Legacy (24 page)

Brigitte pored through several more of her diaries, but found no further mention of the marquis and his bride. But now Brigitte had it all.

She was wildly excited when she talked to Marc about it at the end of the day, when they went for a drink again so she could report what she’d found. He said he had had a good day too, and had found some excellent diaries himself, about Josephine, written by her ladies-in-waiting, and one dearest friend.

“And what are you going to do with it now?” Marc asked her with an interested look.

“I don’t know, write it up for my mother for her family history. That was the whole purpose of this.”

“That was fine when your ancestors were ordinary people, but they no longer are,” he said with a serious look. “This girl is remarkable. You have to write a book about her. If you fictionalize it a little, it would make an extraordinary novel. Or even just the way it is. Like my grandparents and parents. Sometimes there is no greater romance than the truth.” Brigitte was unsure, but it was certainly more interesting than the women’s vote. That much was sure. But she was scared to tackle Wachiwi’s story and not do it justice.

“I’m fascinated by it because I’m related to her. But do you think other people would be?” Brigitte asked hesitantly. This was way out of her normal realm.

“Of course. You read my book about my father, and he was just a little boy. This girl traveled across continents, oceans, was kidnapped by Indians, married a nobleman. What more do you want? Do you know what happened to them during the Revolution? Were they killed?”

“I don’t think so. Their death dates are later than that.”

“Many of the nobles in Brittany resisted, and escaped the guillotine. They held out, and they were a long way from Paris, which helped. But a lot of the Royalists and nobles in Brittany survived. Some even managed to keep their châteaux. The French call those Royalist resistants after the Revolution
Les Chouans.”

“I’ll find out about that when I go to Brittany. I’m going to go down there in a few days.” And then she had a crazy idea, since she hardly knew him, but he had been so helpful so far and they were becoming friends. “Do you want to come?”

He didn’t hesitate for an instant. “I’d like that very much.” And then she looked nervous. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She wasn’t propositioning him, she was asking him as a fellow researcher and a friend. He had understood that. He didn’t want to spoil their budding friendship either, and he was equally aware that she was going back to the States in a short time, when she finished her research.

“There’s no romance involved, by the way,” she clarified, and he laughed. American women were so direct. It had shocked him a little when he went to graduate school in Boston. A Frenchwoman wouldn’t have said that in quite that way.

“I understood that. Don’t worry. I can help you with your research there.”

“You’ve been fantastic,” she said, and meant it. He had been invaluable to her, and Providence had brought him to her. If he hadn’t turned up, she would never have been able to work the Bibliothèque Nationale on her own. She would be eternally grateful to him for
that. She just didn’t want to get carried away with him romantically. It didn’t make sense, and they’d just get hurt, no matter how appealing she thought he was. They were much better off staying friends, and apparently he agreed.

“I know a nice hotel there, by the way. I’ll make the reservations, and yes, I know,
two
rooms, and a chastity belt for the lady.”

“I’m sorry.” She blushed a little. “Was I rude?”

“No, you were honest, and I like that. We both know where we stand.”

“It would just be silly to start something, and then I go back, and we’re both sorry.”

“Are you always so sensible?” He was interested in her as a person, and liked what he knew so far.

She thought about it and then nodded. “Probably too much so.”

“You don’t have to go back, you know. You said you don’t have a job. You could work at the American University of Paris, they have an admissions office, and you could write your book here.” He had it all worked out, much to her surprise. He liked organizing people’s lives, and helping them get what they wanted. But she didn’t want to write a book about her relatives, nor stay in Paris. She was going home.

“I haven’t said I would write a book.” She smiled at him. He was looking and sounding very French, and he wanted her to stay. He thought her a very interesting woman, more than anyone he’d met in a while.

“Why don’t you talk to them at AUP? You could spend a year here, and see how you like it.” She laughed at the thought. He was crazy. She lived in Boston. And had a book to finish about women’s suffrage.
But Wachiwi was so much more interesting than the vote. She was what women’s freedoms were all about, and had been two hundred years ahead of her time.

He didn’t press the point, and they stayed at the bistro and had dinner, and she had an odd feeling as she walked back to the hotel. Tristan and Wachiwi had lived in the house so nearby. They had married, had their wedding reception, had a baby. Their lives had happened so close to where she stood, and hundreds of years later they seemed so alive to her. It was as though they were reaching out to her. She couldn’t get them out of her head.

She wondered if Marc was right and she should write a book about them, as a tribute to their love. She was beginning to like the idea. She even liked his suggestion that she work at AUP, but she had a life in Boston she had to go back to, or thought she should. Paris was so seductive, with its sparkling Eiffel Tower, its bistros and cafés, and even Marc, whom she barely knew but liked so far. But she couldn’t let herself get seduced by any of it. She was determined to resist the charm of Paris, and even his. They would go to Brittany, she would see what she could find there about her ancestors, and then she was going home. This was real life, not a book. And in real life, people met, nothing happened, and you went home. Or they went off to Egypt and told you that they weren’t a commitment kind of guy after six years. That was real life. Not a guy like Marc. Or the marquis.

Chapter 15

  Wachiwi
  
1784-85

The marquis returned from court a week after he had left, and he was happy to see Wachiwi. He came home to find Wachiwi giving Matthieu a riding lesson in the ring. A very sedate one. She wanted to ask Tristan for his permission before she did anything more advanced with his son. She asked him as soon as they met again, and he instantly agreed. He couldn’t imagine a riding teacher more competent than Wachiwi, from what he had seen. And she promised not to teach Matthieu any of the wild things she did on her own. But she wanted to teach him to ride bareback and to feel comfortable with their horses. There was a natural quality to her riding that Tristan wanted to learn from her too, but he suspected it was in her blood, and he would never fully achieve the ease she had. When the governess told him where Matthieu was, and his father went out to the
stables to watch, he saw that Matthieu was doing well, and Wachiwi asked Tristan permission to teach him more.

Wachiwi was wearing her elkskin dress and moccasins, and was showing the boy several things about his horse. How to check his muscles, how to feel at one with him. She took the saddle off, and led him bareback around the ring. The boy looked thrilled, and then gave a shout of glee when he saw his father. Wachiwi helped him off so he could run to him, and smiled as Matthieu took off and threw himself into his father’s arms.

Wachiwi was planning to give Agathe a short ride on a pony that afternoon, to try and get her over her fears. She had become their new riding mistress while their father was gone. Her methods were unorthodox, by their standards, but her skill was supreme. And Tristan knew that if Matthieu learned from her, he would become an exceptional horseman, and he liked that idea.

He looked over Mathieu’s head at Wachiwi and smiled at her. He thanked her for her lessons to his son.

“I enjoy it even more than he does.” She was in the stables all the time now and rode out in the hills by herself. No other woman in the district did that, but she was totally at ease. There were no dangers here. No war party was going to attack her, or spirit her away. She was safe on his lands. And he suggested they ride together that afternoon. “How was court?” she asked him politely.

“As it always is. Excessively busy, with too many people and a thousand intrigues. It’s very fatiguing, but one has to go. It makes a bad impression to stay away for too long.” But it was a long trip for him from Brittany.

“At least you have a house in Paris to stay at when you’re there,” she mentioned, and he nodded.

“Since my wife died, I seldom use it anymore. She enjoyed going to court more than I do, and we went to Paris more often.” Matthieu was running ahead of them as they walked back to the house. He loved his riding lessons with her. And Tristan was excited at the prospect of her teaching the boy more.

“Is your house right in town?”

“Yes, not far from the palace of the Louvre, although the king and queen are more often in Versailles now, which is just outside the city. Perhaps you will go one day,” he said vaguely. He had mentioned her to one of his friends at court, who had said it would be amusing if he brought her. But Tristan felt cautious about his role with her. She had been his late brother’s fiancée, and no matter how much he liked her as a person, her presence was still awkward for both of them. She was keeping busy with the riding lessons for the children, and he was grateful to her. He liked the way she was with his children. She was sensible, and warm with them. And he could see how much they liked her. When he went to the nursery to see Agathe after his trip, she threw herself into Wachiwi’s arms first, and then her father’s. She was hungry for the mother she had never had. Mademoiselle was no substitute for the mother she had lost. Wachiwi wanted only to be her friend, and had hoped to be her aunt.

The riding lessons continued over the next several months. Matthieu became noticeably more proficient, and Wachiwi taught his father a few of her “tricks” (as he called them). She had taken his breath away one day when she showed him how she could conceal
herself along the side of a horse at full speed. He wasn’t about to try it, but she seemed to become part of the horse, and hang in space as they flew and she clung to the heavy beast. She had no fear at all. She could stand on the horse’s back as it galloped, and leap onto its back from the ground. She had a magic with horses and they did things for her they would do for no one else.

His children adored her, and even Agathe had come to enjoy her pony rides now. She would never be a horsewoman, her mother hadn’t been, but she wasn’t frightened anymore, and she loved feeding her pony an apple when she got off.

Another thing they had all noticed about her was how silent Wachiwi was. Particularly in her moccasins, but even in normal shoes, Wachiwi made absolutely no sound when she walked. She seemed to walk on air. Her father had frequently commented on it too. She had the grace of a butterfly and made as little noise. The Dancer was the perfect name for her.

She was able to laugh at herself too, which was a trait that Tristan admired in her. When she did something silly or wrong, she made a joke of it and herself, and they all laughed with her. She had a multitude of good traits, all of which Tristan appreciated and admired in her. He had never been as comfortable with any other woman before.

“I want a dress like Wachiwi’s,” Agathe said one day as they went back to the house in a group, and her governess instantly gave her a furious look. She thought Wachiwi’s native dress disgraceful as it molded her figure and ended just below her knees. Despite the leggings she wore beneath, the governess thought her native costume shocking. It looked well worn now, and Agathe’s remark gave Wachiwi an idea. She sewed almost as well as she rode, and had
made a little doll for Agathe for Christmas, and a small bear for Matthieu, and they loved them.

It was spring by then and the weather had been unseasonably warm in Brittany. They had a picnic in the garden one day, on a cliff overlooking the sea. The king had been sick that winter, and the queen had given birth to the Duke of Normandy only weeks before. So the marquis had only gone to court once, but he was planning to go again soon. He hated to make the long trip but knew he should. And he wanted to bring a gift to the new royal baby. But he was so much happier in the country, with his children, on his own land. There was always so much to do. This spring they had been busy cutting down trees that had been damaged in storms during the winter. And he loved talking to Wachiwi about what he did on the property. She was always interested and offered him excellent ideas, which sometimes amazed him coming from a young girl.

He surprised her one afternoon after a long ride, when he asked her to have dinner with him that night in the dining room. He had never asked her before. She usually took her meals in the nursery with the children. They loved her company, although their governess still didn’t.

Wachiwi accepted his invitation with pleasure. She always enjoyed her conversations with him. They spoke of many things—he was very knowledgeable, and her French was proficient now. The one thing she didn’t know, and wished to learn, was how to read. He had promised to teach her, but hadn’t had time to do it that winter. She wanted to read the books in his library. They looked fascinating to her.

He told her about some of the current intrigues at court that night
at dinner, and why they fatigued him. People had been complaining about the queen and her extravagance for several years. Tristan had always found Marie Antoinette a pleasant woman, even if silly when she was young. But now that she had begun having babies in the past few years, she seemed more serious to him, and more mature. He had no patience with the politics and manipulations of the ministers, the courtesans, and all the opportunists who gravitated to the court. He told Wachiwi that the queen was Austrian, not French, which people tended to forget, and she had become queen as barely more than a child. Her marriage was arranged when she was fourteen. Wachiwi explained that that happened in Indian culture too. Girls married very young, and most marriages were arranged. She was grateful her father hadn’t done that to her. Undeniably, the queen had led the court into incredible excesses and people were constantly vying for her favor and her ear. It was a lot of power for a young girl. But it was all too much for him. He was a quiet man who enjoyed managing his vast properties, and spending time in the outdoors. They were still talking about the court at the end of dinner, and Wachiwi found what he told her very interesting, but she could tell that he didn’t. Jean had told her that he had never liked court much either, and had been happy to flee to the New World, rather than get caught up in the intrigues of the court. But as head of the family and owner of extensive lands, the marquis couldn’t avoid his responsibilities to the king, and couldn’t shun going to court. It was even more tedious for him now without his wife. At least he had enjoyed showing her off and dancing with her. Now he stood talking politics with the men all night.