by Mia Sheridan
“It’s just…my job is here.”
“It’s temporary, though, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I was hoping it would lead to something permanent.”
“I understand how much you love your work. But couldn’t you work in Los Angeles, too? Aren’t there translating jobs there?”
There were things I could do there, I supposed. I could teach, maybe, or translate books perhaps…I sighed. It just wasn’t exactly my dream. But Callen was my dream…He always had been.
“I’d feed you French chocolate,” he whispered, leaning down and rubbing his lips over my forehead. I could feel the smile he wore, and I could feel when it faded. His breath misted over my skin. “The music plays when I’m with you.”
“And if it stops again? Even when I’m there?” I asked. Please don’t want me just for that reason alone. Love me, Callen. Love me and I might follow you anywhere.
“I…What do you mean?”
“I mean, will you turn back to other women if I can’t make the music keep playing for you?”
He was quiet for several long moments. “I haven’t looked at another woman since we’ve been together, Jessie. I haven’t even thought of another woman. Not once.”
That wasn’t exactly a denial. “I know,” I said softly. Something inside felt like it was squeezing, a familiar ache, the same discomfort I’d felt every time one of those hotel room doors would open and the sound of my mother’s sobs would fill my ears. Oh yes, I had my own ghosts, too. And maybe Callen’s hesitation was because of his shaky trust in himself, but how could I hang all my hopes on him—move back across the world—when he wasn’t able to reassure me of his faithfulness. If he couldn’t trust himself, wouldn’t I be a fool to trust him, too? “You could move to France,” I said, the hope clear in my voice. “You can compose from anywhere.”
He was quiet another moment. “It’s not that. It’s…I know L.A. I know the streets and the stores, how to get places, where to go for things. I have people who read contracts for me and restaurants where I know what to order. I work with conductors who know my style, what they consider my quirks, and are comfortable interpreting the things I don’t write on my scores. It’d be…starting all over again in so many ways. I’d be dependent and working with two languages I can’t read, instead of just one.”
He feels safe there. Safe from the discovery of being illiterate. Safety can be a type of prison, though, too. A wall to hide behind. “You did great when we went away for the weekend, though. You’d never been to any of those places.”
“I did well because Nick helped me.”
“Nick…he knows?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I was surprised. I’d gotten the impression he hadn’t shared it with anyone except me. But of course there would have to be a few people who knew…his trusted friends, perhaps even his secretary, the people he hired who knew to be discreet…Still, to have to depend on so many people instead of yourself, what a burden to carry.
“You can learn to read, Callen. You are not hopeless because your father said you were. Stop repeating his words. Prove he was wrong.” Fight. Go to battle even though you’re afraid.
“And if I can’t? Will that prove he was right?” He rolled away from me, turning onto his back and staring at the ceiling.
I watched him in the low light, the beauty of his profile, the tense way he held his jaw. So that was it. That was the rub. He was terrified to try, terrified all those words that rang in his head would be corroborated by his inability to learn, even now. Oh, Callen.
“He was wrong,” I whispered. “I wish I could prove it to you.”
He sighed, turning toward me again, his fingers running through my hair until I sighed as well. “What have we gotten ourselves into, Princess Jessie?”
“We find ourselves in a treacherous land,” I whispered, teasing. He chuckled, leaning his forehead against mine. “Fraught with swamps to swallow us up and quicksand that can suck a man under in three minutes flat.”
“What will we do?”
“Have faith, Prince Callen.”
He let out another gust of breath, pulling me close again. “That was the part I was never very good at.”
* * *
In the year of our Lord 1429, on the twenty-seventh day of October
I am shaking as I write this, and yet the most profound sense of peace fills me.
Olivier and I stole away for a time, and as we were walking back toward camp, the subject of Jehanne came up. “You don’t like that she’s here,” I accused. He denied it, saying that he is happy for any and all inspiration for his men. “But you don’t believe that she is divinely led?” I asked.
He faced me and said, “No, I don’t. But if they do, does it really matter?” I had no answer for that, though my heart felt heavy and troubled.
We walked in silence for a short while, each deep in our own thoughts, when the captain suddenly pulled me back and put his finger to his lips, as if he’d heard something or someone. We paused, and when we both peered through a break in the trees, we saw Jehanne, her head tipped back and her eyes closed. I was stricken with a sudden sense of…stillness, of something which I find difficult to explain. I could tell Olivier felt it, too, for he was watching similarly, with a look of stunned bewilderment on his face. It was as if the area where she stood was filled with a light that held no brightness, no glow, only…serenity, a deep, loving calm. It felt like a blessing, and it made me want to step forward, to bathe in it, to become part of it. And yet I didn’t understand it either, and I held tightly to the captain’s hand as he held tightly to mine. Jehanne’s lips were moving as if she were talking to someone, and she smiled, turning and walking back toward camp.
My mind felt foggy with awe, but strangely, I didn’t feel like I required answers. I knew we’d witnessed something miraculous, but there was no proof other than the faith in my heart. And that was enough.
The next day, time seemed to move at a turtle’s pace. Before now, I had found it so easy to lose myself in my work, fascinated by the story unfolding in front of my eyes, by the questions it posed, by the wonder it invoked. But though Callen and I had spoken about one of us moving to be closer to the other, neither of us seemed courageous enough to take that leap. And so we were left with mere days together.
I was so scared that once Callen left and we were apart, any feelings he’d developed for me would fade. It caused my heart to ache because I knew my own feelings would be far, far less fleeting. And yet, if that were the case, if Callen’s feelings for me were quick to dim, I guessed that would answer whether he did actually care about me enough.
I’d been thinking more and more about my mother lately, that old wound surfacing as I wrestled with my insecurities about Callen. When she’d told us she had cancer, I pictured that tumor inside her to be the product of all the pent-up anguish she’d carried for years over my father’s affairs. It was like the physical representation of all his sins, yet she alone had carried them and took them on as her own.
I would never live that way. Not again. I wanted a man who would fight for me, who would slay dragons for me, and whose love I could count on to be as steady and unchanging as the stars.
I was desperate for Callen to be that man, but I wondered if he was too damaged, too bent on self-destruction. If he wasn’t willing to fight for himself, his own battles, perhaps he wouldn’t be able to fight for me either.
In the year of our Lord 1430, on the fourth day of March
Today’s battle was expected to be an easy victory but, in fact, it was a horror. I was needed outside camp, where the injured and the dead were being carried—a seemingly never-ending parade of blood and misery. The nearby blasts and screams rang in my ears so that I thought I might go insane with terror. A victory was secured, but by the time the battle had ended, my heart was so battered by fear that Olivier and Jehanne would not return that I could hardly bear it.
I waited at the edge of the road for them, and w
hen I saw Olivier on his horse, I was not able to disguise my relief, and sobbing, I ran to him. He swore savagely as he scooped me onto his horse, turning immediately onto a side path that veered off the main road. I was crying and he was cursing and we were both kissing, and I do believe perhaps our minds were lost for a time, so desperate were we both to confirm the safety of the other.
“You came too close to the battlefield,” he said angrily through kisses. “This is madness! I can’t worry about you that way. It will get me killed, do you understand?”
I shivered in his arms, crying harder, wanting to merge our bodies into one so that I knew well and truly that he was alive and unharmed. “Take me somewhere, Olivier, somewhere there is only us and nothing else. No war, no battlefield, no blood nor screams of the dying.”
He sounded so pained as he asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I practically cried. I needed this, needed him.
He swore again and then said, “You won’t be able to go back. You’ll be ruined.”
I laughed, and it sounded crazed. “I am already ruined. This war has ruined me. The terror has ruined me. The questions that have no answers have ruined me. Make me whole again, Olivier. That is what I want.”
He held me close as we galloped away, for hours it seemed, my heart calming as I lay back against him. He rode us far away, and I knew it was to give me time to change my mind, but it only made clearer the rightness of my decision. I loved him. My heart belonged to him. And here there were no rules except those governed by God. Here, riding through this field of wildflowers on a horse that had carried my love to battle, there were no strictures of society, only the wild beating of our hearts and the knowledge that if something was done in love it could not be judged wrong. Here there were no assurances, and yet there were answers all the same.
We came to a stream, where Olivier tied his horse and left him to drink his fill and graze on the sweet grass that grew on the bank. From there we walked to a cave that sat at the top of a hill, almost hidden in the rock, and he told me, “If we get separated, if you’re lost, come here when the moon is new, just as it is tonight. From this moment, this place is ours.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “This place is ours.”
“What do you want, Adélaïde?” he asked, as if giving me one final chance to deny him.
I kissed him and whispered against his lips, “I want to live fiercely and without regret. I want you, Captain Olivier Durand.”
And with those words, Olivier first pulled me tight and then laid down a thin blanket that had been atop his saddle and his jacket over that. And for a time, in the mouth of that cave—our cave—where we could still see the stars, the war paused, the battle cries hushed, and there was only us. There was only that same peaceful stillness. There was only love.
Adélaïde! Her name was Adélaïde. Breathless with excitement, I e-mailed Dr. Moreau immediately and then texted Ben, who was out on an errand. I sat there in the quiet for a few minutes, repeating her name in my head, somehow feeling even closer to her. Adélaïde.
Midmorning I went to the courtyard where Ben and I usually ate our lunch together, needing a change of scenery and some fresh air after spending hours inside a windowless room. I thought about the piece I’d translated earlier. There was only love, Adélaïde had written, and it had caused a pang of yearning in my heart. I’d moved on in my translating, but I kept coming back to that line. I wanted the same. With Callen. I wanted our boxcar or our small room at the inn, our own version of the cave where Olivier and Adélaïde were able to leave the world behind. But I wanted more than stolen hours or weekends. So much more. Have faith, I’d told him, but in truth, I was having trouble holding on to my own.
It wasn’t lunchtime yet, but I decided to stretch my legs and clear my head. I’d tried to call Frankie that morning, but she was already at work and likely would be busy all day as she worked around the clock to get samples ready for an upcoming runway show.
I strolled around the perimeter of the space, trailing my hand along the wall. Climbing jasmine grew up the side of the château, and I breathed in its sweet fragrance, closing my eyes for a moment and listening to the birds. I heard footsteps and turned to see Ben coming up the stairs, obviously having just returned. “Hey, you all right?”
I nodded. “I’m fine. I’m just…having a little trouble concentrating today.” I gave him a wry smile. “She’s describing the landscape in the piece I’m translating now. It’s slow going.”
Ben smiled. “Hey, it’s a momentous day, though. We know her name. Do you think we can discover more about who she was?”
“I hope so. Dr. Moreau seemed excited about it, too, when he e-mailed me back. That one little word buried in an entry and now we know what to call her.”
“Yes. Adélaïde,” he murmured before smiling again. “Yeah, seems to suit her.”
We were both quiet for a moment, and then Ben tilted his head, looking at me more closely. “So, despite the earlier excitement of discovering Adélaïde’s name, what you’re translating right now is mundane and you needed a break. You sure that’s all it is? You look a little…blue.”
As I stared into his concerned eyes, I felt my expression crumble. I sat down heavily on the bench behind me. “You’re right, I am.”
“Is it that guy who’s staying here? Callen Hayes, right? The composer?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. We’re here to do a job, and I’m not—”
“We all have lives, Jessica. We can’t put them on hold because it would be more convenient. I’m sure Adélaïde and Olivier would say the same thing.” He sat down next to me.
I smiled. “Yes, they would, wouldn’t they? It would be more convenient to press pause for a little while whenever we wished.” Plus, it would give me time to figure out a solution. If only life worked that way.
He tilted his head. “I’m a good listener.”
“I don’t want to bore you.”
“Jessica, anything that gets me out of that room for a few minutes is more than welcome, trust me. Bore me, please.”
I laughed. The truth was, sitting in that room translating Adélaïde’s story these last weeks had brought a feeling of camaraderie with Ben. We worked well together, and there was an ease between us. So I took a breath and gave him the short version of my history with Callen and the general state of our current situation. Naturally, I left out the fact that Callen was illiterate; that wasn’t my secret to share.
“I have to admit that I was…surprised to find out you’re dating someone, ah…”
“Like him?”
He grimaced. “I don’t mean that to sound bad. It’s just that he has a reputation as a partier and you seem more like the homebody type.”
He wasn’t wrong. “I know. On the surface we do seem all wrong for each other.”
“I guess on the surface Adélaïde and Captain Olivier Durand seemed all wrong for each other, too.”
I glanced at him. “But we don’t know how that story ends yet.”
“True. Bad example.”
I laughed. Ben hadn’t necessarily offered any advice, but his listening to my story made me feel better, and just purging some of it was a relief. Ben was a genuinely decent guy, and I appreciated the friendship we’d developed while working together so closely.
“Why don’t you have a woman who’s causing you heartache so I can return the favor?”
He laughed. “Because I spend too much time in dusty, windowless rooms.”
I grinned. “Speaking of which…”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “We should get back.”
He helped me up from the bench, and I gave him a quick hug, thankful for his friendship and that he’d taken the time to listen. As we were walking back toward the steps, I saw movement on one of the balconies and glanced up, swearing I saw a man with dark hair duck back inside.
* * *
In the year of our Lord 1430, on the twenty-third day of May
Oh, dear Lord in heaven. I w
as on my knees for hours begging you to deliver Jehanne and Olivier to safety, and it does not seem your will. Word came that Jehanne was thrown off her horse during battle and the Burgundians took her captive. The men brought the news back after hours and hours of the torturous waiting and praying. I looked for Olivier in the line of returning soldiers, and he was nowhere to be found, and when I demanded the men take me to where the fight occurred to look for him, they said it was unsafe and insisted I return to camp.
I believe they know of my disguise and I do not feel safe among them without Olivier watching out for me. I found a horse and rode to town despite their warnings, my heart racing to the beat of the horse’s galloping hooves, and I walked among the dead and dying still left on the battlefield.
The pain that wrenched my heart and the bile that burned my throat was not only for all the blood spilled in the street, but for the aching terror I carried. I did not see Olivier and know not where he is, or if his body has been carried away. His beloved body. Oh, dear God, please help him. Help Jehanne. My heart is a dark, empty shell to know they are in such peril. And please, dear Lord, shine your guiding light upon me so that I may know my role in this tragedy and act only for your good.
“And so it begins,” I murmured to Ben, the sadness I felt inside infusing my tone.
He looked up from his work. “What’s that?”
“Jehanne’s been captured.”
He sat back in his chair. “Ah. Yes, the beginning of the end indeed.”
And Olivier…where was he? My heart beat hollowly for Adélaïde’s pain.
Ben and I finished up a little later, and I trudged upstairs, tired, saddened by what I’d translated, but energized to see Callen, too. He had told me about the interview Larry had set up for him in one of the upstairs meeting rooms, and I knew he was getting ready for that. It’d take only an hour at most, he’d said, and then we’d go to dinner, something intimate, something special. Another reminder that our time together was dwindling away, the sand flowing ever faster through the hourglass.
