by Phoebe Conn
Seeing a way to lift her spirits, André began to describe how her family home might be rebuilt. "While the weather holds, granite can be gathered from the mountains by the men among us who possess skill in working with stone. There are lush forests nearby, so timber can be found for the rafters. I know the work will progress slowly, but little by little we can transform what remains into a replica of the house that once stood so proudly upon the hill. The home of the d'Loganvilles can again be as beautiful as it once was."
Celiese listened attentively as they walked into the village, following the man's growing enthusiasm with a heavy heart. He seemed to think the project a most worthwhile one. His memories of her family were as happy as hers. "I do not want to take any of the men away from their main task, which is to provide a livelihood for their families. That would be most unfair."
"Your husband left money enough to pay all those who wish to be employed in the project. You need not concern yourself with how the men will be rewarded."
"Somehow when Mylan promised to rebuild my home, I thought he would provide the labor himself. It seems I misunderstood all he said," she commented softly. "The men will have to understand the house will be his as well as mine, that it will be the home of the Vandahls, not the d'Loganvilles. Will they be willing to work for a Dane after what they have suffered?"
André frowned slightly as he considered her words. "If you can call such a man husband, we will not insult him in any way. Besides, you are the one who is here and in desperate need of a home. We have become very practical, and it will be our only consideration."
As they entered the village, Celiese was surrounded by the well-meaning residents as she had been on her previous visits. She attempted to smile bravely, and then reassured them she had received the promise of the duke that she would retain her estate and their lands would be safe for them to farm. The ripples of excitement passing through the rapidly growing crowd lifted her spirits greatly, for her problems seemed minor when compared to theirs.
For too many years they had battled invading Danes, as well as the elements, in a valiant effort to survive. If she could bring peace to their troubled lives, at whatever the cost to her own personal happiness, she would willingly pay it. She felt foolish wearing brocade when the women around her wore such simple homespun garb, but she was different from the happy crowd in so many more important ways than the extravagant fabric and style of her gown.
She politely refused their offers of hospitality and instead followed André into his cottage to collect her belongings. They were all there, still wrapped as they had been when they left Rouen. Placing the bundle upon his table she searched through it quickly, hoping to find the silver necklace among her things. But it was gone.
"Has something been lost?" André asked curiously.
"Why yes, my silver necklace. It was a present from my husband and most precious to me," she explained sadly.
After a moment's thought, André began to smile. "Did this necklace have an unusual charm, in the shape of a hammer?"
"Yes, that's it, did you find it?" She was delighted to think he had.
"I do not believe it is lost, unless there are two, for I saw your husband wearing such a charm this morning."
Gathering up her bundle, Celiese tried not to let her disappointment show in either her words or expression. "I am happy to learn it is not lost, then." She went toward the door, still uncomfortable in the close confines of the tiny dwelling, for it reminded her too much of the cell in the tower of Robert's mansion. "I want to be by myself, André. There are so many questions to which I have no answers, and I need time to give them thought."
"But you cannot live in the portion of your home that remains standing! It is filled with weeds, an unsafe place for a young woman as beautiful as you to reside alone!" He attempted to stop her, but she gave his weathered cheek a light kiss and with a sad, sweet smile was gone. Walking up the hill, she forced herself to concentrate upon purely practical matters.
When she reached the ruins of her home, what she needed to do first was to change her clothes, for she could not work in so fine a gown as she was wearing. Sorting through the few items she had, she selected the linen gown Olgrethe had given her as being the most appropriate. She walked slowly through the remains of the structure, uncertain what should be done first. As if weeds were her only problem, she began in what had been the kitchen, and with vicious yanks grabbed handful after handful of the weeds that had grown up between the smooth stones that had been the floor.
The chimney was still standing, the stones of the hearth in place, so after she had gathered firewood she would be able to cook her own meals. With winter approaching and no store of provisions to see her through the cold months, she had not a moment to lose. Her mind preoccupied with the basic requirements for survival, she spent the entire afternoon doing what she could to make livable the corner of the ground floor the kitchen had occupied.
At dusk, André joined her. He was carrying a small basket filled with food, which he hoped Celiese would accept as a gift. When she was most reluctant to do so he offered to dine with her, and, since they would then be sharing his provisions, she agreed. When she had finished the bread and cheese he had brought and reached for an apple, he hoped perhaps she would enjoy having his company for a while longer.
"Were you able to solve those problems of which you spoke?" he asked.
Shaking her head sadly, Celiese explained, "No, I have decided to devote my attentions to merely rebuilding a small portion of my home, so that I will have a place to spend the winter. I will still need food, of course. Do you find the fishing good from the beach?"
Surprised that the delicate young woman would consider such a pastime, André described his own luck. "Some days I am fortunate, others I am not. I go out very early in the morning when the fish are hungry, but sometimes I am there all day before I have any luck. In cold weather I dare not go out upon the beach, for I am clumsy and too often become wet, and I have no wish to risk illness."
"Well, then, when the weather is too poor for fishing I will have to hunt," she decided thoughtfully. "I know how, my husband taught me all that my father didn't."
"But that is ridiculous!" André replied in horror. "You cannot creep through the woods searching for game."
"And why not?" She laughed at his disdain. "My life has been very different from the one I knew here as a child, André. I have learned that a woman must be able to provide for herself. In Denmark, since the men are so frequently away from home in the summer, the women supervise the work upon the farms themselves. They are much more independent than the women here in France, and I think happier for it."
Aghast that she would describe the lives of her captors as if they should be admired, André stuttered nervously, "But you are a Frenchwoman, how can you even think such things?"
"Thinking is not the difficult part, André; living as I wish to is what will provide the challenge." She looked away then, unable to accept the fact that she would have to spend even one more day of her life without Mylan by her side.
The elderly servant watched his companion's expression change to one of such abject sorrow that he was moved to tears himself. Drying his eyes upon his sleeve, he attempted to offer the only encouragement that came to mind. "I cannot believe your husband has left you here like this; surely he means to return soon. I must have misunderstood his meaning this morning, for I cannot believe any man would be so great a fool as to leave you."
Celiese reached out to pat his hand lightly. "My husband is a proud man, André, and a determined one. Everything continually went wrong for us, and, while I did not think I was to blame, he did."
"Then he is a fool!" André criticized sharply.
"No, he is no fool." She gathered up the remains of their meal and packed it away into the man's basket. "Thank you for this wonderful supper. I was more hungry than I realized, but I'd worked all afternoon without once thinking of food."
André was wise enough to k
now Celiese had changed the subject for a reason and he did not make any further comments about her husband, but he had meant precisely what he had said about the man. "If you would not mind, I would like to bring you something each day. I have no skill as a farmer after spending my life raising horses, but I manage to trade for what I need. Our numbers are so few that we take care of one another, and all will want to see you have to neither hunt nor fish to live among us."
Clearly, she had shocked him with ideas she thought only reasonable, and rather than argue thanked him for his generosity. "I will be delighted to share your meals whenever you wish, and as soon as I am able I will contribute something too."
André bid her good night and started down the path to the village, then recalled something he had not thought to offer and walked back to speak with Celiese once more. "Whenever you wish to visit your mother, I will escort you. Simply tell me the day before, and I will have the horses ready at dawn."
Not knowing what to say to his suggestion, she thought it best to smile warmly, as though she were pleased. "Why thank you, I will be busy here for the next few weeks, and another visit to her will have to wait."
"Whatever you wish." Believing he had pleased her, André smiled to himself as he walked home, but he was afraid Lady Marie would not approve of the life her daughter planned to lead now that she had returned home.
Once the sun had set, Celiese's courage deserted her. With Mylan, sleeping under the stars had been an adventure; alone it was misery, an oppressive reminder of the vastness of the heavens and her own pitiful insignificance. She rolled over upon her stomach and propped her chin in her hands and closed her eyes to shut out the brightness of the nighttime sky. If only Mylan had given her an opportunity to speak with him that morning.
There must have been some way for them to reach a compromise, but they had had no chance to talk over their situation, and it had changed greatly since their arrival in France. They were again husband and wife, but not friends; lovers whose passion for each other was insatiable, but two proud people who could not seem to agree on how their lives should be lived.
"Together," she whispered softly to herself. That Mylan had deserted her, left her sound asleep dreaming only of him, had been unspeakably cruel, but someday he would have to return. If only because Robert demanded to speak to both of them together, but eventually he would come back, and she wanted him to be astonished by how successfully she had managed to live without him. She would see their house was completed, the gardens replanted, the fields sewn with grain. She would do it all by herself if she had to, but do it she would, simply to make him realize the chance for happiness he had thrown away when he had left her with little more than the earth upon which she lay.
Sleep was a long time in coming, but she was too tired to dream that night, and Mylan's taunting smile no longer haunted her as it had when she had been held prisoner. His presence had left her dreams as suddenly as he had left her life, but that did not lessen the aching need she still felt for him, nor ease her sorrow in the slightest.
When she awakened the next morning, a thick blanket of fog hovered over the land, shutting out the light of the rising sun and covering the ground with a damp mist. She shivered and wrapped her now damp blanket tightly around herself as she wished she had some way to light a fire. Knowing André would have one burning and thinking how cozy and warm his small cottage would be, she quickly got dressed, donned her long cloak, and made her way to his home.
Hearing the knock at his door, André rushed to admit his visitor. "I was just coming to get you! Come in and warm yourself by the fire." The elderly man moved one of his benches in front of the hearth and gestured for her to be seated. "I had awakened to find the day a poor one for venturing out, but you could not be allowed to remain out in the elements."
"I want to thank you again for your hospitality, André. This fire is delightful. I will gather wood today so I can have my own fire tomorrow." She held out her hands to warm them in the fire's glow.
Looking askance, André did not comment upon what he thought of her gathering her own firewood. He was certain there were several young boys who would be grateful for the opportunity to be of service and decided to send for one later to spare her that labor. "You must have some breakfast, for you ate little last night." He busied himself preparing a thin porridge, apologizing that he had so little talent as a cook.
"Please do not trouble yourself for me. I have not felt well enough to eat for several mornings, and today is no exception." Indeed, her stomach lurched as she spoke of her problem, and she feared she might again become ill.
"I will brew some herb tea for you, then, as you must take no chances with your health. If the weather permits travel later in the day, will you not consider making another visit to your mother? We can accomplish little if there is rain, and nothing at all should you fall ill."
André was greatly worried, for Celiese's fair complexion had grown pale, making her green eyes appear enormous, and her hair, which fell in damp ringlets about her shoulders, gave her the appearance of a neglected waif. A sorry image he had hoped to change for the better with a warm meal.
"I am not ready to visit her yet, truly I am not." She could think of no way to please her mother other than to stay away.
"I am merely being practical." He explained. "You could reside with her while a portion of your home is made ready for you to occupy." Seeing another important point, he offered helpfully, "A place such as the Convent of Saint Valery would afford you the solitude in which to consider those problems you mentioned yesterday."
"Yes, both your points are well taken." However, the memory of the austere atmosphere of the convent sent a chill up her spine and she drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. "I do not want to leave the rebuilding of my home entirely up to others, though. I think I should be here to help in whatever manner I may."
André chuckled at her determination. "You are a very proud young woman, my dear, and while that is an admirable quality, you must not allow it to cloud that fine mind of yours and prevent you from observing what must be seen."
"That is the way you used to speak to me when I was a child, André. When I'd come to the stable to give our horses treats, you always had some word of advice for me." She had found his instruction useful once, but she was reluctant to accept it now.
"That was not so many years ago, although it seems like a lifetime to me now." André placed two bowls of steaming porridge upon the table and invited Celiese to join him. They ate quietly, both far hungrier than they cared to admit.
When they had finished, Celiese sipped the herb tea and asked skeptically, "What is it you think I do not see?"
André leaned forward as he whispered, "The secrets you have hidden in your own heart."
Confused, Celiese nevertheless argued, "I've no secrets of any kind, not hidden from myself or anyone else." That he seemed to think her so devious a creature as Mylan did hurt her badly, for she was quite fond of him.
Frustrated that she did not see his point, André spoke more harshly, "Of course not, but are you certain the fact your husband chose to leave without bidding you good-bye was as unexpected a shock as it appeared?"
Blushing brightly with embarrassment, she looked away, unable to think of any way to express how she felt about that betrayal other than what he had observed the previous day upon the beach. "I would rather discuss the plans to rebuild my house, if you don't mind. That is what matters most to me now."
"You cannot mean that!" André responded angrily. "It is obvious to me it is Mylan who matters most to you, but if you will not admit that truth to yourself, how could you have communicated that important point to him?"
Stunned by the clarity of his observation, Celiese realized that the depth of her feeling was not something she had ever attempted to put into words. She had tried only to express those tender emotions with all the imagination and devotion she possessed. "You do not understand how things were between us, there is no
way that you can."
"It is not necessary that I understand anything, it is only you and Mylan who must seek an accord."
"The man is gone, André, there is nothing I can do now to make him see what he refused to accept when we were together. It was hopeless from the beginning, for my love was never returned. He did not even want a wife when we first met, and most especially he did not want me." She fought back the tears threatening to overwhelm her again, tears of anger as well as sorrow. With no desire to put on another pathetic display, she lifted her cup to her lips instead, and finished her tea, grateful to have that distraction.
André waited until he was certain Celiese again had her emotions under control, for he had not meant to upset her, only to assist her in finding her own truth. "If your husband were to return today, what would you tell him?"
Puzzled by that question, she refused to speculate on so unlikely an eventuality. "He will not return for a very long time, if ever, André."
"Indulge me then, for I am an old man, and should I not live until his return, what will you tell him?" He smiled in his most charming fashion, hoping she would play his game.
Celiese frowned, remembering only how she had wanted to show Mylan how well she could live without him. "I am afraid I would say all the wrong things. He would become angry with me as he always does, and he would probably just leave me again."
"I am pleased to see you understand far more than I thought you did. You are correct when you say you have many questions without answers, but you will gain nothing by avoiding them. I think the fog has begun to lift. I will saddle the horses while you gather your belongings, for surely your own inner peace must be found before you can devote your attentions to supervising your estate. I will take you to the convent for the time being, while we begin work on your home, and perhaps when I come for you, you will have thought of a thousand ways in which to greet your husband without angering him. What do you say? Is that idea not a fine one?"