Miramont's Ghost by Elizabeth Hall

few feet, forgotten in the heat of the moment.
    The young man who had run out returned, holding a battered tin cup in his two hands, milk sloshing over the top as he handed it to Marie. Marie held Julien’s head. Another man held his shoulders. She pushed the rim of the cup between his lips, already slightly blue in color. His eyes were dilated, huge, unfocused. “Julien, drink. You must drink this,” she said. She managed to get a few sips of the milk into his open lips, and watched as he swallowed. She poured in more. Time seemed to stand still, the men around him watching, waiting. Their eyes were dark and unreadable, their faces set like stone. Marie forced more milk into his mouth.
    His lips lost some of the bluish color, but his face looked bleached and pale. A sheen of sweat could be seen on his forehead. “Help me,” she whispered to the men around her. They understood. One man lifted the priest in his arms, and carried him down the aisle and out the doors of the church to the rectory next door. The parishioners stood and watched. Most of the faces were unmoved, unemotional, stoic, as if the entire congregation were chess pieces carved of marble.
    Adrienne blinked, brought back to the bright light streaming in the windows of the church in Beaulieu. Père Henri, sunlight bouncing off his bald head, was replacing the chalice on the altar.
    Adrienne leaned forward slightly, turned toward her mother. “Maman,” she said, her voice echoing off the walls and ceiling of the church.
    “Shhh,” Genevieve whispered.
    “But Maman.” Adrienne’s knowledge was too much for her to contain. She reached around Lucie to pull at the sleeve of her mother’s dress.
    Genevieve glared her. “Shhh,” she commanded, her eyes and voice pushing Adrienne back into her seat.
    Adrienne turned her eyes to the front of the church once again. She watched, her body refusing to sit still, as the priest raised his arms, and led the congregation in a final song. Everyone but Adrienne and Lucie stood. Adrienne watched as he made the sign of the cross, and uttered the words of the blessing.
    “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face shine upon you. The Lord lift up your countenance, and grant you peace.” Adrienne could barely contain herself, impatient to speak about what she had seen.
    The priest started slowly down the aisle, followed by the altar boys. His robes swung leisurely from side to side. Adrienne stood, almost jumping up and down. In her excitement, she forgot her own baby, and let it hang from her side, dangling by one arm, brushing the floor.
    “Maman,” Adrienne spoke again as they stood and moved into the center aisle.
    Genevieve pinched Adrienne’s shoulder, shot her another glaring look, and Adrienne bit her tongue, wriggling with the excitement of what she had seen.
    They moved slowly toward the doors at the back of the church. Grand-père and Genevieve greeted the people of the village, Grand-père shaking hands, Genevieve offering her slender, gloved hand to a few of the local women. They stopped at the door. The priest took Genevieve’s hand in both of his, swallowing her hand in his rough red paws. “And how are you today, madame?” He smiled.
    “ Je vais bien, Père Henri, merci. Wonderful message today.” She smiled.
    Adrienne grew impatient. Her mother had not listened to the priest’s homily; she never did. This news that Adrienne held inside her was too important to wait while Genevieve charmed the villagers like some exotic hothouse orchid.
    Adrienne tugged at her mother’s skirts. “Maman, we need to go. Julien and Aunt Marie are at the castle, waiting for us.” The insistence of her voice drew the attention of several people who stood nearby.
    Genevieve’s smile dropped from her face, and she looked down at Adrienne, as did the priest and Grand-père.
    “We must go, Maman! Someone tried to kill him. In church, during the mass.” Adrienne was insistent. “He is sick, Maman. He