Page 82 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
I wear his ring more often than I should, and when others are near, I slip it into my pocket. “Never in vain.” How can those words be true? My whole life seems to have been in vain. Yet the tiniest flicker somewhere in the depths of my soul reflects off those gold letters on the ring’s surface as I stare at it. I cannot believe them, but how I long to.
Give my love to Guillaume, wherever you are. I pray you’re safe. It’s all I can do.
Marie-Caroline
Martel met Gilles on the steps of Saint-Cannat before the Jacobin meeting. Gilles tried to return his friend’s satisfied smirk with a smile, but the stiff motion of his mouth could not have resulted in anything better than a grimace.
“I hear you’ll soon be in search of work,” Martel said, following him into the abandoned church.
Gilles fought the urge to swat the man away like a troublesome fly. How had word of that spread? Daubin had only spoken of it to a few. “That is not a certain thing.”
“I have it on good authority it could be sooner, rather than later.Willbe sooner, I should say.”
The loosely disguised cackle in Martel’s voice grated at Gilles’s ears. Where had he heard that? His own employer’s speculations? “I wouldn’t be so certain.” Of course Martel would exult in a businessman’s misfortunes, especially those of Daubin.
Dark was closing in faster these days with the approach of autumn, and candles had been lit around them in the nave of the church. Gilles slid into a pew, hoping Martel would find a more enthusiastic person to converse with.
His spindly friend squeezed in beside him. “You and I both know Daubin to be aroyalisteand a tyrant. What a downfall to witness.”
“He has never stood against the new government.” Gilles inched farther down the bench to put space between them.
“If a man cannot declare himself a supporter of the new government, surely he must be counted against it.” Martel inspected his nails. “And if that man is engaging in anything contrary to revolutionary support, he should suffer the consequences.”
Gilles ground his teeth. Martel had no proof. Perhaps he had come to a dead end in his search for Franchicourt and was now trying to occupy his thoughts with other matters. The president of their chapter still stood at the door greeting members. Wasn’t it time to start?
Martel leaned toward Gilles, lowering his voice enough to create a sense of secrecy while still allowing his words to carry through the room. “I heard Daubin insisted his son destroy hisfédéréuniform.”
A man sitting in front of them turned his head. “Daubin did?”
“Let us not dishonor the dead with rumors and speculation,” Gilles growled. Of all the ridiculous accusations. “Daubin sacrificed his son to remove the king from his palace. That merits respect.”
Martel shrugged. “Émile Daubin deserves the respect, not his father, who only cares about selling his opulent soaps no one can afford.”
“It is not so bad a thing to want to provide for one’s family.” Would his friend take a great deal of offense if he scooted to the opposite end of the row and out of this conversation?
“When it takes precedence to the good of France, it is a very bad thing,” the man in the pew before them said. “France is our family now.”
A dark, calculating shadow crossed Martel’s face, and Gilles squirmed under the accusing stare.
“Of course, you will be too occupied to need work,” Martel said.
Gilles’s eyes narrowed. Occupied? He wouldn’t begin his studies until January at the earliest. The desire for a wisp of ocean breeze in the heavy chapel air tugged at Gilles’s soul. There were other options as well, if only he could find where he belonged.
“The battalion?” Martel draped his arm leisurely over the back of the pew. “Do not tell me your courage is still too weak to volunteer.”
Blast. The new battalion, which the leaders in Marseille wished to send to strengthen the ranks offédérésalready serving in Paris. His insides twisted into knots as print from the newspapers flashed across his mind. A thousand dead. Women and children, cut down in prisons. He shivered despite the mugginess of the nave.
“I have already added your name to the list.” Martel patted Gilles’s shoulder as though encouraging him, but the edge in his voice dared Gilles to protest.
“Thank you.” Gilles pretended to adjust his seat, putting himself out of Martel’s reach. When was the battalion to leave? He had to fight to keep from choking on the dryness in his throat.Ciel. How could he stay out of it this time?
A thousand dead.
Women and children.
The president of their chapter strode to the front of the room, and conversations quieted. Gilles didn’t hear his greeting. He stared at the back of the next pew, trying to slow his breath.
Martel leaned in so that he was nearly lying across the bench. “Daubin will get what he deserves. Count on it.” Then he straightened and called out a cheerful answer to the president’s question.
