Page 90 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
“I have never been to Saint-Malo, but my sons always enjoy themselves there.” Maman slid another pin into place and stepped back. She sighed, then adjusted the white fichu to cross in front before moving around to tie the ends behind Caroline. “This will have to do. Roger has a needle and thread that you may use to take in the front to lay correctly. You’ll have plenty of time on the voyage, of course.”
The grey-blue linen looked so plain compared to Caroline’s usual attire. Gilles made it to the last stair and paused to catch his breath. Even with the humble dress, he couldn’t think of a more wonderful sight. Morning rays lit the white cap that covered her thick, dark curls, which were brushed back into a knot.
“Are you ready?” he asked, passing her and setting the heavy trunk beside the door.
She didn’t respond but turned to Maman and took her hands. “Thank you for everything. You have put your family at great risk to help us.”
Maman squeezed her hands. “C’est naturel. We wouldn’t think of doing anything less for our friends.”
Gilles had to look away. Seeing his mother and the woman he loved together caused that cursed throbbing in his heart to start up again. He’d been pretending it was gone as he busied himself with preparations all morning.
After her goodbyes, Maman quit the front hall to return to Florence and the kitchen. Gilles swallowed. How could he say his own farewell?
Caroline stuck her hand into her pocket and withdrew a letter. “I wished to give you this. And to thank you.”
“No thanks are needed.” He took the paper, hoping the shaking in his hand wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. “You know I would have done anything needed.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she ducked her head as a tear escaped her lashes. “You are the best of people, Gilles Étienne.”
He couldn’t speak through the lump in his throat, so he lifted the lid of the trunk and pulled out the stacks of old clothing from his sea days that he’d thrown inside. When he straightened, he noticed she’d moved closer.
His pulse raged as she took him by the sleeves. Her lips, soft as a brush of summer lavender on an evening breeze, caressed his cheek. She started to pull away, but he caught her by the waist and held her there. The sun caught the moisture glistening under her eyes.
“I don’t know how I’ll rise tomorrow. When I wake and find you missing from me,” he whispered.
“You could come to the dock and see us off.”
Would it be so wrong to pull her into his arms, as though she weren’t readying to leave forever? To destroy his mother’s handiwork by running his fingers through Caroline’s neat hair? To kiss her trembling lips and to pass to her what little strength he had left with every longing touch?
Would they always regret this last taste of what might have been?
“I’ll be there,” he said hoarsely. “Though you should stay hidden below untille Rossignolhas put out to sea.”
“Just knowing you’re there ...” She stepped back, and he let her go, the emptiness within him screaming through the silence of the front hall.
Gilles offered her his hand and helped her into the trunk. She had to curl up into a tight ball to fit. Together they tucked in her skirts. Then he set about arranging his clothes and some blankets around her to pad the hard wood and obscure her if anyone decided to quickly peruse the contents of the chest. He made sure she still had air through the layers of linen and wool, which rose and fell under her tight breaths. He would urge the driver to hurry so she wouldn’t have to suffer for long.
When the coach arrived, he and the driver dragged the trunk out and secured it on the back. Gilles winced every time the driver callously knocked the chest against something. He tugged at the driver’s hasty knots around the trunk. The man was obviously not a mariner, but the knots would hold.
A figure stumbled toward him as he went to get into the carriage. Instantly Gilles’s palms went slick with sweat at the sight of the thin young man.
“Martel? I did not think I’d see you this morning. Should you not be at work?”
Martel observed him with sharp eyes, as though he were reading everything in Gilles’s head. Stubble covered his cheeks, and he still wore the same clothes from his night of drinking at the café, though now they hung rumpled and stained. “When did you leave last night?”
When Gilles had had enough. “You’d finished talking, and I needed to help my parents.”
Martel rested a hand on the sea chest. “Where are you off to?”
Keep breathing.“The dockyards. I’ve taken a clerical position with my family’s business for now.”
“For a week?” Martel squinted at the sun, as though condemning it for shining at nine o’clock in the morning. Though he seemed lucid, he couldn’t be in his right mind yet. Not after how much Gilles saw him drink.
The itching to leave grew. Caroline needed to get out of that blasted chest. “Until I have saved enough for Montpellier.”
His friend straightened. “The battalion leaves in a week.”
“I ...” Gilles chewed his lip. What would happen if he stated directly that he had no intention to go? Martel was a formidable enemy, but they needed to leave for the Old Port without further delay. Talking around the issues and making uncommitted promises would only keep them here longer.
