Page 17 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“Bonsoir,monsieur,” Gilles greeted him on entering the room, holding out his hand to shake Sault’s. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Sault waved away the pleasantry and grasped Gilles’s hand firmly. Nearing forty, the attorney had a grin that made him pass for one of the fiery young patriots in their chapter. “Cooking in the kitchen, Monsieur Étienne?”
Sacrebleu, he’d forgotten his apron. He unbuttoned it and tossed it hastily over a chair.
“I didn’t take you as one to enjoy women’s work,” the older man said.
Never mind that all cooks on ships were men. “I was only cutting meat to be dried for my father’s voyage,” Gilles said, to which Sault nodded appreciatively. “What do you need of me?”
“I am off to Aix for recruiting purposes on Friday. I wondered if you would open Saint-Cannat for Saturday’s meeting.”
“Yes,bien sûr.” This meant Gilles would not be able to put in extra work at thesavonnerie, though that was no matter for one day. He’d need to be at the appropriated church as early as possible. It wasn’t a great honor, in truth, but as one so new to the cause, Gilles could not help but feel the weight of the president’s trust.
Sault handed him the church’s key. “Martel will run the meeting. If you could open the church and lock it back up afterward,” he said. “I hate to miss the chance of conversing with my brothers, but what better excuse to miss it than to bring more Frenchmen into the light of Jacobin principles? Of liberty from oppression and the empowerment of citizens.”
Gilles slipped the key into the pocket of his waistcoat. “It is always my pleasure to serve.”
Sault squeezed his shoulder. “Would that every section of the Club from here to Calais could have members as stalwart as you, Étienne. This revolution will rise on the wings of France’s courageous youth. You,mon ami, will stand between us and the despotism that threatens from within and without.”
Gilles nodded in agreement.Then I expect all of you to go, Mademoiselle Daubin had said. As though she doubted their conviction. He’d prove he could be as dedicated a Jacobin as she was aroyaliste.
As Gilles bid farewell to Sault, he wondered whether she would mock or applaud him when he signed his name to the list.
29 May 1792
Marseille
ChéreSylvie,
You may rest assured that, despite the revolution’s greatest efforts to destroy the church, I have found a loyal priest. What’s more, he is the priest who presided over Saint-Cannat when we were members of that parish. I had not seen Père Franchicourt in many years, and though he has aged considerably, he still has the same fire about him that I loved so much as a girl.
As you can imagine, he keeps his presence a secret and holds very private mass in the attic of the house where he hides. Only our cook, the old couple who shelter the priest, and three others attended on Sunday. The owners of the house gave me wary looks when I joined them for the first time, and I can only hope they come to see me as a friend and not a threat.
Confession was much more awkward, as the small attic has no room for a confessional as yours does. So I am determined not to lie the next time a certain subject is broached, if only to avoid confession. Of course I joke, but in all seriousness, my family deserves to know about Nicolas, even with what happened. I should have known better than to dream of happiness in the midst of revolution. Though I pray marriage and proposals do not come up again in the company of Gilles and Maxence Étienne.
The attic was a sorry substitute for a church. Père Franchicourt does not even have a missal from which to read the mass. I wonder if the revolutionaries left the books in the church or if they destroyed those at the same time they marred the chapel. Père Franchicourt said they use it as a meeting place for a Jacobin club. Of all things!
I wish I could visit and see what is left. If we still lived near it, I could not be kept away. What right do the Jacobins have to take these things from us? Have they not done enough by taking our government? No, they are greedy to control every aspect of our lives, lest someone rise to oppose them. Perhaps I will go to Saint-Cannat after all, if only to prove the Jacobins do not have the hold they think they do. Taking back what rightfully belongs to the Church is not really stealing, is it?
I can see your face paling, Sylvie. I shall be on my guard, and no one will suspect. What’s more, I do not know how I would even smuggle books out if I did find them. It is a pity pocket hoops went out of style so long ago. I do not think even Maman still has hers from when I was a child. One could smuggle several books out of a church wearing those. While I admire the current trend toward the natural womanly shape, I find it horribly inconvenient for crimes against the revolution.
You must tell me of any news about Monsieur LeGrand. You were silent on that matter in your last letter, and I must know if he has made any more advances. Do you think I’ve forgotten all about your plight since leaving?Mais non! I have thought about little else since arriving in Marseille. The most eligible bachelors here are the Étienne brothers. Therefore I have no prospects, and must live vicariously through your happy interludes with that fine gentleman. I beg you to tell me how it progresses. Perhaps I will convince Papa to accompany me up to Fontainebleau if an agreement is made.
In the meantime, I pray for you and I pray for France. Surely this madness cannot continue forever.
Affectueusement,
Marie-Caroline
Gilles settled back into his pew at Saint-Cannat, a few rows from the front. The hard wood was less comfortable than his chair at thesavonnerie’s office. Glaring remains of decapitated statues surrounded the chapel. Members of their club like Martel found the sight empowering—testaments to the strength of revolutionary zeal. But the sorry figures only added to Gilles’s discomfort. Most meetings he ignored them. Tonight he could not keep his eyes away.
Martel stood before the group of merchants, clerks, and artisans—a sheet of newspaper in his hand and tawny hair slipping out of its tie. “Marseille is the greatest hope this nation has,” he said. “But if we do not ensure its citizens stay on the side of truth and rebellion, how are we to succeed?”
An older gentleman motioned for recognition. “Marseille has more spirit than any commune in France.” Murmurs of pride rumbled through the gathering. “How can we do more than what we are already doing?”
“Yes, we are strong,” another man said. “But so are the counterrevolutionaries. Theroyalistes. They keep quiet now, but they lie in wait for an opportunity to spring.”
Gilles caught himself sliding down against the smooth wood of the pew. He pushed himself back up, his foot knocking something under the pew in front of him.
