Page 70 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
In truth, neither did he. Gilles turned his back on her. It took little effort to imagine thesans-culottesdescending on this parlor and tearing its brocade sofas and gauzy curtains to shreds. Soot and muck would stain the imported rugs. Furniture would splinter under an ax or a club. Martel would oversee it with glinting eyes, especially if he caught the priest this time. The same glinting eyes that had raked over Caroline when he visited thesavonnerieand that would relish the opportunity to do it again, and more, if she were captured as a traitor to the revolution.
He planted his hands on the back of the sofa as his stomach threatened to heave. “What am I to do?” Gilles hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Martel frequently pulls me into his search.”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was soft, devoid of its defensiveness. “Why did you come here unannounced?”
“I wished to check on your arm.” He thought he’d earn the suspicion of her parents with this visit. Now he’d kicked open an anthill.
“Do you still wish to?”
Gilles pushed off the sofa and swept the hair from his face. He might as well finish his task.
Caroline pulled off the green jacket that covered her dress’s half sleeves. “You won’t have to cut my sleeve this time.”
Unable to muster a smile, he took her forearm in his hands. He rolled the white bandage off to reveal the plaster, which still stuck well. The skin around the plaster had lost its redness. He slid a finger down her arm. No swelling. “In a few more days, you may remove the plaster, but do not force it. Keep it covered with a clean bandage, and it should heal well.”
“Our cook has been helping me with it.” That would explain the cook’s willingness to let him in at such an odd hour.
He paused to drink in one more moment, cradling her arm in his hands, and then released her.
“That is all?” she asked.
Did she long for more, as he did? Another touch, another moment pretending this revolution couldn’t reach their little haven of something between friendship and love? Gilles bent to collect his hat from the floor as she twisted the bandage back around her arm. “I will take one more assurance that you do not want to kiss me, and then I shall be on my way. You are on the mend and have no more need of a former surgeon’s apprentice.”
Her eyes searched his, though he did not let her search for long. She didn’t repeat her well-used reminder.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, pulling the sleeve of her jacket over the rewrapped bandage.
Gilles sighed. Too many things. “That perhaps your Nicolas was right, and it is foolish for a Jacobin and aroyalisteto hope for something beyond just passing friendship.”
Caroline’s fingers paused as they worked over the buttons up the front. “Did you hope for more?”
He rubbed at the back of his neck, which had gone hot. “I should go.” He sidestepped and made for the door, keeping his eyes on the ground.
“Is thisadieu?”
Adieu. A final goodbye. Did her voice tremble, or did he imagine it? Yearn for it? “I must think on everything.” He nudged the door open. Beyond it, the front hall sat dark. What were the odds that Martel’s business finished the same time as his? His comrade would likely take the same route back to the Panier Quarter. He could not, under any circumstances, let Martel catch him so soon after this revelation. “The last thing I want is to endanger you. Martel will continue his hunt until Franchicourt is found.”
“He’s a good man, Gilles.” No emotion leaked through Caroline’s defenses. She stood calmly, as though speaking of the weather. “As are you.”
To the Jacobins, both sentiments could not be true. Most among the monarchists would also disagree with the comparison. The other side was always wrong. Truth could not come from both extreme sets of belief. “I don’t know what that means anymore.” He exited the room, not looking back and not sure whether he could trust himself to see that determined face again.
... At least he leftnavettes. You’ll excuse any crumbs.
Will anything beautiful, anything rich, anything that makes life worth living survive this abominable revolution?
“How is your girl?”
Gilles blinked. He paused on the threshold into the house, pinning himself between the doorframe and the door. Père lounged on the sofa just inside the sitting room, seaman’s cap covering his head. The corner of a sheet of paper poked out around his shoulder.
“Oh. Very well.Elle va bien.” Gilles swept the door shut and pulled off his hat. The aroma of roasted vegetables lingered in the foyer, but rather than make his mouth water, it caused his stomach to protest. He didn’t need food. Just time to think.
Père turned. The shortness of his hair under the cap made his thick, raised brow more prominent. A pair of eyeglasses perched on his nose. When had Père started wearing those? “Your words say one thing, and your voice says another.”
Gilles had attempted nonchalance. But the sight of the shocked priest standing at the entrance to the salon would not leave his mind. Caroline was harboring a priest. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Deep down, he’d known the good probability of her at least knowing the man’s whereabouts.
“Perhaps you should sit.” Père inclined his head toward the opposite couch.
Talking with Père was the last thing he needed tonight, and yet Gilles shuffled obediently into the room. Daubin still wished him to talk to his father about an arrangement. Business would be a distraction. He sank into the sofa. Its soft familiarity did not cradle him as usual. He planted his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.
