The Exiles

by Gilbert, Morris

  A silence followed her proclamation, and then Yves said, “We could kidnap her.”

  “What!” Neville swiveled around and stared at Yves. “Are you crazy? We’d all wind up in jail.”

  “This thing is not right. I don’t care what the law says,” Yves said defiantly. “I say we go back and hide in the woods, and when we see the fellow leave, we go in and take the girl. We get away and dare him to come and get her. He doesn’t know our names. How would he find us?”

  “We can’t do it, Yves,” Chantel said.

  “Why can’t we? You want your sister back. I don’t see any other way to get her.”

  “There has to be a way!” Chantel exclaimed. Turning to Neville, she said, “I don’t know anything about the law, but in a case like this there must be something.”

  “Louisiana is under the Napoleonic law. It’s the only state that is,” Neville said. “It’s a strange sort of code, and lawyers coming in go crazy at first. But I’m telling you that there’s nothing in it that will allow us to go in and take a child away from a family. Imagine what would happen if you had a child and someone came in and took him away.”

  “But this is different. She’s my sister.”

  “I think you’re right, but how can we prove it? If I went to a judge with this kind of story to get a court order, why, he’d laugh me out of his office.”

  From inside the house, they could hear the laughter and chatter of the Broussards’ six small children. Neville had been quiet, searching his mind desperately to find a solution, but he knew the law well enough to realize that the door of legal methods was closed. “We’ll just have to pray that God will open up a door.”

  Yves laughed shortly. “I know what that means.”

  “What does it mean?” Chantel said quickly.

  “It means Neville has given up. Doesn’t it, Neville?”

  “Not at all. Well, perhaps, it means I’ve given up on any human solutions. But God can do all things.”

  “I agree with that, of course, but God helps those who help themselves.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite right.”

  “It’s in the Bible, isn’t it?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I believe it’s in Aesop’s Fables.”

  Chantel said, “But I can see what Yves is saying. Surely God expects us to do something.”

  “I am sure He does at times, but I don’t think that He wants us to break the law to get your sister back. I do believe that if we ask Him, He will show us a way.”

  Yves suddenly stood up. “I’m tired,” he said. “It’s bed for me.”

  “Good night,” Chantel said. She waited until he had gone into the cabin. The Broussards had fixed beds for the men in the loft. Chantel would sleep on the floor in the main room of the cabin.

  Neville waited for Chantel to speak, and when she did not, he said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been more help.”

  “Oh, don’t say that, Neville! I wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for you.” She hesitated and then said, “I want to tell you what happened to me.” She quickly related her experience of calling on God, and when she finished, she said, “I don’t know what happened to me in my spirit or in my heart, but I know that I feel so different. I know God has spoken to me. I just don’t know what it all means.”

  “I think it means God has come into your heart. I think you were converted.”

  “I don’t know that word.”

  “It’s simply another way of saying that you’re not under the bondage of sin anymore. You asked God to forgive you in the name of Jesus, and He did.”

  “I hope so. I need God’s forgiveness.”

  “We all do.” He smiled at her, saying, “I’m so happy for you!”

  The two sat until the sounds within the cabin grew quiet. The door opened, and Broussard stepped outside. “Your bed is ready, miss. It’s not much, but it’s the best we have.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Broussard.”

  The inside of the cabin was murky, but Broussard said, “We leave this lamp on to give you a little light. Good night.” He left to go to the rear of the house.

  Before Neville went to the loft, he reached out and put his hands on Chantel’s shoulders. Turning her to face him, he said, “God is able. We’ll get her back for you.”

  “Do you really believe that, Neville?”

  “Yes, I do.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then without another word turned and moved up to the loft.

  Lying down on the quilts that Mrs. Broussard had provided, Chantel touched the place where Neville had kissed her. “Good night,” she whispered and then tried to sleep.

  “Wake up, Chantel.”

  Chantel came awake instantly. She had slept no more than three hours, for she could not help going over and over in her mind ways to get her Veronique back. Now she sat up abruptly and saw Neville standing over her. “What is it?” she said.

  Neville held out a piece of paper. “It’s Yves. He’s gone to get Veronique.”

  “What!”

  “Read the note.” Neville’s face was grim.

  I have gone to get your sister. Don’t worry about me. I can do this. Yves.

  “Oh, Neville, it’s not right!”

  “It’s not right and it’s dangerous,” Neville said grimly.

  “What can we do?”

  “I guess all we can do is wait. You and I can’t go thrashing around in that swamp.”

  Suddenly fear came to Chantel. “I know he’s doing this for me, but I’m afraid.”

  They did wait, but not willingly. Mrs. Broussard cooked a breakfast for them of ham and eggs and biscuits, but Chantel could not eat more than a few bites. The coffee she served was so strong it was bitter.

  Chantel turned to Michael Broussard and said, “We’ve got to go out and find him.”

  “No, you must not do,” Broussard said quickly. “It is too dangerous. The bayou itself has dangers, and Simon Tubberville is no man to fool with.”

  “I think I should go,” Neville said, “but you must wait here, Chantel.”

  “No, we’ll both go.”

  Both Broussard and his wife argued against the mission, but in the end they were forced to relent. The two left the cabin, got into one of the pirogues, and both of them paddled, sending the small craft skimming across the waters. Dawn was coming up now, and finding the way was not difficult, for they had noted carefully the landmarks that they had followed the day before. Chantel’s arms grew tired and her back ached, but she did not even consider resting.

  “Listen!” Neville said. “Did you hear something?”

  “No, I don’t think so. What did it sound like?”

  “Like a shot—but maybe I was mistaken.”

  They paddled steadily and had almost reached the landing when Neville said, “Look, there’s a boat over there.”

  Chantel looked, and her heart lurched. She whispered, “Let’s go. It’s the one that Yves took.” She turned the prow of the pirogue around, and as they approached, she stood up.

  “Be careful. These things turn over easily.”

  “Neville, it’s Yves! He’s lying in the bottom of the boat.”

  Neville maneuvered the small craft around, and as soon as it was possible, he grabbed the edge of the craft, and Chantel stepped inside.

  Yves was lying facedown in the bottom of the boat. He was wearing a thin white shirt, and when Chantel turned him over, she saw that his breast was stained with blood. “Yves!” she cried and reached down to touch his face.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, he’s breathing. But, oh, there’s blood everywhere!”

  “We’ve got to get out of here. Look, let me get in that boat, and I’ll paddle him. You take this one.”

  The exchange was made, and soon Chantel was following the boat in front of her. Neville called back to her, “I think he’s going to be all right, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “We’ve got to get help, Neville!”

/>   “I know. We’ll get him to the Broussards’. Then we can clean him up and see how badly he’s hurt.”

  They paddled so hard that both of them were exhausted, but when they reached the landing at Broussards’ cabin, their host was there to help. “I saw you coming,” he said as he pulled the boat in. “Is he dead?”

  “No, but he’s badly wounded.”

  “We’ll get him inside. My wife, she is good with hurts like this.”

  Yves was a large man, and Broussard and Neville were not. They struggled and finally got him inside the house.

  As they laid him back, Yves opened his eyes and saw Chantel. He coughed and made a grimace of pain. “Well,” he whispered, “that wasn’t such a good idea.”

  “Oh, Yves, I wish you hadn’t gone!”

  “So do I,” Yves sighed, and his face was pale as old ivory. He did not speak again, but after Hannah Broussard had removed the shirt and cleaned the wound, she said, “It is not so bad. See how high the wound is? It missed the lung, but he has lost a lot of blood. He’s very weak.”

  “We’d better take him to the hospital in Baton Rouge,” Neville said.

  “If you think so, Neville.” Chantel leaned against him and felt his arm go around her. She closed her eyes and found herself feeling faint, but then she shook her head. She looked again at Yves’s face and whispered, “He was trying to do it for me, but he shouldn’t have.”

  Chantel’s brow furrowed, and she said, “Are you sure you feel well enough to make the trip to New Orleans, Yves?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just weak.”

  The two of them were in Yves’s hospital room in Baton Rouge. He was dressed, and his bag was on the bed. During the entire four days he had been here, Chantel had come every day, and with relief had seen him lose his pallor. But now she was worried. “Why don’t you just wait here?”

  “There’s nothing I can do here.”

  At that moment the door opened, and Neville came through. His clothes had been wrinkled when they had left the swamp, but now he was impeccably dressed again. “The mail coach is here, Yves,” he said. “But I don’t think you ought to try this trip. You’re still weak.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” Yves stared at Neville and said, “I know you think I’m an irreligious dog, but when I went down from that shot, something happened.”

  “What was it?”

  “They say just before you die your whole life flashes in front of you. I always thought that was ridiculous. But something like that happened. Of course, I didn’t lose consciousness right away, but as I lay there in that boat bleeding my life out, I thought what a mess I’d made of everything.” Yves smiled suddenly and shook his head. “You would have been proud of me, Neville. I called on God. It’s the first time I tried to talk to Him in a long time.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Neville said warmly.

  “I think I would have died if you hadn’t got there and stopped the bleeding. So, who knows? Maybe I’ll be in your congregation pretty soon.”

  Chantel said quickly, “Just stay here a few more days and get stronger.”

  “No, I must go. Before I leave I want to warn you about something.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “About a fortune hunter. His name is—” He stopped abruptly and laughed when he saw the two of them hanging on his words. “His name is Yves Gaspard. He’s a fine-looking fellow, but don’t have anything to do with him.”

  “That’s not true,” Chantel said.

  “Not now, but I know myself pretty well. If this hadn’t happened, I would have tried to marry you. And it would have been a terrible thing for you.” He reached out and put his hand on Chantel’s cheek and said in a totally serious voice, “You deserve better than me.” Leaning forward, he kissed her on the cheek. Then he said, “I’m ready. You’ll be hearing from me.”

  Neville picked up the bag and walked outside. He watched Yves carefully and saw that the wound still pained him. He put down the bag and helped Yves into the coach. Then, taking the bag, he handed it to the driver, who stored it on the top. He turned back and saw that Yves was putting his hand out. Neville shook it and said, “Thanks for what you tried to do, Yves.”

  “It’s up to you now, Neville—you and God.”

  Neville watched the coach leave, then turned to find Chantel watching from the porch.

  “Well, he’s gone,” she said. “You know, he’s a pretty brave fellow.”

  “Yes, he is. Well, follow me.”

  “What are we going to do now?”

  “We may have to press charges. I don’t like it, but it may be the only way to get Veronique.” He turned to her, adding, “But God is up to something, and I want to be in on it!”

  Chapter twenty-six

  The sun had risen by the time Chantel opened her eyes. She sat up and winced, for her muscles were still somewhat sore from the effort of paddling the pirogue. She had slept better the previous night than she had expected and now realized that it was a Sunday morning. Her thoughts went back to that other life she had had on Fontaine Maison, and she realized that she would have been dressing to go to Mass.

  She got out of bed and stared around the hotel room for a moment. It was not ornate in the least, but the bed had been comfortable. Quickly she bathed as completely as she could at the basin, then dressed and fixed her hair. She opened the door and stepped outside to find Neville exiting from his own room. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Well, good morning. I thought you might sleep late.”

  “No, but I did sleep better.”

  “So did I. Come along. We’ll have breakfast.”

  “What are you going to do then?”

  “Why, I’m going to church.”

  “May I go with you?”

  Neville’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “If you like.”

  Chantel laughed at his reaction. “I know. I told you once that Catholics couldn’t go to other services, but I’m going this time.”

  “I think that’s a fine thing. We’ll eat breakfast; then we’ll hear a good sermon.”

  The church was not large, but it was filled to capacity. Chantel’s heart beat a little faster as she thought of what her priest might say if he knew what she was doing—but somehow things had changed for her. She felt a freedom she had not known existed as she accompanied Neville down the aisle and took a seat with him. He pressed his shoulder against hers, and she turned to him and said, “I think this is a very good thing to do.”

  “It’s always good to go to the house of God.”

  The singing was not what Chantel was accustomed to, but she followed the words in the book and tried to sing along. Neville, of course, knew all the words and seemed to find great joy in joining in.

  But it was the sermon that really got Chantel’s attention. The minister was a man of forty, tall and with a pair of piercing blue eyes. When he announced his text, Neville opened his Bible and found it, so that she was able to follow along. He began reading at Psalm 78, which was a record of the dealings of God with Israel in the wilderness.

  And they tempted God in their heart by asking meat for their lust. Yea, they spake against God; they said, Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?

  The minister lifted his eyes and said, “That is my subject this morning. Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?”

  Chantel listened as he spoke of the difficulties of Israel as they wandered. “They were out in a howling wilderness, and in those days, there were no stores. There was no place to buy food. I imagine mothers with their children were worried, and fathers could not imagine what they would do to feed their families in that terrible, barren place. So they made their big mistake. They failed God, and when Moses asked them to trust God, they taunted him, saying, ‘Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?’”

  Chantel listened intently as the minister laid out the difficulties, impossibilities really, and she thought, How very like my situation. But probably everyone
in this building has hard things that they are facing.

  “You know the story. God did indeed furnish a table in the wilderness. The Scripture tells us that He rained bread down upon them, and He sent quail for meat. And I say to you this morning, if you are facing an impossible situation, remember it’s impossible only for you, for nothing shall be impossible with God.”

  Chantel heard little of the rest of the message, for those words seemed to have been driven into her heart—God can furnish a table in the wilderness.

  And as they left the church and walked back toward the hotel, she said, “I enjoyed the service.”

  “It was a fine sermon,” Neville agreed.

  “What did he mean about fasting and praying when we want something very much?”

  “You remember our conversation with Yves when he said, ‘Can’t we do something?’”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a very good answer,” Neville said ruefully. “There is something we can always do when we’re faced with a problem we can’t handle. The Bible says we have to fast and to pray.”

  “Then that’s what I think we should do, Neville.”

  Neville said at once, “I believe you’re right. We’ll go to our rooms, you to yours, I to mine, and we’ll begin to pray.”

  “And we won’t eat until God gives us an answer?”

  “We’ll pray until God either answers us or gives us a word that we’ve fasted and prayed enough.”

  Chantel felt the pressure of the bed against her forehead. She had prayed until she had thought she could not possibly pray another moment. She had prayed standing, kneeling, sitting, walking around the room. She had wept, she had even cried aloud once— but nothing seemed to have happened.

  Now she felt physically exhausted—and also besieged with doubts.

  This will never work. I feel so—so stupid! God knows what we need. Why do I have to keep on praying?

  She had prayed all day Sunday and all Sunday night, and now the sun was coming up. Her mouth was dry, and she felt the pangs of hunger. She could hear people moving around the hotel and knew that they were going down to breakfast.