Page 41 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“The volunteers are assembling,” Émile said, pointing to a group of red-capped and musketed men toward the front of the crowd. “Shall we join them?”
Maxence gave a firm nod.
“You won’t stay through the ceremony?” Maman asked, her voice pinched.
“We leave as soon as it ends, so we need to be ready.” Maxence embraced her lightly, but her arms clutched him close, not letting go for several moments.
Gilles looked away from her stiff form and his brother’s indifference. His brother had better be thanking her for all the work she put into gathering his supplies, though he couldn’t hear Maxence saying anything. Only the hum of their mother’s voice, too soft to distinguish her words.
They could hear Madame Daubin’s distress from the edge of the boulevard. It took Émile and his father’s efforts to pry her off of her oldest son. When she’d collapsed into themonsieur’s arms, Émile turned to Marie-Caroline. A few words were exchanged, then a tentative hug, and Émile was free.
He stalked over to Maxence and Gilles, walking taller than usual. “Mon ami, our time has come.” Émile nudged Gilles. “Do you not wish you were coming?”
To march for death and the glory of France. Gilles smiled weakly. Some part of him did.
“There will be more battalions,” Émile said. “More ways to support the cause. We will see you in arms yet. Every citizen of France will stand to defend the birth of a new nation and liberty, or they will be trampled underfoot.” He held out his hand. “But I wish to depart with no ill will to a brother and Jacobin.”
Gilles shook hands. “I wish you the best of fortune.”
“And if I do not return, I wish you to take my place at Montpellier,” Émile said, a twinkle in his eye. “No doubt you would be a better student than I. I have written to my professor, who is saving our places until the time that we may return. He will contact you with the information if I meet that glorious end.”
Gilles opened his mouth to speak but could muster nothing more than mumbled gratitude.
Maxence did not offer the same olive branch. The brothers stood unmoving, regarding each other.
Then stay and hide behind the women’s skirts. And may your impure blood water the fields with that of every other enemy of France.Maxence’s words from a week ago rattled in Gilles’s skull. Was his brother thinking the same? Max gave no indication of regret. His jaw remained tight as he gave Gilles a nod of farewell, and the two friends departed to the sound of Madame Daubin’s wails.
Frigid claws of loneliness cut off Gilles’s breath. Maxence lost himself in the gathering, blending in with the other volunteers andsans-culotteswearing the same crimson cap. As a boy, he’d watched Maxence depart on his first voyage aboard their father’s ship, leaving Gilles alone with Maman for the first time. Gilles had been old enough to not want to cry, especially in front of others, so he’d swallowed back tears.
Now the familiar lump returned to his throat. Not because his brother had left. That happened too frequently in their lives. An emptiness gaped in his chest, which should have been filled with the heartfelt farewell of brothers possibly parting for the last time. Would he see Maxence’s face again? Could he live with himself after that farewell if he didn’t? Even Marie-Caroline and Émile had put aside their extreme differences for a moment.
Beside him, Maman’s chest rose and fell. She blinked rapidly, eyes fixed on thefédérés. Gilles put an arm around her and pulled her against his side. One of her hands seized his, holding to it like a ship too close to shore clung to its anchors in a storm.
The crowd parted for a line of men marching toward the front of the gathering—members of the Club that met on therue duThubaneau. It made sense they would lead this sending-off ceremony, as their feast for Mireur, combined with Barbaroux’s letter, had launched this rising. The leader jumped up onto the table, and a cry of excitement erupted from the crowd, with the loudest shouts coming from the volunteers.
“Citizen soldiers!” More applause. “What a wonderful moment for the Friends of the Constitution!”
A hand slipped through the crook of Gilles’s arm, smooth kid leather against his skin. A tingling galloped up his arm as Marie-Caroline appeared beside him. She watched the Jacobin’s animated display at the front but kept her face void of emotion.
Was there a tremor in her hand? She held tighter to his arm and stood closer than she had on their walk back to the Belsunce district.
“How could we not come to see off our great volunteers and countrymen, who are pulling themselves from the embrace of wives, children, and family to march to the aid ofla patrieand freedom?”
“They will come back,” Marie-Caroline murmured—whether to herself or to him, Gilles could not say. Indeed he could not say much of anything. The hem of her airy skirts ruffled about his ankles, she stood so close. A hint of lavender perfume tickled the air, whispering of open fields and soothing silence.
“Of course they will.” He would have squeezed her hand if he had not been supporting Maman as well. How comforting was the feel of the two women pressed to either side of him, even though both had come to him for solace.
A flag of blue, white, and red snapped above the gathering, which consisted of all ages and statuses. The Jacobin leader presented a liberty cap to the leader of thefédérésto a chorus of cheers. “We await your glorious return, as the heroes of old, stained with the blood of France’s enemies.”
Max was lost in the sea of red caps, but Gilles could still feel his disapproving stare, the one he had seen each time they’d met since Gilles decided not to go.
“Remember your brothers and sisters of Marseille, the ones you leave behind.”
Gilles dropped his gaze. Heat rose to his face, and it wasn’t from Marie-Caroline’s touch.
“As we strive to uphold the cause of liberty and overthrow the tyrants of despotism, we will keep you always in our thoughts, our courageousfédérés!”
Marie-Caroline’s other hand slowly wrapped around his arm. “You are not failing your cause,” she whispered, so softly it was nearly lost in the clamor of enthusiasticrévolutionnaires.
