The Exiles
Page 27
“I’ll go with you then.”
She stayed until Veronique had eaten and then walked to her room, kissed her, and said, “You were beautiful tonight, and your dancing was wonderful.”
“I like dancing with Neville, don’t you?”
“I—” She broke off, because the hurt of his refusal to dance with her was more painful than she had dreamed it could be. “Good night,” she said. She bent over and kissed the smooth cheek, then went to her room.
Chantel stood in the middle of the room for a moment, then sat down before the dresser and stared at her face in the mirror. She could think of nothing but Neville’s strange attitude. Have I done something to offend him? I don’t know what it could be.
She walked the floor for a time and then washed her face. After she had dried it off, she walked over to the window. A movement caught her eye, and she leaned forward and peered out into the darkness. By the faint light of the lantern, she caught sight of Neville walking along the brick walkway that led out to the gardens. His head was down, and he disappeared into the shadows.
At once she grabbed up her coat, slipped it on, and left her room. She ran quickly down the stairs and out the front door and ran down the walk. The moon was full overhead, a huge silver disk.
“Neville!” she called out, and then halted. She had come on a sudden impulse, and now that he turned and came to stand before her, she had not the vaguest idea what to say.
“I—I saw you walking. I was wondering if there’s any trouble. Something you haven’t told me.”
“No, not really. I just wanted some fresh air.”
His words sounded lame to her, and she said, “Let me walk with you.”
“Fine. It’s a little cold. People will think we’re crazy walking in December in the middle of the night.”
Chantel walked beside him and could not think of one thing to say. She finally asked how his work was going.
“All right.”
“And the mission. Have you started it yet?”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time there. I rented an old building that needed a lot of repairs.”
“So that’s why you haven’t been to see me.”
There was enough of a pause that Chantel knew he was struggling for an answer. “Well, of course, it’s been a little hard to get away.”
The silence continued, and finally he said, “I saw Yves a few days ago.”
“Is he all right?”
“Oh, completely recovered. I don’t know how you’ll take this,” he said. “Dominique’s husband died.” He seemed to be fumbling for words, and finally he said, “I think they’re seeing each other.”
“Really? I’m not too surprised. I didn’t think he ever got over her.”
“I’m sorry. I know you had feelings for him. I hated to tell you.”
“Why, Neville, I may have felt something for him once, but it could never have come to anything. I knew that.”
Neville stared at her, and she saw consternation in his eyes. “Do you mean that, Chantel?”
“Why, yes. Did you think it was something else?”
“I thought you were in love with him. He is a romantic fellow. The kind of man I always wanted to be. Dashing and romantic.”
“Neville! You don’t need to be like Yves. You need to be exactly what you are.”
Her words seemed to surprise Neville, and finally Chantel realized that she had to know the truth. “I want to ask you something, Neville.”
“Why, go ahead.”
“Have you found a sweetheart?”
“What?”
“You’re seeing a woman, aren’t you? Someone you care for.”
Neville stared at her in shock. “What makes you think that?”
“Because you haven’t been to see me. You were once in love with me, or said you were—but now you’ve found somebody else.” Chantel found these words hard to say, and she turned her head away.
“Wait a minute!” She felt his hand on her arm, and when she turned around, he took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be hurt again, Chantel. No man likes rejection. But I will tell you once more, I still love you. I always will. But I’m not the kind of man you want. Despite what you say, I know you want a big man who’ll sweep you off your feet. If not Yves, somebody like him.”
When she didn’t speak, he added, “You do remember, Chantel, that you told me you could never think of me as a lover—that we were too much like brother and sister?”
“I—I did say that, but I’ve changed.”
Neville’s face lightened with hope, but he asked cautiously, “How have you changed?”
“I was swept away by Yves,” Chantel replied, realizing even at that moment what had happened. “Perhaps because he looked like my father, but I was in love with love. I would have been miserable married to him.”
She reached up and put her hand on Neville’s chest. “I could never have been happy with him, Neville. When I think about the man I could spend my life with, I want someone who is steady and true and never changes.” Even as she spoke these words, Chantel knew that she was, in effect, saying good-bye to the image that she had had of her father, for he did not have these qualities.
Her lips trembled, and she said, “I think of your patience and your kindness and how you put up with all my moods, and—” She could not finish, for he had put his arms around her and drawn her close.
As he kissed her, the heat of something rash and yet eternal touched them both. She knew at that moment that she had the power to stir him, and even more startling she knew he could stir her more than she had thought possible. She had always thought of love as something that came upon a woman like the striking of a bell, clear and complete, a roundness with no uncertainty to it. And she realized that he had been there for her all along, but she had been too foolish to recognize it.
Finally he lifted his head and said, “I love you, Chantel, but I’ll be serving God in a mission and working in a law office. That’s not a glamorous life.”
“If it’s your life, it will be mine.” She put her hand on his cheek and said, “Neville, do you love me then?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then will you come courting me?”
“What!” Neville said with surprise.
“I—I think I love you, but I want you to take me places. I want other girls to see you with me and to know that you love me. And will you write me letters?”
“Letters? What kind of letters?”
“Love letters. And maybe a poem. I know you love poetry.”
“I can’t write poetry, Chantel!”
“Yes, you can,” she said firmly. She smiled then and said, “It doesn’t have to be a good poem, just a poem.”
“All right. I’ll write you a poem.” He held her tightly and was stirred by her touch. “And I’ll get a guitar. I’ll learn to play, and I’ll sing love songs under your window. My singing will be so bad that all the servants will laugh.”
Chantel felt suddenly that she had come home. “I won’t laugh,” she said. She reached up, pulled his head down, and kissed him. Chantel put her head on his chest, then, while he held her tightly, she whispered in his ear, “We’re going to have a beautiful courtship, Neville.”
Neville held Chantel tightly, then laughed, saying, “You know, I feel like Job.”
“Like Job? The man in the Bible who suffered so much?”
“Yes, he did suffer, but in the end, God made it up to him—for all of it.” He had lost everything as the Lord tested him, even his children, but after all this tragedy, God gave Job seven sons and three daughters.” Neville kissed her, and his face was glowing with joy.
“And you are like the daughters of Job, sweetheart!”
“How am I like them?” she whispered.
“The Bible says, ‘And in all the land were no women found so fair as the daughters of Job.’” He placed his hand on her cheek, and his voice was filled with emotion as he said, “That’s how I have thought of
you for a long time, Chantel—in all the world there is no woman so fair!”
The two clung together under the silvery moon, silhouetted in white light and filled with joy and hope.
About the authors
Dr. Gilbert Morris is a retired English professor. He is the author of more than 170 novels, many of them bestsellers and several of them award winners. He has been married for fifty-three years to Johnnie, and they have three children. His daughter, Lynn Morris, has coauthored many books with her father, including the Cheney Duval, M.D. series.
Look for the next book in
The Creole Series,
The Immortelles.