Page 95 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
Père stroked his chin. “It is a magnificent mess, isn’t it?”
People moved about on the dock, jostling Martel as they went. “It can’t end well.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
Gilles sighed and kneaded his brow. “I tried to hope. I tried to inspire hope in others. But it came to nothing.”
“Do you remember when you were young and you went to my uncle’s vineyard to plant fig saplings?” Père asked.
Gilles laughed, despite himself. “I remember.”
“You were so angry when there wasn’t fruit on the trees the next week.” His father chuckled. “Maman tried over and over to explain that trees take time to grow and produce fruit. It boggled your little mind.”
“We’re not talking about fruit now,” Gilles said, straightening. “We’re talking about people and lives being lost to hatred no one can curb.” He made for the gangplank. The longer he left Martel down there, the angrier he would be.
“Don’t give up hope because the tree you planted doesn’t have fruit yet.”
Gilles paused, one foot on the plank.
“You have to believe there will be peace again. Water that tree with your best efforts, and someday you’ll see it.”
Gilles didn’t know how to trust those sentiments. “I hope so.”
“My offer still stands.” A mischievous grin crossed his father’s face. “You can’t tell me this voyage would be as bad as previous ones.” He threw a pointed look toward the lower decks.
Gilles almost smiled. A voyage with Caroline seemed near to paradise just now. But even if his father believed Maman and the girls would be safe, Gilles had to keep an eye on his former friend. He grew weary just thinking of the false clues he’d need to plant and hours of dissuading he’d have to manage. “You know I can’t.”
Père nodded, threading his fingers together on top of the bulwark. “Your mother said you would say that. But you should know that for once she is on my side with this.” That playful glimmer in his eye returned.
“Safe voyage, Père.” The sea breeze tickled Gilles’s face, calling to mind warm days on clear waters. If only. He plunged down the gangplank before he could falter and put them all in danger.
Gilles sat down gingerly on the back step in the dying twilight. He refolded Caroline’s last letter, which he’d finally had a moment to read on the walk home from the shipping company’s office. The blasted tears didn’t come. Only the reality of being watched by Martel’s spies kept them at bay. He’d seen Luc Hamon sitting across the street in the shadows of an alley watching the house a moment ago.
He arched his back, then rounded forward, trying to get his ribs back into place. He’d sleep well tonight, so long as his thoughts didn’t get the better of him. After all that had happened the last few days, a sound sleep was perhaps too much to hope for.
A deep laugh coming through the kitchen door made him pause. Père was at the docks. He’d already bidden Maman farewell. They’d sail with the tide before the sun rose. And that most certainly wasn’t Max.
Gilles shoved the letter back in his pocket. The dream of Caroline was over. He’d do well to move forward. He had work with his great-uncle and university to anticipate. People to help and family to protect. Martel to prove wrong, at least until the man left with the battalion.
Now there was a happy thought.
He pushed himself up slowly and mounted the steps. Hardly in the mood for company, his curiosity over the voice forced him to move. Perhaps it was only Florence’s husband. He’d greet them all and then retire.
As he entered, his eyes fell on a pair of stocky shoulders and head of short curls mostly covered by a mariner’s cap across the table from Maman. Gilles dropped his hands to his sides. “Victor?”
His oldest brother lifted a mug toward him. “How are you Gilles?”
“I’ve been better.” No sense hiding the truth. “What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t be back for several weeks.”
“We avoided storms and made good time.” The oldest Etienne brother finished off his drink. Victor was a man of few words, something Gilles and Max used to laugh at. Now Gilles appreciated it. He wouldn’t get flowery sermons on the revolution tonight.
“Come sit,” Maman said, pointing to the bench across from Victor. “I’ll make you some chocolate.” She got up and went to the hearth.
Gilles didn’t have the energy to protest and obediently sat. What was Caroline doing now? Sleeping off the jarring escape, he hoped. “Félicitationson the—”
Maman whirled on him, shaking her head frantically.
“—safe arrival,” Gilles finished, staring at their mother.
