The Execution (34 page)

Pausing at the edge of the woods, he
slid from the horse, patting her briefly on the neck, “You’re a
good old girl, aren’t you.” He took a moment to pull the bridle and
deposit a few armloads of dried grass in front of the mare and
tethered her out of sight.

Continuing on foot, he made his way to
the edge of the cornfield. It was now early December and the
already harvested corn stalks, sad and frail, appeared to woefully
truss the heavy, gray sky. Taking care to shield himself within the
remains of the weather beaten stalks, he reached the edge of the
field, squatting on his heels to watch—and wait.

It was late afternoon and cold.
Drizzling rain started to fall. His clothes were soon damp and
steam lifted from his shoulders as his body fought valiantly to
stay warm. He was unsure of the hour as there was no sun by which
to gain perspective, but his internal clock told him that the day
was in the winter of its life. With time, the dull wet blue of
afternoon slipped and gave way to gray. Darkness threatened as dusk
pounded upon the door, and still he waited.

Praying that he would see her before
the last light faded, he also prayed that she was all right and the
baby healthy. He desperately needed to sleep and his eyes played
tricks on him. The tiny farmhouse would vanish from sight
altogether. He would blink again, relieved when it
reappeared.

After a while, he reached back,
massaging his calf muscles, rubbing away the burning that had set
in from squatting for so long. He pulled the farmers jacket closed
around his neck as best he could and rubbed absently at the beard
stubble on his chin. As he waited he started to softly hum a hymn,
and then he prayed again.

D’ata’s eyes never left the small
cottage and when finally a young woman carrying buckets backed out
of the front door, his heart leapt into his throat. He stood up
suddenly and awkwardly, tumbling back to the ground, his legs
refusing to obey him, paralyzed from squatting so long.

The young woman had a thick long scarf
obscuring her hair and face, but as she turned her barely swollen
belly came into view.

D’ata knew, even from the distance,
the movement of the woman. He recognized instantly the way she
carried herself. Memories rushed back upon him, of the first time
he’d seen her sitting in the church, of her reading on the tree
stump by the river, of how beautiful she was that night when... His
eyes blurred as he blinked desperately, willing the image to be
real. When it didn’t disappear he knew instantly that it was his
lovely Julianne.

As she made her way towards the barn
D’ata crossed the little meadow, vaulting easily over the rail
fence that was all that separated him from the barn and all the
happiness he had ever known.

* * *

Julianne lit the lamp she would use to
milk the cow and hung the lamp on an overhead hook. She still
appeared unaware of the intruder that had stolen in behind
her.

The cow blinked, turning her head to
look at the humans, her cowbell clanking softly. With a shake of
her head she turned back to her manger and the meager ration of
oats the cold, short summer had provided her. She was unconcerned
with the humans’ presence, anticipating the impending relief that
milking would provide her.

“
There’s a good lady,”
Julianne spoke gently to the cow, her fair white hand pushing
softly on the animal’s velvety flank. She moved the cow gently over
in the stall so that she could sit beside her.

Turning to reach for the milking
stool, Julianne startled as she saw the shaded figure standing in
the shadows. Dropping the stool, she backed away. As the figure
stepped from the dark, her fear was instantly replaced with
overwhelming emotion as she recognized the lovely, lonely man
before her.

Her emotions came rocketing to the
surface as the anguish of the last three months was released in one
sweeping moment. She sobbed as she quickly scanned the thin and
ragged figure, finally resting on the forsaken face and those
beautiful, somber eyes. “Oh,” was all she could manage.

They closed the gap, grasping onto one
another as a drowning man might grasp for a lifeline, and just
stood, clinging desperately to each other, disbelieving—afraid to
let go. They pulled each other closer, unwilling to move for fear
the dream might dissolve.

D’ata wrapped her in his arms, hugging
her so tightly that it took her breath away. He inhaled deeply,
smelling the scent of her as though he were pulling her into his
world again, erasing their separation and despair.

Julianne’s arms slipped beneath the
tattered jacket and work shirt. She slid her hands up, then down
his ribs, feeling the weight he'd lost, his skin hot to the touch.
She hugged him tightly, as though he might vanish again. “Oh, how
much I love you!” she exclaimed.

He closed his eyes, sighed, and kissed
her deeply, turning her face gently up to his.

If someone had walked in on them just
then, they would have seen something much like a Campione
sculpture, in every way as tragically beautiful as the artist’s
short life.

D’ata’s hand slid down to her swelling
belly, caressing the small, firm roundness of it. “It’s all right
now. We are together again,” he whispered into her ear, kissing the
top of her head, allowing his lips to linger against the sweet
silkiness of her hair. “I will never again let us be
parted.”

“
I am with child,” she
said softly, her face buried against his chest.

“
I know. I have always
known.”

Perplexed, she looked up at
him.

He smiled, “I am a godly man and a
good man, Julianne. God has blessed me. This child
belongs.”

The words were uncommon, mature beyond
the tender years of the one who stood before her.

She smiled warmly, but it suddenly
faded. “D’ata, they will not allow us to be together. They’ll find
out and—”

He shushed
her, his finger soft against her trembling lips. “Don’t
worry
—
we’ll leave and go far away.” He grasped her arms gently,
gazing intently into her eyes. “We’ll go to Italy, my love. There
we can build a life together.”

She searched his eyes for truth,
wanting to believe it could be so.

He pulled her close again. “We’ll hide
next to the sea. We can watch the tides turn and our children grow.
You’ll see—it will be all right.”

She looked away toward the farmhouse,
chewing her lip. “And our families?”

“
Our families cannot be
helped, Julianne.” His face was somber with regret of his own, but
he shook his head firmly. “They may never accept what we mean to
each other.”

Julianne was saddened as she struggled
with the thought of leaving. “But, my little sister—what of
Yvette?” Her voice caught in her throat and she let out one choking
sob before the grief of the inevitable overwhelmed her. “I never
thought I would see you again!” She collapsed against him, her
words catching as she struggled to speak. “Your father, and the
church—they have been searching for you.” She blinked back
tears.

“
All the more reason why
we must be gone as quickly and silently as possible.” He kissed her
again, reassuringly. “Julianne—trust God, trust me. It will be all
right, I promise you this.”

She forced a smile, brushing the tears
hastily away and nodded bravely. “Yes, of course. You are right.
Let us be gone from here.”

D’ata hugged her again, closely, and
then they sank into the straw by the dairy cow to make their escape
plans together.

* * *

Julianne finished milking the cow.
Then, under the pretense of cleaning up after supper, she fixed a
small sack of food, enough to last a day or so. She packed bread,
cheese, boiled eggs, salted pork, and dried radishes. Then,
excusing herself to bed, she layered her clothes and pulled on
three pairs of stockings.

Waiting until she was sure her aunt
and uncle had gone to bed and were sleeping soundly, she crawled
from beneath the covers of her bed. Hearing her uncle’s snoring
reverberating through the wall, she stole quietly out the back
door. Stumbling, she made her way across the dark back yard to the
small stable. Her feet knew the path and her heart pounded as she
covered the short distance to the barn.

Julianne left behind a letter to her
aunt and uncle.

It was true they’d been fiercely
condemning of her pregnant state and berated the unborn bastard
child, but they had kindly given her safe haven and a place to work
until the baby was born. After the birth it would be decided what
to do with the babe. Most likely it would be raised away from
society as the bastard that it was, eventually to become a common
laborer. It would be only woefully welcomed into the Lanviere
family of dairy farming.

She folded the note carefully, tucking
it under the kitchen table candle where she knew it would be found
first thing in the morning. She wiped tears away with the hem of
her shawl as she recalled her written words to her aunt and
uncle.

'Please don’t worry for me. I am happy
and will be safe from harm. I know how you feel about this, how my
father feels. I know you disapprove but I want my child, and I want
him to know his father. I love D’ata and we are going away.
Whatever life we may have together, condemned by this world, would
be better to me than eternity in good grace without him.

Please tell my father and my brothers
that I love them dearly, and please give Yvette my books. Tell her
she is my Jeanne d’Arc and that I am so proud of her. I love you
both. Please try to be happy for me. May God keep you in his grace
always, Julianne.'

* * *

D’ata waited impatiently for her to
come to the stable. He paced nervously in the straw and the bay
gelding tossed its head and swished its tail, absorbing the human’s
tension.

When D’ata heard the stable door creak
and saw her step into the dim candlelight, he breathed out a sigh
of relief.

She smiled warmly and handed him the
small sack of provisions. “For the journey,” she said.

When the pair finally left, it was
well past midnight and as though God wished them good journey, the
clouds broke apart into lacy, milky fragments to reveal a beaming
full moon. It easily lit their path as they rode quietly into the
night—heaven’s light guiding their way.

They doubled together on the big
gelding to make better time. The mare would never have tolerated
both their weights as the gelding now did. She remained behind,
munching hay from a crib in the barn.

D’ata sat behind with his arms snug
around his precious Julianne to stabilize her should the horse
start at something in the night. His breath was warm on the back of
her neck and for now, all was right in the world.

The hours passed, seemingly only a
moment as they quietly rejoiced in their reunion, in feeling the
closeness of each other. They spoke in whispers, both knowing the
precarious situation that they were in, the terrible risk of it all
and the magnitude of the potential loss that was at
stake.

“
I love you,” D’ata
breathed into her ear.

She reached a gloved hand up behind
her to caress the cheek of the man who spoke these words to
her.

As morning approached, D’ata slid from
the animal’s back to allow it a reprieve from the extra
weight.

“
Please stop, D’ata. I
must rest a bit, “Julianne begged him, the weight of the child
heavy within her pelvis.

“
No, my love. This first
day, we must put as much distance between your uncle’s house and
ourselves as we possibly can.” He tried to sound
encouraging.

“
Then, I should like to
walk for a bit.” She shifted her weight on the animal, reaching for
D’ata so that he could help her down, resolved to have her
way.

He sighed, knowing it would slow them.
Her stride was half his as a result of her pregnancy. All the same,
he reached for her, swinging her gently to the ground. Her strong
will would not be denied—this he had learned that very first day
when they’d walked from the river to her home together. It occurred
to him that he'd known her forever; she was that much a part of him
already.

He allowed her to walk in front and
set the pace most comfortable.

She glanced back at him. “I believe
you will have a son.”

He thought
happily how many things he would do differently for this
child.
He
would be the one to take him or her to mass.
He
would
teach this one to ride, to lace their boots, and to work hard and
be kind. He halted these thoughts, unwilling to presume too much.
“A son or a daughter—I love them already as I’ve loved no
other.”

“
Mmm, a daughter would
give you much to learn,” Julianne mused aloud. “All fathers should
have at least one daughter.” She lifted her skirts to step over a
fallen timber.

D’ata thought about this for quite
some time.