Monsieur Leóne put up a hand. “Just a moment, Father. Helena, whatever your issues are with Father DuChard, he is still a priest and a guest in my home. I expect you to be civil, at the very least.”
I swallowed. “Of course. I apologize.”
He gave a firm nod.
“Well,” Father DuChard said. “I did have something to share with Helena in private, later on. Some information that might actually help you. If that’s all right with you, Helena?”
I dared not show how disinterested I was in his private information. My lips tightened into what felt like a smile. “All right.”
“Excellent,” Father DuChard said happily. “We’ll discuss it after dinner, perhaps. For now, I should attend to my prayers.”
Monsieur Leóne bowed him out of the room. “Of course, Father.” He turned to Madame Leóne as Father DuChard disappeared through the door. “Dear, what can I do for you?”
“I’m glad you asked that, Frayne, dear,” Madame Leóne said, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she crossed toward him. “Would you mind taking over for Helena to peel the potatoes and carrots? I want to help her try on a dress.”
“What? You made her another - ?” He cleared his throat as she glared at him. “Let me know when you’re ready,” he said, suppressing his grumbling.
She led me away to their bedroom, as I glanced over my shoulder at Monsieur Leóne, scowling as he snatched up a potato and set to work.
Lunch at the Leónes promised to be awkward.
The dress was lovely. Cream-colored satin that hugged my waist, above a billowing bustle of satin and lace mesh. Madame Leóne took infinite pleasure in fitting me into it and complimenting me on how perfect I looked. I allowed her compliments, though I secretly refused to accept them. I knew how I truly looked, no matter what dress I wore underneath my hideous face.
Yet as I saw my reflection in her mirror, I realized that the dress did make me seem pretty. It made my skin – even, strangely enough, my scars – look as if they were designed to match this outfit. As if another girl – one who didn’t have pink scars streaking her face – would be missing a vital piece of her ensemble. My hand went up involuntarily to touch my face. To touch my lower scar and trace its curved line. It was the first time I ever touched my scars with a sense of admiration.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” I said, still staring at my reflection, still touching my scarred face. “It’s actually beautiful.”
“Wonderful. I thought it would suit you.”
Someone knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Madame Leóne called.
“Father Vestille.”
“One moment, Father. I’m just finishing with Helena’s dress.” She finished her alterations, sewing in the last seam she intended to fix. “Done,” she said. “Are you ready for company, dear?”
“I might as well be,” I said, feigning apathy. I didn’t need anyone to know that I had fallen in love with this dress. And with the way my face looked, next to it.
“Come in, Father.”
Father Vestille stepped into the Leóne’s room and stared at me as I turned toward him. He was sweating, his black coat missing, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “Oh, my. Helena, you look so pretty.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling silly.
“Pierre’s fine now,” he said. “Something definitely had a hold of him, and I sensed the Lycanthru’s hand in it. But I felt the connection between them break. He’s free of their influence.” “Good. Thank you, Father.”
“Yes, thank you so much, Father,” Madame Leóne agreed, nearly gasping. “So he’s – he’s all right, then? No further – attacks?”
“Nothing at all, Lisette.”
She touched his shoulder as she passed by him, squeezing it with a grateful smile. “I’ll go talk to him. We’ll have dinner ready soon.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have an appointment this afternoon,” Father Vestille said. “But perhaps next time I visit I can enjoy some more of that magnificent peach pie.”
“I’ll add it to the menu,” she said, closing the door behind herself.
“So,” I said, looking back at my reflection. “… You really think I look – pretty?”
“I’ve never seen you look so wonderful.”
“Do you think – Do you think Pierre will think so?”
“I’m sure he will.” Father Vestille moved to the center of the room and sat on a chair. “He feels horrible about losing control, and having almost no memory of it. He only knows what you told him he said and did.”
I nodded dully, recalling Pierre’s insults. The same insults I had heard my entire life. Yet here I stood, staring at my scars and, for the first time, finding them beautiful. Was I deluding myself?
“Helena? Are you all right?”
“Father Vestille, I know you’re my godfather, and I know Pierre would love me if I looked like a goat. Tell me the truth.” I swallowed and faced him. “Am I ugly?”
He blinked hard, looking offended. “No,” he said with an edge to his tone.
I returned to the mirror. “I’m scarred, Father.”
“Of course you are, but that’s not what you asked,” he said. “Being scarred does not make you ugly.”
“That’s enough for most people,” I said.
“Yes, I know,” he said, sounding irritated again. “Helena, I’ve watched you grow up, from when you were a baby. I knew you before and after you were attacked. I know that wolf scarred you, but he didn’t make you ugly. He could have, but he didn’t.”
I squinted at him. “What do you mean?’
“God says in his Word that the women of old did not make themselves beautiful with braided hair or fine jewelry or gowns,” he said. “Instead, they clothed themselves with the beauty of humility and good deeds. That makes you the most beautiful girl in all of France. You could have grown bitter and cold toward your parents, your sister, and everyone who loved you. Instead, you have fought to protect everyone you could, in spite of the cost to yourself. What you have done comes from a beautiful heart, and it shows on your beautiful face.”
I pressed my lips tight, hoping I was not blushing. “Father. I don’t know if I can stop the Prime. I don’t know if I can rescue Claudette or find the Serrones, if they’re even –.”
He gathered his breath. “– If they’re even alive.”
“There are so many Lycanthru. I can’t fight them all.”
“No more than the ones you already fought here.”
“But I’ve already tried twice and lost each time. Badly.” I hung my head. “The Prime seems unstoppable.”
“What can I do to help?” he asked.
“Do you still pray for me?”
He smiled. “Every morning. Every night.”
“Then keep doing that. That’s what I need most.”
“Then let me bless you right now. Bow your head.”
I knelt and lowered my chin. He placed his hands on my head, and they felt warmer than usual.
“Lord God, our protector, our defender, our guide. Thank you for Helena, for all she is, and all you have called her to do. Bless her with your wisdom and your strength, your help and your provision.”
His hands continued to heat up against my temples. As if he had been grasping handfuls of hot coal.
“Lead her in the right path and provide her all she needs to destroy these Lycanthru, once and for all. Continue to use her as you used King David, running to the heart of battle against Goliath, without fear or doubt, knowing you were with him. Keep her safe, and use her to save others. Protect us, and bind us all together. Give us your peace, Lord. We pray and beseech you in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
“Amen,” I said, lifting my head.
He beamed at me. “Helena, I’ll ask Frayne or Pierre to give you a ride back home. I can’t stay for lunch. I promised to meet Gerard Touraine at his tavern this afternoon.”
&nbs
p; I raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to a tavern?”
“Yes, I am,” he said happily. “And it feels odd, that I have yet to visit La Maison, while my sixteen-year old goddaughter has been there a dozen times.”
“‘Goddaughter’. I like how that sounds. Tell Touraine I said, ‘hello’.”
“I will,” he said. “In light of the situation, I may make our meeting brief. But if the Lycanthru could be coming after those of us who went to DeSarte, I should also alert Touraine. Others might suspect his involvement, like Monsieur Simonet.”
“Simonet,” I muttered, thinking. I knew I had seen him outside the Leónes’ window. I couldn’t have imagined it. Could I?
“Helena? Try to get along with Frayne while I’m away.”
I soured. “I’ll do my best.”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “He’s a good man. He’s just overly agitated by the wolves, for whatever reason. I’ll be in town if you need me.”
“I’ll have killed Monsieur Leóne by then,” I said.
He gave me a scolding, but amused, look. “Yes, if all else fails, tell them some of your delightful jokes, to ease the tension.” He moved to the door, smiling over his shoulder. “I’ll see you this evening, to discuss what we should do next.”
He walked out, leaving me there alone, in my beautiful dress, with my beautiful scars. I was pretty, but would I be pretty enough for Pierre? Pretty enough to dispel the nagging voices in my head that told me he could never love a scar-faced witch?
I paced the floor, working to relax my breathing. The tight bodice didn’t help, pretty as it was. I finally forced myself to stop, and prepare to leave the room.
I stood facing the door for almost a minute.
Then I strode toward it, yanking it open. Father Vestille was right. I was beautiful, and Pierre did love me. And I would no longer let anything keep us apart. Not the Lycanthru. Not my scars. Not anything.
30.
I emerged from the Leónes’ bedroom with a fresh confidence, one which I had never had. At least not in this way, as a girl who could be accepted, even admired, for her appearance. But Madame Leóne’s cream-colored dress and Father Vestille’s encouragement and prayers had persuaded me that I was, in fact, pretty. At least to Pierre, and perhaps to some other people. What Father Vestille said was true. The wolf that attacked me in my childhood had left my face scarred, but he had not left me ugly. That was for me to decide.
I shook out my hair, imagining Pierre in the living room, ready to tell me once again how pretty I looked to him. Before the Lycanthru took over his mind a while ago, he had always considered me beautiful. I had actually started to believe it until he attacked me, with his words and his fists. But Father Vestille said Pierre was freed of the Lycanthru’s control, so he would still see me that way. Nothing had changed. Pierre was still the same boy who had loved me since we were children, and I was ready to see him again.
I stepped out into the living room. Monsieur Leóne and Father DuChard sat at the table, talking.
“You must do as your conscience leads you, of course, Frayne. But I advise caution, as it could affect others here in La Rue Sauvage, who might be less optimistic.” Father DuChard paused, turning to regard me with a fat smile. “Well, well. I see you decided to pretty yourself up.”
I frowned. “Uh … thank you. May I – come in?”
“Of course,” he said, gesturing for me to join them at the table as both men rose. Father DuChard held my chair out for me and scooted it in as I sat.
The dining table was already set with plates and napkins. “I’m sorry if the dress took too long,” I said.
Monsieur Leóne had resumed his seat at the head of the table. “You’re not late,” he said without enthusiasm. “We were just talking.”
I folded my hands. Monsieur Leóne having a long talk with Father DuChard never seemed to work in my favor. “Um – where’s Pierre?”
“He’s helping Lisette finish up in the kitchen,” Monsieur Leóne said. “He wanted to help her with lunch. Trying to make up for …” He waved a hand at me. “… whatever happened in the barn earlier.
“Yes, I’m quite curious about that,” Father DuChard said, turning toward me with a bemused look. “So if I understand this correctly, these Licantor – Licantrill –.”
“Lycanthru,” I corrected.
“Yes, Lycanthru. So you’re saying these – Lycanthru – can invade a person’s mind? To control their thoughts and actions?”
I inhaled slowly and quietly, then released it in the same way. Once again, I was forced to defend myself to Father DuChard. “They took control of my body shortly before the royal ball, a few months ago,” I said. “They made me blind and lame, unable to function.”
“Did they make you attack anyone?” Father DuChard asked. “Or call people names?”
I blinked. “No, but –.”
“But you’re certain Pierre has been afflicted by these same
– Lycanthru – even though the effects are entirely different.”
I thought back, to compare the two situations. Father DuChard was right. I had been bedridden, unable to walk or see, while the Lycanthru attacked me, somehow slashing at my skin despite the distance that separated us. By contrast, Pierre had turned vicious, like a nasty drunkard, insulting me as he tried to beat me into the ground. As if the Lycanthru themselves were speaking and attacking me through Pierre. “It was the Lycanthru,” I said, keeping myself calm. “Pierre would never say those things to me.”
“I see,” Father DuChard said with a nod that urged me to continue. “And what did he say, exactly?”
“I’d rather not discuss it,” I said through clenched teeth. Then, as Monsieur Leóne glowered at me, I added, “… Please.”
“Very well, Helena,” Father DuChard said, lifting his hands in surrender.
The kitchen door pushed open behind us. Pierre emerged with a platter of bread, Madame Leóne closing in behind him. “All right, we’re ready,” he said happily. “As soon as Red comes out, we can -.”
His eyes fell on me as I pushed my chair back and stood. He stumbled, allowing a chunk of bread to slide off the platter.
“I’ll take it,” Monsieur Leóne said, bending quickly to retrieve the bread from the floor and set it on his plate.
Madame Leóne set down the platter of pork quickly and slid her arms beneath Pierre’s platter. “Here, let me take that completely away from you, son, and you can go greet our guest. I’ll finish setting up.”
Madame Leóne set down the platter of pork quickly and slid her arms beneath Pierre’s platter. “Here, let me take that completely away from you, son, while you greet our guest. I’ll finish setting up.”
He stepped toward me. “Ruh – Ruh – Red?” He gaped at me like he couldn’t figure out what he was staring at. I suddenly felt awkward, like a withered old hag trying to pass herself off as a princess. I should have known I couldn’t make myself attractive simply by trading my trousers for a pretty dress. I was still the same freakish girl that made everyone uncomfortable. Even Pierre, deep down.
He stared into my eyes, as if spellbound. “Red. You – You look –.” He swallowed.
I shrugged, wishing he would say it already. “Acceptable?” I asked in a hopeful voice.
He shook his head. “Amazing.”
I heard the voices in my head, telling me he was lying. That he could never love an ugly girl like me. That he knew I was a scar-faced witch, like he said, even when he wasn’t under the Lycanthru’s control.
I reminded myself of Father Vestille’s words, and told every other voice to shut up. “Thank you,” I said.
“What can I get for you? Do you want some water?”
“All right,” I said.
“Here, sit down.” He slid out my chair for me. Like I was a princess.
His princess.
I suddenly felt like an idiot as he poured water for me. The Lycanthru were controlling him, nothing more. How could I have doubted
Pierre?
“You look lovely, Helena,” Madame Leóne beamed, smoothing her own dress as she sat. “Doesn’t she look lovely, Frayne, dear?”
“Yes. She does. Let’s eat.”
Monsieur Leóne waited for everyone’s attention. He was about to cross himself to lead us in a prayer, then stopped suddenly. “Father DuChard, would you be so kind?”
“Of course, Frayne,” Father DuChard said cheerily. He smiled at me across the table, then crossed himself as we followed suit. Something about his expression disturbed me even more than usual. “Bless us O Lord,” he prayed. “And these, Your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty through Jesus Christ, our Lord.” We crossed ourselves again to conclude the blessing, but Father DuChard went on. “And dear Heavenly Lord, most Holy and Gracious, look on this humble home and family, and the hands that have prepared this food, with abundant grace and kindness. And bless young Helena, our guest, as she continues her struggle to grow in her knowledge of Your Holiness, and to embrace Your Genuine Truth. In Your Son’s Precious Name, Amen.”
We raised our heads and I met Father DuChard’s eyes. They were warm and friendly. I knew mine were not.
I decided not to wait for him. “So. You said you had something to tell me.”
He spread his napkin on his lap. “Yes, I do, Helena. I wanted to tell you something that I think will help you. About the wolves.”
The table fell silent as I stared at him. “You have information for me about the wolves?” I said, clearly unconvinced.
“I think we can do without any talk of wolves,” Monsieur Leóne broke in, agitated. “For just one day.”
“Of course, Frayne. I assumed that would be what Helena would wish to talk about.” He raised his eyebrows to me.
“No,” I said coldly. “It’s not.” I took a piece of bread for my plate and drank some water. “But if you have some information to help me later, I would love to hear it.”
He smiled, waving his hands as if he was calming a fiery horse. “Of course, of course. Just be patient, child. There’s a right time for everything. No need to discuss it now.”
I put my drink down. A little too loudly, as everyone glanced at me. “I wasn’t suggesting you share it now. I was just – !” I met everyone’s concerned stares and kept quiet.
Red Rider Revolution Page 20