My Brother's Crown

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “I pray you will return to Paris and I will be able to buy you more,” he said.

  Catherine curtsied, thinking of his debts. Grand-Mère kissed her brother and thanked him too, but there seemed to be a rift between them.

  Eriq thundered down the stairs, his bag in his arms.

  “Yvonne, please reconsider,” Uncle Laurent said. “I can offer care for Amelie and the baby. For all of you. If the men refuse to come, let me at least care for the women in the family.”

  Grand-Mère shook her head. “We are trusting the Lord for what we need.”

  “The Lord and Suzanne.”

  “The Lord, Laurent. Whom He uses is up to Him.”

  “Then let Him use me.”

  She shook her head and started out the door, saying over her shoulder, “You ask too much of us.”

  “Do not be ridiculous, Yvonne. I cannot let you leave like this, unprotected.”

  “We have Suzanne’s letter.”

  He shuddered. “Do you think that will save your lives?”

  “Our lives belong to the Lord. We have asked for as much assistance as prudent, and we will now trust our Maker with our destinies.”

  Uncle Laurent shook his head. “You are a foolish woman.”

  Grand-Mère merely shrugged.

  Uncle Laurent turned to Eriq. “It is now up to you to change the minds of the women in this family.”

  Eriq nodded, solemnly. “I shall do my best.” Then he offered his own thanks.

  Uncle Laurent clapped him on the back, saying, “It was my pleasure. I look forward to… seeing you again.”

  Catherine stepped around the men and hurried to catch up with her grandmother, wondering exactly what Eriq had been up to. By the time they reached the carriage, he was right behind them. Once they were all settled, the driver pulled onto the street and then away from the Jardin du Luxembourg and toward the Seine.

  By the time they had reached the countryside, Catherine put her doubts about Eriq aside. He had been assisting Uncle Laurent with some business. It was the least he could do for their host. Eriq used good judgment—she knew that. She had no reason to doubt his integrity.

  They stopped at the same inns on the way home, but Eriq did not speak with fellow travelers as he had before. He seemed reflective, but he was also fun and playful on occasions, teasing Catherine that she had better hide her new dresses and top-knot before they got home or Jules would not let her leave the house. The last night, Catherine and Eriq walked down to the Saône. The breeze blew through the cottonwoods and a flock of swifts flew up into the sky, above the river, and then swooped back and settled in the trees. Eriq put his hands on her shoulders and gazed down into her eyes. Her heart raced and she turned her face toward him.

  “It has been a wonderful trip,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “Absolutely beyond my expectations.”

  “Oui,” she answered, remembering what Grand-Mère said about the brothers not being interchangeable. Of course they were not. They were as different as could be. And she could not help but appreciate Eriq’s determination.

  He leaned toward her, as if he might kiss her. She stepped away, her thoughts on kissing Pierre in the vault.

  “Catherine,” Eriq said, his head dropping.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “I’m tired.” And confused. She started back to the inn and Eriq quickly followed, not seeming upset in the least.

  Regardless of whether she married Pierre or not, she still owed him her respect. Maybe they would never marry, but she was not going to insult his dignity. Time would tell which brother was right for her. It was not up to her to rush the decision—nor to kiss any other man in the meantime.

  On the road the next day, after Grand-Mère nodded off, Eriq apologized for being too forward. “I would be honored to have your affection, but I don’t mean to rush you.”

  “Merci,” Catherine answered. “I don’t want to be rash.” At least not more than she usually was. She had enjoyed spending time with him in Paris. He had been a good friend to her, and she couldn’t discount that, not at all.

  Grand-Mère stirred, and Catherine wondered if she had been asleep or merely resting. Eriq didn’t say anything more on the subject and neither did Catherine.

  The travelers returned home on the last Tuesday of May, the sixth Tuesday of Easter. Monsieur Roen met them in the courtyard.

  “How is everything?” Grand-Mère asked him as he helped her down.

  “There have been some changes with the staff.”

  “Oh?”

  “Cook will tell you.” He extended his hand to Catherine.

  Eriq jumped down next and helped Monsieur with the trunk as the women went into the house. Cook was not in the kitchen.

  “Bonjour,” Grand-Mère called out as they continued into the house.

  “Bonjour, Madame!” Cook exclaimed, scurrying down the hallway with bedding in her hands. “We received your message you were coming early, but it only arrived yesterday.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Amelie has not been feeling well again. Not gravely ill by any means, but not well.”

  Grand-Mère passed Cook in the hall. “Where is the housekeeper?”

  “Gone, and so is the footman.”

  Grand-Mère froze. “But you are still here.”

  “Oui, and Monsieur Roen too. We told you we did not plan to go anywhere.”

  Grand-Mère’s voice wavered as she spoke. “What about Estelle?”

  “She is here, nursing the babe and caring for Amelie, and also helping with the cleaning and the wash. Doing all she can.”

  “Merci,” Grand-Mère said. “To all of you.” She continued on to her rooms.

  When Catherine reached the bedchamber, Grand-Mère was hovering over Amelie, her hand on her forehead. Estelle stood at the end of the bed with the baby.

  “Catherine,” Grand-Mère said. “Send Monsieur Roen for the physician. And get cold water and rags.”

  As Catherine spoke with Cook in the kitchen, Eriq came in carrying the trunk. “Amelie is ill again,” Catherine said. “Leave the trunk in Grand-Mère’s sitting room.”

  He nodded and kept on going.

  “Is Jules at the shop?” Catherine asked.

  “Non. He and Pierre left for the Plateau last week,” Cook said. “I had a message from them too—Amelie read it—that they should be back soon.”

  “Why did they go when she was ill?” Catherine asked.

  “She was better when they left. And Father Philippe assured them there would be no problems with the dragoons for a few weeks—and he was right.” Cook shrugged. “Although I’m not so sure that others have not had difficulties. Several more in your congregation have disappeared.”

  “Who?” Catherine’s heart began to race.

  “The butcher and his family, for one.”

  “Did they disappear before or after Jules and Pierre left for the Plateau?”

  Cook placed her finger on her chin. “Let me see… just before, I believe.”

  Catherine inhaled sharply. That did not mean anything, not really. Eriq had to be mistaken. “Perhaps the butcher and his family fled?”

  Cook shrugged. “I hope so, but the less we all know when the dragoons return, the better.”

  “They are returning for sure?”

  Cook nodded. “That is what Father Philippe said. He tried to get them reassigned, but to no avail. They destroyed your temple, and then they gave your people a chance to convert. Now their plan is to return and to clear Lyon of the Huguenots completely.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Oui. Believe me, it was an answer to my prayers to have you two come back ahead of schedule.”

  “What about the Berger family?” Catherine put her hand on the table and leaned toward Cook.

  “They are still here. Madame Berger came several times to check on Amelie, but now their boys are ill.”

  Catherine sighed. So many trials and tribulations. “How about the guard
s from the convent? Did they come back?”

  “Oui, after Jules and Pierre left, but Monsieur Roen marched them down to the cathedral and Father Philippe chastised them. They haven’t been back since.”

  Catherine couldn’t help but smile at the thought. God bless Father Philippe. He was a true friend to them. He loved the way the Lord commanded.

  Eriq came back through the kitchen and said he was going to the shop to see how things were there. “Then I will go back to our house and see if we have any staff left.” He started toward the door. “I am guessing we do not.”

  The physician arrived in the late afternoon, listening to Amelie’s heart, his ear against a cloth spread over her chest. “It has weakened more,” he said. “I am afraid I will need to do the bloodletting after all.” He turned toward Grand-Mère. “I will need help.”

  “Of course.”

  “Grab the basin.” The physician took a lancet from his bag. “I will cut her foot.”

  Catherine felt herself grow faint and turned to go. She remembered the smell of the bloodletting of her mother when she was a girl. She hurried out of the room and down the hall, breathing deeply as she did.

  Without saying anything to Cook, she made her way into the courtyard and collapsed under the chestnut tree. First her mother, then her father, and then her uncle. Surely not Amelie too. Tears filled her eyes. Death was part of life. She knew that. But not her sweet cousin.

  She swiped at her tears. She would have to be strong. It would be up to her to care for Valentina. Grand-Mère’s eyesight was worsening, and as much as Catherine longed for her grandmother to never die, she would not live forever either. Even though Jules would be Valentina’s legal guardian, he knew nothing about children, especially little girls.

  She stood and leaned against the tree as the courtyard door scraped open, followed by the neighing of a horse. She turned toward the street as Jules and then Pierre rode into the courtyard.

  Her brother nodded at her while Pierre broke into a grin, but as he neared his expression fell. “Is everything all right?” he asked, dismounting his horse as Jules continued on to the stable.

  Remembering what Eriq had shared in Paris about his suspicions, she stepped back. She felt a distance from Pierre she had never experienced before.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  No. Eriq had to have been mistaken. Pierre didn’t tell her everything, but he wouldn’t be involved in anything as sordid as betraying their own people. She put those thoughts aside, welcomed him, and then told him about the change in Amelie’s health.

  He stepped closer, his expression empathetic, but he didn’t reach out to her. Perhaps he too was aware of the distance the last few weeks had put between them. “I’m sorry, Catherine.” He smelled like the road—dust mixed with fresh air and the sweat of his horse.

  “I have something for you,” he said. She hadn’t brought him anything from Paris. He stepped toward his horse, opened a saddlebag, retrieved a small packet, and handed it to her.

  She untied it. Inside was a silver cross on a chain, a Huguenot cross like the one on the banner that Basile had burned when he set the temple on fire.

  “Merci,” she said, meeting his blue eyes as she tried to fasten the chain around her neck.

  “Let me help.” He stepped behind her and saw to the clasp, his hands lingering for a moment. She turned to face him again, her fingers on the cross.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Pierre nodded and smiled again. “The Plateau is magnificent. La rivière Lignon is small but it has its own rugged beauty. And the people—they are kind and caring. Good, good people.”

  Catherine stepped back. “It appears Jules has completely manipulated you, then.”

  “Non,” Pierre said. “It’s just not the desert that everyone makes it sound.” He met her gaze. “God is there.”

  She let go of the cross.

  “We will be returning to the Plateau soon,” Pierre said. “Jules is still hoping to buy the paper mill—and we have already started building the warehouse. He hired a manager to see that the work continues.”

  None of it made any sense. “Why would he do that?” she asked as her brother approached.

  “Do what?” he asked. Before she could answer, he turned to Pierre. “I told you not to discuss this—”

  Insulted, Catherine crossed her arms. “Bonjour, Jules,” she said to her brother, her voice tense.

  “Bonjour, ma soeur,” he answered, placing his hands on her shoulders and kissing her cheeks, even though her arms were still crossed. “I trust your trip went well.”

  “Oui,” she answered. “But Amelie took a turn for the worse again after you left.”

  He cringed and released her. “How is the baby?”

  “Good.”

  He turned and hurried toward the house.

  Catherine tucked the cross under her dress. “It looks as if we still differ regarding the future,” she said to Pierre.

  He simply nodded. Perhaps Eriq was the right Talbot for her after all.

  Amelie seemed better after the bloodletting. Grand-Mère doctored her foot every morning, noon, and night, and the lancet wound healed quickly.

  On the day of the Ascension, the last of May, the family gathered in the lounge for Scripture reading and prayer, and Amelie was strong enough to join them. Once they were finished, Catherine and Estelle spread thin sheets of fabric over the furniture and then did the same in the dining room. From now on, the family would meet together in Grand-Mère’s sitting room and take their meals in the kitchen. It was too much work with too few hands to clean the unnecessary rooms.

  On the seventh Friday of Easter, Pastor Berger arrived at the house, asking for Grand-Mère. He was obviously ill and said Madame Berger was worse. “She is delirious with fever. So many have left that I do not know who else to ask. Could Catherine come and nurse Madame?”

  Grand-Mère said she would go herself. Catherine protested, but she knew she would not do Madame much good. Grand-Mère insisted. “Send someone for me if Amelie worsens. Or if the dragoons return.”

  The day after Pentecost, as Catherine tried to think about the coming of the Holy Spirit into the world, the dragoons showed up. Basile was as noisy and obnoxious as ever. Catherine immediately sent Monsieur Roen after Grand-Mère, but he returned without her. “She has fallen ill,” he said. “You are to stay in her apartment with Amelie and Estelle.”

  The next day, before he left for the print shop, Jules announced that he and Pierre would be leaving for the Plateau in two days. “Eriq is going to come and stay here.”

  Obviously Eriq had not said anything to Jules about his feelings for Catherine, and she certainly wasn’t going to. “Do you think he can handle the dragoons?”

  “I have spoken to Father Philippe. He will help if needed. Monsieur Roen knows to summon him if anything comes up. And Eriq is maturing. I’m impressed with the connections he made in Paris. One has worked out for our benefit.”

  Catherine cocked her head. “Oh?”

  “He is proving himself,” Jules said. “I have no doubt he will protect all of you.”

  Catherine nodded. Eriq would be as much—or more—of a protector than Jules. But she could not help thinking of Eriq’s suspicions that Jules and Pierre had been betraying Huguenots to the dragoons. “He had some… concerns… about you and Pierre that he voiced to me in Paris.”

  “Concerns?” Jules shrugged. “He was probably testing you to see how gullible you are—”

  “Perhaps.” Catherine answered. “But—”

  Jules stepped toward the door, cutting her off before she could say more. “I’ll be staying at the shop late tonight and tomorrow.”

  Catherine did her best to stay hidden as the dragoons were in and out, but the next evening, on the Tenth Wednesday in Ordinary Time, Basile followed her back to the suite after she had returned the dinner tray.

  She scurried through the door, shoving it shut behind her, but he managed to get
his foot in the way. “Leave me alone,” she hissed.

  He laughed. “It is not you I am after.”

  She hoped he was not transferring his affections to Estelle. Catherine knew she was fond of Waltier.

  She pushed on the door harder. “Go away.”

  He heaved back and came crashing through, sending her to the floor. Trying to scramble to her feet, she stepped on her gown, stumbled, and yet managed to block the doorway to the bedchamber.

  “How is your cousin feeling?” Basile asked.

  “She is ill.”

  “I am not particular.” Basile pushed against Catherine with his firearm, breaking her hold on the doorjamb. He forced his way past her into the bedchamber. Estelle, huddled in the corner with the baby, cried out. Waltier must have been in the hallway because he rushed through the sitting room into the bedchamber too.

  Estelle turned away from Basile, protecting the baby.

  “Sorry,” Waltier muttered.

  “Stay,” Catherine begged, positioning herself between Basile and Amelie, who sat up in the bed.

  Basile shook his head at Catherine, and she sat down beside her cousin, completely blocking Basile’s view.

  “I ran into the guards from the convent today,” he said. “They told me about your escape.”

  “It’s none of your concern,” Catherine said.

  “Oh, it is,” Basile replied. “The baby needs to be returned.”

  Catherine sat tall. “Non. She was baptized into our church.”

  Basile laughed. “Prove it.”

  Catherine opened her mouth but then closed it. Pastor Berger probably had not recorded it, and even if he had, the records would have burned. “The baby belongs with her mother,” Catherine said.

  “You are right, she does,” Basile said. “Under my protection. If Amelie marries me, the baby stays here. If not, I take her to the convent.”

  Amelie groaned. Estelle yelped. Waltier’s face turned ashen.

  Basile was being ridiculous about marrying Amelie, but perhaps not about taking the baby. Catherine stood and stepped toward Basile. “When?”

  “Immediately.”