“This is your party. You may invite whomever you choose, Louise.”
She could not help but grin at the sound of her name.
Mimi smiled, but looked down.
“Very well then, shall we start planning?”
* * *
Josephine heard the door open.
“Madame LeSuere.” Monsieur Maury called out. The sound of his boots scraping clean carried into the house.
“I am cooking.”
Never had she met anyone quite like Monsieur Matthew Maury. No matter how cross her words, he remained gentle and non-judgmental. She even caught herself doing little things for him, like his laundry, or baking something extra.
It was not due to any physical attraction. She was old enough to be his mother. Yet there was something special about the man. He brought an ounce of joy to her house, and it gave her purpose to have someone to care for again.
“You are soon back.” She came out to him, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Oui, Mademoiselle was in deep conversation with Mademoiselle Mimi, and I was in the way.” He laughed.
She pleasured in the sound.
“Mademoiselle, she improves then?”
“Oui, she does, merci. In fact, I think she is doing well enough that I can plan to go home.”
Had he thrown cold water in her face, it would not have startled her more. He was leaving so soon? The days passed much too quickly.
“I have enjoyed your hospitality long enough.” He stared at her, concern clouding his eyes. “I would gladly stay here indefinitely if I could, but I am a businessman. I must return home.”
“But of course. I understand.” Though she did not understand. Not really. “When shall you leave?” She turned her back to him to conceal the tears that threatened to form. Where was her stone barrier? He had penetrated her defenses. She needed to gain control. If she began to cry, she would never be able to stop.
“On the morrow, if that is agreeable?”
So soon?
“You have done more for me than we agreed. How much more do I owe?”
Business, that is all it was.
She waved the back of her hand at him. “No, no, you are all paid up. Do not worry. I will bring your meal.” She hurried to the fireplace, plating up the chicken she had prepared, especially for him. Her hands trembled.
Someone touched her shoulder.
The plate clattered to the stone hearth.
She spun around.
Monsieur Maury stood close.
Falling onto his chest, her dam burst within, and the flood threatened to drown her. She sobbed as never before.
Days, weeks, months of grief poured from her soul. For so long she had stood strong, but now there was nothing to stem the tide. All poured forth on this stranger.
When her sobs began to slow, he guided her to the table, helping her to sit on the bench. He sat at her side. “Here.” Monsieur Maury offered his handkerchief.
She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. This cloth would not be enough.
“Would you like someone to listen? I am skilled at that.” Monsieur winked.
She took a breath and nodded, but nothing came out.
“Let me pour you some water.” He hopped up and fetched a cup.
It afforded her the moment she needed.
“I did not know how much I enjoyed your stay or how much I have missed having someone here with me.” She paused, twisting the handkerchief between her fingers. “I have not always been alone. My Gaston and I lived here as man and wife for twenty-five years. Our twin sons, Alain and Adrien, did not live their first year. Zoé, my beautiful daughter died of the pox. I did not want more babies, and yet I did. Our Pierre was born a year after Zoé left. He was a beautiful child. Kind and thoughtful. My Pierre knew just what to say to get his way with me, full of charm.”
She chuckled, recalling his impish grin, then sobered. “I feared every sniffle, every cough. Still he grew strong and healthy. Pierre and Gaston both were stonecutters. When His Majesty decided to build his monstrosity, they were conscripted to work on the fountains.” Bile tinged her tongue. She had started, she would continue, every drop of bitterness in her soul pushing itself to the surface.
“Stonecutting, building is an untidy business. The end product is a thing of beauty, but the journey is cluttered with debris and noise. But that is not allowed at Versailles. Oh, no. Work must be done at night to hide the disorder. Sounds must be muffled. Heaven forbid His Majesty be uncomfortable with the implementation of his orders. The safety of his workers means nothing as long as he is not bothered. Gaston was crushed to death only six months past. My beautiful Pierre died last week.”
Monsieur took her hand. “You are still in mourning, my dear lady. I am so sorry to have intruded.”
“No. I am alone, and the mourning will go on. You brought lightness to my grief for a brief time. Do not apologize.” At that moment her arms ached more than ever. A physical pain in her chest told her that her heart no longer resided there.
As she met the gaze of Monsieur, she knew he saw her wounds, saw them clearly as if he could see her naked. She pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms about her.
It was easier to stay in the house and grow cold.
“I am sorry for your loss.” His compassion unnerved her, made her open her mouth and reveal her secrets.
“When alone, I ask the questions. What if I had kept Pierre with me, and we had moved away? What if His Majesty had not been so greedy? And the unanswerable one: Why? Why my family? Why did it have to happen? Why did God allow it? Why did He not stop it?” She flailed down the hill of her thoughts, helpless to stop, picking up speed. “Why did He not He heal my son? Did He just decide we were not worth His time? Did He have something better to do? Where was He when Pierre needed Him so? Where?”
She sobbed again.
He pulled her against his side and held her head to his chest, stroking her hair. “I do not think there is any pain as great as the loss of a child. Nothing begins to compare.”
She nodded into his shirt.
“I know I cannot understand your pain, so I will not pretend that I do.” He lifted her face and wiped tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “Yet, you now understand something of God that I cannot.”
Had he lost his mind?
“I mean, He lost His only Son to death as you have too.”
“If He knew how much it hurt, why did He not protect me?” She pushed away.
“Why did He not protect Mary? We call her blessed to be the Mother of our Savior but look at what that blessing cost her. She is called favored among women and she suffered, as you have suffered. Her husband was not there to hold her or share in her grief either.”
“Her Son was raised from the dead after three days.”
He gently turned her to face him. “Do you think she knew that would happen ahead of time?”
“No, but it was only three days. This is forever.”
“Did Pierre know the Living Savior? You know that if he did, he will rise on the last day and you will see him again. Not with a crippled hand. He will be waiting for you and will embrace you when the Lord calls you home. The question for you is, will you be ready?”
Josephine softened toward him. Her gaze searched his face for truth, for hope.
“If you ask ‘why’ of God, Madame Josephine, you may not be able to understand His answer. His wisdom is higher than ours. If you ask ‘where,’ He has already told you that He will neither leave you nor forsake you. Perhaps you might ask Him what He would have you to do until He calls you home. Listen with your whole being, and He will tell you.” Monsieur wrapped his arms around her and held her.
The tears continued, but softer, more gently. The flood had washed away mounds of bitter roots. This was more like spring rains on new ground.
After a time, she pulled back and dried her face. Standing, she gave him a gentle peck on the cheek and went to get his food.
Moving away from
him gave her time to better ingest what he said. She wondered again about this man.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ho.” Albert pulled the reins slowing the wagon to a stop. The matching horses shook their manes in harmony and pawed at the dirt. He took a quick peek at his cargo before jumping down. A steady thumping sounded from back behind the house, but he chose to go to the front door.
Hat in hand, Albert swiped at the dust covering his pant legs before raising a fist to the doorjamb. He lowered his hand and scuffed his feet. Puffing his cheeks out, he released the air through his teeth. A deep breath, and he raised his fist again, this time following through.
The sound echoed in his brain while he waited for an answer. Perhaps she was out back with the thumping noise. He should try once more.
Just as he raised his hand again, the door cracked open. A bloodshot eye squinted back at him.
Albert swallowed and forced a smile. “Madame LeSuere, how fare you this morn?”
“What do you want?”
Simple conversing apparently was not the order of the day.“I have brought you—”
“Away with you.” The door swung wide, and Madame LeSuere charged through. “Away with you and your guilty gifts. Tell His Majesty I want naught from him. He can do with it as he pleases, but I want nothing to do with him or his offerings.”
“But my dear—”
“I am not your dear anything. I am no one's dear anyone due to His Majesty’s pride. Now be gone and take your refuse with you.” The door slammed in his face.
Albert jumped.
She had a right to her dignity, and he could not blame her for her reaction.
Still, the gifts came not from the king.
No, and she could not know how he longed to cleanse himself of the guilt of his crime. To have whipped a woman was more cowardly than running in the face of battle. No mere penance could remove this stain.
Albert returned his hat to his head and boarded the wagon seat. A flip of the reins and the horses began their trot. His fragile honor lay smashed under the cart’s wheels. Tiny shards ground into dust.
Responsibility lay heavy on his shoulder. He needed to know she was cared for. Driving on to the village chapel, he hoped the priest might help. Somehow.
* * *
The labor helped. Matthew brought the ax down again, slicing the wood clean in one chop. He kept at the rhythm: pick up a log, set it down, split, and repeat.
Biting jealousy longed to have its way. Every time it raised its head, he cleaved another log.
The worst part was that he liked de Crocketagné, or what he had learned of the man. If circumstances were different—no Louise, no rift of faith—they might be friends.
Lord, I need You.
Chop.
Take this jealousy and heartache. I do not want them.
Chop.
Let me see Louise and Antoine only as You see them.
Chop.
Matthew stacked the wood for Madame LeSuere. The load felt no lighter. Perhaps he did not mean what he asked? He stopped and examined his motives as closely as he knew to do.
No, he meant what he prayed.
Once back at home he could put better perspective to things. Space would make it easier to come to terms with Louise’s love for Antoine. Not easy, but easier.
He wiped his forehead and brushed wood chips from his clothes. Stomping his feet before entering the back way, he called out to Madame LeSuere. “I believe you should have enough wood to last you for a while.”
In the kitchen, she chopped carrots with vigor. All at once he had a view of himself chopping wood and knew this was no mere meal preparation.
“May I help with something?”
She turned on him, knife brandished. “How dare he! How dare he think he can buy my forgiveness with goods and trinkets!”
“Who? Who is trying to buy your forgiveness?”
“His Royal Highness, Louis XIV, King of France.” She spat the words as if they tasted foul and turned back to her chopping.
Matthew leaned in the doorway. Shaking his head, he knew he needed more information to understand. She had begun to heal earlier, but now her anger filled the room. “I am afraid I do not understand.”
“Once again, His Majesty sends a messenger with goods to soothe his conscience. As if he had one to begin with. Let him suffer, if he can. I do not want his pity or his penance. He can rot, for all I care.”
Matthew winced but remained silent.
“You have nothing to say? No words about loving my enemy?”
“Is that what you want? Then love your enemy.”
She spat on the floor and stared him down. “He is not even worth my spittle.”
“Your anger is understandable.” Lord, I need Your wisdom now, more than ever.
“I hate him. With everything in my being, I hate him and wish him worse than dead.” As her words penetrated to her hearing, her face revealed shock. The knife dropped from her hand, clattering on the floor. “Give me your words, Monsieur. I do not know how to control this anger. Help me.”
Matthew strode over and embraced her as he would his mother. “Come. Let us sit.” He guided her to the bench and sat beside her, taking her hand. “You are human, Madame. Anger at what has befallen you is natural. It also is toxic. It can destroy you if you do not let it go.”
“How?” One word from her lips, but her eyes spoke volumes.
“On your own, you cannot. It will eat you alive like an acid. Yet look what all the Christ has forgiven. He can do it for you, if you will let him.”
She grabbed his chin and stared deep into his eyes. “You believe that?”
He nodded, and she dropped her hand.
“I do believe it though I struggle at times myself.” He glanced to the floor.
“You are struggling now, Monsieur?”
“Oui, but I know His help is sure. It is only my flesh that struggles. My spirit understands.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?” Her hand covered his, and he remembered his mother with deep melancholy.
Shaking his head, he tried to smile. “No, but I thank you.”
Madame LeSuere stood. First removing her apron, she brushed a hand over her skirt and tucked a curl under her cap. “I will clean this later. Now I shall go to the chapel to light a few candles. Would you care to go with me?”
He stood with her. “Merci, but I think I will stay here.”
Her gaze threw questions until one became verbal. “Is there a reason you cannot go to Chapel?”
Never in his life had Matthew run from his beliefs, but he did not go out looking for trouble either. She asked and deserved his honesty. Where to begin?
“My beliefs and those of the Pope do not coincide, so I worship as the Lord Jesus has shown me.”
“What does that mean?” She sat back on the bench. “I cannot believe you are a heretic. I have seen your faith at work and believe your words because of how you have carried yourself. I do not understand.”
Matthew knelt in front of her. “I, and those of the same faith, believe we do not need to have a Holy Father in Rome to intercede for us. Jesus was our sacrifice and is our High Priest. We know this from the Scriptures. He promised to send His Holy Spirit, and He kept His promise on the day of Pentecost. We have direct access to the Father through the Son, Jesus Christ. These beliefs do not sit well with those in political power in the Church, so I am not welcome. We are told, though, to not neglect the coming together for worship, and so I will meet with those who believe as I do when I return home.” He smiled and patted her hand. “Merci beaucoup for thinking of me, though.”
He stood but she remained seated.
“When you say, ‘those who believe as you do,’ is there a name? What are you called?” Her eyes still questioned.
“I am a Reformé—you have heard us called Huguenots. I believe the teachings put forth by the Protestant Reformers, especially those of John Calvin.”
“You are a Huguenot?
I thought Huguenots were enemies of the king.” She caught his gaze and blushed when she realized she had spoken aloud.
“The papists have put out that propaganda, and unfortunately, His Majesty seems to believe it, more often than not. In truth, we are very loyal subjects. We pay our taxes and have served often in times of war. We support his authority to govern without Rome.”
An idea dawned, and Matthew sat next to her on the bench. “Have you not seen my pin on my vest? Let me tell you about it.” He removed it from beneath his coat and laid it out on the table between them. “The open four-petal lily is to remind us of our mother country—France. The petals form a cross in the center and each one stands for one of the Gospels. The eight rounded points, here at the tops of the petals, stand for the Eight Beatitudes. The four fleurs-de-lis also remind us of France and the three petals on each stand for the twelve Apostles. Can you see the little hearts that are formed where the fleurs-de-lis touch the petals? That is a symbol of loyalty and the dove that comes down is to remind us of the gift of the Holy Spirit. I wear this over my heart to always be mindful of what is precious to me.”
Madame LeSuere remained quiet for a time studying the pin. Finally, she stood and put her hand on his shoulder. “You are a good man, Monsieur Maury.”
“Scripture says that no one is good. All have sinned and come short of the glory of God. However, when we invite Jesus to come into our hearts and lives, He brings His goodness and mercy. I am grateful that that is what you see.”
She said no more but kissed him on each cheek and left for the Chapel. He did not believe she would divulge his secret. He was more concerned with whether she had understood what he had shared. He prayed that the Holy Spirit would speak to her heart.
* * *
Josephine ambled toward the little chapel, Monsieur Maury’s words whispering secrets to her heart. Though she still did not understand faith as he explained it, she would not speak of it to the priest. There was no need to bring trouble to the man after he had been so kind.
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 18
