keep himself occupied, so he was often in a surly mood. Louise had spent her entire life at the lovely, old, family farm, and now she yearned to be there—riding free through the forest on her favourite horse, or sitting dreaming on her rock by the slow-moving river.
To add to her discontent, Marc kept so busy he had no time to spend with her. She saw him only during the family dinner. Finally, he and Uncle Jacques sailed off to England taking the bundles of silk they would market there. They also took the looms, still hidden in wine barrels, which they would leave in Jacques’ London warehouse until Pierre could claim them.
It was only her fascination with the ocean that made life tolerable. Each afternoon, when she finished her lessons and the few chores Aunt Marie assigned her, she donned a modest, unadorned dress and wound her way to the city gate. There, she slipped out to the harbour, walking through the entrance and beyond the massive towers. The guards were now familiar with her as a maid belonging to the Maison du Garneau, and since Jacques was a well-known and honourable merchant of the city, they dared not bother her.
Venturing further west, past the old lantern tower marking the edge of the city, she reached a point where the marshes converged with a beautiful sand beach. There she stripped off her boots and let the cool softness ooze beneath her feet. A little of her homesickness ebbed away, and she accepted the fact she should be obliged to her aunt and uncle. They had done so much for her family, who were, consequently, in a far better position than most of the Huguenots fleeing France.
It was late Wednesday afternoon in the third week of August when Louise once again headed through the city gate. She was almost at the harbour when someone put a hand on her shoulder. It startled her out of her reverie and frightened her for a moment. Shocked, she turned and confronted the man. It was her cousin.
“Marc! Zut! I thought it was a dragoon. I’m so glad you are back.”
“Are you, Cherie? I’m so happy to hear you say that. I’ve longed to talk to you again. The parents, though, they have made it difficult, non?”
“Yes, especially Papa. He’s still unhappy with your father’s choice to revoke his faith, and now he’s not certain about you.”
They reached the harbour and found a stone stairwell close to one of the large towers where they could sit without being seen. It was nearing the dinner hour and, with the exception of some officials, most everyone had left the area for their evening meal.
Marc put his arms around her and drew her close. Then his lips found hers and, for a few moments, they were lost in their longing for each other. Finally, he drew away and took both her hands in his. “Louise, I have told how much I love you. I’d hoped we would at least be betrothed by now. Things are changing so fast, and with you going to England, I’m afraid we might lose each other. You do love me, don‘t you? You still want to marry me, non?”
“Yes, Marc,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “I love you with all my heart. Must we wait for your return from this trip? You will be gone so long. Can’t we arrange something before you leave? Then at least I could stay here with your mother.”
“We go too soon, I’m afraid. The ship leaves in mid-September. Already we load the cognac to take to the colony in India. And to marry here in France, it must be by a priest. You’d have to become a Catholic. We both know your father would never permit such a thing, and I don’t think you want it either, do you?”
“No, you’re right. I can never be a Catholic. But what about you? Have you made a decision? I mean about religion,” she persisted.
“With regard to faith, I am like my father.” Marc looked up at the sky where Arcturus, one of the brightest stars, had already begun to show itself. “I really don’t care what religion claims me. I have read the Bible from cover to
To add to her discontent, Marc kept so busy he had no time to spend with her. She saw him only during the family dinner. Finally, he and Uncle Jacques sailed off to England taking the bundles of silk they would market there. They also took the looms, still hidden in wine barrels, which they would leave in Jacques’ London warehouse until Pierre could claim them.
It was only her fascination with the ocean that made life tolerable. Each afternoon, when she finished her lessons and the few chores Aunt Marie assigned her, she donned a modest, unadorned dress and wound her way to the city gate. There, she slipped out to the harbour, walking through the entrance and beyond the massive towers. The guards were now familiar with her as a maid belonging to the Maison du Garneau, and since Jacques was a well-known and honourable merchant of the city, they dared not bother her.
Venturing further west, past the old lantern tower marking the edge of the city, she reached a point where the marshes converged with a beautiful sand beach. There she stripped off her boots and let the cool softness ooze beneath her feet. A little of her homesickness ebbed away, and she accepted the fact she should be obliged to her aunt and uncle. They had done so much for her family, who were, consequently, in a far better position than most of the Huguenots fleeing France.
It was late Wednesday afternoon in the third week of August when Louise once again headed through the city gate. She was almost at the harbour when someone put a hand on her shoulder. It startled her out of her reverie and frightened her for a moment. Shocked, she turned and confronted the man. It was her cousin.
“Marc! Zut! I thought it was a dragoon. I’m so glad you are back.”
“Are you, Cherie? I’m so happy to hear you say that. I’ve longed to talk to you again. The parents, though, they have made it difficult, non?”
“Yes, especially Papa. He’s still unhappy with your father’s choice to revoke his faith, and now he’s not certain about you.”
They reached the harbour and found a stone stairwell close to one of the large towers where they could sit without being seen. It was nearing the dinner hour and, with the exception of some officials, most everyone had left the area for their evening meal.
Marc put his arms around her and drew her close. Then his lips found hers and, for a few moments, they were lost in their longing for each other. Finally, he drew away and took both her hands in his. “Louise, I have told how much I love you. I’d hoped we would at least be betrothed by now. Things are changing so fast, and with you going to England, I’m afraid we might lose each other. You do love me, don‘t you? You still want to marry me, non?”
“Yes, Marc,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “I love you with all my heart. Must we wait for your return from this trip? You will be gone so long. Can’t we arrange something before you leave? Then at least I could stay here with your mother.”
“We go too soon, I’m afraid. The ship leaves in mid-September. Already we load the cognac to take to the colony in India. And to marry here in France, it must be by a priest. You’d have to become a Catholic. We both know your father would never permit such a thing, and I don’t think you want it either, do you?”
“No, you’re right. I can never be a Catholic. But what about you? Have you made a decision? I mean about religion,” she persisted.
“With regard to faith, I am like my father.” Marc looked up at the sky where Arcturus, one of the brightest stars, had already begun to show itself. “I really don’t care what religion claims me. I have read the Bible from cover to
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