My Brother's Crown

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Catherine nodded, still concerned for Pierre but thrilled nonetheless to see a hint of the old spark in her cousin’s eyes. Just the thought of what was about to happen—the baptism, the conversion—felt like a soothing salve on a deep wound, one inflicted by Amelie’s father the day he turned from the faith.

  Everyone gathered in Grand-Mère’s bedchamber for the event. Amelie, who had quickly dressed in one of Catherine’s gowns, managed to stand—the bed just a few feet away in case she felt faint—as Pastor Berger led her through the recantation of her conversion to Catholicism. When he finished, he said, “And you desire that your daughter be baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ?”

  She nodded.

  “Has the child been baptized before?”

  “Oui. Mother Superior had it done while I was ill.”

  Catherine knew that meant the baby was on the Catholic rolls and they would not be able to get her off. No matter. This baptism could still be done in the name of faith.

  Pastor Berger asked, “Whom have you chosen as godparents for the little one?”

  “My cousin Catherine,” Amelie said.

  Catherine felt the corners of her mouth rise in a modest smile even as she blinked away the threat of tears.

  “And my cousin Jules,” Amelie added.

  Catherine’s smile faded. She found herself wishing she’d had a chance to discuss that choice with Amelie beforehand. Her cousin knew enough about Jules’s peculiarities to joke about him, but she had no idea what kind of person he had become.

  The pastor took a sleeping Valentina from Grand-Mère. The baby stirred but didn’t fuss. She was dressed in the christening gown that both Amelie and Catherine had worn as infants and which Grand-Mère had kept in the trunk at the end of her bed all these years.

  He held the baby up and away from him and said, “Baptism is a sign of the covenant, of engrafting the babe into the church.” He turned to Amelie. “Do you vow to bring up your child in the nurture and admonition of the Lord?”

  Amelie nodded.

  He turned to Catherine and then to Jules. “Do the two of you vow to help raise Valentina in the knowledge of the Lord?”

  They both agreed.

  Grand-Mère stepped forward with the washbasin, presenting it as a font. Pastor Berger dipped his hand into it and quoted from Ezekiel, “ ‘Then will I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean… I will put my spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes.’ ”

  He flicked his hand over the baby and water fell to her head and trickled down to her face.

  Valentina squawked and turned red. Then she began crying, but this time, everyone smiled or chuckled at the sight. Amelie leaned against the bed. Pastor Berger handed the baby to Catherine.

  Their smiles faded as the little one began to scream, scrunching her eyes closed. Catherine looked to Grand-Mère, but the old woman seemed serene. Catherine looked for Estelle, but she was nowhere to be found. Jules stepped back, away from her, with his hands up, as if surrendering, and Pastor Berger headed for the door.

  “Tell Pierre to be careful going home,” Catherine called out to him over the howling of the baby. She remembered all too well the fate of Amelie’s husband.

  The pastor nodded as if he had heard her, but the baby was crying so loudly she did not see how he possibly could have. She followed him to the hall, saying a prayer for Valentina’s health as the little one continued to wail. At least caring for the baby was not up to her. Thank goodness for Grand-Mère and Estelle. Catherine had had no idea a baby could be so tyrannical.

  She found Estelle in the kitchen with Cook, who was arranging cheese and bread on a plate. Three bottles of wine rested on the table.

  “Are they ready for the toast?” Cook asked over the baby’s cries.

  “Nearly,” Catherine said, “but Valentina is not.”

  “I’ll take her.” Estelle reached for the baby. “She’ll soon be fine.”

  “Merci,” Catherine said, releasing Valentina and gathering up the bottles.

  By the time the wine was poured, the baby was fed and now content in Grand-Mère’s arms. Again, everyone gathered around Amelie, who was sitting in bed now, propped up by pillows. Estelle and Cook stood in the open doorway, wine in their hands too.

  Jules nodded to Catherine to go first. She had never been a godmother before and had no idea what to say. She had not paid attention to any of the christenings she had been to in the past, at least not beyond enjoying the cuteness—and sometimes the antics—of the infants involved.

  Catherine started by addressing Amelie. “You mean the world to me, and now your daughter means the same. I will instruct her to honor her dear, deceased father, you, and our Lord. I will, along with you and this entire family, raise her in the faith.” Catherine lifted her glass. “And I will pray for your health every day and do all I can to see you well again.”

  “À la santé,” Amelie said as everyone toasted. Then she turned toward Catherine and whispered, “Merci.”

  Jules cleared his throat and everyone turned toward him. “This is a momentous occasion. Our family has suffered great loss this week—and great gain. We are blessed to have a new member, a fatherless and grandfatherless baby that I swear to protect with my body, mind, and spirit.” He looked toward Valentina, and Catherine was surprised to see something like tenderness flicker in his eyes for just a moment. He turned and gave Amelie a somber nod. “I know nothing about enfants, but you have my word that I will serve your daughter with my very being.”

  Grand-Mère said, “Santé!” as she crossed the room, the baby still in her arms, and kissed Jules on one cheek and then the other. “Merci,” she said to him, tears trickling down her face. “She could not have a better protector.”

  Catherine looked away, her heart sinking. Grand-Mère was wrong. How would Jules protect Valentina? Even if he did seem to have a fondness for the baby, he’d never been known for courage, compassion, or valor. Given the current situation, she doubted he could protect himself, much less the women in this family, much less a helpless enfant.

  The dragoons returned to the house around midnight, just as Catherine had finished writing down the events of the evening in her journal by the light of a lone candle. She feared the loud one’s shouting would wake the baby, but only Grand-Mère stirred. A pounding on the sitting room door startled Catherine.

  “Stay where you are,” Grand-Mère said to Catherine, slipping from the bed. She tiptoed into the room, Catherine following despite her command. Her grandmother stopped at the bolted door but didn’t raise the rod.

  Basile, the loud one, cursed and then someone else, probably Waltier, said something and soon the racket subsided.

  They left midmorning of Holy Saturday, long after Jules had headed to the print shop. Catherine stayed in Grand-Mère’s sitting room until they were gone. She felt for Cook and the housekeeper, who now had a smaller staff but more responsibilities. Grand-Mère would not let Estelle leave the apartment until after the dragoons were gone either, but as soon as they left she sent both the young women out to help. Cook sat them down at the table to polish the silver.

  The hours progressed uneventfully until the early afternoon, when the butcher’s apprentice delivered a rack of lamb to the cellar. He was a young man whose family also attended the Temple de Lyon.

  When he came in to collect payment, he spotted Catherine at the table.

  “How is Pierre doing?”

  “Excusez-moi?” Catherine replied.

  “Well, that was quite a fright he had last night,” the young man said.

  Catherine straightened her back. “What?”

  “Getting harassed by the dragoons like that. He is lucky he didn’t end up in the—”

  “That’s enough young man,” Cook interrupted. “I know you have plenty of other deliveries to make. You need to be on your way.”

  Catherine was on her feet, sure her heart had stopped. “What happened?”

  The man was b
lushing now. “I shouldn’t have said anything. He’s all right. At least that’s what the butcher’s wife told me.”

  Catherine dropped the polishing rag on the table and started toward the door.

  “Stay where you are, Mademoiselle,” Cook said. “Your brother would have told you if something was wrong.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Catherine said. She could see through the open window that a light rain was falling. She needed her cloak and started down the hall. As she neared the apartment, she could hear Valentina crying. The door opened before she could reach it, and Grand-Mère appeared.

  “Tell Estelle it’s time for the baby to be fed.”

  “Oui,” Catherine said. “I just need my cloak.”

  “You are not going out…”

  “Just to the shop.”

  “Non.”

  “Something happened to Pierre last night. The dragoons—”

  “I said non, Catherine.” Grand-Mère swung the babe to her shoulder. “What good will it do for you to be accosted too?”

  Catherine hesitated.

  “Don’t be rash, ma petite fille,” Grand-Mère said, putting an end to the conversation.

  Catherine stayed as silent as possible the rest of the afternoon as she waited for Jules to return. When he finally arrived home, she was cleaning up after finishing the polishing. By the time she made it down the hall to his study, Grand-Mère was already there, deep in conversation with him. Neither saw Catherine as she stopped to the side of the doorway.

  “I don’t think it’s prudent to buy another business,” Grand-Mère said.

  Jules’s voice was so low in response Catherine could barely hear him. “What other choice do we have?”

  Grand-Mère sighed. “We could leave once Amelie regains her strength.”

  Catherine’s heart lifted a little.

  “Non,” Jules said. “That would be a mistake.”

  “The businesses no longer matter, Jules, not in comparison to our lives.”

  “What will we live on once we are out of the country? The kindness of others?”

  “We will have to leave our home and business behind, of course, but there must be money as well, oui? Surely we could manage to bring most of that with us.”

  “Much of our money is tied up in investments…” His voice trailed off, as if he were not sure whether to say any more or not.

  Catherine was holding her breath, hoping he would, when suddenly Jules appeared in the doorway and his eyes fell on her.

  “For shame,” he said. “Here you are, eavesdropping again.”

  “Non. I was not trying to eavesdrop, Jules, I swear. I came to ask about Pierre but did not want to interrupt.”

  “Since when have you not wanted to interrupt?”

  “Jules,” Grand-Mère said, scolding him for the first time in years. “Stop.”

  Catherine felt a brief flush of victory—until Grand-Mère breezed past and shot her a withering look as well, one that said, He is right. You were eavesdropping.

  Catherine’s face grew warm. Once Grand-Mère had disappeared down the hall, she turned to her brother. “What happened to Pierre?”

  “Dragoons stopped him last night a few blocks from his home. They tried to scare him, but they did not hurt him. He is fine. ”

  “The butcher’s assistant did not sound like he was fine.”

  Jules shrugged. “He was at the print shop before I was this morning. He seemed well enough to me.”

  Unconvinced, Catherine turned and walked away. She would have to wait until church the next day to find out for herself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Catherine

  Easter morning, Cook put breakfast on the table and then headed to early mass with Monsieur Roen and Estelle. The plan was for them to be back in time to care for Amelie and Valentina, freeing everyone else—including Grand-Mère—to go to their own Easter service, which would start later in the morning.

  “Those of you who can should go,” Cook had said before she left. “You don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to meet together.”

  Even so, Catherine felt sure her grandmother would not leave Amelie’s side. That was why her mouth flew open a few hours later when she realized Grand-Mère was climbing into the carriage after her.

  “Don’t look so surprised, Catherine,” Grand-Mère scolded as she settled into her seat. “I would trust any of you in the care of Cook. And I believe Estelle is just as trustworthy. Besides, Amelie seems stronger today.”

  After that, no one else spoke the rest of the way. When they arrived, there were only a handful of other carriages nearby. Perhaps the majority of people had been scared away by the dragoons.

  Eager to see Pierre and know for certain that he was all right, Catherine was the first one out, and she took off quickly the moment her slippers hit the ground.

  “Wait,” Grand-Mère called after her—not because she needed an arm, Catherine felt sure, as she had Jules for that. No, she was trying to stop her granddaughter from rushing into the building like a frantic girl rather than walking in at a normal pace like a lady.

  Reluctantly, Catherine complied.

  Grand-Mère caught up with her at the bottom of the steps as Jules ambled ahead of them and opened the door. A few people greeted one another in the foyer. Pierre was not among them. With a pat to her grandmother’s arm, Catherine left her with her friends and continued on into the sanctuary alone, her eyes and mind frantic even if her movements were not. A group of women sat on the middle benches, while men were scattered on the rows outside. A couple of people sat in the balcony, though clearly from preference rather than necessity, as so few members were present.

  Pierre was nowhere in sight, nor was anyone else from his family.

  Catherine turned in a full circle, again scanning the entire sanctuary. What if he had left the country without her? Would he do that to her? She was afraid he might, especially after how frustrated she had been with him lately.

  She continued to stand even as the others began filing in from the foyer and taking their seats. She saw Grand-Mère go all the way to the front, where she joined a friend in the first row. Madame Berger sat with them as well.

  The benches in the temple were backless and made of the same pine as the timber beams overhead. The most ornate woodwork was the balcony railing—and even that was quite simple. The temple was as different from Saint-Jean-Baptiste as could be.

  Pastor Berger stepped up to the barrel-shaped wooden pulpit—nothing like the marble one at the cathedral. He led the congregation in singing Psalm 68, a favorite among the worshippers.

  Catherine slipped onto the last bench and forced herself to sing along with the others even as she kept turning to look toward the door, waiting for the arrival of her betrothed.

  “May God arise, may his enemies be scattered; may his foes flee before him.”

  A rustling overhead distracted Catherine, and as she looked up, her heart leaped. Pierre! He had come with Eriq, though she didn’t see their parents. The two men found seats in the first row of benches in the balcony, and then Pierre caught Catherine’s eye. Relief flooded through her. She had been so worried, but he really was all right.

  He smiled, causing her heart to lurch. She could not bear to think of what might have happened. He nodded, as if to reassure her, but when he turned his head toward the pastor, she saw a scrape on the left side of his face. Her heart lurched a second time, but she forced herself to calm down. At least he was alive.

  Turning back toward the front, she tried to focus on the music.

  After another song and a prayer, Pastor Berger began reading about the resurrection from Luke 24. “ ‘Now upon the first day of the week, very early in the morning, they came unto the sepulcher … ’ ” He paused for a moment and looked up. Catherine turned her head toward the door. Something was going on out in the street. Ignoring it, Pastor kept on reading, “ ‘… and they found the stone rolled away from the sepulcher. And they entered in, and fou
nd not the body of the Lord Jesus.’ ”

  The back door burst open with a crash of hooves and the snort of animals. Basile raced in on a horse, a burning torch in his hand. Waltier entered next, also astride a horse, and then a third dragoon followed, this one a captain that Catherine had not seen before.

  Pastor Berger climbed down from the pulpit and stood at the front of the church as several congregants fled out the back. Catherine rose, searching the balcony for Pierre, but both he and Eriq were gone.

  The captain shouted, “By order of King Louis XIV, the congregation of the Temple de Lyon must vacate these premises and never return. No services of any kind will be allowed, either in this building or in homes or in gatherings outside. All members of this congregation must convert to the eldest daughter of the Church, the Roman Catholic Church of France, and join his Majesty in the one true faith of our great country.”

  Catherine started down the aisle toward Grand-Mère, but Eriq was suddenly at her side, his hands gripping her elbow as he dragged her in the opposite direction.

  “Non,” she said, yanking away. Frantic, she looked around for Jules, who was blocked by the dragoons, also unable to get to their grandmother.

  Eriq grabbed Catherine again, and again she pulled away, crying, “Grand-Mère!”

  “Pierre has gone for her, Catherine! I am to see to you.”

  Basile wove his torch around, spying the banner above the pulpit, the new one with the Huguenot cross embroidered on it, that had been a gift from a southern congregation in Nîmes. He jerked his horse around to the front of the church and lit the fabric on fire. Someone screamed.

  Next Basile headed up the aisle, torching the benches as he went. The burning banner fell from the pole onto the pulpit.

  Desperate, Catherine searched through the thickening smoke for her grandmother and finally spotted her coming toward them, Pierre helping her along. Turning, the four of them headed for the door—but then Basile moved his horse into their aisle, blocking the way. They stopped. Catherine grabbed Grand-Mère’s hand and started leading her sideways along a bench, to the other aisle. Eriq followed, as did Pierre.