Page 67 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“It was not always so. You should have seen his first glimpse of a wound. It could not have been much worse than what you have here, and not from battle either, and the poor lad nearly keeled over.”
“That did not last long,” Gilles grumbled. He’d taken to following the surgeons by his second voyage.
Père lifted a hand and ruffled Gilles’s hair, like he used to years ago, making Gilles grind his teeth. “No, you overcame that one just as quickly. As you always do.”
“You must be very proud of him.”
Gilles kept his eyes on his work. How would Père respond to that? They had not been friends since Père’s failure to make land to find help for Dr. Savatier. Both Savatier and Gilles had left the crew afterward. Père knew what Gilles thought of him.
“I am very proud. He is a fine man with a good heart and steady mind.”
Gilles paused before laying the last length of the bandage. His father always praised Gilles’s skills as a sailor, but he’d never said anything of his character. Proud? A strange sensation stirred within, the ghost of that starry-eyed boy who had idolized his father.
With care, Gilles laid the rest of the plaster over Caroline’s wound. A few angry scratches from the rough wagon poked out from under it, but those had welted rather than releasing blood. “We should wrap it to be certain the plaster doesn’t come off.”
Maman returned after he’d finished the wrapping to the sound of Père’s enthusiastic tales of the sea. Caroline smiled and laughed at his anecdotes, despite the dark circles beneath her eyes.
“I have a gaulle dress in a very similar style,” his mother said as she came in. “It’s laid out on my bed. Let’s change you out of that, and I will try to clean and mend yours for you.”
“A pity,” Père said, “I do love that dress.”
“It will return soon enough.” Maman shook her head, lips twitching.
Gilles helped Caroline stand. She pulled at the rough ends of the sleeve he’d cut. “You are too kind,madame. But I don’t think this one is salvageable.”
Maman waved a hand. “I will see what can be done. I’ve sent the neighbor boy for acabriolet, and Gilles and I will escort you home. After you eat something and drink tea. You look positively famished.”
Gilles led Caroline to the door, following his mother back through the dining room into the hall. Caroline paused. “Merci, Gilles. For everything.” She placed the barest kiss on his cheek. Then she hurried after Maman, white skirts fluttering behind her.
He stood immobile in the doorway. So that is how it would be? She would kiss him whenever she chose and knock him senseless, but if he ever attempted it, heaven help him. It hardly seemed fair.
“That was the moment you were supposed to take her in your arms and show her what a true mariner is made of.” There was a laugh in Père’s voice.
Gilles turned on his heel and strode back to the kitchen. “That is not how it is with us.”
Père snickered as he rose from the table. “She has you caught like a fish in a net.” He gathered the cloth and the dirty instruments and carried them to the washbasin.
“Hardly.”
Completely.
8 August 1792
Marseille
Dearest Sylvie,
I have been so stupid. Gilles was walking me home from the shop when we came across an execution. By guillotine. I had hoped that vile thing would not make it out of Paris, that it would remain the morbid toy of the insane elitists. But it is here. Do you remember seeing the aftermath of its first trial in April? You must, as I cannot get those images from my head. And when I saw the beams standing above the crowd, I had to see it.
The poor man they were sending to his death. They said he was conspiring against the revolution, but I doubt it was so serious as that. Just as in Paris, the people of this city need little excuse to execute perceived justice. I could not be silent, and I nearly succeeded in getting myself and Gilles dragged up to the guillotine with him. I was wounded as we ran, and Gilles had to tend to it before I could show my face at home.
Papa hardly noticed I’d been gone for hours longer than I should have. Someone had lost a shipment of supplies at the factory, and they still haven’t located it. He will not tell me the implications, but I fear we are on the brink of disaster. Maman was easily pacified by Madame Étienne’s apologies claiming she’d invited us in to wait out the crowds in the streets. That woman is a saint, to be sure, though with an incorrigible husband and three strong-willed sons, I should have guessed as much. All is set to rights, except one very alarming thing.
Sylvie, I think I’m in love with Gilles Étienne. As though I’ve learned nothing from a year ago with Nicolas. Perhaps I have allowed myself to fall into love’s trap again because this feels so different from the love before. It is more natural somehow. Not a fiery passion that consumes us both, but a mutual respect and unspoken attraction.
But in the end, he is a Jacobin. How can this last? If he knew I harbored a priest, he would cut off all contact. As he should. As I should now, before this gets too far.
What have I done? I fear there is no painless way out for either of us. And the selfish part of me will let it continue until it is too late.
