My Brother's Crown

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Flames now engulfed the front of the sanctuary.

  “You must vacate the temple immediately!” the captain shouted. “The doors will be barricaded. Anyone left inside will perish.”

  Catherine handed off Grand-Mère to a friend, and as the two of them continued on to the door, she turned and looked for her brother. She did not see him anywhere. Closer to the front Madame Berger shouted, “Where is Jacob?”

  Catherine saw Pastor Berger still standing at the front of the church, searching the balcony.

  “Jacob!” Madame Berger yelled.

  The next youngest boy ran from behind the burning pulpit.

  “Get out!” Pastor Berger cried. “All of you!”

  “Jacob!” the distraught mother yelled again.

  “Maman! Up here.” Through the slats of the railing, five-year-old Jacob peered down at all of them.

  Pierre took off running toward the stairs.

  Catherine tried to go as well, but Eriq caught her by the wrist and dragged her toward the door. Even as she kicked at his shin with her foot, he held on, and he was much stronger than she would have expected.

  “Get out!” Pastor Berger was shouting to his boys and wife. “I will help Pierre.”

  Catherine quickly shifted her weight, trying to yank herself free some other way. She could not but managed to twist enough to see Jacob still kneeling in the same place up in the loft, along the railing, his arms outstretched through the slats. The older boys, who had encircled their mother, were moving toward the door as instructed, Basile waving his torch behind them. Smoke completely filled the sanctuary now and burned Catherine’s eyes until Eriq wrapped an arm around her waist and forced her out the door.

  Stumbling forward and trying to catch her breath, she spotted her grandmother a short way off, huddling with some of the others. Jules stood beyond them, his arms crossed. Disgusted with his inaction, she noticed Waltier, sitting on his horse on the street below. He looked away.

  “Do something!” Catherine shouted at him. “Pierre was once your friend! Now you would have him die?”

  Waltier ignored her, but a pained expression flickered across his face.

  As Madame Berger and two of her boys came through the door, Basile jumped from his horse and slammed it shut.

  Finally free of Eriq, Catherine ran toward the side of the church, through the passageway. Surely the back door would be unlocked. But it was not. It had been barred from the inside.

  “Pierre!” she yelled, banging on the door. Eriq joined her. Glass broke overhead and Catherine stepped back, sure heat from the fire was blowing out the windows.

  But a small leg appeared and then another. Then the rest of Jacob.

  “Over here,” Catherine yelled to him. “Come to the edge of the roof, in the corner. You can climb down the trellis.” She expected Pierre to be right behind the boy, but he was not, nor was the child’s father.

  Terrified he might slip on the tiles and fall from the high roof, she started toward the trellis herself, intending to climb up and get him.

  “Catherine,” Eriq yelled, grabbing her arm yet again and stopping her short.

  She struggled against him until she saw Pastor Berger climbing out of the window and onto the roof. He took Jacob’s hand, and together they inched across the roof toward the corner.

  Smoke started billowing through the broken window.

  “Where is Pierre?” she shouted.

  Without looking down, Pastor Berger yelled, “He is coming!”

  A moment later another set of legs appeared at the window and then Pierre, his face covered with soot, emerged. He paused a moment, his hands on his knees, as he sucked in air and then coughed. Relief flooded through Catherine even as her legs began to shake.

  The trellis held as first Jacob and then Pastor Berger climbed down. Catherine scooped the sooty little boy up into her arms and held on tight until his father made it all the way down. Then she lowered Jacob to the ground, and he grabbed hold of his father’s leg.

  By the time Pierre reached the trellis, the members who had not fled had gathered in the back with them, including Grand-Mère, though Jules was not among the small crowd.

  Once Pierre was nearly down, Catherine took in the sight of the church as a whole. Flames shot from the roof now. It had not been fancy, but it had been theirs. How she wished she would have valued it more.

  “All is lost,” she said to Grand-Mère.

  “Au contraire. Nothing is lost. We are the Lord’s temple, Catherine, not some building.”

  As soon as Pierre hit the ground, Pastor Berger wrapped him in an embrace. Then, as their leader, he instructed everyone to leave the premises before someone was injured. “You will hear from me soon,” he said, his voice quiet and raspy. “We are the church, not this building,” he added, echoing Grand-Mère’s words. “Remember that, my brethren.”

  People began to scatter, though Catherine remained where she was, watching as Pierre tousled Jacob’s hair and then, almost shyly, raised his head toward her.

  She exhaled, tears filling her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but it was no use. They spilled down her cheeks, surely making dark streaks on her face.

  Seeing her tears, he came to her, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close despite propriety. Given the circumstances, not even Grand-Mère objected.

  “I thought I had lost you for sure this time,” Catherine whispered.

  “You cannot get rid of me that easily,” he replied, burying his face in her hair.

  After a long moment, Eriq stepped over to join them, so finally they pulled apart.

  “My brother, the hero,” Eriq teased, slapping Pierre on the back. Though he seemed proud, Catherine thought perhaps he was a tiny bit jealous as well.

  “You were a hero too, Eriq,” she said, remembering how strongly he had held on to her despite her frantic thrashings. “Merci for coming to save me. I’m sorry I fought you.”

  “Oui,” Pierre added, his eyes twinkling, “I saw it happening. I do believe Catherine was a foe nearly as fierce as the fire.”

  “And I’ll have the bruises to prove it,” Eriq agreed, grinning as he rubbed his shin.

  Grand-Mère stepped closer and quietly asked Pierre how his parents were.

  His smile faded, his expression growing somber. “On their way,” he replied softly.

  Catherine gasped. “Out of the country?” How could he not have told her?

  He glanced around and then nodded.

  “I suspected as much,” Grand-Mère said. “Ah, bien. You and Eriq join us for Easter dinner. We have much to discuss.”

  “Easter dinner?” Catherine snapped, her sudden anger with Pierre falling onto her grandmother instead. “Who can eat at a time like this?”

  “Mind yourself, Granddaughter,” she replied, then she turned and moved away.

  Chagrined, Catherine directed her attention back to Pierre.

  His parents’ departure for Switzerland had an impact on her life too, yet he had chosen not to share that with her. She could not trust him—and he did not seem to think he could trust her either.

  Pierre and Eriq had walked to the temple, so they crowded into the carriage with the Gillets. As they drove away, a fire wagon sped by, most likely to protect the surrounding buildings. It was too late to save the temple, even if the dragoons would have allowed them to try. Already the roof was falling in. Soon the walls would collapse.

  All was not lost, however, Catherine reminded herself. No one had been killed, and everyone was safe—though how the group of believers would continue on and worship together after this was beyond her comprehension.

  Feeling the loss, she turned to her brother, who sat across from her. “You certainly didn’t exert yourself to help.”

  “Granddaughter!” Grand-Mère scolded for the second time that day.

  Jules shrugged. “The situation was under control. There was nothing I could do.”

  Catherine swallowed hard to keep from respo
nding. Always the pragmatist, her brother. How very different he was from Eriq and Pierre.

  Once they reached home, they all eventually gathered in the dining room, and Catherine found herself appraising the two brothers. Their faces were clean again, and though Eriq was still in his own clothes, Pierre was wearing a simple pair of too-short trousers and a white shirt drawn tight across his broad shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much bigger and more muscular Pierre was than Jules until she saw him in her brother’s clothes. When he turned to speak to Grand-Mère, Catherine noticed a smudge of soot still behind one of his ears, and she found herself fighting the urge to reach out and wipe it away with her fingertips. As upset as she was with him, she could not deny her attraction, which never seemed to go away.

  They settled in at the table, but Catherine found the scene disturbing. How could everyone just sit here and share a meal as if it were any other ordinary Easter? Didn’t they understand that after today nothing would ever be the same? If burning the churches did not make the Huguenots convert, then who was to say that the next step would not be to burn down their houses?

  Finally, as the food began to come in from the kitchen, she could not hold her tongue any longer despite Grand-Mère’s previous warning. Working hard to keep her tone from sounding in any way disrespectful, she waited until the footman left and then turned to her grandmother.

  “How can you have an appetite after what we have all just been through?” she asked, and then she looked to the others. “All of you. How can you sit here and share a feast when our precious temple has been burned to the ground—very nearly taking Pierre with it?”

  They all grew quiet for a moment until finally Grand-Mère responded, quoting a line from the twenty-third Psalm.

  “ ‘Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies,’ ” she said, her tone strong but her eyes kind.

  Catherine understood. Then she picked up her fork, somehow finding her appetite on the strength of God’s Word.

  Over their dinner of salad, rack of lamb, and spring beans, Pierre revealed more about his parents’ departure—information that Jules obviously already knew. Monsieur and Madame Talbot had left early yesterday morning. If all went as planned, they would have crossed into Switzerland by now, headed for Bern.

  “Mother has been terrified,” Pierre said. “Her great-grandparents were both killed before the Edict of Nantes. Unfortunately, she grew up with that horrible story.”

  “I hope they won’t stay in Switzerland,” Eriq said.

  Jules shrugged. “It’s as good a place as anywhere else. They want to see what the business climate is there, especially for printers.”

  “They will write when they can,” Pierre interjected. “They finally decided it best if Eriq and I came later, after they have a place for all of us to settle.”

  Catherine cringed inside. So Pierre had agreed to Switzerland without having bothered to discuss it with her at all.

  “We’ll help here, with the business, as long as we can,” Pierre added.

  Madame Talbot was an anxious woman. Perhaps she feared if the boys did not stay, the family would not get their fair share of the printing shop if it sold.

  “We should all be leaving,” Catherine said. She bit her tongue to keep from adding that they should be going somewhere besides Switzerland, somewhere with more opportunities. “The sooner the better.”

  “Oui,” Eriq said, and she flashed him a grateful look.

  Jules answered, “It’s not something to rush into.”

  “Rush?” Catherine shook her head. “There is no worry about that.”

  “That is enough,” Grand-Mère said as the footman entered to clear the plates without the bell being rung.

  Catherine leaned back in her chair.

  All were silent until the footman left again.

  “This is larger than just us, as I have said before,” Jules uttered quietly. “We must think of the future with regard to the Lord’s work, our families, our employees, and our country.”

  Catherine wished she could freely speak her mind. For all his talk, she knew what he was really placing above all else was money, business, and profits—and nothing more.

  After a dessert of crispy bugnes and stewed pears, Pierre asked Catherine to join him in the courtyard. Sunshine warmed the area, and the two sought a bright patch on the other side of the chestnut tree.

  She asked him what he planned to do.

  “Jules has an idea he’s working on.”

  “One that includes buying the paper mill on the Plateau?”

  Pierre’s face reddened.

  Catherine crossed her arms. “Why would you encourage him in taking any sort of business risk now? He is too buried in obligations as it is. I love my brother, but he’s not a man of action except when it comes to expanding the business.”

  Pierre shrugged.

  Catherine felt her resentment growing. “I don’t care if he thought the situation was under control today. Why was he one of the first to leave the church? He didn’t even risk going around to the back to see if he could help.”

  Pierre shook his head. “He was right. We didn’t need any more help—”

  “He would not have been any help is what you mean. He is the least courageous person I know.”

  “I cannot agree with you, Catherine.” He stepped back. “Not at all.”

  “His priorities are wrong, Pierre. Why else would he plan to buy another business when we should be fleeing the country as your parents have? I know how it works. I have heard the whisperings. I know people are willing to help us along the way.”

  His eyes widened. “Then you also know that there are those who pretend to help but in the end do the opposite. Would such a risk be worth it?’

  She exhaled, ignoring the question as she came at the issue with a different approach. “Eriq doesn’t want to sit around and wait either. He said so today.”

  “Well, he hardly wanted to flee to Switzerland when he was given the chance.” Pierre leaned toward her. “You and Eriq are a lot alike, actually. It troubles me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Pierre sighed. “I heard of your plan to go to Versailles.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Jules.”

  Catherine hadn’t said a word to her brother, which meant Grand-Mère must have. Perhaps, because Amelie was better, it might be a possibility soon. “We’re only going in order to secure help—safe passage—from Grand-Mère’s friend. That is all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She turned to face him more directly. “What are you insinuating?”

  He shrugged. “Like Eriq, you have always yearned for the finer things, for what a refugee could never have—”

  “My faith is the most important thing in my life!”

  He nodded, but he didn’t look as if he quite believed her.

  “You have a great-uncle in Paris, non?” he said. “Perhaps he will ask you to stay.”

  “Do not be ridiculous. I would never do that.”

  He motioned toward the house. “You wouldn’t stay in Paris even if the alternative was giving up the luxury you are used to? Not if your only other option was moving to the Plateau? Or fleeing to Switzerland? To perhaps live in poverty the rest of your life?”

  Catherine hesitated. “Is that what Jules has planned for all of us?”

  Pierre frowned. “I’m not at liberty to speak for your brother.”

  “First, if we are able to make the trip, we will see if Grand-Mère’s friend can help us. My family has many connections. It’s hard to imagine someone not protecting us.”

  Their eyes met, but Catherine looked away, aware that she hadn’t really answered his question. If her only choices were Paris or the Plateau, which would she choose? She belonged with her family and her fellow Huguenots, even if that meant the Plateau. In her mind there was no doubt.

  In her heart, however, she was not quite so sure.

  Footsteps f
ell on the other side of the chestnut tree and then Eriq appeared.

  “We should get going, if we still have a home to go to.”

  Pierre nodded. “We will walk past the temple on the way to see if anything is left.”

  “Be careful,” Catherine said. Surely the dragoons would not still be there.

  Eriq gave her a parting smile, which she returned. He had been brave today. She was sure he would have gone after the pastor’s son if Pierre had not. And his arms had been so strong around her, forcing her out of the church for her own safety.

  “Merci, again,” she said to him.

  “For?”

  “All that you did today.”

  “It was nothing.” He smiled and then followed Pierre across the courtyard and to the street.

  When Catherine returned to the house, Grand-Mère had retreated to her apartment with Amelie.

  Jules was in his study, the door open. “Catherine,” he called out as she passed by. “Come here for a moment.”

  Reluctantly, she stepped into the room. He sat at his bare desk, his hands folded on top. “What would you have me do?”

  “About?”

  “All of this.”

  She placed her palms down on the wooden surface and leaned forward. “I would have you do something. Anything!”

  “Monsieur Talbot didn’t have much of a plan except to get his wife to a safer place. I want to do better than that.”

  “You have had enough time to plan, Jules. Now is time for action.”

  “Action. Such as?”

  Catherine felt the heat in her cheeks. “Going north and crossing the Channel to England. Or… something.”

  “We have a sick cousin.”

  That was true.

  “And a newborn baby. How would we travel to the Channel, let alone cross it? And what money would we use once we made it out of France?”

  “Do we not have savings?”

  “Most of it is tied up in the courts right now due to Uncle’s death. And then there is this house, as well as the family estate. I cannot liquidate these assets if we leave the country. They would simply be seized instead. Is that what you want? To lose everything our family has worked for? To live as paupers because you were too impatient to do this the right way? We can leave Lyon if need be, Catherine, but we cannot leave France. At least not yet. If we do, we lose everything.”