“Thank you for visiting,” Élise said. “And for bringing Honey and Guignol and Spot.” She went to the wagon to bid farewell to Luc and the goats.
Sylvie embraced Julia one last time, as did Pierre.
Luc helped her climb up to the wagon bench.
The family watched from their front garden as Luc drove the wagon away.
Julia turned in her seat, waving until they rounded a bend and could no longer see the farmhouse.
Luc handed her a handkerchief. “You are sorry to leave?”
She and Luc hadn’t spoken since the kiss, and she was grateful that he wasn’t acting strangely. Maybe it had been nothing to him. The thought saddened her further.
She nodded, wiping her eyes, and looked into the back of the wagon, checking that all the goats were still there. “I am very glad the wagon got stuck near this farmhouse instead of another. I’ve quite enjoyed becoming acquainted with the Deschamps. Sylvie is lovely.”
“Pierre as well,” he said. “A good man.”
“You probably enjoyed having someone to talk to besides Gabi and myself,” she said. “A chance to discuss—I don’t know—manly things.”
Luc smirked at her tease.
“I know Élise appreciated the particular attention you paid her.”
“She has determination for one so young. Talent, yes, but the willingness to work to improve; that will take her far.”
“You are very patient. And you make a good art teacher.”
Luc looked at her for a moment, and Julia got the impression he was evaluating whether or not she was still teasing. “Her parents are so supportive of her art,” he said. “I found it admirable, the way they praised her, and also, I admit to being . . . jealous.” He spoke carefully, as if unsure whether he should continue.
Julia thought if she said the wrong thing, he was likely to stop altogether. “Why?” She spoke in a gentle voice, hoping not to sound like she was prying but wanting him to know she was interested in his answer and that she would take his words seriously. “Were your parents . . . less supportive of you?”
“My father.” Luc sighed and looked back at the road. His gaze was unfocused. “He thought drawing was a waste of time. We had an olive orchard and a large vineyard. He paid five men to help manage the land, run the winery, and harvest the olives and grapes. He worked long hours every day with them. And yet his own son was always to be found off beneath a tree, scribbling silly pictures.”
“But he allowed you to attend l’École des Beaux-Arts,” she said.
Luc pulled on the reins, directing the horse back to the center of the road. “I pestered him. Begged him. Promised him I would earn back the money he spent on my schooling tenfold with my art. I was insufferable.” Luc’s lip curled. “Complaining, whining, yelling, accusing him of stealing my dream.” He shook his head, breathing out a heavy breath. “The things I said to him, Juliette. What kind of a son . . . ?” He swallowed.
“What of your mother?” she asked, wanting him to continue. Hearing him share something so personal made her heart hurt, but she wanted to hear more. Wanted to understand Luc. Wanted him to trust her with things he spoke of to nobody else.
“Ma mère, she wanted me to be happy, of course,” he said. “In the end, it was she who persuaded mon père. She and Gabi.”
“They could see your talent,” Julia said. “And they knew you had the makings of a remarkable artist.”
Luc shrugged. “And yet, that wasn’t enough for me. Instructors, the other students, visitors to the school—they offered praise, compliments, and yet I still felt I had something to prove.”
“To your father.”
“I wanted so badly to impress him. To make him proud,” Luc said. “I’ve thought of it often through the years, wondered why one person’s opinion mattered more than all the others. But I have no answer.”
“Because he’s your father,” Julia said. “That is the answer.”
Luc nodded. “My parents didn’t tell me the blight had killed the vines. I didn’t know the farm was losing money while they continued paying for my schooling. Maman was ill, and finally Father sent word. By the time I returned, she had died, and he was too ill to even recognize me.”
“Luc, I’m so sorry.” Julia’s heart ached for him.
“I failed them,” he said. “And when I remember how I spoke to him, the things I said . . .” He swallowed hard once more. “I am so ashamed.”
“And now you hope to make it up to him, working the farm, taking care of Gabi.”
He nodded.
“And giving up your own dreams.” She set her hand on his wrist.
Instead of just allowing it to rest there, he put both reins in his other hand and intertwined his fingers with hers, pressing their palms together. “It is what I must do.”
Julia rested her head on his shoulder. “I know about trying to impress a father,” she said. “When my mother died . . . that is why my father and grand-mère are so protective. They worry that something bad will happen to me.” She shifted, leaning more fully against him. “That is why I left the Orient Express to buy the cake. I wanted to show them I could do it by myself. I imagined him meeting me at the Gare de l’Est station in Paris, and when I presented him with the cake and told him I’d navigated the Igney-Avricourt station alone, he’d be so proud. Perhaps he’d realize I am capable of doing things myself.”
Luc squeezed her hand.
“But I’ve proven just the opposite, haven’t I?” she said, the familiar feeling of disappointment returning. “I couldn’t even do something as simple as purchase a cake without making a mess of things.”
“Well, I am glad for it,” Luc said. “If not for that cake, we’d never . . .” His voice trailed off, but the unsaid words hung in the air between them as if they’d been spoken aloud.
The conversation stopped, but this silence felt different from the one the day before. Instead of wanting to fill it, to take away the awkwardness, the quiet felt comfortable, like something shared between companions who had exposed something personal and left one another to consider. It was . . . pleasant.
The rain had left everything looking bright and smelling fresh. Occasionally they passed a lavender field or an almond orchard, and the air would fill with the aroma of blossoms. Life moved slower in Provence, and Julia had come to find that she enjoyed the simplicity of home and family and friends instead of the constant worry of schedules and traffic that she navigated in the city. Life here felt somehow fuller of the things that brought happiness—essential things, important things. Even though there were less “things.” It gave her a lot to think about.
After a long while, Julia lifted her head. She released Luc’s hand and turned around on the bench to check on the goats in the wagon bed. They had apparently become used to the travel. Honey stood, balancing against the movement of the wagon on her hooves, but the babies were both curled up, sleeping beneath her.
“I will be sad to leave Rivulet tomorrow,” Julia said, turning back around and giving voice to the heaviness in her heart.
“But you will see your father and grandmother,” Luc said. “And l’Exposition Universelle.”
Julia contemplated for a moment. She’d looked forward to the World’s Fair for so long, reading about the attractions and waiting for the chance to ride the Grande Roue, to see the attractions and the art. It had occupied nearly every thought for the last months and filled the letters she and her father had written back and forth. But in the days since she’d come to Rivulet, it had hardly crossed her mind at all.
“You must be disappointed to have been kept from the event,” Luc said, misinterpreting her silence as unhappiness.
“I am not disappointed,” Julia said. “Rivulet has been . . .” She felt heat rise on her cheeks and looked away, watching the mountains in the distance. “I’ve enjoyed my time here q
uite a lot.”
“Even when you are meant to be surrounded by music and theater and art?”
She bumped him with her elbow, giving a wry smile at his tease. “That was very rude of me to say. I should not have assumed anything about Provence. It has surprised me at every turn.”
Luc took her hand again. “Do you return soon to Vienna?”
“The spring holiday lasts for three weeks. I will stay with ma grand-mère on Rue des Barres, then leave Paris two weeks from Saturday,” she said. “Classes resume the Monday following.”
Luc nodded, and they lapsed back into a silence that was broken only by the noise of the goats and the crunch of the wagon wheels.
Julia wondered if Luc was glad for the quiet. Was he sad that she would leave tomorrow? Or did she read more into his actions than he actually intended? She looked down at their hands, fingers entwined, his wrist resting on his knee, and wondered if the life she was returning to would ever feel the same as it had before.
Chapter Sixteen
Gabi hurried out of the front door the moment the wagon was in sight of the house. She came to the break in the wall and waved, one fist on her hip. The two cats wound around her ankles.
“She was worried,” Luc said in a low voice.
Julia let go of his hand. She didn’t completely understand the status of her relationship with him, but she felt it was something she wanted to keep private, especially since she worried that her feelings for him were not fully reciprocated. She may be imagining more in his kindness to her than what he’d intended by it.
When the wagon reached Gabi, she clasped her hands. “Oh, mes chères! You are home at last!”
“We had some trouble with the wagon,” Luc explained. He climbed down and took Julia’s hand to help her from the wagon seat. “Stuck in the mud.”
Gabi took his face in her hands, patting his cheek playfully. “You made this old lady worry.”
“Luc found us a place to stay for the night,” Julia said, “and someone to help to extract the wagon.”
“Oh, all this rain.” Gabi shook her head, making a tsking sound. “Of course Luc knew just what to do. But still, I worry for mes enfants.” She kissed Julia’s cheeks and pulled her into an embrace. “I am so glad you are safely home.”
Julia held Gabi tighter than was perhaps necessary, and longer. But the woman’s words had touched her. Mes enfants—her children. The reminder that Julia would leave Rivulet tomorrow brought a lump to her throat. She would miss Gabi and her fussing. While Julia loved her grand-mère and knew she was loved in return, the woman wasn’t affectionate in the same way. She showed her love through stern correction and constant reminders of the proper way a young lady should act. A warm embrace was something different altogether. And Julia hadn’t realized it was something she craved.
A bleat came from the bed of the wagon.
“Oh, you found a goat,” Gabi said.
“Not just a goat.” Luc smiled at Julia. He let down the back gate and untied Honey’s rope. The goat jumped down.
“Oh, she is beautiful.” Gabi nodded approvingly.
Luc handed Honey’s rope to Julia. He untied Guignol and Spot and lifted them down from the wagon to join their mother.
“Oh.” Gabi’s eyebrows rose. “And two kids?”
The baby goats jumped around, kicking their hooves into the air, delighted at their freedom after the long wagon ride. Spot leaped onto the low wall.
“Juliette, she did not want to break apart a happy family,” Luc explained.
“Ah.” Gabi crouched down and scratched Guignol’s head. “They are still quite young to be weaned.” Her lips twitched. “You have a kind heart, Juliette.”
“Do you think Alice will be pleased?”
Spot jumped from the wall, kicking up her feet as she bounced back toward her mother.
Gabi laughed. “How could she not?”
The three ate a meal of hare-and-wine stew before leading Honey and her babies across the yard to the Laurents’ house.
Julia fidgeted as they neared the front door, feeling anxious. What if Alice remained angry? What if Honey did not meet with her approval?
Luc’s hand brushed hers, just a soft touch that could have been accidental. But she knew it wasn’t. Luc understood her worries and hoped to reassure her. She glanced up at him, giving him a grateful smile. If nothing else, she had his support.
Alice came to the door, and Mathieu followed, leaning heavily on his cane in the doorway.
“Bonjour, Madame Laurent,” Julia said. She tugged on the rope, bringing the goat closer. “This is Honey.”
Alice stepped outside. She squinted as she scrutinized the goat.
“Her milk is sweet,” Julia said. “And I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve brought her babies as well.”
Luc and Gabi set the kids down, and they immediately started jumping around the garden.
Alice’s stern face showed a hint of a smile.
Guignol kicked up his back legs so hard that he fell over. Spot jumped onto him, and when her brother flipped over, she flew off, bouncing away.
Mathieu laughed loudly, bending over and holding his side.
“Guignol and Spot,” Julia said, pointing to the goats in turn. “But, of course, you can call them what you wish.” She clasped her hands. “Madame, I am so sorry about Fleur. I hope you can forgive me.”
Alice looked at her for a moment, and Julia worried that the woman would not ever forget the wrong done to her.
The older woman’s face broke into a wide smile. “Of course you are forgiven, Juliette.” She clasped Julia’s arms right below the shoulders and planted a kiss on each cheek.
Julia blinked. This was the second time she’d been startled by a kiss today. And though this one was not unpleasant, she much preferred the first. She glanced at Luc, giving a surprised smile at the woman’s reaction.
The smile and wink he gave in return said he was proud of her. Seeing it warmed her all the way through.
Once they left the Laurents’, Luc went to tend to the olives. Julia spent the remainder of the afternoon in the garden with Gabi. The rain had made the soil soft, and the pair worked companionably together, pulling out weeds, separating herbs, and cutting flowers for vases and drying.
Julia told the older woman about the Deschamps family and especially about how considerate Luc had been with Élise.
“Ah, he is so very kindhearted.” Gabi shook her head fondly.
“He drew beautiful portraits of the children,” Julia said. “Sylvie was so pleased.”
Gabi glanced toward the building that served as Luc’s art studio. “If that boy could only see what others see in him.”
“He could do it,” Julia said. “He could display his art, sell it if he chose. He would be known as one of the great artists of our time.”
“But he will not,” Gabi said. She sighed. “To see a dream die—” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “It is painful, non?”
“Oui,” Julia said. She glanced at the building as well, and a thought occurred to her. An idea. She stopped pulling weeds, sitting back on her heels and letting the idea take root as she considered the different complications that might arise and how to manage them.
She was still lost in thought when Luc came into the garden. Seeing him, she smiled and stood, brushing the dirt from her fingers.
“How are the seedlings today?” Gabi asked.
“They appear healthy,” he said. “I moved some of the larger pots outside to begin to acclimate them. I’ll move them back into the nursery tonight.”
Gabi nodded. “The nights are still very cold.”
Luc took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I wondered if perhaps you might like to walk to the lily pond, Juliette.”
A thrill shot through her middle, and she
smiled, knowing he’d been thinking about her. “I would enjoy that very much.”
He nodded. “Is now a good time? Or are you still . . . ?” He motioned to the ground where she had been weeding.
“Of course it is a good time,” Gabi said. “Juliette doesn’t want to spend her last hours in Riv digging around in the dirt.” She stood, setting her trowel in a pot. “If you will wait just a moment, I’ll send along a picnic.” She started toward the house. “Luc, find that old quilt,” she called back over her shoulder. “The one with the yellow roses. I think it is in the chest beneath the stairs.”
By the time Julia had washed off her hands, Gabi had a meal packed into a basket, and Luc stood at the kitchen door with a quilt beneath his arm.
Gabi gave him the basket, and he hung it in the crook of his elbow.
“Merci, Gabi,” he said, holding open the door for Julia. “We will be back before dark.”
“Take as long as you’d like. Enjoy the pond . . . and your time together.” Gabi gave the pair of them a meaningful look that made Julia’s cheeks heat up, then walked toward them, holding her hands out to the sides as if to shepherd them toward the pond. “Go on now.”
They started down the path with olives trees on one side and grape vines on the other. Luc took Julia’s hand.
The touch made her palm tingle.
“Wait one moment,” Luc said when they neared his studio. He went inside and came back out right away, carrying—along with the picnic supplies—a pad of paper and a pencil box.
Julia took them, wanting to leave one of his hands free so it could hold hers. They continued along, and ahead she saw the end of the rows of grape vines. Beyond was a cluster of trees, and farther along still, hills rose toward the mountains. One was covered with lines of purple lavender, the other with red poppies.
Luc helped Julia climb over the low wall that marked the edge of the property. A pathway ran along the other side, leading into the cluster of trees.
When they drew near, Julia felt as if she had walked straight into a painting. All around, the trees were in bloom with yellow, pink, and white blossoms. Willow branches hung down, speckling the light and shadow beneath as their leaves moved in the breeze. The pond was covered in lily pads with large pink blooms, and a family of ducks swam among them. Stretching over the water was a stone bridge.
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