“Richard, this isn’t like you. Father has suffered over this far more than you have. Marco’s death and your leaving ruined his life. It’s destroyed him.”
“He’s not the only one who’s been destroyed by all this. There’s Christina and Antonio. And Arabella, as well.”
“Well, I think Arabella may be the exception. If you hadn’t gone to Corsica you never would have met her.” For the first time Robert was beginning to realize how much pain the banishment had caused his brother. It surprised him.
“Don’t you think she’s better off for having known you?” Robert was attempting to be gentle.
“Is she? How can we know what might have happened if I hadn’t come into her life?” He paused. “She might still have her children.”
“And what if that were true? Is Father to be blamed for their deaths?”
“No. Of course not.” Richard rubbed his face and sat with his head in his hands. What was happening? He and Christina were so close to leaving and now a quite unexpected event was apparently going to delay them.
Robert felt great sympathy for his brother. “Tell me something,” Robert said on a somewhat lighter note. “What do you think of the material you’ve been translating? We haven’t had a chance to discuss anything beyond the mechanics of the work.”
Richard looked up, both surprised and relieved by the change of subject.
“Interesting. It’s very interesting. I’ve read Plato of course, and Pythagoras, Pindar and some of the others. But this from one of the Orphics… Why?”
“I don’t know. I’d like for us to go over the translation together. It certainly presents ideas that might have some curious implications if they happen to be true.”
“My Lord Abbot, that could be construed as heresy!” Richard smiled.
“You’re right, of course. But it would explain so much.”
Richard just looked at his brother. He agreed. The idea of reincarnation had ramifications he hadn’t really taken too much time to ponder, but he’d often thought, as he struggled with the ancient text, that it made a great deal of sense.
Richard had never been a great believer in the teachings of the Church. He’d questioned them as a young man and the more he saw of life, the less he was able to believe in a God who seemed to visit terrible troubles on his obedient children while allowing the wicked to prosper. Religion had little to do with his life now, with the exception of his current masquerade.
When he glanced back at Robert, his brother’s gaze was far away.
“I’d like to discuss it with you. Sometimes I think the ancients had a better understanding of our place in this world than we do.” Richard laughed. “Of course we also know that writers are often accused of taking an idealistic view of things.”
Robert smiled. “Come. It’s time for Nones. We’ll know more about Father in the next week or so. No matter what happens, I think you should try to see him before you go.”
But it was nearly two weeks before another message came from Étienne. Louis was not improving and he suggested that Robert come as soon as possible. Christina refused to be left behind and Robert thought the trip would be a good chance for her to see how well she’d be able to travel. So the three of them, along with Denis, who wanted to visit his parents, prepared to go.
“I’m leaving you in charge while we’re gone,” Robert said to Dom Louis. Before he could go on, Dom Louis interrupted him.
“We?”
“Denis will accompany me. He wants to visit his parents. Madame Jonvaux is going, as well. She’s an old friend of the family and her parents and brother are buried at Beauvu. And I’m taking Dom Genelli.”
“Oh?”
Robert looked at the little priest, wondering why he was so concerned about Richard going to Beauvu. He decided it wasn’t worth bothering about.
“My father’s library contains a great deal of Greek material. I think it could be useful to him in his work.”
“I see. Why not bring some of the material back then?”
“Tell me, Brother, do you have some objection to the plans I’ve made?” Robert hoped his tone of voice would be sufficient to remind Dom Louis of his vow of obedience.
“Of course not, My Lord.” Dom Louis bowed respectfully.
“Good. Then I trust that the management of the day-to-day affairs of Montmajour will occupy you sufficiently in my absence?”
“Yes, My Lord.”
The party left early the next morning and by that afternoon Dom Louis was comfortably ensconced behind Robert’s big desk, penning the answer to the letter he’d received two weeks earlier.
18 Janvier
Dear
Monsieur
Jonvaux,
I’m sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your inquiry, but I have only just now been able to make time to do so. My Lord Abbot has gone to Beauvu to visit his father, who is apparently quite ill. Madame Jonvaux has chosen to accompany him as she wishes to visit the graves of her family. I expect they will return within the week.
I have nothing really to report. Your wife seems in good health and her emotional state appears to be, for the most part, balanced. She turned up missing one night about two weeks before Christmas, but was found by morning. I’m afraid I don’t know any details of the event, other than the fact that she stayed in her room for the better part of a week afterward.
Madame seems to have found great comfort in the company of a Brother who joined us in September. Dom Genelli comes to us from Bergamo and is under a vow of silence, so any conversation she has with him is, of necessity, one-sided. Apparently this is soothing to her. I tell you that there is something about the man that I dislike, though I’m unable to say just what it is. He seems to enjoy certain privileges here, which are not available to the rest of us, such as a private cell in the Pilgrims’ Hospice. But he is doing some translation work, which the Abbot deems important, so perhaps that alone is sufficient to explain his special treatment.
There is one event which I think I should bring to your attention. A bracelet bearing the inscription
“To My Beloved Christina—My Heart, My Soul, My Life—Richard”
was delivered to the Abbot just before Christmas by Madame Chabannier. It is apparently the work of a jeweler in Arles by the name of Rouverault. And it was given to your wife, for she has worn it every day since Christmas. Why she chooses to wear a gift from a man she believes is dead, I don’t know. And why does a man recently married (there was also a letter from the Bonelli woman saying she had married) send such a gift to another man’s wife? These are questions I am unable to answer.
Is it possible that the Abbot’s brother may show up for the funeral if the old man dies? After all, the Baron is eighty-three and has been in ill health for the past year. I will alert the police to this possibility on your behalf.
I’m afraid that is all. As I say, your wife seems to be in good health, her pregnancy is progressing nicely and our Abbot is taking great care for her well-being.
Please let me know if I may be of service. I am counting on your assistance to avenge the death of my poor cousin in Bonifacio.
Louis R.
When the party arrived at Beauvu late that same evening, Robert introduced Richard as Dom Genelli. Though both Henri and Étienne recognized him, they understood Robert’s caution and willingly went along with the ruse. The staff was loyal and Richard realized he need not be concerned for his safety at his ancestral home.
Robert put Christina in her old room and Richard and Denis in the guest room next to hers, which shared a connecting door. Denis started to object, suggesting he might stay with his family, but Robert pointedly reminded him that his family’s quarters were already crowded and this would be more convenient. Denis, suddenly realizing that they were depending on him as a form of protection for Richard, happily moved into what he considered extravagant accommodations.
That night Richard made love to Christina in the bed where, as a young girl, she had dreamed they would spend their wedding night.
Afterward, Richard was unable to sleep.
“What is it?” Christina asked. She was curled up with her back against him and she could feel the tension in his body.
“I’m not sure that I’m doing the right thing. Maybe it was a mistake to come. I’m not even sure Father will see me.”
“He may not admit it to you, but he misses you. I know he does.”
“Did he say that?”
“No. I haven’t seen him since Marco’s funeral. When I thought you’d died, I wrote to him, but his reply was…well, distant. Now that I think of it, all their replies were strange. Grégré, Robert, Cybelle, they all seemed…” She searched for a word. “I don’t know…cold.” Suddenly, it seemed obvious they might not have written her at all. She looked at Richard. “Do you think Guy…?”
Richard pulled her closer. “It hardly matters now, does it? You can ask Robert tomorrow, if you like.”
For a while neither of them said anything.
“Richard, you must see him.”
Richard kissed the back of her neck but didn’t say anything.
“When I married Guy, I was so angry with my father that I refused to see him. I felt as though he’d sold me, and I suppose he had. But when I finally went to see him again, he’d gone so far into himself that I couldn’t get him to come back. He was lost to me. Don’t let that happen to you and Louis. Make peace, now, before it’s too late.”
The next morning, Robert went looking for Richard and found him in his old room, staring at the open armoire.
“It’s just the way I left it. Even my old clothes are in perfect order.”
“I think he always hoped you’d come back.”
Richard shook his head.
How had everything gone so wrong?
“Richard. He wants to see you. But I think you’d better change. I doubt he’d understand seeing you dressed like that.”
Richard tried to smile. “Well, I guess we’ll find out if any of these old things fit,” he said, pulling out a drawer and going through his shirts.
Richard knocked softly on the door to his father’s room. It was opened by Étienne.
“Is he sleeping? I can come back.”
“Richard? Is that you?” The voice coming from the direction of the bed was feeble, not at all what Richard had expected.
He hardly recognized the man propped up against a massive pile of pillows. Louis looked small and frail. His hair, which had still been quite grey when Richard had last seen him, had gone snow white.
“Come here, boy. Let me have a look at you.”
Étienne brought him a chair. His father reached for his hand.When he took it, Richard could feel how weak he was.
“That is you, isn’t it?” Louis said, squinting at his son.
“It’s me.”
“Can’t say as I care much for the beard,” he said, releasing his grip on Richard’s hand. “I thought I taught you that a man should always be clean-shaven. The ladies don’t seem to favor beards.”
“I know, Papa. I was hoping it would serve as a sort of disguise. I hoped I wouldn’t be recognized.”
For a moment Louis was silent. He stared at Richard as if trying to be sure who it was behind the beard. Then he looked away and settled his gaze on the sunny window.
“That’s all my fault. I never should have sent you away. It was a mistake,” Louis said quietly.
“That’s not important now.”
Louis turned back to him. “I depended on you, Richard. You were the one I looked to, to carry on the family name.”
“I know.”
“It was all backward,” Louis said, smiling. “The youngest son is not the one who usually holds the future of a proud family in his hands.” He looked back toward the window again. “I was so young when Jérôme was born, just twenty-two. I had such hopes for him. And then Robert arrived two years later. Two beautiful sons and then I lost my Adèle. It was so long ago.”
His father looked at him, his blue eyes paler than Richard remembered.
“I’d counted on Jérôme to take over the business. He was a great deal like you. And so I didn’t mind when Robert joined the Church. He had the inclination and it was a way for him to further his medical studies. A brilliant mind.”
Louis laughed then—an unexpected sound.
“It was just as well. Poor Robert always got so seasick! I remember his first trip to Corsica. He was little, only about three or four and he spent the entire time hanging over the rail.” Louis laughed again, but this time it started him coughing.
He was having trouble getting his breath. Richard moved to help him sit up straighter and was appalled by how light he was. How had his father aged so much in just seven years?
When Louis finally recovered, he continued, determined Richard hear him out.
“But even Robert’s great skills couldn’t help Jérôme when the plague came. And I know he tried. He worked so hard to save as many as he could, but we lost poor Jérôme.”
Louis’s eyes were moist, but whether from the coughing or from sentiment, Richard couldn’t tell.
He reached for Richard again. “It’s so hard to lose a child. I thought I’d lost everything.”
Richard looked at his father’s pale hand, spotted now with age. So much change. And he, too, knew how it felt to lose a child…children. It had been devastating, even though they hadn’t been his own.
“It seemed then that my life was over before it had really begun. The years fly by, son. Believe me.”
Louis was silent a long time, but just as Richard started to speak, he went on with his story.
“There I was, forty-six years old and no heir. I knew it was important that I marry. I needed someone to carry on the family name. But my heart wasn’t in it. Oh, there were plenty of women anxious to become the Baroness—and that’s something you’ll do well to remember—but to find one who really loves you for yourself! Imagine my surprise when Viviane brought her newly widowed sister-in-law to stay with us here for the summer. What a miracle, Richard! Oh, I loved your mother…”
This time Richard was sure what he saw in his father’s eyes were tears.
“It’s what I always wanted for you and Christina, that kind of love. And it was there. I could see it from the time you were small. What happened?” Louis squeezed Richard’s hand as best he could. “I wanted you here with me, both of you. I wanted to know my grandchildren. I wanted to know the Baron who will come after you, the boy who will become the man who carries our name into the next century. I’d hoped Christina would be his mother.”