Page 77 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
He couldn’t bring himself to raise his eyes. They remained locked on the last sentence he’d read, unwilling to go on, unwilling to meet her gaze. Continuing could change the world forever, though less for him than ... Gilles clenched his jaw. This was to have been a night he’d remember all of his days. For joy, not pain. How could he read on?
There was little choice. He had to know. More importantly, they had to know. Stomach burning like a batch of soap left too long over the fires, he went on.
I lost my dearest friend and brother, Émile, to one of the Swiss dogs.
Caroline. His heart twisted tighter than a cable in the rope yard.
I missed my shot, and the blackguard fired back. It passed me by but hit a target of far more worth. I saw to it he was given a burial fitting a true Frenchman and friend of liberty.
Vivre la France.
Maxence
Gilles drew a breath that rattled in his lungs.
Both of Caroline’s hands grasped his. “Gilles, tell me.” She leaned in, her face blocking out Maxence’s awful words.
Beside them, Florence covered her face with the hem of her apron and turned away. Poor woman, running through the streets at night to deliver this. “Thank you, Florence. I can walk you to your house if you will give us a few moments.”
Caroline’s grip tightened.
Florence shook her head. “My husband came with me. I’m so very sorry,monsieur.”
Gilles nodded as she turned and hustled back through the gate. Words. He needed words. But the cogs in his mind had ground to a halt.
“Why will you not answer me?” Caroline whispered. “Is it your brother?”
Ciel. His eyes burned as he slipped the still-folded page from Max’s letter. “It is not my brother. It’s ...” He held it out to her.
Caroline stared at the square of paper. Her hands fell to her sides. Gilles waited for tears, for a sob. None came.
“What did your brother say?” she asked. Her voice wavered.
“He said that ...” The words scratched against his throat as he spoke. “Émile did not survive the fighting at the Tuileries.”
Her face went blank, and her eyes glazed, as though her mind had fled. Silence blared in his ears. He waited, tensed.Say something.
She snatched Maxence’s letter from his hands and turned away to scan the page. Gilles hung his head. She needed her moment to understand. Then the hollowness would take over as it had for him.
“Curse this revolution.”
Gilles bit his lip and reached toward her. She stood rigidly, her back perfectly straight. He took her by the arms and gently pulled to bring her into an embrace. She would not suffer this alone.
But Caroline did not budge, and his hands slipped against her silk sleeves.
Please. Let me help you.
“Curse the Jacobins and their foolish ideals.” It flew from her mouth with greater force. “Curse them and all they stand for.” She whirled, eyes blazing. “Curse Émile for believing their lies, and curse your brother for convincing him.”
Now she was shouting. Gilles held up his hands in an attempt to calm her. “We should go inside. Your parents should know.” Much as she needed this moment, cursing the Jacobins in the open could bring down the wrath of the Club on this house. “Please,chérie.”
Caroline tore Émile’s letter from his fingers and shook it in his face. “Curse this land. Curse this so-called freedom. Curse every man who ever contemplated this revolution.” Her voice had gone shrill.
Gilles tried to take her in his arms again, but she shoved him away. “And curse you for making me believe it could ever come to rights.”
Maxence’s letter crumpled in her hand, and she threw it to the grass. The ache in his chest threatened to choke him. “There is always hope for better days to come.” He kept his arms close to him, though they screamed to reach for her again. What pain had rent her heart, he could not fully fathom. But he would do anything to take it from her. As much of it as he could.
“Curse your hope. It was all in vain.”
