“I’ll be back soon,” Luc told Bes.
So they took turns sitting with the old man as he slept fitfully through the morning. At the call for the midday prayer, Salah awoke and sipped the tea that Luc held to his lips. He was bewildered; he raised his right hand to his head and touched the bandage. His left arm dangled, and the left side of his face drooped. Luc reached for Salah’s right hand, and the old man’s fingers tightened over the boy’s hand.
“Are you feeling any better, master?”
The old man locked eyes with Luc. “Worse thith time,” he whispered.
Luc nodded. “Yes.”
Salah let go of Luc’s hand and tapped his bandage.
Luc said, “You hit your head. The cut is clean and shallow. It should heal quickly.”
The old man whispered, “Promith.”
“Promise what?” asked Luc.
The old man blinked. “Stay till I die.”
“I am your slave,” said Luc. “You don’t need my promise.”
“No. Promith.”
“I promise, Salah. For the rest of your life, I shall be right here. Even if I could, I would not leave you,” said Luc, and he covered his heart with his right hand.
Salah nodded. “When I die, you’ll be free.”
The old man closed his eyes. Luc said nothing, but he felt the rush of heat to his cheeks and the quickened beat of his heart. He took a deep breath and looked at Salah, but the old man was already asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Reading
SPRING WAS ENDING, and heat thickened the air. Salah improved, but he did not recover. His speech had returned, but his left arm and the left side of his face were paralyzed; he could shuffle only a few steps with a cane. One morning in late May, with Bes’s help, Luc settled Salah in the courtyard, where they piled pillows in an alcove that faced the bubbling fountain. The caged birds sang, and the garden was filled with bright roses. Luc was reading aloud a story about Sinbad the Sailor from a glorious manuscript that Salah had acquired in Egypt many years before. It was richly illustrated with depictions of sea voyages, monsters, and treasures. Though he stumbled often, Luc was growing to love reading these tales of adventure.
“Well done, Luc,” said Salah when the boy reached the tale’s end. “It’s lovely to listen to Sinbad while sitting here on a silk cushion, but if I were a young man, I would travel. I would venture beyond the ends of the known world. When I am gone, Luc, cross the Atlantic. I would give anything to be a part of that adventure.”
Luc closed the book. “I may, Salah. But first I will return and see Pons and his sister and Beatrice.”
“Is she beautiful, this Beatrice?”
“Very,” said Luc, blushing.
“The whisper of a pretty girl is heard farther away than the lion’s roar.”
“Was there never a pretty woman for you, Salah?” asked Luc.
Salah closed his eyes. “I was always too deep in my studies. I never bothered to know anyone very well.”
“Except Bes.”
The old man smiled at Luc. “Yes. And now you.”
Luc was silent for a while.
Salah tugged at his beard. “After you have visited the fisherman and his wife—”
“His sister,” corrected Luc.
“The fisherman and his sister and the beautiful Beatrice—after you have visited them, Luc, what will you do?”
“I shall visit my mother and my brothers.”
“And your father?”
“I don’t know if he is my father. But yes. Even him.”
“Can it be, my boy, that you have learned to forgive?”
“I don’t know, master.”
A lopsided smile spread on Salah’s face.
“The wisest man is the one who can forgive,” said Salah.
Luc smiled. “Do you know whom I really miss?”
Salah asked, “Is there yet another girl?”
Luc shook his head. “I miss my dog.”
“Such an odd race, with your pet dogs. How you cling to your primitive ways, Luc! Stubborn you remain.”
“But not obstinate?”
“You have a fine mind, Luc. Much too fine to just fish and repair nets.”
Luc said, “I think I would have been a good fisherman.”
“I have no doubt of that,” said the old man. “After I am gone, I know you will go home, but not to fish.”
“No, not to fish. I don’t know what I’ll do. But I still have much to learn from you. I don’t expect to go home soon.”
“Death rides a fast horse.”
“In your case, I hope he has fallen from the horse.”
“At least for a little while longer, yes, my boy?”
“Yes, master.”
Salah nodded. “It is in the hands of Allah. Will you consider a proposition from me?”
Luc raised his eyebrows. “A proposition?”
“Yes, there is something I want you to do after I am gone.”
“Of course.”
“Take Bes.”
“Bes?”
“Yes.” The old man nodded. “He will be lost without me.”
Luc arched his brows and bit his lip.
“You have come to understand him. He is loyal and skilled, but he has no sense of the world. He would not last long on his own, despite his quick tongue.”
“Because of his quick tongue,” said Luc.
“Yes,” said Salah. “The safety of a man is in the sweetness of his tongue. Bes’s tongue is sharp; it will bring him harm. Will you take him with you?”
“What do I have to offer Bes?”
“More than you know, Luc. More than you ever dreamed.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
May’s Move
LUC HAD BEEN gone for more than a year—twice the time he had lived with Pons and Mattie. The heart-shaped leaves of the linden were green and open, and the sky was the cloudless pale blue of a matchless May morning. Beatrice sat on the bench with her back to the now empty cottage, staring at the sea. She held a letter in one hand and with the other, she picked at berries in a basket on her lap. She wondered what Luc would do if he returned. Father Émile had promised to tell the boy where they had moved. But if he came back, would Luc move north with them? She knew he loved fishing and the sea.
Mattie tucked her hair into her hat and sat down on the bench. She was wearing her better dress, slate wool with a wide band of brown wool along the hem of the skirt. Underneath, she wore a plain linen smock that was gathered at her neck with a drawstring. She fixed a new ribbon around the crown of the wide-brimmed straw hat that she had made for Beatrice.
“I’ll miss these sounds,” said Beatrice.
“Noisy gulls?” asked Mattie.
Beatrice nodded and said, “I love the smell of this wind.”
“And the fish? Pshaw,” said Mattie, pinching her nose. “Wait until you smell the pine trees and the fields of lavender and rosemary.”
“This is a good thing, Mattie, isn’t it? Moving north?”
“Yes, Beatrice,” answered Mattie, but her voice was husky, and she wiped away a tear.
In April, Bertrand had sent a messenger to Beatrice repeating his offer to come live with him. Beatrice had finally sent a note back accepting her uncle’s invitation because she realized that Pons was struggling now to put food on their table. She had also included a letter to the count about Luc. Yesterday, Bertrand had arrived with a servant, horses, a mule driver in the Muguet blue, and four mules to move his niece and Mattie and Pons north. He also carried a reply from Louis to Beatrice.
Mattie elbowed Beatrice. “Those berries were your favorites when you were a little girl.”
Beatrice looked at the basket filled with deep-red strawberries, none bigger than a pea, a gift from Bertrand’s garden. She put two strawberries in her mouth and tried to remember.
Mattie and Beatrice watched as Bertrand and his servant loaded the four pack mules. Two mules were carrying nothing but Mattie�
��s fish carvings for the young count.
“Why does he want my fish?” Mattie had asked Bertrand. “He’s offered me a fortune for them.”
“He’s talked about your cottage and the fish ever since our visit. When he heard you were moving, he started to prepare a room for them in the castle.”
“Well, I am glad then,” said Mattie. “I may carve something else for my new home.”
Bertrand was dressed in a willow-green jacket that fell mid-thigh, with a ruffled linen tunic and fawn-colored hose. He wore short boots and a brown felt hat that sported two green rooster tail feathers.
Mattie motioned with her chin and whispered to Beatrice, “He is a bit of dandy, isn’t he?”
The girl smiled and nodded.
Mattie rolled her eyes and tossed a few strawberries into her mouth. She motioned at Pons with her chin. “My brother has never been on a horse, but he says it can’t be worse than the boat in a gale.”
“Bertrand promised these mares are gentle, slow walkers,” said Beatrice, folding the letter from Louis.
“Well, what did the young count say?” asked Mattie, peeking at the letter. “Aside from wanting my fish? What does the count say about Luc?”
“My letter didn’t persuade him that Luc is his brother.”
“So he won’t help?” asked Mattie. She reached down and picked a couple of buttercups that she spotted by her foot. Mattie tucked the flowers into a ribbon on the crown of Beatrice’s hat.
“Actually, he will,” said Beatrice, opening the letter again. “He’s decided to search for Luc anyway; he’s hired agents.”
“Why, if he thinks the boy’s not his brother?” asked Mattie.
Beatrice pointed to a line in the letter. “He says injustices were done by his father.”
“Injustices? That’s a pretty word for it,” said Mattie, looking over the girl’s shoulder at the meaningless marks on the page.
Beatrice took a deep breath. “He’s Luc’s only chance.”
“True, but if the boy is found, he’ll have you to thank. Luc’s been gone a long time, and not a day goes by you don’t think about him,” said Mattie.
“I’ve felt so helpless, Mattie. And now I’m a little scared. What lies ahead? For us?”
“I don’t know, Beatrice. You and your uncle are saving us all.”
“You saved me first.”
Mattie put her arm around the girl. “But it is Pons and me who need saving now. We wouldn’t be able to pay the rent for much longer. Pons is too old for the sea. And done with it. My brother never got over losing Luc. He blames himself for not being strong enough to save the boy.”
“If Pons had been stronger, they’d have taken him too.”
Mattie nodded. “Maybe. In any case, your uncle’s invitation is our salvation. For all his fancy clothes, Bertrand seems a good man.”
“I think so,” said Beatrice. “Generous.”
She watched Bertrand as Pons and the mule driver loaded the last of the mules. She liked the way her uncle talked to Mattie and Pons.
“Your father was a generous man, Beatrice. But gambling was his ruin. Bertrand has his brother’s good side without the bad.”
Beatrice laughed, “I think he would rather spend his money on feathers than gambling.”
Mattie elbowed Beatrice and nodded. “He’ll find you a husband, and then I’ll take care of your children. If I’m not too old.”
Beatrice and Mattie rose as Bertrand patted Pons on the back and walked over to them.
“Ready to mount up?” he asked. “We have at least four long days ahead of us.”
“Here’s your hat,” said Mattie, handing it to Beatrice. “You tie it tight.”
Beatrice kissed Mattie on the forehead and sighed, “Mattie insists on treating me like a lady.”
“As she should,” said Bertrand.
Mattie covered her mouth and held a finger up. Then she turned and went into the cottage. Beatrice tied the hat and followed her, and they looked around for the last time. With the beams stripped of fish, the cottage was empty and still. The dirt floor was dry, and there was a bitter tang in the air; the walls nearest the hearth were smoke-smudged and dark. Beatrice climbed the loft ladder for a last look through the little window where she had watched the moon for more than eight years. She backed down and looked over to the corner of the room where Luc used to sleep. Mattie took her arm, and they stepped outside and hugged each other.
“I’ve been happy here, Mattie. I dread going back to the north. I have some ugly memories.”
“I know, Beatrice. But that was a long time ago.”
Bertrand watched the women and turned away. He linked his fingers and cupped his hands and helped Pons mount his horse. Up in the saddle, Pons looked toward the sea, where sunlight quivered on the water.
“I’ve lived here all my life. Thought I’d live here forever,” said Pons.
Bertrand patted the old man’s leg and said, “I hope you’ll love the mountains, Pons.”
“What about Luc? Has the count really begun to look for him?” asked Pons.
“At great expense.”
Beatrice overheard her uncle’s answer as she and Mattie mounted their mares.
“Why is the count searching for Luc?” asked Beatrice later as she rode away from Mouette alongside her uncle. “Since he doesn’t believe Luc is his brother.”
“I don’t really know. Maybe it’s your mermaid spell,” answered Bertrand, smiling at his niece.
Beatrice shook her head, and Bertrand continued, “Louis has no doubt that his real brother is buried in the family tomb, but he’s hired agents in Genoa who have African contacts. Still, Beatrice, how do you find one boy across a wide sea?”
“He’ll be found for the very reason that his father disposed of him.”
“I don’t understand,” said Bertrand.
“He is the boy with one ear. That makes him unforgettable.”
Beatrice twisted strands of her mount’s mane around her fingers. When she last rode a horse, Beatrice had been a little girl on a small pony. Now, she relaxed into the saddle of the black mare and rolled with its comfortable gait. Bertrand complimented her riding. As they rode farther from the sea and higher into the hills, the land was greener and the air was cooler. The lemon, orange, and mulberry trees of the coast gave way to chestnuts and walnuts, oaks and pines. Beatrice was wearing her gray dress with her linen undersmock. She was cold, and she rubbed her arms.
“You’re chilled?” asked Bertrand, and he reached into a saddlebag and produced a lavender wool cape. She swung the cape over her shoulders.
“Thank you, Uncle. I don’t think I ever thanked you for the beautiful cape you sent last Christmas.”
He said nothing, but he smiled broadly, and they rode without speaking until the sun was at its highest, and Bertrand pointed to a pair of shade trees near a moving stream. “We’ll rest here. The horses need water, and I need bread.”
Beatrice was warm as she dismounted, but when she tried to return the cape to her uncle, he refused.
“Keep it, Beatrice. I like to see you in a color. You must have some new clothes for your new life.”
Beatrice said nothing as she folded the cape, tucked it under her arm, and sat down. She untied her hat and shook her hair free. Pons and Mattie were walking together, stretching and stopping to rub at shoulders and calves. Beatrice watched them and worried that she had taken them from their home, from her home. Had she made a terrible mistake accepting her uncle’s offer? Did she really have another choice? She smoothed her dress and straightened her sleeves. Then she looked at Bertrand and found he was looking at her as he chewed his bread. His servant had spread a cloth and produced cheese and sausage and bread from one of the mule packs.
“How shall I fill my days in your house?” Beatrice asked.
“Our house.”
“Until you have a wife.”
“I’m in no hurry. You shall have a husband well before I marry. If I marry. You
are very beautiful. And we are an old family. Thanks to Louis, our name has been cleared.”
“But I have lived as a peasant since my father’s death. Mattie brags that I can read and write, but I read no better than a child. I don’t know how to be a lady, and I have no property.”
“Perhaps I can persuade Louis to help me provide you with a suitable dowry.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Beatrice, breaking off some bread to feed Cadeau.
Bertrand shrugged.
“More atonement?” she asked. After Beatrice fed him some bread and some of the cheese, Cadeau lay down next to her and fell asleep so soundly he began to snore. She stroked his head.
Bertrand patted the dog a couple of times and said, “You can’t fault Louis for that, Beatrice. Because of him, our family has the manor back, but we are anything but rich. Besides, his wealth is enormous. He’s making amends for the deeds of his father.”
Mattie and Pons joined Beatrice and Bertrand, and after everyone had eaten and drunk and rested, they continued their journey. Toward sunset, Beatrice dropped back and plodded along with Mattie and Pons. Mattie reminisced about their journey almost nine years earlier, when she and Beatrice struggled on foot over the hills and the mountains to the sea. It was a hard journey but Mattie had been determined to return home, and little Beatrice had never whined.
“You were just a seed of a girl,” said Mattie.
“Nothing more than a sardine,” added Pons. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when the two of you straggled into the yard. You and that skinny little girl.”
“But that little girl could already read,” said Mattie, shaking her head.
“They breed them smart up north,” said Pons. “Luc was a quick one, too.”
“He couldn’t read,” said Mattie.
“He could read the fish and the sky as well as anyone. That boy had eyes like no one else. Saw things way before most men. Born to fish,” said Pons.
The journey home was slower than Bertrand had expected. Each day before sunset, Bertrand’s servant found a farm or a monastery where they could lodge for the night.
On the fourth day, they passed through an empty village. The thatch was gone from the roofs, and the walls of most of the houses were crumbling or fallen. The fields were returning to forest. Bertrand pointed to the remains of a chapel.
The Unfortunate Son Page 17
