• I’m racing through the olive fields that seem to stretch on forever, every now and then looking back to see if my brother is still chasing me. This country is beautiful. The steep alpine mountains scar the land and challenge all to try to farm on their slopes. Our olive farm has been in the family for generations. My great grandfather moved here from the city of Paris in 1514. He later passed the farm to my grandfather who in turn passed it to my father. The farming life is hard work. Every year my father and brothers have to go out and help the workers reinforce the terraces. I stop and gaze off into the mountains. My brother Tom is suddenly right beside me. He says “Come on Sarah, it is time for dinner.” Tom gently pulls me toward the house, but I am not so willing to go. At last I fall into step with him still pondering my dream about Paris and trying to work up the nerve to ask him a question.
    I finally get the nerve to ask him the question that has been nagging at me for days, “Tom what is Paris like?” I see my question has caught him off guard and his eyes go glassy. All he had ever told us about the city is that a charming young girl had stolen his heart and left it bleeding out in the open. He sighs and sits down on a bucket left in the fields by a lazy worker. “I guess I have only told you the bad things about the city.” I nod silently urging him to continue. He takes a deep breath and I see it hurts him to think about the city. “Tom, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” “No Sarah, I have to tell you. You need to know how beautiful the city truly is. The city is covered with artist and musicians. You cannot walk a few feet without seeing something that will take your breath away and the food is amazing. They have the finest wines and cheeses so I am told. I promise you I will take you to visit the city if it is the last thing I do.” I can tell he means it too. Then the old Tom returns and I see the youthful gleam in his eyes. He says, “Come on there is someone waiting in the house for us.” Just the thought of someone visiting us out here in the olive fields made me jump for joy.
    We raced back to the house and entered through the servant doors, so the guest would not see us so dirty. We climbed the stairs to our rooms and changed into our best clothes. As we climbed down the stairs my heart beat quickens in wonder and excitement. When we walk through the doors I see my two little sisters, Elizabeth and Annabelle, and my eldest brother Fredrick sitting down quietly. There is a strange boy sitting down beside them talking. They seem mesmerized by this boy; he is like none other I have ever seen. He is tall and handsome, unlike the boys from the town. I look over at my parents on the other side of the room. My father is a tall man that is built like a smithy, broad in the shoulders, and has the softest hands I have ever touched of any gentlemen. My mother on the other hand is very dainty and beautiful. She has the face of an angel and the touch of a feather. My parents are sitting with two other people. Suddenly my mother rises and says “Oh here are my daughter and son now.”
    Mother quickly introduces us to Mr. and Mrs. Rousseau. After the introduction, mother rises to go introduce us to their son. As we walk across the room my siblings and the boy rise to welcome us. Mother introduces us to Jacques and then excuses herself to go sit back down with the grownups. As we all sit down, I start the conversation by asking “Hello Jacques, where are you from?” He replies with “Hello Sarah, I am from Paris, the most beautiful city in the world.” I quickly look over at Tom and my little sisters knowing Toms thoughts had shifted over to his lost love. I cannot tell exactly what he is thinking but I know it is not good. During this time Jacques has been telling us how much more pleasant the city is than the country side. I decide not to put Tom through any more pain so I ask Jacques “How old are you sir?” After he replies with a blunt “15 years old” I hear a chorus of my siblings saying “that is the same age as Sarah and a year younger than Tom!” I feel my cheeks starting to get hot.
    I quickly excuse myself and go to the washroom. As I pretend to wash up I cannot help but wonder what is wrong with me. Normally I wouldn’t blush at something so simple. When I finally gather myself, I walk out and Tom is standing there right in front me. “Thank you Sarah.” was all he said and then he walked in the washroom. What was he thanking me for? Was it for when I changed the subject in there or for something else I did that day? I went back to my comfy seat in the parlor, might I add right next to Jacques. Then we hear a scream coming from the washroom, I suddenly think of Tom and start running. I don’t care if they see me run or if I embarrass my parents at how un-lady like I am acting. All I can think of is my brother Tom, my best friend.
    I am the first one to reach the washroom; I wait just a few seconds so my family could catch up. My father opens the door and I hear him gasp. I bolt in pushing past my father and I see Tom on the ground. I rush over to see if he is still breathing, he is not. I run out of the washroom and out of the house. I hear my mother calling me in the distance to come back to the house but I cannot speak with her right now.
    I find the bucket Tom had sat on earlier and I sit down to have a good long cry. Suddenly there is someone right behind me. I turn around and see Jacques standing there like he is not sure what to say. Then he starts talking “He was my best friend and my brother, I am not trying to mock you by saying these things. When he came to Paris he stayed at my house and fell in love with my sister. Then one day my sister came home and said that she was dying. That tore your brother up, so he left the city and never came back. She died a week after he left. When I showed up here, because this is our new home, I saw the shock in your brother’s eyes. I was not going to bring up the city if I could keep from it, but when you asked where I was from, I had to be polite and answer you. After you left for the washroom, it all connected with him why my sister was not there and he basically ran after you. I am truly sorry.” I look up at Jacques and for once in my life I don’t know what to say. Jacques bends down and pulls me into a friendly embrace and lets me cry. When I am done crying, I straighten up, “Come on Jacques, It is getting dark, we should probably be heading back to the house.” “Hold on Sarah, right before you brother rushed out of the room, he handed me this piece of paper and told me to give it to you.” I take the piece of paper he was holding out; it says ‘Hello friend and sister. My last wish is for my sister, Sarah, to go to the city and I was wondering if my good friend would like to help me out. I am sorry Sarah I did not fulfill my promise to you but Jacques will tell you why I did what I did tonight. Love to all, Tom.’