by Dana Roquet
“No!” Desiree snapped, then thought better of it and rubbed her aching brow with the back of her hand, speaking more gently, “Forgive me Francois but this is my family, my duty and I would have no one else tend to the details.”
Francois motioned to a rider and called up to him from the gully, “Go to the Château and give them Desiree's instructions.” The man nodded, pulling his horse around and kicking it to a run.
Desiree bent down to gently smooth the rustling cover over her family and then started for the embankment and the road above.
“Philippe I will ride with you please.” Desiree requested, wiping again at her tears as she accepted a helping hand at the summit, “I believe the carriage can wait until the morning to be collected. I think it would be closer to your home Francois for an inspection of the damages.”
“Oui I agree.” Francois conceded, “I shall see to it.”
A flatbed wagon was just arriving and was moved into position to receive its precious cargo. Desiree was assisted up before Philippe on his mount, while more men headed over the embankment to retrieve her parents and start them on their last journey home.
Chapter Three
Seated upon a settee in the drawing room of the Château awaiting the services to begin, Desiree found herself feeling alone in the world and lonely, in spite of the fact that a wealth of friends hovered about her trying to give comfort. All had been so kind over the past days, and were so very determined to divert her attention and bring her momentarily out of her grief. It was amazing to her that she could feel so very alone in such a crowd.
The room, the entire house for that matter was overflowing with friends and acquaintances here to extend their condolences as well as mourn their own loss. Neighbors from adjoining properties, as well as townspeople milled about, talking of this as well as other news of the day.
Young men though, for the most part, tended Desiree. Crouching before her to speak tender words of sympathy or holding her gently within their arms. She smiled lovingly at each and with a caress or a slight kiss upon their cheeks, expressed her thankfulness for their presence.
It was while sitting at a momentary lull in conversations, that a hand caressed her arm and Rene' Vermillion appeared over her left shoulder, placing a kiss upon her cheek.
“Oh Rene'! Come, sit here!” she exclaimed, patting the seat beside her. Clasping his hand in her own, she pulled him around the settee to her side, “I had hoped you would make the ride. I didn't know whether you would be well enough to travel.” She said quietly so as not to be overheard.
“As good as new.” Rene' returned softly, while pressing a kiss to her hand with a low chuckle.
It had been just over a fortnight since he had been injured in a most personal locale by a horse he was breaking to ride. Turning his attention for an instant from the animal, he had received a hind hoof almost squarely in the groin.
“Even with your—ah—help.” He added softly.
She knew he was referring to her visit, the day after his unfortunate accident. She had burst into his bedroom and he had barely been able to draw a sheet over his unclad frame before she had rushed to his side.
“Rene', Antoine told me—are you going to be alright? Oh…you are so reckless with yourself!” she had fumed, plopping down beside him on the bed. The movement had caused an involuntary moan to escape from his lips.
“Desiree please!—Do not jump about! I am in enough pain without adding insult to injury! What are you doing here anyway?” he had asked gruffly, then his eyes had widened as a thought dawned on him, “And don't you dare tell me you plan to tend to my affliction!” He had pulled the sheet high over his lean frame with a stern scowl.
“Rene' don't be silly! This is one affliction I shall allow you to tend to on your own. I simply came over to cheer you up and help you to pass the time. I rather doubt chicken broth would help in this case anyway.” She had teased, trying vainly to squelch a giggle.
Rene' had crinkled his eyes, sneering contemptuously, “Very funny! Just please,” he had pointed to a small chair across the room, “pull that over for yourself and I beg you—rise gently.” He had covered his eyes, gritting his teeth as another jolt racked his frame with her rising.
She had brought the chair beside the bed and seated herself near him, unconcerned with the intimacy of his injury or the fact that under the sheets he was as naked as the day he was born. The pain had made it impossible to don breeches.
She had contemplated him with a mischievous smile, “Just imagine,” she crooned, “the brokenhearted young ladies in town, such as Anna Marie, if you were not to recover from this completely. It could put quite a kink in her plans to have you sire a dynasty for her.” She had quipped, while opening a book upon her lap.
“Anna Marie! Don't make me laugh! But fear not, I shall recover my former vigor. Now can we dispense with talking of my injury! It is very personal you know and I feel foolish enough without your remarks. Just read to me…please?” he had pleaded.
“I'm sorry Rene'. I'll not mention it again.” She had promised, squeezing his hand and turning her attention to a comedy by Moliere’.
It was Rene's turn to give comfort now and Desiree could see he shared her pain, in the depths of his troubled eyes.
His gaze moved across the hall to the parlor, where her parents lay in state. “They look at peace.” He offered respectfully, “How are you holding up, Ma Cherie? I can not begin to express my sorrow for your loss. I cared for your parents so very much.”
Desiree absently caressed his hand, “I am doing fine…I feel…” she began bravely but tears well up, “I can't speak of them now.” She whispered with a shake of her head.
“Oh sweet—Desiree, let’s go for a walk. Would you care to?” he suggested with a tender smile, while dabbing her spilling tears away with his index finger.
Desiree looked about the crowded room and the thought of a few moments of solitude with him was most alluring, “Oui, that would be wonderful.”
Rene' stood, extending a hand to assist her to her feet and with a protective arm about her shoulders, they exited through a veranda door.
Birds sang gaily and flitted about the clipped lawns and into the lush green trees. The air was warm and breezy. Desiree drew a deep breath, for an instant the weight of mourning lightened and she turned slowly in circles, looking up at the clear blue sky. She outstretched her arms, as if to embrace the whole outdoors.
“It is so lovely, Rene'. Not a day meant for such sadness. I wish I could lift this weight and—I don't know…ride to the meadow or just enjoy the quiet or read a book—simply be with you and have no cares in the world.”
She stopped her rotations to find Rene’ observing her quietly.
“It will take time sweet.” He said taking her hand and leading her across the yard, past marble benches and statues in the flower garden, toward the sandy shore of the lake.
Desiree looked up at him thoughtfully as they strolled—her observance of him going unnoticed for a time. He was twenty now and although his frame had taken on size in his transformation into manhood, he was still in the midst of filling out. His lean, hard body becoming muscular and there was a strong graceful power in his stride, an assuredness in each measured step.
Rene’s eyes turned to her and a gentle smile spread across his lips, “What are you thinking?” he inquired with a chuckle, “I swear it can't be good.”
“Just how handsome you have become. I would never have guessed that the boy who once enjoyed chasing me, with a worm dangling from his fingers simply to hear my screams, would have turned into such a fine man.” Desiree confessed, admiring the finely chiseled features and the flash of white teeth as he too remembered those times, so many years ago.
“I seem to recall an impish little girl who took great delight in scooping the slimy mud from the floor of this very lake and pelting her unsuspecting victims as they lay reclining in the sun. Remember,” he questioned with amusement, “when Antoine lay a
sleep on the shore and you flung mud straight into his open mouth?”
Desiree leaned against him with a laugh, “He chased me all the way to the Château before he caught me.”
Rene's arm slipped about her waist with a squeeze, “I never saw a girl run so fast in my life, as you did that day.”
Stopping at a marble bench placed strategically beneath a shade tree near the water’s edge, they took a seat, looking out over the sparkling expanse.
“Rene’ I cannot believe they are gone. I do not know that I shall ever get past this horrible emptiness.” She confessed softly, looking into his amber eyes.
“You will.” He assured confidently. “Do you remember when I lost my mother?”
“Oui. You were eleven.” Desiree nodded.
“I remember that you came to the house and found me hiding in the barn. We sat amid saddles and bridles in the tack room and we cried and talked—for hours it seems. And I remember feeling that same emptiness in spite of your brave efforts to help. But with time and with your constant encouragement, as well as that of many others, I came to terms with her death.”
“Do you know what I fear most?” Desiree asked but continued on before he could respond, “Being alone. I know now the loneliness Philippe has endured all these years. I have no relatives—at least not in this part of the world. It's frightening. I do have Bridgett and Mary but they are not true family. I am so afraid of being alone.” She admitted, wiping a tear impatiently. She reached for his hand, gripping it tight.
Rene' pressed a kiss to her hand and then inexplicably he slipped off the bench, onto one knee before her. In total confusion, Desiree stared blankly into his eyes.
“My sweet—I can not bear to see you in such pain. You are so dear to me. You are my closest friend and I love you more than life itself. Desiree—if you would consent, I would be honored to take you to be my wife.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise and he rushed on before she could find her voice, nodding in response to her shock, “I know—it’s abrupt and we have never even discussed such before. But we have love for one another—we could be married right away and you could move into my home. I have a fine house and some land of my own and I am ready to settle down. I would be your family.” He hesitated, with a fleeting glance over the bodice of her well-filled gown before taking a deep breath and continuing, “I would make no demands upon you—until you felt prepared to share…” he faltered with a crimson blush darkening his face, “but eventually, we would have children to add to our household and the joy they would bring. Most important for now though, you would not be alone. You would have me as your family and all the love I could shower upon you. I would do my best to make you happy.” He whispered the last with a soft kiss to her palm.
Desiree studied his handsome face, touched that he would come to her aid in such a noble way but also with a sense of wonderment at his discomfort and hesitancy at the prospect of sharing a marriage bed with her. She realized at that moment, the truth of Bridgett and her own mother's words about he and others. He could not see himself in such a role, not with her.
This was a young man who was somewhat of a get-about. His affairs were no secret. He was by no means pure and yet, when speaking of such a possibility between himself and her, he was more than uneasy, as if the idea were almost indecent.
“Rene’, I do love you very much. You know that well enough—but as you said, we have never even considered marriage as a possibility for us. We have been friends, best friends, for too long. You are as a brother to me and I fear you have thought of me as almost a sister for too many years. My goodness, it was you who once answered my questions on the act of intimacy, and yet, just now you nearly choked on the words when considering such with me—even with the sanctity of marriage.”
He opened his mouth to defend himself but she held her hand up, placing her fingers across his lips, “We do not share passion for one another Rene’. We never have.”
She removed her hand from his mouth, and then laughed softly, “I can say with certainty that my constant chatter would drive you to the brink—you have always told me I talk too much. And I have never been able to tolerate your snoring when you sleep.” She reached out to touch his soft brown hair, pulled back in a leather tie at the nape of his neck, speaking wistfully, “I never thought I would be denying you. Of all the men I could fancy myself being courted by—you were never among them. But I thank you for caring enough to offer—even though I must—deny you. And I pray I may continue to depend upon you to be there for me, if I feel in need of your broad shoulders to lean upon.” She finished with a light kiss upon his troubled brow.
“Well—I tried,” he sighed, standing to his full height, “shall we return to the house? The services will be starting soon.”
She sensed her words had injured him by his abrupt suggestion and as she rose before him, she touched his lean jaw, searching the amber depths, “Are you hurt? Perhaps I am not very eloquent or seemed to make light of your pledge but that was not my intention.”
Rene' looked over her head to the midday sky, then down into her eyes with a comical expression, “No—just a bit bruised. My first proposal to a woman and I am denied because she can't put up with a little snoring.” he teased with a chuckle, “Leave it to you to come up with something like that.”
“Ah—my poor Rene'.” she kissed his cheek, “You are so adorable, I don't know how any woman can resist you.”
“None can—but you!” he smirked, with feigned conceit.
She pulled him forward by the lapels of his coat, clasping her arms behind his neck as his arms came about her waist and they laughed, holding each other tightly, for a long moment.
***
It was as if the sun had stripped the heavens of color but for the palest of blues. Then with bold strokes, every brilliant hue that might be found in a rainbow was added, touching feathery wisps of clouds with a master's flare for contrast. New foliage joined in, luminous beneath the sun's caress—swaying boughs adding their own glory to the explosion in the heavens.
There beneath the splendid sky, under the shining hues of the treetops, where the warm wind of the day gave way to the cool breeze of evening, was played out, the cruelest of travesties—and the aroma of fresh cut flowers mixed with the smell of newly turned earth, adding to the tragic poignancy.
Just beyond a wrought iron fence, large black barouches stood in waiting. The gathering of people, clad in the dark garb of mourning, stood silently beside the carriages, witness to a heartrending scene. A teary-eyed Bridgett drew a handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and dabbed at the corners of her reddened eyes, her hand coming to rest upon her chest as if to ease the strangling pain that constricted her being. A comforting arm came about her sagging shoulders and Madeleine Roche’ spoke to her softly, their eyes never wavering from their sad vigil.
Near the sheltering spread of an ancient burr oak, caught in the shadows beneath its sturdy boughs, Desiree sat alone upon the dewy grass. Small, fragile, overcome with grief, her black gown frothed about her form and her ebony hair ruffled slightly in the cooling breeze. Her face was covered by trembling hands, her body convulsed with racking sobs and she was framed by dozens of bouquets of flowers that would soon adorn the stark, barren mounds of dirt before her. When the last glint of sunlight was fading into gray streaks across the sky, Desiree was gently urged to her feet by her godfather and with one last silent farewell to her beloved parents, she allowed him to lead her slowly toward the cemetery gate.
***
“Papa!”
Desiree bolted upright, with a scream about to tear from her throat and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her breath came in short gasps as she looked wildly about the unfamiliar guestroom of her godparent’s home. She realized then that she had once again been dreaming as she had each time she sought rest since the death of her parents. Held captive within her own mind, she was forced to relive the agonizing moments before the accident with terrible clarity, as
her father snatched her by the arm, hurling her from the carriage and saving her life.
With a cleansing sigh, Desiree now released the morbid scene from her mind, placed a down-filled pillow against the headboard and leaned back upon it. Then with arms about her drawn up knees, she leaned her cheek upon her arms, looking to the window. The low hanging moon appeared to flicker, as fast moving puffs of clouds shrouded and then cleared from the pale sphere. Somewhere in the Roche's still house, a clock struck the first hour of a new day.
Desiree now looked about the darkened, unfamiliar bedroom, wishing she were at home, in her own room. She would love to walk into her parent's room right this moment and just be alone with their memory. To be able to touch their clothes and possessions and feel a sense of connection with them. Today—she consoled herself, she would be going home later today.
She had made this one concession to Francois and Madeleine, her dear godparents, allowing them to convince her to spend this night at their home, instead of making the drive around the lake after coming an hour from the ancestral cemetery outside Rouen.
Despite all their well-meaning insistence to take care of the arrangements, she had managed to hold firmly to most of the painful, yet necessary, duties. The undertaker had been summoned, burial clothes laid out, coffins secured, the priest, the service, the last resting place, every detail had been seen to personally by her. But at what a price, she now mused. These nightmares that plagued her seemed to be escalating. She had tried to be strong throughout the last days but after the funeral, the actual finality of it was crushing and she had broken down at the cemetery as if never to stop weeping.
It was her inconsolable sobs that had brought Francois to insist she remain here this night. On the way from the cemetery, just hours ago she now realized, he had informed her that she would be staying on with them for some time. She had been totally against the idea, wanting only to return home to the Château and be alone with her grief but he had been adamant.
