The Silk Weaver's Daughter (7 page)

She nodded up at him. In her entire life, she had never felt happier. She was certain he was the only man she could ever love.

“We stayed there through the winter, and I’ve never been so cold in all my life. No, no, your family would not have liked it there. In any event,” he smiled down at her again, “you must be where I can come to you. As soon as this next trip is over, I’ll come to London, and you and I will marry. Oh,
Cherie,
it’s going to be so difficult to leave you again.”

By now, they had come to a place where the track ran close to the ocean. “Here we are. This is where we can have our lunch, so let’s not think any more sad thoughts. Today we are going to be as happy as children, eh?”

Chapter 10

M
arc jumped down from the small buggy and held out his hand to Louise. Even dressed in her simple Huguenot clothing, her long skirt made walking in the sand difficult.

“Do you have something decent under that?” he asked. “Maybe you could take off that dress?”

“Well, I do have my chemise,” she said, her face turning red. “It covers me quite well, but my ankles will show.”

“Well, I’ve seen your ankles before.” He laughed. “Today we will be like back in the village when we were young. I want you to see the tide pools with all the astonishing sea creatures they hide. Maybe we’ll want to swim in the ocean. You can’t do that with that long skirt. It would weigh you down too much. You’d better take off your boots too.”

She still looked doubtful, but he laughed at her embarrassment. “Just pretend it’s five years ago, and go as we used to. Here, I’ll take off my top and be barefoot, as well. It’s difficult to walk in the sand.”

It was years she had seen him without a shirt and vest. With his darkly tanned body and rippling muscles, he looked so masculine and powerful she was once again breathless. “What will the people say?” she managed to whisper.

“There are no people here now. All the peasants, who live around here, have gone over to the island, to help with the salt harvest. After that, they rake the oyster beds and dig for clams. And the fishermen have gone off to sea for the good fishing season. They all work hard now to get ready for the winter months ahead.”

“Where do they live then?” she asked. “In those little grey shacks?”

A few feet away, stood a small structure built up on stilts. A short ladder stair led up to the door. When the tide was in, water would surround the building.

“No, no. The peasants live back in the marshes along the river. Those are the fishermen’s shacks,” he explained. “If the weather turns bad they can go up into them and stay for awhile. They usually have a small cot as well in case they have to spend the night.”

Wearing only her chemise, she felt rather undressed. However, it was certainly easier to get around. They left their extra clothing in the little carriage. Marc unhitched the horse, so it could eat the small grasses growing along the marsh.

“I’ll tie him to this post, and he’ll be fine there,” he stated. “Now try the stairs. Can you make it?”

“Oh yes. It is quite easy even without my boots. Whew. It smells a little of fish in here. Look there’s a table and a couple of chairs. If we were younger we could play house, Marc.” She laughed.

He came and stood close to her, and she was aware of a sudden tension between them. She quickly stepped away from him as his body touched hers. She was not naïve as to the nature of men. Helping her mother look after little Andre had prepared her for growing up, and her mother had explained to her about marriage and babies.

“It is right to have much passion for your husband,” Claudine had told her. “Although one should restrain these feelings until you are truly married in the eyes of God. Then it is blessed, not a sin.”

To her relief, he turned to the door and motioned her to follow him outside, down to the water’s edge. For an hour or more, they explored the beautiful rock pools, examining the tiny creatures inhabiting them. Finally, they left the rocky shore and returned to the glorious curve of sandy beach near the little shack. The sun was high in the sky and quite hot by now.

“Do you want to go in the water, Louise? The ocean is cold, though. It’s much different than swimming in your lazy river.”

“Let’s try it, Marc. It looks so refreshing, and I must say I am rather warm now.”

Laughing like a happy child, she ran into the rolling surf. Feeling quite buoyant in the salty ocean, she swam further out to the deeper water where the ledge dropped off. At first, it was fun as she floated on the waves. How-ever, she suddenly became aware of a strong current dragging her away from the shore faster than she could swim. Having spent much time in the river on the farm, she was a good swimmer; however, she had never experienced anything like the pull of these ocean waves.

Panic gripped her, clenching her muscles. “Marc, Marc. I can’t get back,” she cried. As she thrashed about, her strength waned. She could no longer fight the tide, and felt certain she would drown.

“Hold on,” Marc called to her, “it’s a riptide. Stop struggling. Just tread water.”

Then he was beside her, his muscular arms around her, guiding her along the shoreline and away from the current. He was an excellent swimmer, and finally they were free; however, he kept his arm around her until they reached the safety of the sand.

In spite of the heat of the sun, she started to tremble. With his arms still around her, he turned her until she faced him. Her wet chemise clung to her the curves, and she felt almost naked. He drew her against him, so she could feel the warmth emanating from his body.

“Dieu Merci,
you are safe, my darling,” he whispered. “I was so afraid of losing you. I couldn’t bear it if anything should happen to you. My beautiful Louise, I need you now. What if I never see you again?”

He took possession of her mouth in a way that made her tremble even more than the fright she had received. In his arms, she no longer felt cold. Her whole being seemed to be slowly melting from some fire deep within. For a moment, her conscience smote her, yet she could not resist him. The feelings he awoke in her betrayed the years of principles her mother had tried to impart. All awareness of right or wrong left her, and she had no thought of anything save the sound of the surf and the pounding of his heart against hers.

Later, they swam again, staying close to the shore, and when they were exhausted they dressed in their dry outer clothing and ate their picnic lunch, sitting on the steps of the little grey building.

“Louise, sweetheart, I am truly sorry about this,” he said. “I honestly didn’t mean for that to happen yet. I wanted everything perfect for you. You should have had a magnificent wedding. However, we are truly one now. In the eyes of the Catholic Church, you are my wife; and I promise, no matter what your father says, the minute I get back to London we will make it legal. You’ll be old enough then to make your own decision.”

“I can never be Catholic, though, Marc,” she whispered. “Even if I have disobeyed my faith, I could never stop being a Huguenot.” She had begun to feel guilty and slightly bereft.

“Then it will definitely be England where we will settle. I have no problem with that and my family will at least be happy we are together. It is what they have always wanted. In the meantime—you have made me the happiest man alive.”

The ride home passed quickly. As he dropped her off at the servant’s entrance of the house he said, “Tomorrow I must help father supervise the loading of the merchandise for the trip south. We have to make sure everything gets aboard the ship safely. However, I can’t bear not to be with you once more before you go. You leave after midnight Saturday, so the family won’t be astir very early. Meet me here again, an hour before midday. We’ll have our last day together. Be careful, though. I fear your father will be watching to keep us apart before you sail.”

Louise lay a long time awake that night debating whether she should go on Saturday morning or not. She knew what would happen if she did. There could be no turning back now. And, even if Marc did not think so, she realized her father would say that what they had done was morally wrong. She had begun to feel a degree of remorse, and had not been able to face her parents at dinner. Instead, she pleaded a headache and went straight to bed. Thinking about it, she recognized a sense of shame. Still, overshadowing that feeling was the wonder of finally belonging to him in that mysterious way, and already she longed to be with him again.

Could it truly be a sin, she asked herself. She remembered her father’s warning that the heart could be a treacherous thing. Yet in her treacherous heart, she knew she would go.

On Saturday morning, he again was waiting at the gate with the small gig. This time they spoke little on the trip to the beach. The thought of the long separation ahead of them saddened them both. Finally, they came to the location of the strange-shaped small building near where they had sealed their love.

“Here is where we will eat our farewell meal, Louise.”

They climbed the few rickety steps to the door of the shack. He opened the door, and she looked in with amazement. Instead of the smell offish, the scent of roses engulfed them. The shack inside was now miraculously transformed into something quite comfortable. There were flowers strewn everywhere as well as several bouquets of red roses set in vases. A luxurious piece of fur and some soft blankets hid the sagging cot. Covering the rough-hewn table was a pretty cloth set with two plates and two wine goblets. Marc put the basket of food down beside a bottle of red wine.

“Why, Marc” she exclaimed in astonishment. “Did you do this? It looks like a bridal bower.”

“You
are
my bride. We are bound to each other now. I wanted you to have a wonderful wedding. What happened the other day was not what I meant for you at all. But today,
Cherie—
I promise you—today will be entirely different.” He took her in his arms and gently closed the door.

PART III

Consequences

“Repentance is not so much remorse for what we have done as the fear of the consequences.”
Francois de la Rochefoucauld

Chapter 11

La Rochelle, September 2nd, 1685

(Gregorian Calendar)

“W
e’ll have to walk to the meeting point,” Jacques said. “It’s on a beach about a league away, so it will take over an hour.”

Claudine tried to hide her tears, as she listened to his instructions. It was a few minutes after midnight, Sunday morning. The whole family had gathered in the salon of Jacques’ mansion where he outlined the escape route to them. They all wore the basic, dark clothing of a peasant, with their feet shod in felt boots to mute the sound of their footsteps.

“I’m sorry we can’t take the carriages,” he continued. “That would make too much noise. Once at the beach, we’ll light a small fire to signal the ship’s captain. He’ll be on the lookout for us between one and two in the morning.”

Claudine literally trembled in her boots. The moment she dreaded, the time when they would leave the soil of her beloved France forever, drew near. She sat with her arm around Jacques’ wife. Although Marie wouldn’t be going to the beach with them, she was there to wish them well. The two women had been like sisters for over twenty years and, of all her friends in France, Claudine would miss her the most.

As they stood to take their leave, Marie hugged her, tears running down her cheeks. “I’ll come to England to see you one day,” she said, as they bade each other farewell. “I shall miss you so much, Claudine. You have always been like one of my own family, and I shall never forget you. May God be with you, my dear sister.”

Jacques had some final instructions for them, “There’ll be soldiers watching the harbour tonight, as they know a ship is scheduled to leave. We must be cautious, so we’ll take the back alleys. There’s a small gate in the western wall that’s not well known. We’ll go in two groups. Marc, you take Louise, Jean Guy and the twins. Wait about fifteen minutes, and then follow us.”

He looked down at Andre and Jeanette who were both fast asleep on the floor. “Claudine you and Pierre will come with me. You’ll have to carry the little ones. I’ll take the lanterns for the signals, but we can’t light them yet, so we’ll have to watch our step. Quiet now. Make no noise at all. All right then, we go.”

With Jacques in the lead, the first group slipped out the side door of the house and headed in the direction of the harbour. Before reaching the main gate, they turned down a series of short alleys, which lead to the wall. No one was about at that time of night, and the windows of the buildings were in total darkness. They followed the wall west for about a third of a league; then Jacques motioned them to stop at a small opening out of the city.

“Wait here for a minute until I see if anyone is on the beach,” he cautioned.

Andre whimpered, and Claudine shook him a little. “Hush, you must be quiet, Andee,” she urged. “The bad people will hear us.” Her own heartbeat sounded so loud she feared it would give them away, in any case.

Jacques soon returned and motioned them forward through the gate. Now they were in the country, and the only sounds were the lapping of the waves on the shore, and the distant croaking of frogs in the marsh. They, themselves, made no sound as they walked through the drifts of sand. It was almost totally dark. The moon had not yet risen, although the sky was ablaze with stars, which helped to show their way. As she looked back towards the city, the ancient towers framed the entrance to the harbour— large and looming in the darkness. In front of their black shadows, the
lanterne
tower, which served as a lighthouse, shed a small beacon of light.

She took one last look, and experienced a great sadness at the thought of leaving this country and the life she had loved so much. However, she had given her heart to Pierre when she was young, and for over eighteen years, she had done whatever he thought was right. As well, her belief it was God’s will for them calmed her a little.

They reached a curve of white-sand beach where Jacques told them to stay by a small fishermen’s shack with wooden steps. “We’ll wait for the other group before I light the fire,” he said. “Then you can all go inside the shack. Marc and I will remain out here, to watch for the signal from the ship. As merchants, we can defuse their suspicions if we’re discovered. However, they’d be aware of our plan, if they see all of you here.”

Because of the twins, Marc’s group was slower to negotiate the sandy coast than the adults had been. It took at least another twenty minutes before they arrived at the meeting place. Claudine sensed the men’s anxiety. When they finally appeared, Jacques motioned them all into the shack.

“It will be crowded,” he said. “And a little fishy, but in case we’re seen by the patrol, it’s safer for you to stay in there until the boats come. No noise at all, please.”

Claudine heard her oldest daughter gasp and saw her clutch Marc’s arm.

“Everything’s fine, Louise,” she overheard him whisper.

How strange, she thought. What could that be all about?

Standing in the little shack that had served as her love tryst, Louise was aware of a feeling of panic. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest, it almost hurt. Returning to the scene forced her to think about her guilt. If her Papa knew what had happened, he would be appalled. Her mind affirmed that what she had done was wrong. Would she now be condemned to hell? If a person sinned, though, didn’t it mean they were destined to do it? Thinking about her father’s doctrine of predestination always confused her. It must have been my fate, she reassured herself.

At any rate, she still couldn’t feel completely sorry about it. Intimacy with Marc had been so incredible—more so than she had ever imagined. She had wanted to stay with him forever, and now her heart ached at the thought of the long separation ahead of them.

Abruptly the door opened. It was Marc. “The boats are on their way,” he whispered. “Come now, they won’t be long.”

Jacques stood down at the water’s edge, where the sailors were just beaching the two longboats. “When you get on the ship you will have to go into the wine barrels immediately,” he explained to them. “No matter what happens you must make no noise. It’s likely the soldiers will board, and search the ship as it nears the end of the island. When the captain allows you out of the wine barrels, stay under the ships beams. Once out in the Bay of Biscay, they could board again, and those soldiers will do anything to keep one Huguenot from escaping. In the past, they’ve even put their swords through the deck. But if they do, you’ll be safe beneath the beams. Oh, my dear family, I wish I could do more for you, but I’ll pray for your safety.”

Louise watched as Jacques and Marc hugged all of them in turn, and handed them into the boats. She saw the look on her parents faces as they stepped off the shore. She had never seen them so sad and drawn. They appeared to have aged twenty years since they left the village. Realizing for the first time, how this affected them, she felt devastated. I’ve only been thinking of me, she thought.

Looking back towards La Rochelle, she got a last glimpse of the splendid harbour towers rising behind the city wall. To her they represented France. It was possible she would never see this land again, and there was no doubt her life from now on would be altogether different. She was the last to leave the shore, and Marc hugged her as he helped her into the boat. There were tears in his eyes as he whispered, “Remember, you are mine now. I will come for you.”

The sailors pushed the two little boats into the water. It didn’t take long for them to row to the ship moored in the middle of the channel. They held the small craft steady as each member of the family in turn grabbed on to the sturdy, rope ladder. Two of the men carried the little ones. As Louise reached the top, one of them grabbed her hand and hauled her to the deck, where the officers, including the captain, stood waiting for them.

The vessel was not large—only eighteen tons. Louise had heard Jacques tell her father that he had already paid the master of the ship twelve hundred francs for their escape; and that Pierre would pay him the balance when they arrived in the English port. She realized all their lives now depended on this gallant man.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Garneau.
I am Captain Trudeau.” The man held out his hand to Pierre. “Our plan is to head north-west towards Ireland, which is the destiny for some of our cargo. We’ll sail in that direction, keeping quite far out to sea as we round Brest on the Brittany Coast.” He gestured to the north. “There are many patrol boats in that area. Once I’m fairly far north, I’ll turn towards the south coast of England. We’ll sail into Plymouth, just before dark. I’m sorry the trip won’t be comfortable for you, but we hope to be in Plymouth in three days. Now, we had better hide you in the hold. You’ll all have to go into the cognac barrels for a while, I’m afraid.”

Crouched uncomfortably inside the large wine barrel, Pierre had never before felt so out of control—of both his life and that of his family. They were all in grave danger now, and he was powerless to do anything about it. He thought he would rather be facing an army, with a sword in his hands. His heart went out to his poor wife, with little Andre in her arms, and the young twins, just eleven years old, all stowed in similar barrels. Jeanette and Louise were together in another. Would Andre cry out and give them all away? Jeanette at least understood there was danger. What thoughts must be going through the minds of these young ones? Would they ever get over the ordeal of this trip?

Suddenly the ship weighed anchor, and he could hear voices yelling. He presumed the soldiers from one of the King’s patrol boats had stopped the ship and would soon be boarding. How far would they go in searching for the Huguenots? He had heard that they even struck the wine barrels in the hold with their sharp swords. Some of his Huguenot brothers had died in such a manner. Would he have been better off to have recanted his faith and become a Catholic? No, even for the sake of his wife and children, he could not have done that. There must be a purpose to all this. It must be God’s will for us, he reflected.

He almost stopped breathing as the sound of the men’s footsteps and their muffled voices came close to his barrel.

“This is our cargo,
Monsieur Capitaine,”
Captain Trudeau said. “We have cognac, which we will deliver to Dublin, plus the salt for the colony at New France.”

“Here, Roger” the officer commanded one of his men. “Thrust your sword into some of those barrels—we’ll see if that actually is cognac in there.”

Pierre held his breath for what seemed like forever. He heard the sound of swords crashing through the tops of at least four of the barrels and there was the distinctly fermented, smoky odour of the cognac.

“Voila tout,”
the soldier cried. “That’s good enough for me. I don’t want to waste anymore of your expensive cargo. I think we are through here tonight. Thank you, Captain. We’ll let you proceed on your journey with the King’s blessing.”

The soldiers shuffled out of the hold, and then one by one clambered up the ladder to the decks above. Just when he breathed a sigh of relief, there came a little whimper from the barrel beside him, and Claudine’s hushed “shh, Andee, please.” Again, he stopped breathing for an instant, but the steps above never faltered, and finally he heard the scraping sound of the men climbing down the rope ladder to their boat alongside. Their swords bumping against the side of the ship confirmed to him that they were safe for now. He heard the anchor being hauled up, and they were once again on their way.

In the confinement of his cramped barrel, he thanked God for this narrow escape. He was aware it might not be the last time the soldiers boarded the ship, so he repeated his entreaty that his heavenly Father would continue to look after his little family. That they would find their way unharmed to a new life, where they could worship Him in peace and security.