by Regina Scott
Her eyes glazed with tears. “I don’t simply love you, Jean Paul, I forgive you. For what you’ve done both before I met you and after.” She reached out and pressed her palm to his cheek, her skin cool and soft against his. “My love lets me forgive you, just like God’s love for us lets Him forgive us.”
He pulled back and sucked in deep gulps of air. Forgiveness again. Just like Isabelle had spoken of at the inn over a year ago.
He’d been cruel to his future sister-in-law in those days, still wishing her dead though she’d saved him, taunting her until she’d cried and fled the room. But she’d returned, sand from the beach ground into the knees of her skirt and fierce determination in her eyes.
I forgive you.
He’d wanted to spit fire. Had actually spit at her feet, if he recalled.
*
“I don’t want your forgiveness. You deserve to die.”
“I forgive you, anyway. What you do with it is your choice.”
“Why are you rescuing me, forgiving me after I tried to kill you?”
She swallowed then, but she met his eyes. “Because it’s what God wants. It’s no less than He did for me.”
*
No less than what God had already done. Jean Paul shuddered at the memory. Isabelle and Brigitte made forgiveness sound so easy, but ’twas as impossible as taking on an army with a band of four men.
He raised his eyes to Brigitte’s. “You understand not how little I deserve God’s love. Why should He forgive a person such as myself?”
She reached for his hand, the small connection flooding warmth through his body—a warmth from which he couldn’t bear to pull away. “Because that’s the beauty of God’s love. None of us deserve it. Not I, nor you, nor Danielle and Julien, or even little Serge. But God bestows His love, anyway. And it isn’t something you need to earn by giving away vegetables or renting land to armless tenants. It’s just there. You only need reach out and take it. Surely you know this, Jean Paul. Surely you’ve heard it before.”
He hung his head. Oui. He’d heard it. And perhaps he’d even known it somewhere deep inside. Maybe Isabelle had been right that day at the inn. Maybe all his mumbled prayers hadn’t been barred from heaven. Maybe they’d gone straight to the ears of God, and he’d only imagined them stopping because he hadn’t believed God would listen.
Because why would God want to love and forgive him if he didn’t want to love and forgive himself?
His body turned cold, yet his eyes burned suspiciously. Could he have been wrong all this time? Could God have truly heard the prayers he’d uttered over the past year? Have offered forgiveness the first time he’d asked for it in that little room in Saint-Valery? He raised his eyes to the heavens, but instead of whispering yet another hopeless plea for forgiveness, he offered one of thanks. Father, thank You for forgiving me. For loving me. For restoring my life and giving me a chance to correct my wrongs.
The coldness left his body and warmth settled about him, creeping in to the darkest places of his heart, the places that had been cold for longer than he could remember. He drew in a deep, calming breath. Felt the touch of the sun on his face and whisper of the breeze against his skin.
“You were right.” He squeezed Brigitte’s hand, which somehow still rested beneath his. “It wasn’t God who refused to forgive me. It was I who refused.”
She leaned in and dropped a soft kiss on his lips. “Well, accept it now. And then forgive me.”
He placed his hands on her sides beneath her arms and scooted her forward, grinning all the while. “Of course. Need you even ask? I mustered a gendarmerie full of men and came to Calais to save you.” He lowered his head for another kiss. And this time, when his mouth met hers, no warnings screamed inside his brain declaring he didn’t deserve her, no guilt haunted him as he wrapped his arms around her and tumbled her back into the grass. He was free now. God’s love and forgiveness had made him so.
He pulled his lips away from hers for the barest of instants and whispered against her neck. “Marry me, Brigitte Dubois. Come back to Abbeville and be my wife.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with life and hope. “I wouldn’t want anything else.”
“Today. We’ll see the magistrate before we leave Calais.”
She giggled. His Brigitte, giggling like a schoolgirl.
He found her lips again, the tall grass tickling his neck and hands as he lay with her in the sunshine.
In many ways, he still wasn’t worthy of her love. But then, what man was worthy of a woman like Brigitte? If he lived a thousand years, he’d never let go of her, the light and laughter she’d restored to his life, the feelings of forgiveness and understanding that twined through him.
From the rainy day he’d watched his first wife’s body lowered into the ground until this moment, he’d been on a long, hard journey. A journey in which he’d made a slew of poor choices and had caused unspeakable harm.
But God forgave him, anyway. And God loved him enough to offer him a chance to make right choices and love again. A chance to welcome the family he’d thought he’d lost after Corinne’s death.
He buried his face in Brigitte’s matted hair, dragged her familiar scent into his lungs, and pressed her tighter against him…because he wasn’t going to let this new chance slip away.
Epilogue
One year later
Thwack!… Thwack!… Thwack!… Thwack!
Brigitte tucked a strand of hair beneath her mobcap and pulled open the door of the cottage, letting the sunlight flood inside.
Sure enough, Danielle stood with Jean Paul, her face fierce as she gripped a knife and scowled at an upright log already impaled with half a dozen blades.
“Your grip is too tight. You’ve got to hold the knife hard enough so it doesn’t fall, but loose enough so it glides forward when you thrust. And don’t flick your wrist.”
Danielle glared at the log. “I’ll get it, Papa.”
Papa. Brigitte pressed a hand to her neck and swallowed. She never tired of hearing her children use that word. Even though Julien and Laurent were still away in the navy, she and the children had forged a true family with Jean Paul, so unlike the days of fear and loneliness that plagued her with Henri.
She rested a hand on her back, the ache there growing a little worse each day. Just a couple weeks, if her calculations were correct, and her heavy, protruding belly would give way to a babe. ’Twas a bit ridiculous to be having a baby with Jean Paul at her age. She’d already raised two boys to near men. But then, she wanted nothing more than to share a child with the man who loved her and shared his life with her, who gave her foot rubs at night and insisted Danielle—and sometimes even Serge—clean up supper rather than her.
Thwack!
Brigitte jumped with the sudden sound, just as Danielle let out a holler and threw herself into Jean Paul’s arms.
“I did it, Papa! Did you see? Right in the center like you showed me.”
Jean Paul wrapped his arms around Danielle, his face alight with pride. “I saw.”
“I’m going to hit it again.” She wriggled out of his arms and raced toward the log where the knives stuck.
Brigitte smiled from where she stood in the doorway. “Danielle’s getting better.”
Jean Paul turned, his lips curving into a soft smile as he ran his gaze over her distended body. “I didn’t realize you were watching. Come here.” He held his arms out, open and waiting.
She came forward. “Your eyes are tired. You should be napping, not playing with the children.”
He enfolded her from behind and rested a hand on her belly. “I’m not the one with child, love.”
“Non. You’re the one with the nightmares that keep you up for hours in the darkness.”
His body tensed behind her, and she could well imagine the contentment on his face growing into a serious mixture of hard lines and foreboding angles. “Just when I think they’re starting to leave, they return with renewed force.”
> “They’re not as bad as when we first wed.”
“I owe that to having such a nice distraction when I wake.”
She turned in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his neck, something she could barely manage now that her belly was big as a bushel of turnips. “Do you now? And what else do you owe to me, since we’re on the subject?”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t know. Is there something nicer than that?”
She released her arms from around his neck and shoved at his chest, but to no avail. His solid arms were looped too tightly about her back.
“Your meals,” she spouted. “You owe your meals to me. And your mended clothes. And the dusting. I’ve tended the herbs this year, not you, and…”
Thwack!
“I did it again!” Danielle’s voice, proud and elated, rang from behind them.
“Maman, come look, come look, Danielle got it!” Serge called from where he and Victor played in the side yard.
“Yelle get it,” Victor mimicked in his sweet toddler voice.
She tried to turn, but Jean Paul still kept his arms locked around her, his eyes serious. “The children. I owe the children to you.” His gaze dipped to her stomach. “Even the wee one. My happiness, joy and contentment. I owe that to you, as well.”
“I can’t give you happiness or joy. Only God can do that.”
He hugged her tight. “Which is exactly why God gave me you.”
She leaned against him, settling into the familiar strength of the man she loved, the man she didn’t deserve, the man God had given her, anyway. The children’s voices rang through the yard, accompanied by the steady thwack, thwack, thwack of Danielle throwing her knives. Birds danced in the sky above, and a faint breeze whispered through the wheat in the nearby field.
She pressed her eyes shut and sank deeper into her husband’s arms. She offered no sensual words or kiss of passion, and she didn’t need to. Her husband’s presence was merely enough.
The Révolution might still rage, leaving the government in turmoil. British warships might still stalk French vessels on the sea, and Austria might well take up arms against France once again.
Yet here she stood, wrapped in the arms of a man who didn’t merely offer security, but love and forgiveness and understanding. Together, they had strength to face whatever the future held.
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from WYOMING PROMISES by Kerri Mountain.
Dear Reader,
I’m so excited to finally get The Soldier’s Secrets into your hands. When I wrote the first book in this series, Sanctuary for a Lady, two years ago, I never thought I’d continue the Belanger Family Saga and share Jean Paul’s story with you. But here it is! I hope you enjoyed reading this novel and cheering for Jean Paul and Brigitte when they finally succeeded.
I enjoy writing stories set in revolutionary France because I sympathize greatly with the French people of the 1790s. They’d been abused for years by a government that used its citizens mercilessly. While I understand that a lot of bloody and unpleasant events took place during the French Revolution, the plight of the common people to be valued, treated fairly and recognized as citizens is something I wholeheartedly support. It’s also something I wish the governments of today better understood. People are innately valuable because they’re just that: people.
As I wrote The Soldier’s Secrets, I endeavored to examine not just the events of the French Revolution, but also honesty and how important a trait truthfulness is.
In spite of past mistakes and dishonesty, God’s forgiveness is always present and waiting to be bestowed on those who ask. When I sat down to write the ending of The Soldier’s Secrets, I enjoyed revealing how both Jean Paul and Brigitte realize their mistakes and accept God’s forgiveness. Then they get to turn around and extend that forgiveness to each other. I’m so thankful for God’s forgiveness in our own, everyday lives. My prayer is that God uses this story in your life to illustrate the depth and breadth of God’s forgiveness, as well as the importance of honesty in daily living.
Historically speaking, 1795 saw a bit of a lull in the French Revolution. France had won or was already winning most of their military campaigns, and with the fall of Robespierre and the end of the Reign of Terror nearly a year earlier, some of the political situations started to calm down for France. However, certain aspects of the revolution remained the same. The price of bread was still appallingly high for those in the cities, the poor concentrated in population centers often had little to no work and the paper money printed by the revolutionary government was dropping drastically in value. All of these things helped pave the way for Napoleon to take power in the next year. If you continue following the Belanger Family Saga as I write it, you’ll soon see what France looks like with Napoleon in a prominent leadership position.
I’m calling the next book in this series “Danielle’s Story” for now (though the title will certainly change by the time the book is printed), but “Danielle’s Story” takes place at the beginning of the Napoleonic Wars and follows the character of Danielle from The Soldier’s Secrets. If you liked The Soldier’s Secrets, I hope you take the time to read the next book in the Belanger Family Saga when it becomes available.
If you enjoyed The Soldier’s Secrets, I would love to hear from you. You can contact me via my website at www.naomirawlings.com or write to me at PO Box 134, Ontonagon, MI, 49953.
Thank you for taking time from your busy life to journey with me back to revolutionary France and read The Soldier’s Secrets!
Blessings,
Naomi Rawlings
Questions for Discussion
Throughout The Soldier’s Secrets, Brigitte makes numerous sacrifices to keep her children safe. If you are a parent, what kind of sacrifices have you made for your children? If you are not a parent, do you think you’d be willing to make similar sacrifices to those Brigitte makes? Why or why not?
When Brigitte first approaches Jean Paul, she’s not completely honest about why she seeks him out. As the story progresses, it gets harder and harder for Brigitte to keep the truth from Jean Paul. Have you ever found yourself in a situation where it seems easier to lie than tell the truth? How did you get yourself out of the situation?
Jean Paul deeply regrets his past actions and spends a good part of the novel trying to overcome his past. Have you done anything in your past that you regret? In what ways have you tried to overcome those things?
One of the ways in which Jean Paul tries to overcome his past is by giving food to the needy, which he finds great personal satisfaction in doing. Our world today is full of similar charitable projects. What good do you see coming from charities in your local communities?
Have you ever been involved in a charity or ministry? If so, which ones? In what ways do you think people working in these ministries find their work rewarding?
Jean Paul struggles with being able to forgive himself and consequently, he doesn’t understand the forgiveness God already offers him. Have you ever struggled to forgive yourself for a past wrong? In what ways did your personal struggle with forgiveness hinder your relationship with God?
Jean Paul struggles with wanting to accept Brigitte because he still grieves the loss of his first wife. In what ways do you think it would be hard to move on after losing a spouse?
One of the things Jean Paul regrets about his first marriage is that he never had any children. What trials do you think couples without children face?
Near the end of the novel, Brigitte needs to make a choice between either protecting Jean Paul or her children. How does Brigitte confront this problem? What does she do to try keeping both sides safe?
Alphonse Dubois is bent on revenge. What pain and heartache does Alphonse cause the other characters in this story? What kind of trouble do you think a person bent on revenge can cause in real life?
Near the end of the story, Jean Paul finally decides to share his past with Brigitte. How does Jean Pa
ul struggle leading up to this point? How does Brigitte respond to Jean Paul’s admission?
At the very end of the book, both Jean Paul and Brigitte asking each other for forgiveness. How does their willingness to forgive each other help their relationship move forward? What types of problems do you think withholding forgiveness can cause in real situations?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.
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Chapter One
Wyoming, 1870
Lola Martin opened her door and raised a lantern, its flame flickering in the cool night air.
“I’m looking for the undertaker, ma’am. Got a body for him.” The man’s voice was worn and gritty like an old straw tick, but his tone gave nothing away.
He glanced over her shoulder, as if the undertaker would appear from the shadows behind. Light reflected off his brown eyes as if off an empty store window. Desperation lurked in the hard lines of his face, making it difficult to guess his age. A deep scar cut across his cheek to the edge of his crooked lip, just escaping the whiskers that wouldn’t hide his stubborn jaw.
“I’m the undertaker. What can I do for you?”
His spurs rattled as he shifted, but if she surprised him, his face didn’t show it. He rocked his hat on his head and heaved a raw sigh. “I found a man dead out on the trail, not far from here. Head busted on a big rock. Looks like his horse threw him.”