to suffer. There could be no other explanation for this
foolish burst of patriotism.
    The war had come and gone, leaving a window of opportunity for the city
to rise from its ashes. But no—the people were far too proud to accept defeat.
    Wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Christophe came into
step beside Aleksender. “I believe that’s twenty francs to you, ol’ friend.” He
paused, allowing Aleksender a moment to recall their latest wager: whether
horrors of the battlefield were preferable to the horrors of polite society.
And then that smile successfully reached his eyes—as if he’d convinced himself
of his own blatant lie. “It’s a fine thing to be home.”
    Christophe inhaled the musky sea air and curiously looked about. “Yes,”
he repeated with a new confidence, “it is quite good to be home again. A little
time and care and she’ll be good as new.” He and Aleksender crossed the street,
mindful of the omnibuses and horse-drawn carriages rolling by. “Am I right, ami?”
    “One would have hoped,” Aleksender muttered beneath a stale drawl. He
passed a hand over his hair in a slick motion—an overused habit that often
marked his distress. “But even a blind man can see the truth. This is the
beginning of the end. Nothing more, nothing less.”
    “Is that right? That how you see it?”
    Christophe froze in the middle of the street. People momentarily
stopped whatever they were doing and watched the veterans with blank
expressions and sideways glances.
    An omnibus screamed to a halt, nearly running Aleksender and Christophe
into the ground. “Take care, messieurs!” the driver hollered from his spot on
the wooden bench. And then he coaxed the two geldings into a steady gait and
moved on with his day; the clapping of hooves against pavement resounded once
more. With a detached awareness, Aleksender’s gaze followed the large block
lettering that rimmed the vehicle’s upper floor: RUE DE LA PAIX.
    Christophe slammed his satchel onto the ground and glared at Aleksender
with bitterly cold eyes. Aleksender remained in his characteristic