CHAPTER FIVE
Adrienne and Lucie sat at the desk by the window. Books towered around them—floor-to-ceiling shelves, gleaming dark wood that held the collections the family had amassed over many years. Grand-père sat in his favorite chair, on one side of the marble fireplace. He held the newspaper from Paris in front of his face. Smoke curled up from the edges of the paper, and the sweet chocolate scent of his tobacco permeated the air, weaving soft gray figures into the sunlight.
Genevieve sat in the chair opposite him, her knitting needles clicking. Gray circles ringed her eyes. Small baby booties formed in her lap, the blue yarn jumping and spinning as she pulled.
Adrienne eyed the blue yarn and sighed. Then she turned her head back to the primer in front of her on the desk. She sat on her knees, leaning far over the book, elbows locked on each side of it, her face in her hands, as she turned her head back and forth. “Sssss,” she said, in response to Lucie’s finger on the page. “Sssss,” Adrienne continued, looking up at Lucie and wrinkling her nose. “Like ssssun . . . and ssssnake.”
Lucie beamed. “Très bien, Adrienne. And this one?”
Adrienne turned her head back and forth between her palms, studying the squiggles on the page. “Mmmm.” She drew the sound out with a flourish. “Mmmm . . . like Maman. Mmmm.” She let her eyes travel around the room, searching for another M word. Her gaze drifted from her grand-père, to his newspaper, to the blue booties in Genevieve’s lap. She searched the library shelves, the rose-patterned carpet. “Mmmm . . . like . . .”
From the hallway, they could hear Marie, charging down the stairway, cracking out orders to the servants around her. Her voice snapped like a whip. Adrienne looked in that direction. Her smile melted away like candle wax.
Grand-père lowered his paper, his pipe still clenched between his teeth. Genevieve’s knitting needles stopped clicking, now still and silent in her lap. Everyone had tensed at the sound of Marie’s approach.
Marie swept into the room. “Stefan, pack the entire collection of the lives of the saints.” Her arm swept out toward one shelf of the collection.
“Oui, madame.” Stefan bowed just slightly, and began removing books from the shelf.
Marie turned slowly, her eyes sweeping over the contents of the room, oblivious to the people watching her. “Oh . . . and those silver candlesticks will be perfect. He can use those on the altar.” She reached for one of a matched pair, and held it in her fist, her eyes appraising its value.
Grand-père took his pipe from between his teeth. “Are we vacating the premises, Marie?”
“Hmmm?” She turned to him, her brows pulling together, as if she’d just noticed there was anyone else in the room. “No. No, but I am.”
“Oh?”
Marie beamed as she pulled a letter from the pocket of her black dress. “Yes. I’ve just had a letter from Julien. He’s been promoted.” Pride radiated from every pore of her being.
“That’s wonderful.” The comte locked his blue eyes on his oldest daughter.
“Archbishop Lamy has given him his own parish. Can you believe it? And he’s only twenty-six! I knew the archbishop would recognize Julien’s worth. It was only a matter of time.” She flipped the letter open with one hand, the candlestick still poised in the other. “Let’s see—it is a little place called . . . Santa Cruz de la Ca?ada.” Her eyes found her father again, after brushing over Genevieve’s blank look. “Julien says it’s north of Santa Fe about twenty-five miles.”
“Well, this is wonderful news.” The comte smiled and lowered the paper to his lap. “I’m happy for Julien.” He took another puff from his pipe. “You’ll be joining him, then?”
Marie replaced the letter in the pocket of her skirt. “Just as soon as I can book passage.” She placed the candlestick on the table, and picked up a heavy volume of poetry. “I can imagine it will be very difficult for him, alone in the wilderness like that. That parish is over seventy square miles,” she added. “That’s a lot to take care of. I’m certain I can be of help in running his home.”
Adrienne looked at Lucie, her eyes widening, then back at Marie. She continued to sit on her knees, leaning on the desk.
Marie pointed toward a crystal vase on one of the tables. “That vase, too, Stefan. Only pack it carefully. That’s leaded crystal from the queen of Spain.”
Stefan stepped down off a stool and turned toward Marie. “Oui, madame.”
The comte frowned. The paper crackled underneath his hands. “Are you taking the entire contents of the chateau with you, Marie?”
Marie turned to him. “Oh, Father. There is so much here, you can hardly miss these few things. But this place—this Santa Cruz—is very poor. I believe the parishioners are mostly Mexicans and Indians.” Marie’s nose turned up slightly, and there was no mistaking the disdain in her voice. “Julien says the church has dirt floors. He says the entire area is poor and backward. At least in Santa Fe, the archbishop tried to provide us with some of the comforts of civilization. Now it looks like that will be up to me.”
She turned and swept a lace doily off a table and held it out to Stefan. “Imagine the possibilities. Julien can bring so much to those poor people. We’ll bring the beauty and comforts of civilization, an appreciation for music and art . . .” Marie stopped for a moment. “Just like when my late husband and I traveled in Europe. Julien will be able to bring a little bit of France into the remotest corners of the New World.” She smiled.
“Hmmm,” the comte murmured. “I would think that a priest’s main function is to bring the word of God, to administer the sacraments.” He sat up a little straighter.
Marie’s lips settled into a thin, grim line. “That goes without saying. But Julien is not an average priest. A man of his learning, his background, his ability, can bring so much more. A sense of refinement . . . a sense of . . . progress. Culture at its finest.”
She turned her head toward the window, and a smile crept back into the lines of her mouth. “I knew it was just a matter of time. Julien’s gifts are too great not to be noticed.”
Genevieve swallowed, and her eyes dropped to her knitting. She exhaled sharply, and clicked her needles together, her knuckles white with tension.
Adrienne’s eyes locked on the window in front of the desk. Sunlight poured through the glass. Golden beams shot from the panes. Adrienne stared, her eyes wide and dark. She relaxed into the vision that pulled at her.
Suddenly, Adrienne gasped, her mouth dropping open in a soft O. She climbed down from her chair and ran to her grand-père, scampering up into his lap despite the presence of the newspaper and the pipe.
The comte held his arms out and dropped the newspaper to the floor. “What’s this? Finished with lessons for the day, Adrienne?”
She shook her head and pressed her face against his jacket.
The comte placed his pipe on the table beside him and lifted her chin with his finger. “What’s wrong, my sweet?”
Adrienne swallowed and looked first at Marie, and then up at her grand-père. “I don’t like that church. The one with the dirt floors. It feels bad. Like something bad is going to happen.”
The noises of packing and moving died away, as if all the air had gone out of the room. Genevieve looked up, as did Marie. Stefan stopped moving, his arms full of books, his eyes discreetly lowered, but his body obviously straining toward Adrienne’s words. The servants had been talking. Everyone who worked in the household had started paying closer attention to the little girl and her stories. Word of Adrienne’s outburst at the patisserie had swept like fire through the village, and the servants had learned of it before the day was done. Everyone was talking about the little girl, and those who were old enough to remember were also talking about the girl’s grandmother.
Marie turned slowly, her black skirts swishing.
“Someone wants to hurt Julien,” Adrienne whispered.
Grand-père cleared his throat, and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Julien is a smart man. He can take care of himself.” He pulled back a little and looked his granddaughter in the eye. “And your aunt Marie will be there to help him. She would never let anything bad happen to him.”
They both turned their gaze toward Marie. She was frozen in the midst of what she had been doing when Adrienne’s words leaked out into the room. She held a crystal candlestick in one hand, her eyes locked on her niece. Slowly she raised her eyes to her father, and a look passed between them, heavy with memory.
Marie’s brow pinched with fear, but in less than a moment it was swept away, replaced by perfect calm.
Marie cleared her throat. “There is nothing to be afraid of, Adrienne. New Mexico might be poor and the buildings might be mud brick, but it is not one of your fairy tale stories.” Marie rolled her eyes dramatically. “Honestly, Adrienne, your imagination is running away with you.”
Marie turned to face Lucie, still seated at the table in the corner of the room. “Perhaps it would be best if you don’t allow her any more of the Brothers Grimm. Those Germans—always planting the seeds of fear, with their wicked stepmothers and deep dark forests. It is obviously too much for the girl.”
The release of tension was almost audible. Stefan returned to packing. Lucie let out a sigh. Genevieve watched for another moment, and took up her knitting needles once again. The comte picked up his pipe, and Adrienne could feel his chest relax.
Adrienne watched them all. Why did they keep glancing at her? What had she done that was causing everyone to act so strangely? She felt their eyes on her, and she scrunched down in the seat, trying to hide her face in her grandfather’s jacket.