by Ann Benson
She bounced the child gently in her arms and felt his warm weight against her. Alejandro noticed the ease with which the woman carried him, almost as if the child had been born her own.
“He seems made of hunger,” Leah said. “But I think he is content. He sleeps well enough.”
And Alejandro found himself thinking that even at the babe’s tender age, a man recognizes welcoming arms …
He traded one last smile with the striking young widow as the rebbe approached them. With a shy glance, she left, Guillaume clutched to her breast.
“A letter has come for you,” the old man said. He produced a scroll from the sleeve of his robe and held it out.
So soon? he thought as he took it. He noticed that his hands were trembling.
De Chauliac’s fine hand was firm and clear on the parchment. The strokes, in keeping with the man, were bold and well formed. He had added flourishes in Elizabeth’s red ink, an unmistakable sign of his esteem. He could only hope that the news contained in the letter would be as fair as the hand that conveyed it. He took a deep breath and read.
My dear colleague,
I hope this news finds both you and your grandson safe and in good health.
They, by which I mean Prince Lionel and the lady Elizabeth, have taken Kate into their household, naturally against the girl’s own will. She has yet to recover completely from her labors in bringing the infant forth, but the Irishwoman stays at her side and does good work on her behalf. I have looked in on her three times since you left. She was nearly delirious with fear for the first day, and suffered a fever, until I assured her privately that your escape was accomplished.
Young Chaucer is beside himself with grief over your circumstances—though I know not why! He seems to feel some vague complicity, undeserved, in my opinion. The boy has taken your position to great heart and has made himself nearly my accomplice. Through him I know that there is talk of returning Kate to England, though when this shall occur has not yet been decided. She is not a hostage of the Dauphin, as are Lionel and his entire Court, and may be brought out of France at Edward’s discretion. I dare not think what Edward Plantagenet’s pleasure will be in this matter.
If you send word of yourself and the child, I will see that it gets to her—Chaucer has sworn he will assist me in this. No doubt your daughter is as eager to know your fate as you are hers, and it may speed her recovery to have a message.
As for myself, I am praying, and will continue to pray, for good fortune to bless you. I would welcome a word now and then; indeed, I crave it. Do not deny me.
We shall meet again, I am certain of it.
Your faithful servant,
Guy de Chauliac
He wrote back, telling de Chauliac all that he could of his journey south and of the unexpected joy he had found at its end. He told of the child’s progress and growth, that the news might be conveyed to Kate and strengthen her spirit for the trials that were surely ahead of her.
Slowly, Alejandro found a place for himself and his grandson among the Jews of Avignon. But Avram Canches was slow to welcome the fair, blue-eyed child his son had brought out of the north.
“I shall not have a son of my own, Father. You must accept him.”
“You do not know what God has in store for you, Alejandro. There are many good women here who would accept you, despite the foreign child … indeed, this Leah who suckles the babe lacks a husband, and she would be a worthy match for you.”
“She is a fine woman. A good mother. I would be honored to have her, were it not for …”
“For what?”
He sighed deeply before he told his father that he had loved once, and he would not love again.
“What does this love matter?” the old man wanted to know. “A good woman is a good woman, and you are a fine man. Far finer than I dared dream when you were taken away from me. You need only open yourself to the will of God, and I am certain you will know contentment, as I did with your mother, may she rest in peace. In time you will learn to love a woman, if you are of a mind to. I know of these things, you must listen to me.”
“I loved one woman, Father, and I am not of a mind to love another.”
“But you will leave nothing behind, no legacy, no son to carry on after you, to pray for your soul.”
“So be it. I shall leave my work behind me. It will be legacy enough.”
“Then sadly the name of Canches will come to an end. When your flesh passes, the world will never again know the flesh of our flesh.…”
“So be it,” Alejandro said finally. “If God sees fit for the flesh of a Canches to be brought into the world, He will surely find the means to do so. Without our help.”
epilogue
The two women sat in wood rocking chairs on the wide-planked open porch that rimmed Camp Meir’s main building, listening to the surrounding forest as their chairs creaked back and forth.
Janie relaxed her head against the chair’s padded backrest and sighed in true contentment. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the earth-sounds resonate within her. The rhythm of the creaking was calming, almost soporific.
She opened her eyes and smiled at Kristina. “Makes you believe in God, doesn’t it?”
“I do, anyway.”
Janie was not surprised.
“Kristina,” she said curiously, “There’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask you. How does it feel, I mean internally, to be—” She struggled for an acceptable way to ask, and settled on “like you are?”
“Do you mean, does it feel different?”
“Yes.”
A few creaks passed, then the young woman said, “Why are you asking?”
“Well, I think I need to know. Don’t you? So I can explain to this one.” She patted her belly.
Kristina looked off pensively into the early autumn night. Crickets chirped noisily. The fluttering of bat wings could be heard faintly from the tree canopy. “I guess you do,” she finally agreed. “But I’m not sure I can really answer your question. I’ve always been this way, at least as far back as I remember.”
Alejandro’s journal rested on what remained of Janie’s lap. Her massively swollen belly lay heavily on the top of her thighs. The child within her had settled down into the birth canal at last and might be born any day. And though the September night was cool and pleasant, Janie was feeling way too old, at least physically, to be pregnant. She shifted slightly to adjust the pressure and said, “How far back is that?”
Kristina reached out her hand and placed it on the center of Janie’s protruding abdomen. Ignoring Janie’s question completely, she said, “My father is just so happy about this.”
The question would wait. “I am too. I can’t think of anyone who could be a better father for this baby. I mean, Tom understands completely. But we are a little old to be parents. When he starts crawling all over the place and climbing on things, I think we’ll be depending on you for a lot of help.”
“I don’t mind,” the girl said happily. “I never had a brother.”
They rocked quietly in the evening air, enjoying each other’s company. The unborn child kicked, and Kristina drew her hand away with a small gasp of pleasure. She and Janie both laughed.
It was a matter of pure joy to her, except for the occasional moments when she worried about being able to care for a baby.
“I’ll have to wash diapers, Tom.”
“I’ll wash them too, you know. We’ll get used to it.”
“But what if I don’t make enough milk? Women my age—”
“Do you honestly think Caroline wouldn’t be a wet nurse if he needed one? And if that doesn’t work out, we have the goats. Or the cows.”
“I don’t know if I remember any lullabies.”
“You’ll remember them. Or you’ll make up new ones.”
“Well, at least we have stories to tell him.…”
“That we do.”
“Did you guys finally settle on the name?” Kristina said.
>
As if there could be any question about what the baby boy would be called. “Yeah,” Janie said with a little chuckle. “We’re going to call him Bigfoot. For the way he wanders around my stomach.”
“No, I mean seriously.…”
“Yes. We did.” Janie Crowe grinned broadly. “It’ll be Alex.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ann Benson lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, with her family. Readers may e-mail her at [email protected] or visit her website at www.annbenson.com.
