Also from my WIP, Through Charlotte's Eyes
The cabinets’ insides weren’t as organized. The first burst with old letters Grand-mère had received from friends and from Anne’s Grandpapa when he fought in World War II. As Anne shuffled through them, she found nothing of her mother.
When Anne opened an old book that she’d pulled from the next cabinet, the yellow pages, with brown edges, crackled. While the first sheet was blank, the next, in perfect cursive writing, read: Journal intime de Marie-Anne Charlotte Corday d’Armont. 1791 à 1793.
Charlotte Corday—one of the few things Anne remembered from her mother's stories about France was about a famous revolutionary woman to whom they were related. Her mother only referred to her as Charlotte when she told Anne about their brave and heroic relative who fought for what she believed. Other than her mother’s high opinion of their distant relative, Anne knew little about Charlotte.
Anne flipped through the diary’s pages.
My friends have fled, but I have stayed behind with Aunt… the things I witnessed yesterday in the streets have infiltrated my dreams… The upstanding men of the Republic have come to Caen. I hold utter faith in their abilities to save my beloved country from the murderous tyrants who have laid siege in Paris.
The front door rattled shut, startling Anne, bringing her back to the present.