The Meeting Place (18 page)

Louise would be so pleased.

Chapter 14

The basin Louise carried splashed salty water over the brim, not because it was too full but because Louise could not keep her hands from shaking. It had been one thing for her husband to come home with his trademark smile and the largest eel anyone had ever seen, ever recalled seeing, one so large the tail dragged in the dust as Henri made his weary way up the hill to their home. Coming in as he did, dumping the eel in the front garden as though it were nothing more than a load of vegetables, and announcing that he had the perfect solution. Paying the grand prize no mind, not even as people were trailing behind him, calling out to neighbors and friends to come and see this incredible catch. Then reaching out his arms to her, the sparkle back in his dark eyes, showing her that the love and the joy were there once more. Louise had laughed and shied away, both because all the village was watching and because Henri's entire body was dripping with slime and scales. The village had watched and laughed with them, and even before she had heard his solution to the dilemma, she had known in her heart of hearts that everything truly would be all right.

Only today it was an entirely different matter. At the waist-high fence which ran around her mother's herb garden, Louise paused to shift the heavy basin to her other hip and to marshal the arguments that she had thought of in the night. Henri had gone up alone last evening to pass on his idea to her parents, and had come back subdued. Which meant that there was still some convincing to do. But Louise was certain that his plan was the right one. Catherine was not a threat to the family, not at all. The best way to show this was for the villagers to see her for themselves.

Catherine was the first new adult friend Louise had made. Everyone else in her world she had known since childhood, even her husband. Every day now, the feeling grew in her heart that this friendship was something important, something
vital
.

“Are you intending to stand there all day?” Her mother pushed the shutter open wide and stared out at her daughter. “What are you doing standing out there in the sun? Your skin will be as dark as an Indian's.”

There was nothing to be done for it. She had to go in, she had to speak, she had to make this happen. “Good morning, Mama.”

Her mother met her at the door, took one look at the basin in her hands, and called, “Jacques, come here and see.”

Her burly father walked over, his morning pipe sending wreaths of smoke curling up. “What do you have there, child?”

“Eel,” her mother said, poking one finger into the heavily salted brine used for pickling. “And it is just as big as they have been saying.”

Jacques held his pipe to one side, peered down, and gave a low whistle. “It's as thick as my leg.”

“Thicker.” Marie gave the contents another poke. “How much more is there?”

“We gave a piece like this to Eli, another to Philippe, and Henri took down another bit to the Duprey farm this morning. We then filled a barrel, and have enough left over to give us all a plateful at the summer celebration.”

“Such an eel. Never in my life have I even heard of such a beast being brought out of the deep,” was her father's conclusion.

“And by one man in a flat-bottomed canoe.” Her mother shook her head. “Your husband is the strongest man in Minas.”

That such a compliment would cross her mother's lips caused father and daughter to look at each other in amazement. Jacques stepped away from the doorstep, taking the basin from Louise's hands. “Come in, child, sit with us a moment.”

Louise wished there were some way to release the band gripping her chest. She knew there would never be a better time than now. “I want to know what you think of Henri's idea,” she said without preamble.

Jacques and Marie both paused in unison, then moved with careful, deliberate motions. Louise stood in the doorway and watched her father slowly pass the basin to Marie, then take his time selecting a chair, drawing it out and sitting down. He leaned forward, selected a taper from the fireplace, and began the long process of relighting his pipe.

Marie carried the basin to the kitchen shelf, put it down where the sun would strike it to aid with the pickling, then took a clean cloth and wet it from the bucket. “Come here, daughter. I must clean the brine from your sleeves before they dry.”

“I asked you a question.” But Louise did as she was told.

Still, the silence held so long in their front room that the sound of her mother wiping at her sleeves grated upon raw nerves. When her mother finally spoke, it was in a tone she seldom used, thoughtful and musing. “You have never looked happier than you have these past few months. For a time I thought perhaps you were with child.”

Her father did not turn from his inspection of the fire. “Are you, daughter?”

Louise found herself blushing. “No. Not that I know.”

“I know part of this joy is because you have such a good man,” her mother went on. “As good as any I have known, and I have been blessed with a good husband myself, and raised two fine sons.”

“Thank you, Marie,” Jacques said, puffing hard on his pipe, watching the fireplace flames with studied calm. “I have tried hard to deserve you.”

Louise looked from one to the other. She could scarcely believe her ears. This open warmth and lack of tension could mean only one thing.

“You are going to let Catherine come?” she blurted.

Neither parent answered her directly. Instead, Jacques asked the flames and her, “Did your husband tell you what your mother said to him last night?”

“No. He told me nothing. All I know is he came in very subdued.”

Jacques turned from his inspection of the fire, but it was to look at his wife, not his daughter. He asked Marie, “You are not worried?”

“Of course I am worried. Here, daughter, let me have your other sleeve. How can I not be worried? Who in their right mind could live in such a time and not know worries?”

“True,” Jacques murmured. “Very true.”

“But you have yourself said for months that we know too little. Perhaps this is as the vicar suggested.”

Louise felt as though she were a little girl again, and her parents were speaking about her, rather than to her. “You talked with the vicar?”

“Last night, and again this morning.” But Jacques continued to watch his wife's face. “He said that in his opinion, nothing but good could come from two young women who draw together by drawing closer to God.”

“I agree,” Marie said, her voice moving with her brisk motions on Louise's sleeve. “Though my heart quakes at all the unknowns ahead, I agree.”

“We are constantly saying we wish we knew more,” Jacques said, almost to himself. “Not more rumors, but facts. Certitudes, upon which we can make rightful judgments. Perhaps this friendship will help.”

Marie looked up then, her eyes searching. “Would your Catherine tell us?”

Louise found her legs weak with relief. “I can but ask.”

“We will ask her together,” Jacques said, and his eyes crinkled at the edges, along with the corners of his mouth. “And now, wife, tell your daughter what concerned her husband so.”

“I said,” Marie responded, rubbing the sleeve with furious speed, “I said your husband is the clan's next elder in all but name.”

The candle sputtered noisily, the flame jumping and sparking and scenting the home with its tallow smoke. Andrew shifted in his chair, trying to concentrate on Catherine's voice reading the passage aloud. But his senses were almost overwhelmed by conflicting impressions. He felt such a sense of marvel at her willingness to abide by his decision. Though he had an inkling of how important it was for her to go to this celebration in the French village, she still was willing to turn it over to him. But if she did go …

“You're not paying attention,” Catherine said, looking up from the Bible in her lap.

“I'm trying.”

She smiled at that. “The pastor said something about that on Sunday. That trying was not enough to earn a place in heaven. Only believing.”

Andrew had to smile in return. “I fear I was not paying any more attention then either.”

“Do you want to stop for the evening?”

“No.” He hesitated, then confessed, “I'm just wondering at how you are willing to place this decision in my hands.”

“Have you decided?” Her voice was tense.

“No.” The word was a sigh, one fueled by the concern in her eyes. He could marshal a dozen reasons why she should not go to Minas. A hundred reasons. But none would be enough to ease her disappointment. “Catherine, this could be very dangerous,” he began.

“You mean, for us here.”

“Yes. There is peace between our two villages. But so many in power would see this as a perilous act, especially given my position.”

Andrew could see how she struggled to hold back her arguments. “What is it?” he pressed.

“Nothing.” Catherine hung her head, her golden brown tresses falling about her face. “It's nothing.”

Andrew reached over and gently lifted her chin. “Tell me.” Her eyes seemed to open so that he was staring directly into her heart.

“I prayed about this all morning and afternoon. And the only sense of an answer I had was that I should not argue with you,” she said, her voice low.

Here was another wonder, how she could speak of prayer in such easy terms, as though it came as natural as life itself. “You are different, Catherine. You have a new depth, a settledness.”

She did not deny it. “I wish you could let me go. You know I'll take great care.”

He hesitated long enough to hear the evening fire crackle and sing and whisper sweet mysteries of home. “And if I refuse?”

She was instantly stricken, her face creased with disappointment. But all she said was, “I suppose … I can't go. No. I won't go against your wishes.”

How much this means to her. How close she has come to this French-woman. It is not wise. But to deny her …
Andrew looked away from the sorrow and turned his gaze back to the Book.

They were nearing the end of the ninth chapter of Luke, but Andrew found his attention caught by a verse in the next chapter. One which seemed to reach up from the page and speak to his heart with such clarity the breath caught in his throat.

“Andrew, what is it?”

He did not speak. Silently he read the verse and felt it resound within him. “Go your ways: behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves.” Then his gaze was drawn forward, as though a hand were tracing its way across the page, taking him further, pointing the way. And he read, “And into whatsoever house ye enter, first say, Peace be to this house. And if the son of peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it: if not, it shall turn to you again. And in the same house remain, eating and drinking such things as they give.”

“Andrew?”

“A moment,” he managed. His mind was thinking back over the nights of that previous winter. Hours spent seated beside his beloved wife, learning to cherish her more as she spoke with quiet awe over all the new truths she was discovering in her readings. Messages of promise and hope and love. Messages of mercy.
Mercy
. He had never thought much about the word. It was so alien to his life as a soldier.
Mercy
. But she was right. He could see it here, could feel the message in his heart. What was mercy but love given, an act through which love showed itself? And what else was he called to do, over and over by these words that had never really spoken to him before?

Or perhaps they had. Perhaps all those nights had been preparing him for just such a moment as this, when his entire vision seemed to shift, to open so that he could look anew at his circumstances, at the decision now before him, fueled by the challenge nestled deep within one small word.
Mercy
, so clear it was almost audible.

He looked up from the page and met her gaze with his own. “What would you say,” he asked quietly, “if I were to resign my commission?”

She drew back but without the shock he had half expected. “You mean, leave the army?”

“I am bound by my oath for another two years, but yes. At that point. Leave the regiment.”

The words seemed to hang there between them. “I think a part of me has known for quite some time this might be coming,” Catherine replied slowly. “But I felt it was something you needed to decide for yourself.”

Andrew shook his head back and forth, without taking his gaze from Catherine. “What of all the importance and security granted an officer's wife?”

“It is a wonderful thing to walk through this village as the wife of Captain Harrow,” she confessed. “But I married you, not the army. And after this winter and the time with you and the Word …” She stopped, inspecting him. “Does that surprise you?”

“It does indeed,” he replied softly. “It surprises me very much.”