“There now,” Nicole said, tucking the quilt around the woman’s legs before she glanced up and saw the odd look on Janie’s face. Nicole looked up at the woman from where she was kneeling on the floor, her hands still on the quilt. As she looked at the familiar features, her eyes filled with tears, then slowly, softly, they ran down her cheeks. “Mama,” she whispered. “Mama.” She bent forward and buried her face in the woman’s lap.
Janie saw that the older woman made no response to Nicole’s gesture or words.
“I had hoped—” the man beside her said. “I had hoped that seeing her daughter again would bring her back.”
The man’s words made Janie understand the woman’s vacant eyes; they were the eyes of someone who wanted to see nothing more in life.
“Can we get her to bed?” the man asked.
“Yes, of course,” Janie said firmly, kneeling beside her friend. “Nicole, your mother is very tired. Let’s take her upstairs and put her to bed.”
Silently, Nicole rose. Tears made her face damp, and her eyes never left her mother’s face. Half in a daze, she helped her mother upstairs, helped Janie undress her, unaware that her mother never spoke.
Downstairs, Janie made more tea and brandy, then sliced ham and cheese for sandwiches for the young man.
“I thought both my parents were killed,” Nicole said quietly.
The man ate quickly, obviously very hungry. “Your father was. I saw him guillotined.” He seemed oblivious to Nicole’s wince of pain. “My father and I went to see the guillotining, as almost everyone else did. It was the only sport left in Paris, and it helped to make up for the fact that we had no bread. But my father is—how do you say?—a romantic. Every day, he’d come home to his cobbler’s shop and talk to my mother and me about the waste of all the beautiful women. He said it was a shame to see the lovely heads roll into the basket.”
“Could you tell the story with less detail?” Janie said, her hand on Nicole’s shoulder.
The man held up a ceramic pot of mustard. “Dijon. It is good to see French things in this barbarian country.”
“Who are you? How did you rescue my mother?” Nicole asked softly.
He bit into a piece of cheese liberally spread with mustard, then smiled. “I am your stepfather, little daughter. Your mother and I are married.” He stood and took her hand. “I am Gerard Gautier, now one of the magnificent Courtalains.”
“Courtalain? I thought that was Nicole’s maiden name.”
“It is,” Gerard said, returning to his seat at the table. “It is one of the oldest, richest, most powerful families in Europe. You should have seen the old man, my wife’s father. I saw him once when I was a child. He was as big as a mountain and, it was said, as strong. I’ve heard he could make the king tremble from his wrath.”
“The most common of people made the king tremble,” Nicole said bitterly. “Please tell me how you met my mother.”
Gerard gave Janie a disdainful look. “As I was saying, my father and I went to see the guillotinings. Adele, your mother, walked out behind your father. She was so beautiful, so regal. She wore a dress of pure white, and with her black hair she looked like an angel. The whole crowd stopped talking when she walked past. Everyone could see that her husband was so proud of her. Their hands were tied behind them, and they could not touch, but their eyes met, and several people sniffed because the two handsome people obviously loved each other. My father nudged me and said that he could not stand to see such a magnificent creature put to death. I tried to stop him, but—” Gerard shrugged. “My father does what he wants.”
“How did he save her?” Nicole urged. “How did he get her through the mob?”
“I do not know. Every day, the crowd has a different flavor. Sometimes they cry as the heads roll; sometimes they laugh or cheer. It depends on the weather, I guess. That day, they were romantic, like my father. I watched as he pushed his way through them, then grabbed Adele’s bindings about her wrists and pulled her into the crowd.”
“What about the guards?”
“The crowd liked what my father was doing, and they protected him. They closed around him like water. When the guards tried to follow, the people tripped them and gave them false directions.” He stopped and smiled, finishing the last of a large glass of wine. “I was standing on top of a wall where I could see everything. It was such a sight! The people yelled every direction imaginable to the guards, yet all the while my father and Adele were walking quietly back to our shop.”
“You saved her,” Nicole whispered, looking down at her hands in her lap. “How can I ever thank you?”
“You can take care of us,” he said quickly. “We have come a long way.”
“Anything,” Nicole answered. “What is mine is yours. You must be tired and want to rest.”
“Wait a minute!” Janie said. “There’s more to this story. What happened to Nicole’s mother after your father rescued her? Why did you leave France? How did you find out Nicole was here?”
“Who is this woman?” Gerard demanded. “I do not like servants who treat me like this. My wife is the Duchess de Levroux.”
“The Revolution killed all titles,” Nicole said. “In America, everyone is equal, and Janie is my friend.”
“A pity,” he said, his eyes scanning the simple room, yawning hugely before he stood. “I am quite tired. Is there a suitable bedroom in this place?”
“I don’t know about suitable, but there’s places to sleep,” Janie said with hostility. “The attic has the twins and us three women. The mill has some spare beds.”