Now as the Mass droned on, Chantel was aware of it in a very mechanical way. But her heart was still crying out. Finally the priest stood up and gave the homily.
Usually this was a very dry, brief sermonette of sorts, in which the congregation were enjoined to do good deeds. But Chantel turned her attention to the priest, Father Mohr. He was a tall, thin man with ascetic features and a dry voice that seemed to rustle as he spoke. He emphasized nothing really, and his homilies usually had a soporific effect on his hearers. But Chantel was desperate for wisdom or guidance of some kind, and she listened as the priest read a Scripture from the book of Genesis. It was rather confusing to Chantel, for she was not familiar with this story.
“This Scripture speaks of Abraham, the man of God, who had grown old. He wanted a bride for his son, but the land in which he lived was filled with idolatry. So he called his servant and sent him back to his own home country to find his son a bride among his own people.
“The servant went back, but when he reached his destination, he was in a quandary. How could he find exactly the right girl to be a bride for the son of his master, Abraham? He did a very peculiar thing, and one that I would not ordinarily recommend. He devised a circumstance and asked God to work in the middle of it. First, he took his camels to a well one evening where the women came to draw water. Then he began to pray. Let me read it for you from the book of Genesis:
And let it come to pass, that the damsel to whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink; and she shall say, Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also: let the same be she that thou hast appointed for thy servant Isaac; and thereby shall I know that thou hast shewed kindness unto my master.
Chantel had never heard of anything like this, and she listened as the priest said, “Many times we want to find the will of God, and we cannot. Here this servant of Abraham made a very dangerous experiment. He set up a condition for God. My children, I would not advise you to try this. It is true that in this instance once it proved to be the right thing to do, for the young woman did come, and she said exactly the words that Abraham’s servant had requested. And so the servant found the will of God, but in a most unusual way. But I warn you that though God did answer the prayer of Abraham’s servant, He did so to fulfill His redemptive plan. This is not an instruction for believers today; we should not try to force God to work in our lives in this way.” Chantel thought hard on this. When she got home, she found her Bible. Not knowing where the story was, she had to read almost the entire book of Genesis before she found it.
Chantel read the story several times, then, feeling rather foolish, she got down on her knees, folded her hands, and put her forehead against them.
“God, I need someone to help me find my sister. And I pray that you will send someone.” She hesitated, then said, “I hope you won’t be angry with me, O God, but you did this once for one man. I ask you, let the next person who comes to me and says, ‘I will help you’ be the person to help me find Veronique.”
This was a different kind of praying for her. Always before she had prayed “Our Father” or “Hail Mary” or the traditional written prayers. She was shocked to discover how difficult it was to speak directly to God. It gave her an odd sense of the vastness of God and the smallness of her own being.
After she had prayed the prayer she felt even more foolish. She got to her feet, looked around the room uncertainly, then shook her head. “It can’t be,” she said aloud. “I will have to do it for myself.”
Four days passed, and every day Chantel did little but think of Veronique. She dressed each morning and searched the French Quarter, where she walked the streets hopeful of catching another glimpse of the girl she believed to be her sister. She also thought about the prayer she had prayed. At times she felt it was the most foolish thing she had ever done. She even scolded herself, saying, “You can’t back God into a corner and force Him to do something. He’s God and you’re nothing.”
Still, the thoughts would not leave her mind, and she found herself praying every day, “Lord, send someone, and let him say ‘I will help you.’”
As the days went by, she kept expecting a stranger to come up and say the words to her, but nothing happened.
Finally, on Friday evening, Chantel was sitting in the parlor. Her heart was heavy. She tried to pray, but there was no answer.
A sound came to her, and she turned as the door opened. “It’s Mr. Neville,” Elise said. “Do you want to see him?”
“Yes. Show him in, Elise.”
Chantel rose, and as Neville entered the room, she searched his face nervously for signs of anger. She saw none, however, for he smiled and came over to her at once.
He put his hand out, and before she could speak, he said, “I know I’ve troubled you with my offer, Chantel. But I came to say that I want to be your friend. If that’s all I can be, I’ll be satisfied.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “I want you to be happy. That’s my fondest hope.” He hesitated, then said, “I will help you with anything I can.”
Suddenly Chantel’s eyes filled with tears. He had said the very words! I will help you. She held onto his hand and whispered, “Oh, Neville, I’m so glad you’ve come. Come and sit down. I have something to tell you!”
PART FOUR
1831
Veronique
Chapter twenty-two
As Chantel looked at him with pleading in her eyes, Neville felt a great pity for her begin to form in his spirit. Her eyes were wide, and there was a tremulous quality in her lips that spoke of the turmoil taking place in her soul. She whispered, “I’m so glad I’ve got you to talk to, Neville. There’s nobody else.”
Reaching out, Neville took her hands in his and felt the unsteadiness of them. “Don’t be disturbed, mon chère. Come and sit down. You must tell me everything.” Leading her to the couch placed against the wall, he pulled her down beside him. She did not try to free her hand. “Now, tell me all. We have plenty of time.”
Words tumbled from Chantel’s lips, and Neville listened intently. She spoke first of the time when her mother and sister were lost in the flood. He could tell that that day was still as clear as crystal in her mind, for she gave precise details. She even recalled that the dress she had been wearing was blue.
“But I never believed them when they said that Veronique was dead, Neville—never!”
“I suppose that’s natural enough, since her body was never found.”
“It was more than that—although, of course, that had something to do with it. Something in me would not admit that I had lost my sister. Everyone tried to tell me otherwise, my father the most of all. He didn’t want me to have false hopes. But I knew deep in my heart that she was alive.”
Neville listened as she spoke of her grief and her loneliness. She had a fear of being alone that was almost pathological. Finally she told him about her experience in the Quarter where she saw the young girl.
“There couldn’t be two girls of that age with strawberry blonde hair and violet eyes. Neville, I’ve never seen anybody else with violet eyes. Have you?”
“No, not that I can think of. And she looked to be the right age?”
“It’s hard to say with young girls, but I know it’s Veronique. But I couldn’t reach her. You know how the streets are when the parades take place. I tried to push my way through, but people grew angry and wouldn’t open a way. By the time I was able to pass through the middle of the parade, they were gone.”
“What sort of people did they appear to be?”
“Very rural people. Veronique was wearing a plain dress with rough-looking shoes. And the man and the woman that were with her—oh, Neville, they couldn’t have been her parents. She was so fair and her hair so light, and they were very dark.”
“Olive complexion?”
“Yes. Their hair was black and their eyes were dark. I remember once my mother told me that dark eyes always predominate.”
“That’s usually true,” Neville admi
tted. “If the father and mother are both dark, the chances of a child having light hair or violet eyes are very slim.”
“And the child had very fine features, Neville, so like my mother! These people have rounded features, both of them. Their faces were wide, and they were thick-bodied and short. This girl’s figure was like mine when I was that age—tall and very thin.”
Neville felt Chantel’s hands squeeze his own, and he returned the pressure.
“Neville, I don’t know much about the Lord. Not like you do.”
Neville blinked with surprised, for it was the first admission that Chantel had ever made that there was something missing in her own spiritual life. He remained silent as her words poured out.
“I know that God is almighty, and He does great things. And I know the story of Abraham’s servant who went to find a bride for his son, Isaac. If God could bring that young woman to that well at the exact time that the servant arrived, He could bring my sister to New Orleans at the exact time that I would be there. Couldn’t He, Neville?”
“Of course He could. Anything is possible with God.”
“Do you believe what I’m telling you, or do you think I’ve lost my mind? I know that’s what everyone else would say.”
Neville hesitated. He did not want to raise false hopes, and yet when he saw the hope and fierce desire in Chantel’s eyes, he knew he had to encourage her. “Of course it’s possible, and we must find out. And I will help you.”
“Oh, Neville, thank you!” Chantel threw her arms around Neville’s neck and clung to him, and he held her for a brief moment.
“Now then,” he said. “We must see what is to be done.”
“What can we do? How can we possibly find her?”
“Well, there is one thing that we must do, and that is ask God to help us. Without His help, I do not think it will be possible. We don’t know the names of these people. We don’t know where they’re from. We know nothing about them.”
“Yes, let’s pray together. I know God will hear your prayer.”
“He’ll hear our prayer. Scripture says that if any two of you will agree on anything, it will be done.”
“The Bible says that?”
“Yes, it does. So, I want us to pray right now that God will help us in our search.” He saw Chantel bow her head; then he bowed his own and prayed aloud, “Father, we are helpless in this matter. There is no way humanly speaking that we can find the one we seek. But, Lord, You know everything. You know the exact location of every human being on the face of the earth. You know the secret thoughts of each one of us. We’re not asking anything impossible, for with You, O Lord, nothing is impossible. I pray in the name of Jesus that You will open the door that will help us to find this young woman. Amen.”
“Amen,” Chantel whispered. When she looked up, her eyes were brimming with tears. She could not speak for a moment. She brushed them away, then fumbled for a handkerchief. Finally she turned her face toward Neville and asked, “What will you do now?”
“I’ll have to become a private detective. In fact, I may have to hire one. I must go now.” He rose to his feet, and Chantel went with him to the door.
“Good-bye, dear Neville. God go with you.”
Neville touched her hand, then turned and left. As he walked toward his horse, his mind was swiftly organizing all the facts. For a moment he was daunted, for he knew how slim the chances were of finding anyone as obscure as the people Chantel had described. But he straightened his shoulders and said under his breath, “Lord, it’s up to You now!”
Collette sat still, her eyes fixed on Chantel’s face, listening with growing astonishment to the story her stepdaughter had to tell. She said nothing until Chantel said, “. . . and, Mama, Neville is going to help me. He may even hire a private detective to help find those people.”
“Chantel, I wish you hadn’t gone to strangers with a story like this.” Collette’s voice was sharp. “Do you realize what you’ve done? If he goes out and hires a private detective, the word will get out that we’re looking for a girl who died ten years ago.”
“But, Mama—”
“I know what you’re going to say. You’ve never accepted Veronique’s death, and I always thought it was bad for you. I think it’s tragic that her body wasn’t recovered. If it had been, this would never have happened. You see, my dear, that’s one value of a funeral. When you see a body lying in state in a coffin, and you see that coffin put into a grave or mausoleum, there’s a finality about it, and your mind can accept it. But when someone simply disappears, it’s very difficult to really believe that they’re lost. I don’t think what’s happened to you is at all unusual.”
“But, Mama, weren’t you listening to me? Her face was exactly like my mama’s face, and she was built exactly like me. And she looked nothing at all like those people she was with.”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Chantel. I realize those circumstances are unusual, but they’re not unheard of. Children don’t always resemble their parents. My own father was only five-feet-eight-inches tall, but my youngest brother was six-feet-two, and he looked nothing at all like any of us. He did, however, look like my great-grandfather, who was the same height. Perhaps this young girl resembles someone back in her family. A grandmother, or an aunt.”
Collette’s words had a chilling effect on Chantel, but only for a moment. She shook her head, and pressed her lips together. “I know she’s my sister.”
“I know you want to think that, but think also of this. If she were your sister, and we found her, what problems would come of it!”
“Problems? What do you mean? How could it be a problem to find her?”
“She’s ten years old. She’s been raised by a poor, ignorant family. She knows nothing else. I doubt that she can read or write. My dear, even if you could find this child, you would be doing her no favor to try to bring her into your life. Can’t you see that?”
“No, I can’t, Mama. We could give her a good life.”
“You are mistaken, Chantel. Her character is formed by this time. She would never be able to adjust to such a different way. And besides this very real problem, have you considered that you would have to share your inheritance with her? Do you realize that? And Perrin would be the loser.”
At that moment Chantel realized why her stepmother did not want this girl to be found. The truth brought such pain that she could not speak for a moment. She did realize, however, that further talk with Collette was useless.
She simply said, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mama, but I must do this.” She got up and left, and as she closed the door to the study it felt as though she was closing the door on something more than just a room.
As Chantel spoke to Yves she was very calm, for after her interview with her stepmother two days ago, she had forced herself to think clearly. She had spoken with Neville only once since then, and that very briefly. He had simply come by to say that he had engaged a firm to help him in his search.
“They are not very hopeful,” he had said. “But you and I know that there’s more to this than they realize. God is on our side.”
The words burned into Chantel and gave her hope. She spent a great deal of time praying, sometimes in her room actually on her knees. But whether she was eating or working or going about her business in a usual way, the thought of her sister was never out of her mind, and she prayed quick, silent prayers. It amazed her that she could pray at all. She found herself calling out to God as if He were in the same room with her—which she knew Neville would insist was really the case.
When she told Yves her tale, he ran his hand through his thick hair and shook his head. “I never heard of such a thing, Chantel!”
“You don’t believe me then.”
“No—no, I didn’t say that! There are stranger things in this world,” Yves protested quickly. “I am just surprised, as I’m sure you were.”
“Indeed. But as I said, I have never believed that my sister was dead.”
> “And so what is to be done?”
“Neville has promised to help. He has hired some private detectives.”
“And I will help also, Chantel. I don’t know how to go about it, but I will go look for your sister.”
“That’s so sweet of you, Yves. I doubt if you will find her by walking the streets. Neville said we must find the family.”
“Well, perhaps the detectives will be able to do that.” For a moment Yves seemed at a loss for words, then he said, “I have been thinking of the thing that happened between your friend and myself.”
Chantel looked up quickly, searching Yves’s face, and she saw that he was embarrassed. “And what do you think, Yves?”
“I think I made a fool of myself,” he admitted. “He was right to rebuke me for using your name in that place. I have felt so badly about it, Chantel, and I hope you will forgive me.”
“Of course I do.”
“That’s like you,” Yves said. He shook his head and said, “I’ve been ashamed of that, and I will ask his pardon when I see him. In public if he desires.”
“He won’t ask that.”
Yves gave her a careful look. “You’re very sure of that, aren’t you?”
“I know him very well, I think.”
“It’s a good thing to know people a long time like that. I’ve moved around so much I haven’t had time to make that kind of relationship.”
A thought came to Chantel, and she said, “What about the woman I met—Dominique?”
Yves blinked with surprise. “She was something out of my past. That day in the gallery was the first time I’d seen her for a very long time.”
“You haven’t seen her since?”
“No. Her husband is old, as I think I told you, and very ill. I understand he requires constant care.”
“You haven’t forgotten her, have you, Yves? I can hear echoes walking around in your voice when you speak of her.”
“It’s too late for that,” Yves said. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Just tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it. I know many people in the Quarter. I have friends among the Cajuns. I will go ask them. They will remember such a striking girl.”
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