by Carola Dunn
Esther and the children were at the table, breakfasting on weak, milky coffee and bread with berry jam.
“Sit down and eat,” Esther invited. “How goes Monsieur Felix this morning?”
“He was still sleeping when I came down. I must go and see if he is awake now. If it will not inconvenience you, please leave my breakfast on the table and I shall eat shortly.”
“I’ll put some coffee by the fire to keep hot,” Rachel volunteered. “Monsieur Felix will need some too.”
“I’ll carry Uncle Felix’s breakfast up the stairs,” Aaron cried.
“Wait until he is awake,” said his mother.
Miriam smiled at the eager boy. “I’ll tell you when he’s ready,” she promised, and went up.
Felix turned his head on the pillow as she entered the little room under the eaves. His blue eyes were bright beneath the white bandage, though his face was still very pale under the tan he had acquired in the past week.
“Good morning.”
She was relieved to note that his voice was crisp and clear, no longer slurred. “Good morning. How do you feel this morning?”
“Much better. My arm hurts like the very blazes, but I’m past that devilish feeling I’m about to shoot the cat. Has... has Isaac left?” He sounded diffident and apprehensive.
“A few minutes ago.” Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement as he closed his eyes with a look of relief. “I would not let him wake you to say good-bye. Did you have something to say to him?”
“Not exactly, or rather, nothing helpful. I was not sure... I could not recall whether you really said yesterday that you were going to stay here or whether I had imagined it. I was afraid you’d leave me here... I’m sorry, Miriam. If I had been more careful this would never have happened and we’d all be on our way together.”
She took the hand stretched pleadingly towards her and pressed it. “Hush, now, you did not injure yourself on purpose. It’s...disappointing that we have to split up, but Isaac will get the gold to Wellington without us.”
“Yes, he’ll do the trick.” He paused, visibly steeling himself. “My shoulder, tell me the truth, is it permanently damaged?”
“Oh dear, I had hoped to avoid that question for a while.” Pulling a wry face, Miriam sat down on the side of the solid wooden bed, built by Joshua Cresques in his woodworking rôle. She kept Felix’s hand in hers. “Though I cannot be sure as yet, there is a very good chance that it will heal completely. The chief reason I stayed is that I know how to help stop it stiffening. For the present it must be kept completely still, but in a few days we shall begin to exercise it gently. I warn you, it will hurt abominably.”
“I shall do anything you tell me to.” His gaze held hers. “Anything.”
Heavy footsteps on the stairs. Miriam hastily stood up and smoothed her skirts, a futile effort since she had spent the night fully dressed. Joshua came in.
“Mam’selle Hannah sent me to give monsieur a hand,” he announced. “She said as you’re to go down and young Simeon will help if need be.”
“You will be very careful not to move his shoulder?”
“I knows what I’m about, mam’selle. Off with you now. This here is man’s work.”
Blushing, Miriam fled.
Below, Hannah made her sit down and eat. The Abravanels were off about their chores, except for Simeon who was at his books awaiting a summons from above. Aaron kept dashing in to see if it was time to take Uncle Felix’s breakfast upstairs.
Joshua came down without having needed Simeon’s assistance, to the boy’s disappointment.
“I’ll just go and see that Felix is comfortable,” Miriam said, finishing her coffee, “and remind him to keep his arm still.”
“That you won’t, child. You look like you haven’t slept in a month of Sundays. Off you go with m’sieur Joshua, for his wife’s a-waiting on you with a nice warm bed. I’ll make the lad as comfortable as may be, and I daresay I can control him just as well as you can.”
Suddenly irresistibly sleepy, Miriam obeyed. Trudging to the next cottage at Joshua’s side, she recalled with a smile a time not much more than a week since when Hannah shrank from presuming to sit down to dinner with his lordship.
When she returned, much refreshed, to the Abravanels’ cottage in the middle of the afternoon, she found a hive of activity similar to that she had left at the Cresques’. Preparations for the Sabbath were underway, with cooking and cleaning and heating of water for bathing. After asking Esther if there was anything she could do to help, she escaped to Felix’s room. The bustle below was audible, and Hannah was explaining it to Felix as she mended a frayed seam.
She put the sewing into Miriam’s hands. “I promised to teach Rachel how to make those German honey-cakes your uncle used to like,” she said, and departed.
“I’ll be all right on my own,” said Felix as Miriam sat down by the window, “if you have things to do elsewhere.”
He was half-sitting, leaning back against a pile of pillows. Miriam was glad to see some colour in his cheeks.
“I must finish this seam if I don’t want a scolding.” She re-threaded the needle. “I hope Hannah was not boring you with her chatter.”
“Not at all, it was interesting. She mentioned that your Passover festival is next week. Would it be possible for me to attend, do you think? Not if it’s a private matter, of course, or secret.”
“Secret! Oh no. It is a celebration of the escape from slavery in Egypt, and a reminder not to oppress others as we Jews were oppressed there. I’m sure you will be welcome at the seder, if you are well enough.”
“I shall be. I mean to get up tomorrow.”
“You will do nothing of the sort! No, really, Felix, if you will not lie still for at least another couple of days, I shall wash my hands of you.”
“But it is so devilish tedious being confined to my bed,” he complained.
Fortunately the tedium was relieved next day by the Abravanel children. Esther had with difficulty restrained them from visiting the fascinating stranger for a whole day, but on the Sabbath, with no chores to be done, it was impossible. Felix was delighted.
The first to arrive was Naomi, who had to show him her `writing’. As he studied the squiggles, she climbed up onto the bed and settled beside him. “It says `God send you good health,’“ she explained, her chubby face serious.
“No, it doesn’t.” Sara had arrived. “You’re just learning your letters.”
“Well, that’s what it means.”
“The meaning is what matters,” Felix assured her.
“I’ll write some more for you. I’ll write `Shalom’.”
“Anyway, you are not supposed to write on the Sabbath,” said Sara virtuously. “Only to read.”
“I can’t read yet,” Naomi pointed out.
Miriam began to feel the familiar irritation with the petty restrictions, though in deference to her hostess she would observe them. She would have liked to sew, or draw, but she sat with idle hands gazing out of the window. Somewhere beyond the mountains Isaac was driving towards Pamplona, his mission too urgent to let Sabbath observance delay him.
“Is it all right if I tell you a story?” Felix asked.
“Yes, please, Uncle Felix,” the girls chorused.
Felix’s idiosyncratic version of Cinderella fascinated them, though Sara couldn’t refrain from correcting his stumbling French occasionally. Miriam listened with amusement, until her thoughts wandered back to Isaac. He had not argued when she said she must stay with Felix, but his look of betrayal haunted her. She was very much afraid he saw it as another rejection. But Felix needed her!
He didn’t appear to need her at the moment. His face animated, he described Cinders’ glass slipper to children who had never worn anything but wooden sabots.
He seemed equally at home with the boys when they came up. He couldn’t help them with their Hebrew studies, but he racked his brains to tell them about the Greek and Roman classics he had studied at school. Th
ey peppered him with questions. In the end, Miriam had to send them away when Felix began to look somewhat haggard.
“Time to rest,” she said. Her arm supporting him, she removed several pillows and gently helped him to lie down. Despite her care, he caught his breath in pain. He did need her. “Do you want a drop of laudanum?”
“No, I believe I shall sleep if you will stay and talk to me for a while to distract me from this deuced shoulder of mine. Tell me about the Abravanels. Their poverty makes me ashamed of my complaints of penury, yet they are obviously well-educated. I had not thought French peasants so learned.”
“As far as I know, these three families are the only literate people in the village, apart from the priest. Jews have always valued learning, if only as a means to studying their religion. Of course it helps in other ways too.”
“In this out-of-the-way corner of the world?”
“Esther’s husband earns his living buying and selling for the whole village because he can read and write. The Basque farmers reckon he’s less likely to be cheated. After the sheep-shearing he’ll be off to Tarbes to the wool merchants with the fleeces, and when they have cheeses to spare, he takes them to Roquefort.”
“Is it Basque the Abravanels speak among themselves? It sounds quite different from the Yiddish you and Hannah and Isaac speak.”
“It’s Ladino, the language of the Jews of Spain. It’s very close to Spanish, with Hebrew influence. In fact, when I told Jakob Rothschild I speak Spanish I was fudging a trifle. I can get by in Ladino.”
Felix laughed drowsily. “That’s better than Isaac or I could do,” he murmured. “I hope he’s managing in Spain.”
Miriam thought how lonely Isaac must be, able to communicate only with his youthful Basque guide, forced to rely on him for everything.
When she was sure Felix was asleep, she went out for a walk in meadows starred with wild flowers. She hardly saw them. Again and again her gaze was drawn to the snowfields and rocky precipices that separated her from Isaac. Was he thinking of her? When would he return?
Isidore Abravanel returned home on Monday, a short, kindly man driving mules laden with purchases. On Tuesday evening, Felix escaped from his bed to join the Passover seder. Quietly respectful, he listened to the age-old four questions, asked by Naomi, and the answers explaining the meaning of the symbols, the prayers, the story of the Flight from Egypt. Miriam had never liked him better.
On Wednesday she started to exercise his shoulder. The strain left them both exhausted, Felix white-faced and more than ready to return to his bed.
“I don’t know which is more difficult,” he said with a shaky grin, “trying to keep the muscles relaxed while you torture me, or not screaming my head off.”
“If it were not for the children, I’d say go ahead and scream.” Her smile was not much steadier. “I hate doing this, but I’d hate it worse if I did not and you lost full use of your shoulder.” She wiped his damp forehead with her herb-scented handkerchief.
He caught her hand and kissed it. “You are very good to me, Miriam.”
Blushing, she hastily disclaimed. “It would be bird-witted not to use what medical knowledge I possess.”
As Felix regained his strength he grew restless. He helped with chores as much as he could with one arm in a sling, and advised Isidore on the care of a sick mule. He played with the children, who adored him. He also flirted with Rachel, paying her extravagant compliments in his ever-improving French until she blushed and hid her face whenever he appeared.
Miriam saw that Esther was concerned and decided it was her duty to remonstrate with him.
“I wish you will not tease Rachel so,” she said one day when the others were about their chores. “You put her quite out of countenance.”
“It’s all in fun,” he protested. “I say nothing that I would not whisper in a pretty ear in a London ballroom. Just an amusing flirtation, nothing serious.”
“But Rachel has never been in a London ballroom. She is not at all up to snuff, as you know very well. What is mere amusement to you is quite likely to hurt her, or at least to make her dissatisfied with the sort of youth who is likely to court her seriously.”
He grinned. “What trust you have in my fatal charm.”
“Fustian,” she snorted. “It’s mistrust of your dangerous wiles. Leave her alone, Felix.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Days passed. Miriam walked often in the woods and meadows, sometimes with Felix and the children, sometimes alone as Hannah was not much of a walker. Weeks passed. The shearing was finished; shepherds headed for the high pastures with their flocks, Isidore for Tarbes with the wool. More and more frequently Miriam’s eyes turned to the mountains: where was Isaac?
She dreamed of him. Occasionally she was safe in his arms. More often she saw him lying broken at the foot of a cliff, or surrounded by grim-faced French soldiers, and she woke shivering with horror.
She knew Felix was worried about Isaac too, but they never discussed him though they talked for hours about every subject under the sun.
One golden-green afternoon in May, they returned from a walk with Sara and Naomi. The girls ran ahead to the cottage. Felix put his hand on Miriam’s arm.
“Let’s not go back just yet.”
They strolled up the track towards the pass and stopped at a favourite spot where a boulder offered a seat with an endless panoramic view over the foothills. Miriam sat down. Felix stood, one foot on the rock beside her, gazing into the distance where enemy France faded into a blue haze.
He no longer wore a sling. Though he was still careful how he used his right arm, to all appearances he was once more the strong, vigorous, handsome gentleman who at first sight had embodied her schoolgirl dreams.
She flushed and turned her head as she realized she was staring, but he had not noticed.
“Miriam.” His voice was slightly hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Miriam, will you marry me?”
Startled, she looked up at him. “M-marry you?” she stammered stupidly.
“Is it so unexpected?” His smile was wry. “I cannot believe you are unaware that I love you. I have little enough to offer you, to be sure: an empty title and empty coffers, someday a mortgaged estate. I cannot give you life of luxury, only my heart.”
“What does money matter! My father is a wealthy man and I am his only child. But...”
“You are an heiress?” Felix was shocked. “I did not know! How could I guess?”
“You could not.”
“You do not think me a fortune hunter?”
“Of course not.” She gestured impatiently. “That does not matter. Rich or poor, I cannot marry you, Felix. It would never work.”
He sat down beside her and took her hand. “Is it religion? You are too charitable to hold my ignorant prejudices against me. I have been learning to admire your people. You could bring up our children as Jews, even my heir. I should be proud to be the father of the first Jew in the House of Lords.”
“Oh Felix, how generous, how noble you are.” She felt a rush of love for him, though it crossed her mind that he knew far too little about Judaism to make a serious decision affecting his children’s future. “But my dear, your family would never approve. I could not bear to cause a breach between you, and besides...”
Suddenly he was no longer listening, his attention turned to the road beyond her. She swung round. Down the slope plodded four tired horses, pulling a shabby black berline.
“Isaac!” Joy overflowing, she jumped up and ran towards the carriage. She wanted to hold him, to be sure he was real, alive, well. “Isaac!”
The berline stopped and he descended--slowly. He held out his hand and smiled--stiffly.
“Miriam, Felix, it’s good to see you again. You look to be in prime twig, Felix.”
“Nearly as good as new. And you, you reached Wellington safely?”
“I did. I’ll tell you about it later. It’s been a long journey, I’d best drive on down to
the village.” He turned and climbed back up to the box. The berline passed them and continued down the hill.
When Felix took her hand, Miriam knew he had seen her joy, had watched it fade from her face.
“...And besides,” softly he finished her sentence, “your heart is not yours to give in exchange for mine. He’s tired, Miriam, let him rest. But if you ever change your mind, I’ll be waiting.”
Chapter 21
Isaac was wearied to the bone. The flood of energy that lifted him at the sight of Miriam sitting by the roadside had drained away when he saw that Felix was holding her hand.
So they had reached an understanding during his long absence. Against great odds she had won the man she loved and he ought to be happy for her. If that was beyond him, at least he wished her happy. He had never intended to hurt her as he knew she was hurt by his stiff greeting. Her gladness at his return was unmistakable. Though he could never be her husband, she counted him a dear friend and it was up to him to play that unwanted part to the best of his ability.
But he was so tired. After riding swiftly back through the arid Spanish mountains, he had driven most of the way from Pamplona. While Kalmann had boundless energy and considerable endurance, he had not the sustained strength necessary to control a team of four horses over long distances. And now, sitting at the table in the Abravanels’ kitchen, Kalmann insisted that they must leave St.-Jean-d’Arrau on the morrow.
“I am needed elsewhere,” he said in his guttural French, “and I must first arrange your passage from Bordeaux to England.”
“Isaac needs a rest,” said Miriam militantly.
“I can handle the ribbons,” Felix put in. “My shoulder scarcely aches at all.”
“Because you avoid using it! Do you want to undo all my good work?”
“I’ll be careful. I’ll take the easy parts.” He grinned at Isaac. “That’s the advantage of being a nonpareil teacher, you can leave the difficult bits to your nonpareil pupil.”
“Even a nonpareil needs a rest,” Miriam maintained.
