My Brother's Crown (24 page)

Grand-Mère was in the sitting room, holding Valentina and talking with Estelle. Watching them, Catherine thought about both women losing sons in the past week. Grand-Mère had lost other children in her life as well—several babies, a toddler, a daughter at age ten. Papa three years ago. Two daughters-in-law. Catherine did not know all the stories of the earlier deaths, just bits and pieces. Just enough to know Grand-Mère had treasured Amelie and Catherine as her own from the moment they were born. And now she had Valentina to love.

“You should go,” she said to Catherine. “Monsieur Roen will have the carriage ready.”

“
Oui
, I just need my cloak.” She stepped into the bedchamber.

Amelie sat up in bed, appearing more rested than she had all day.

Catherine sat down beside her. “Are you feeling better?”

“Some.” Amelie reached for Catherine's hand. “How was dinner?”

“Quiet.”

Amelie smiled wryly. “I take it Jules was off somewhere in his thinking, far from you.”

Catherine sighed. “If only I could get a glimpse of what goes on in
that mind of his.” She squeezed her cousin's hand. “He said he spoke with the solicitor, though he would not give me any details.”

“I thought that might be the case. Either that, or the guards came for me and you scared them away.”

“Any of us would.” She kissed her cousin on the forehead. “You are well loved.”

“I cannot tell you how grateful I am to be home.” Tears filled Amelie's eyes. “God used you to answer my prayers. I do not think Valentina or I could have lasted much longer.”

“Hush,” Catherine whispered. “Do not speak in such a way. You are safe now.”

Grand-Mère called out. “Jules is waiting,
chérie
.”

Catherine kissed Amelie again and then jumped to her feet, grabbing her head covering, cloak, and Bible. She bid her cousin
au revoir
and headed through the sitting room, waving to Grand-Mère and Estelle as she went.

Jules was standing by the carriage, and he climbed inside after Catherine. Then Monsieur Roen took the reins and they were off. As they pulled through the gate and onto the road, Catherine found herself thinking again about all of those deaths. It was one thing for Catherine to lose her mother as a young child and to search for her in every Madonna she saw, but it had been quite another thing to have lost Papa eleven years later when she understood death so much more clearly.

Her father had been kind and gentle. He was as relaxed as Jules was intense, and as much of a feeler as Jules was a thinker. Papa was her security, her anchor. Once he was gone, had it not been for Grand-Mère's continual infusion of Scripture and life lessons, Catherine was not sure how she would have survived that time of emotional upheaval. It was Grand-Mère's constant presence and, in the past two years, the hope of a future with Pierre that had kept Catherine grounded.

The ride to Pastor Berger's was short, and once they arrived Jules told Monsieur Roen to go on to mass. “Give Cook a ride home, would you? We can walk.” Then he led the way into the house with Catherine following behind.

The furniture had been pushed to the sides of the kitchen and living
area, and the members of the congregation who had dared to venture out stood around the room. Pastor Berger greeted them at the door. Above, in the sleeping loft, the boys and other children had gathered. The youngest Berger child, five-year-old Jacob, leaned against the railing and smiled down at Catherine. She winked in return. For the moment, with the dragoons gone, the children seemed relaxed, although the adults were clearly on edge.

Pierre entered the house a few minutes later, just as Pastor Berger began with the hymn “All Mortal Flesh Be Silent.” The melody, sung softly by the congregants, reverberated to the open timbers of the house.

Next Pastor Berger read the crucifixion account from the Gospel of Mark. Catherine followed along in her new Bible, which fit into her apron pocket, a small one her brother had printed in the shop and given her a few months before. Then Pastor Berger admonished the congregation to remain strong in the face of persecution. Before closing, he announced that for Easter they would meet in the temple. “The good Lord told us not to fear,” he said. “We will carry on with our usual practices after tonight.”

Once the service ended, Pierre stepped to Catherine's side as she warmed herself by the fire.

“Why are your parents and Eriq not here?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Mother heard about your ordeal at the market today. When she found out the Bergers have dragoons lodging with them too, she didn't want to come.” He leaned his shoulder against the stone mantle. “She's afraid we will have dragoons living with us next.” He lowered his voice even more. “She and father are talking about leaving.” He shook his head. “Father is taking steps to make that happen.”

“Leaving? For London?” Catherine asked, hope rising inside of her.

Pierre shook his head. “Switzerland.”

Catherine took a step backward. “Do you plan to go with them?” Her heart raced at the thought of him leaving without her.

“I have no idea what I plan to do. It's very complicated, more than you can imagine.”

“But is going to Switzerland something you're considering?”

She did not add the more important questions—
What about me? What about us?
Catherine was devastated. She loved Pierre, but she couldn't commit her life to someone who didn't value her input enough to include her in such a monumental decision, or at least to keep her informed of his own thinking in the matter.

Before he could reply, however, Jules called out to Catherine and motioned toward the door.

“I have to go,” she said. Turning back to Pierre, she added, “And so should you while it's still safe out there.”

Again he was about to speak when he was interrupted by Pastor Berger.

“I am coming with you,” the man said to Catherine. “To see Amelie and the baby.”

“Now?”

He nodded, his hat in his hand.

“What about your family? The dragoons should be returning soon.”

“Pierre has offered to stay until I get back.”

Catherine looked at her betrothed, not at all pleased. She wanted the Bergers to be safe, yes, but not at the risk of Pierre's safety.

“Amelie is too ill to convert just yet,” she said quickly to the pastor, unsure how else to stop him from coming with them. She wanted Amelie to do so, of course—but not at the cost of Pierre's life. What if staying here now and going home later ended up putting him in harm's way? The streets of Lyon were no place for a Huguenot to be after dark.

“I just want to encourage her,” Pastor replied, oblivious to her concerns.

There was nothing more Catherine could do. Looking to Pierre, she whispered, “Be careful.”

Then she turned and followed Pastor Berger out the door, praying for a time when they would no longer have to watch over their shoulders in terror every time they ventured onto the streets.

Amelie again appeared exhausted as Catherine led Pastor Berger
into the bedchamber, but she managed to sit up and even seemed to rally some, to the point of asking if he could baptize the baby as long as he was there. “And I would like to convert back,” she added. “To the faith of my family.”

“Right now?” he asked, shooting Catherine a dubious glance. He obviously was mindful of her warning that Amelie was too ill to do so just yet.

Catherine felt torn between wanting the baby's baptism and Amelie's conversion to happen and wanting the pastor to get on home so Pierre could leave before the dragoons returned. She turned to Amelie and tried to gauge her strength. “How are you feeling? Do you need to lie back down?”

“
Non,
” Amelie replied, a surprising—and heartwarming—look of vigor in her eyes. “Both of these things are important.”

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.