My Brother's Crown

by Mindy Starns Clark

  They weren’t traitors. They were heroes.

  Swallowing hard, she couldn’t help but remember Pierre’s many entreaties to trust him. She should have listened. She would know better now.

  Five minutes down the river, Jules and Pierre maneuvered the boat to a landing. Catherine knew what was up the trail—the childhood home of her mother. By the time they reached the door, Cook had it wide open, hugging each person as they passed through. “You don’t know how much it pained me to leave without you,” she said to Catherine, giving her a second hug.

  “Is Monsieur Roen here too?”

  She nodded. “We traveled through the night to make it. Jules and Pierre rode ahead on their horses holding lanterns to light the way.”

  Relief flooded through Catherine for the faithfulness of Cook and Monsieur Roen to all of them.

  Grand-Mère and Catherine concentrated on laying out a pallet on the floor in the front room and then getting Amelie settled there. The rest congregated in the dining room and kitchen.

  “Where is Valentina?” Amelie muttered.

  “I will get her,” Catherine said. Estelle was in the kitchen nursing the little one while Cook stoked the fire.

  As Catherine waited for her to finish, she listened to Waltier and Jules talking. It sounded as if their plan was for Waltier to break from the dragoons and hide deeper in the Plateau.

  “You can stay with a farmer I know,” Jules told him. “You should be safe there.”

  Waltier gestured toward Estelle.

  “Of course she is free to go, but I hope she will wait until the baby is weaned.” Jules sighed. “We are indebted to you, Waltier. All of us are. I will do whatever I can to help you.”

  “Merci. But what about you? What happens when they come back?”

  “What can I say? My conversion documents are genuine. There is nothing they can do.”

  “But Basile—”

  “Basile is all talk, fueled by wine and his ego, but that is it. There is no way I would have let him claim my cousin’s hand or allow that buffoon from Versailles have any right to my sister.”

  Waltier smiled.

  Catherine took the baby from Estelle to burp. As she patted the little one’s back, she turned to Waltier. “You have my gratitude too. You were a friend when we were children, and you have remained so.”

  He bowed his head toward her, and she stepped into the dining room with the baby. Pierre and Pastor Berger were deep in conversation. Madame Berger pushed up from the table. “I’ll see what I can do to help Cook.” Before she left, she told the boys they could go outside as long as they stayed between the house and the river.

  When Catherine reached the front room, she paused and looked down at Amelie, so beautiful, so pale. So ethereal.

  Blinking away tears, Catherine knelt and placed baby Valentina into the crook of her mother’s arm. Amelie smiled slightly in response but that was all. She didn’t open her eyes again or utter her daughter’s name. Holding back a sob, Catherine knelt beside mother and child, smoothing the hair from her beloved cousin’s feverish forehead. She watched as the baby wriggled for a moment before falling asleep. Catherine settled beside them, lying down and wrapping her arms around them both like a shield against a storm.

  She stayed there for a long while. She stayed even when Valentina awoke and grew fussy and was taken away by Estelle. She stayed as Amelie’s breathing ceased and her soul slipped off to heaven. She stayed even as Grand-Mère began sobbing at their loss.

  Early the next morning, on the Sunday of the Solemnity of the Holy Trinity, Pierre and Jules dug a grave in the flower garden. The group gathered around as the men carried Amelie one last time and lowered her body into the ground. Grand-Mère and Estelle clung to each other in grief. Pastor Berger gave a short funeral sermon, praying for Valentina and all of them, asking God to direct their paths. Catherine cradled the infant in her arms, her heart aching but her mind clear. Amelie’s legacy would live on, that much she knew.

  In the end, love would be stronger than death.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Catherine

  Cook roasted a chicken and root vegetables for dinner, but Catherine had no appetite. Neither did Grand-Mère, who teared up several times during the meal. Dabbing at her eyes, she said, “It is Amelie, oui, but it is also the baby. If Basile does not bring the letter of protection back, I have no documentation to protect her.” She turned toward Jules. “You will have to go back to the house and get the second copy.”

  He shook his head. “I can ask for it, but I doubt I will get it. I sold all of the household goods too.”

  Catherine shot him a look of frustration. He could have at least told her so she could have collected some of her things. Then she sighed. Perhaps he had entrusted Eriq with that bit of information as well. She addressed her grandmother. “I brought the second letter. It’s in my satchel.”

  Grand-Mère’s hand flew to her chest.

  “We can use it to go to England. You, Valentina, and me.”

  Jules shook his head. “The baby is too young.”

  “I am her godmother,” Catherine said.

  “And I am her godfather, as well as her guardian,” Jules countered.

  “I will not agree to having her raised outside our faith,” Catherine said. She could not bear the thought of leaving Amelie’s baby behind.

  “I am not going to England,” Grand-Mère said. “This is far enough. My eyesight is too bad and, besides, I have no desire to leave my homeland. I would rather live in the wilderness than abandon my country. I will assist Jules in raising Valentina, using my letter of protection to ensure my safety and the little one’s too.”

  Jules nodded. “I will still raise her in our faith in the privacy of our home. My conversion is as thin as the piece of paper it is written on. My heart has not changed.”

  “Am I to go to England alone then?” she whispered.

  “Your only other option is to stay here,” he said. “But to do that, you must convert. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”

  Catherine was grateful that Jules was giving her a choice. Many guardians would not.

  “Non,” she said. She had no reason to stay except to be with her family. She could not bear the thought of leaving them, but in her heart she felt certain God had another plan for her.

  “Do you want to go farther into the Plateau?”

  She shook her head, tears filling her eyes.

  “Then England is your best option,” Jules said. “I have set aside some money for you, and I’ve made a contact in Dartmouth. There is already a community established there. It’s not London, but it should afford some opportunities for you.”

  Catherine nodded. God would go with her.

  “Monsieur Roen is driving the shipment of paper, leaving tomorrow,” Jules said. “You can speak with merchants once you are in England and perhaps find more business opportunities for our family.”

  She nodded again, at first startled by his words but then deeply pleased. How far he had come in his opinion of her. She could only hope she would prove to be worthy of his expectations.

  Taking in a deep breath, she breathed in the mountain air, finding her courage but also feeling suddenly very much alone.

  Then Pierre cleared his throat and began to speak. “I would like to go to England too. With Catherine.” He stood and turned toward her. “As your husband.”

  She lifted her face toward his blue eyes. “You would have to want me as your wife.”

  “That is all I have ever wanted.”

  Her heart stopped for a moment and then began to race. She had once loved Pierre. Did she love him still? “We need to talk. You and me, alone.”

  He stood. “Let’s go down to the river.” He took her hand and led her out the kitchen door, around the house, and down the trail, past the Berger boys throwing pine cones at one another under the trees.

  Once they had reached the bank, he spread out his coat for her to sit on. Sunlight
reflected off the water, and the breeze danced through the boughs of the pines overhead.

  “You imagined us marrying,” Pierre said. “Is that not correct? Before everything fell apart.”

  She nodded. “Since I was a girl.”

  “And then you did not.”

  “I didn’t know what to think, Pierre. Everything felt so secretive. You weren’t honest with me anymore.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Is that the way it was for you too? You hoped we would marry someday and then you did not?”

  He shook his head. “Non. I’ve always wanted us to marry, although lately I feared we would not.”

  She shifted away from him. “I need to know what happened, why you didn’t trust me. Why you wouldn’t tell me what you were doing.” She needed an explanation. She couldn’t marry him if there wasn’t trust between them.

  He reached for her hand. “We didn’t want you at risk. Jules made up that story about you talking too much as an excuse.”

  “He was partly right,” Catherine admitted.

  “Well, sure,” Pierre said with a small smile, “but our silence really was for your protection. I didn’t want the dragoons suspecting you. And if you didn’t know what was going on, you wouldn’t act in a suspicious manner.” He leaned toward her. “You have always been so honest, Catherine, which is something I respect. It’s one of the many things I love about you. I just didn’t want it to harm you or those we were smuggling in and out of the warehouse.”

  “Eriq said you and Jules were turning people over to the dragoons, for money. I was afraid it was true.” She thought of her horrible, lonely ride toward the Plateau, no longer knowing who her brother was. And not knowing who Pierre had become.

  “We purposefully made it look that way. We hoped people would think that and start rumors. It kept the dragoons from suspecting us of sneaking our people out.”

  Catherine met his eyes. “Did you convert?”

  “Non.” He exhaled. “I wasn’t sure about it the way Jules was. He said it was his cross to bear.”

  “He carries it more like a crown,” Catherine said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He seems to have no regrets.”

  “Oui,” Pierre said. “I’m sure he does not. He methodically weighed his options and decided what was best.”

  “He plays by his own rules,” Catherine said. He always had. She remembered refusing to play games with him as a child, protesting against les règles de Jules. “He is always right,” she said.

  “Non,” Pierre interjected. “He has his doubts, his fears. He takes his responsibility deeply. But he is logical. He doesn’t move on emotions.”

  “Not like me.”

  “You and your brother are very different people. Do not try to understand him. Just know he has had your best interests in mind.”

  Catherine nodded. She knew that now.

  Pierre leaned toward her. “I didn’t feel good about deceiving you.” He paused, his eyes growing brighter. “I couldn’t talk to you because I had secrets from you. None of it felt right.”

  Catherine’s heart swelled. She swallowed hard, anticipating her last question.

  “Do you plan to convert?”

  He shook his head. “Never. It’s not my calling.”

  She nearly collapsed in relief. Merci, Seigneur. “What about your parents? Shouldn’t you go to Switzerland?”

  “We’ll write to them and ask them to come to England instead. We’ll start a business together there.”

  That was as it should be. “What about Eriq?”

  He leaned back. “I will pray for Eriq, for his soul, because he truly has a heart of deception. And of greed.” Pierre shrugged. “But he is my brother. I cannot help but wish him well. Anything else?”

  She hesitated. “Eriq said you were smuggling contraband.”

  Pierre shook his head. “What a caméléon.”

  “Were you?”

  “Oui. Bibles. Lots and lots of them. You know the small ones, like you have?”

  She nodded.

  “Jules printed off hundreds of those over the last year. He is afraid no one will have access to Bibles, so he smuggled them out in the rag carts. And then women smuggled them farther in their buns, under their caps.”

  Catherine smiled. Jules hadn’t made that up when he’d suggested it to her.

  “They are all over the Plateau now, and making their way down into the south too.”

  Catherine sighed, saddened that she had ever considered Eriq’s stories.

  “Anything else?” Pierre whispered.

  Catherine hesitated again but then smiled. “Non.”

  He reached for her hand. “I have something I need to say. You were right to complain that I have tended to follow your brother too blindly, without always thinking for myself.”

  She nodded, biting her tongue to keep from speaking.

  “But I’ve decided I will not do that anymore. I am my own man, and I have come to realize I can be a loyal friend and yet still disagree with him, standing firm on my own decisions and convictions.”

  He paused for a few moments, maybe expecting Catherine to say something, but for once she was speechless as her heart raced. But then she found her voice. “No, you haven’t been the puppet I accused you of. You didn’t convert. You adhered to your own convictions when it truly mattered.”

  Pierre smiled. “You were right. Jules followed his convictions, but until now I was simply following him.” He took her other hand and met her eyes. “Will you forgive me for deceiving you about the other things?”

  “Oui,” Catherine said. “Of course I forgive you, Pierre. And I thank you for the work you have done on behalf of our people.” She squeezed his hands. “But what of those who still need to be helped? Once you’re out of France…”

  “Then I will carry on that work from England, God willing. Jules and I have not been acting alone, Catherine. We are part of an entire network of sympathizers. I can be just as useful there as I have been here. Perhaps even more so.”

  She gazed at him, seeing for the first time in a long while the man he truly was.

  Looking deeply into her eyes, he whispered, “Will you marry me, mon coeur?”

  She met his eyes. “Oui. I want nothing more.”

  She respected him. Once again, she trusted him. She loved him. He was the man she wanted to marry. There was no one else she could imagine building a new life with.

  That Sunday afternoon Grand-Mère pulled Catherine aside and took her upstairs to a small room. “I found this dress,” she said. “It’s much nicer than your purple-and-gold gown, oui?”

  It was gray with a white collar. Catherine picked it up and held it to her chest. It looked to be a nearly perfect fit. They would need to take in the waist some, but that was all.

  Grand-Mère took her hand. “This is a day full of sadness but also full of joy. Amelie would want you to be happy. She would be thrilled you are marrying Pierre. That is what she wanted. That is what I wanted too.”

  “I know.”

  “Life goes on,” Grand-Mère said. “Valentina is proof of that. So is your marriage to Pierre. Despite the tragedies, Dieu est bon.”

  “Oui,” God was good. He’d been faithful even as she had doubted. He had cared for her even though she had been foolish.

  Next, Catherine, Jules, and Pierre worked out the marriage contract. It was simple. The dowry her father set aside for her would be sent by Jules from Lyon once Catherine and Pierre were settled, and Catherine would work with Pierre and his parents to establish a business, most likely a print shop. The couple would honor God and each other, striving to glorify the Lord in all things.

  Catherine wrote it out, and then she and Pierre both signed it. As her guardian, Jules did too.

  “I don’t have a ring for you,” Pierre said regretfully.

  Catherine touched the cross around her neck. “It’s all right. This is all I need.”

  Before the
sun set, Pastor Berger married Pierre and Catherine along the river. She wore the gray dress, a white lace head covering, and the silver Huguenot cross around her neck.

  Pastor Berger read a passage from Isaiah. The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose. The Plateau was often referred to as the wilderness, the desert where the persecuted fled, where they were exiled. With her family here, it did not feel like a wilderness to Catherine, not anymore. It felt like a place of safety. For a moment she wondered if she and Pierre should stay, but she knew in her heart it was not where God was leading them.

  Versailles, in all its opulence, felt far more like a desert than the Plateau. Dry. Unsustainable. Full of facades. A place of danger.

  As Pierre repeated his vows, she held his hand. They would be refugees and strangers in a new land.

  “Do you, Catherine…”

  For all those years she had thought she would marry Pierre. And then she did not. And now she was.

  “… take Pierre Talbot?” the pastor asked.

  “Oui,” she answered. It was what she wanted. In that moment she felt the starry-eyed wonder of her youth again.

  “Do you have a ring?” the pastor asked.

  Catherine shook her head, wishing they had asked him to take the question out.

  “I do,” Pierre said, taking something from his pocket. He held it in his fingers until he slipped it on her finger.

  It was her grandmother’s ring, the one with the ruby her grandfather had given his wife all those years ago. Catherine turned toward her.

  “It would have been yours anyway someday,” Grand-Mère said. “It’s better coming to you now from Pierre.”

  “Merci,” Catherine said, looking at her grandmother and then her husband.

  “You may kiss your bride,” Pastor said.

  It was a gentle kiss, sweet and tender with a hint of the passion that was yet to come.

  After the service, Catherine wrote out the marriage certificate under Pastor Berger’s direction and they all signed it. When it was done, he said that he and his family would not be going to England with Pierre and Catherine after all. “We would rather go farther into the Plateau,” he explained. “I think that will be a life better suited for our boys.”