Page 66 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
He hadn’t known then that, all too soon, friendship would not suffice. “Do you still love him?”
“Oh.” She gave an unsteady laugh and straightened, breaking contact.
What a foolish thing to ask. Of course it would push her away. Gilles moved the plaster slowly back and forth over the candle. She wasn’t responding. That had to be an affirmative. His stomach sank.
“I suppose there is a small part of me that still wishes things had worked out in a different manner.” She spoke haltingly. “To have it end with such frustration, and then to learn of his death soon after, left me struggling to make sense of it.”
A bead of tallow gathered under the flame. It swelled, reflecting the brightness beside it, until the weight sent it spilling over the edge. The melted whiteness streaked down the top of the candle’s shaft but slowed as it cooled near the bottom. “That must have been a great burden,” he murmured, “to be in the depths of grieving and not have the liberty to show it.”
She sighed sadly. “It was. But do not think me the helpless maiden wasting away as she pines for lost love. I am not the sort to believe love strikes only once in a lifetime.”
A slender strand of smoke twisted heavenward as Gilles singed the bandage on the flame. He pulled it out quickly, eyes flicking to hers. Candlelight bent and ebbed in their depths. He turned as best he could on the bench. She’d soundly rejected his advances hours before, yet here she sat, lips parted and face upturned.
Diantre.
The kitchen door snapped open. “. . . and there he stood like a rat in the storeroom, the pipe in his dirty hands.” Père strolled into the kitchen, Maman on his arm.
Gilles bolted upright, and the plaster slipped from his fingers. It snuffed the candle as it plopped to the table. His parents halted. Maman’s brow furrowed, and her eyes widened as they looked from Caroline, to Caroline’s arm, to Gilles, and back again.
“I thought we wouldn’t see you until much later,” Père said easily, as though he regularly found his son binding the wounds of young ladies on his kitchen table. “Did the cafés not suit you this evening?” He nodded a bow to Caroline.
“We met some trouble.” Gilles snatched up the plaster and straightened it out. “Monsieur and Madame Daubin cannot know.”
Père nodded at the bandage. “Shall I help you with that? It seems you would do better seated in a more straightforward position.”
Gilles reddened. How awkward it must look, him straddling the bench and Caroline so near. “Thank you,” he stammered. “That would help.”
Père took the bench on the opposite side of the table. “Claudine, perhaps you have something a little more suitable for Mademoiselle Daubin to wear. I think if the aim is to not alert the parents, her dress’s current state might alarm them.”
Maman agreed, giving Gilles a curious look as she poked the fire and put the kettle on before quitting the kitchen. There would be an interrogation later.
Gilles swung his leg back over and adjusted his position. “If you would hold her arm while I apply this.”
“May I,mademoiselle?” Père asked with a debonair smile.
The cur.
She nodded, and Père took her by the wrist and elbow. The early rigidity returned to her body, but his father did not react. Gilles lined up the bandage over the wound. Best to get this done swiftly.
“Has Gilles told you about his first days at sea?” Père asked.
Gilles pinched the wound together. Caroline flinched.
“He hasn’t spoken very much of it.”
Gilles pressed the bandage over the top to seal the edges of flesh together, working carefully up her arm. Wherever Père was taking this, it couldn’t be good.
“Practically ran up the gangplank, so eager to get on board. His two brothers of course had gone before him, and he had begged to go for years.” Père went on as though he were enjoying banter in the local alehouse, rather than assisting his less-than-qualified son play at doctor. “We hadn’t even unfurled the first sail before he was bent over the rail. Stayed that way for the next four days, poor fellow.” He chuckled. “But any time I asked if he regretted coming, he would beam and say he loved the life of a sailor.”
“I can see that,” Caroline said. “He pretends to be a landsman, but the sea in his soul appears often enough to prove otherwise.”
“Ah, yes. After those first few days, he took to sailing as though he’d been born on the gun deck. One of the best sailors I’ve had on my crew. It was a shame when he left us.”
Was this his father trying to win him back in a new way? It wouldn’t work.
“But I think he will make a fine physician,” she said.
Halfway. Gilles hoped his cheeks weren’t as flushed as they felt. Caroline’s eyes narrowed each time he pulled the skin together.
