The Christmas tree is still up; the younger servants don’t have the heart to take down such a beautiful thing. No one roams the halls with heads filled with schedules and arms full of work; the more distant aides had traveled back to Paris to visit with their families. Only a few familiar faces remain: Lumiere and Plumette have stayed, lighting candles in the night through windows, finishing up the cleaning in preparation for a party in three days. Cogsworth is gone, as is Mrs. Potts. The two could not escape their respective spouses begging for them to stay awhile at home for Christmas, and Chip was delighted to spend more time with his father. Maurice has gone back to his old home for a little new year’s cleaning. Cuisinier’s kitchen has not gotten colder, nor has Chapeau’s quiet step vanished from the corridors, but both of them are still too far away for their presence to be felt.
Adam finds her in the library working on a plan for the well. Her gaze lingers on the window, past the last December snow and the trees–iced over for real–to the lights of Villeneuve that he thought he could see.
She looks up and smiles, gesturing for him to sit. Oh, what a time they’ve had. So much has changed since that fateful June. Now the castle laughs in its windows and dances in its paintings, and every picture of the queen has been restored so that her voice sings through the castle’s heart every time someone passes.
He studies the sketch in her hands, admires the machinery–the brightest woman of her age, he’d reckon–but her hands are still over the thick parchment; the charcoal she’s using is still sharp to a point. Something is on her mind, and her thoughts are not here. Curious, he shifts his head a little, so that they are facing the same way, glancing sideways at her, wondering what beautiful thoughts grace her mind tonight. He’s seen this expression before, somewhere, but where?
She smiles. She is far away, past the pillars and the forest, somewhere that fills her heart with joy.
Oh.
Suddenly he remembers. It’s the same look–albeit softer and kinder–that graced her features after they had danced for the first time, when she thought of her father and how he taught her to dance. The look that prompted him to show her the mirror.
The look that convinced him to let her go.
“Hang it all,” Adam exclaims, and pulls her along with one hand. Belle looks up at him, a question in her eyes, and he grins. "Quickly now; we have to beat the dawn.“
Within minutes, the other four staff are alerted and the six of them dress down, shedding the royal colors for winter cloaks as they whisk themselves away to the village, where the Scripture is being read to prepare for the new year and the villagers are singing in the square.
Mrs. Potts is beaming when she takes Adam’s hands in hers. Lumiere produces a multitude of floating flames to illuminate the night. Belle embraces her father, the two of them tears and kisses and laughter.
And Adam smiles as the villagers come up to him and ask so many questions, start so many conversations, and even gift him with a few of their wares. He thinks he’s going to cry, and almost turns away. He had been out of the castle a few times after June, but this is the first time he feels like he’s truly met these people. He’s found a family with not only his staff but with this village–finally–and he couldn’t be happier.
“Quickly, now,” Mrs. Potts urged, and the whole company found themselves on the hill where Belle once sang of reveries and somewheres, far from the lights, high enough to see the sliver of blue along one side of the horizon.
“Resolutions, anyone?” asked Belle.
And they throw them out, here and there: Chip wants to learn to play an instrument, Maurice wants to be able to see more of the world. Cogsworth has had enough of chaos and longs for order. Belle wants to live more adventures, and Lumiere only wishes that he and Plumette will never suffer again. Plumette wraps her arms around Lumiere and whispers that this is enough.
“And no more curses,” Mrs. Potts grumbles, and the whole of Villeneuve seems to reply “Amen.”
And then the first crack of dawn explodes around the sky in red, orange, pink and yellow, the first beams striking Adam across the eyes. He stares back without flinching, vowing to be unafraid and fearless, just like his wife. There will be no more suffering. There will be naught but joy, peace, happiness and love in his heart and the hearts of the people surrounding him.
“Bonne année,” he says, and the rest of the village takes up the call with tearful voices. After all, they were all starting anew, now. The darkness was gone. The dawn has come.
And the bells in Pere Robert’s church begin to ring, soothing their ears and welcoming brighter years to come.
Happy New Year, everyone.