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TWENTY-SIX

T he golden Pegasus shone in the candlelight, its beauty pure and terrible as virtue itself.

“This was found in the Dupree woman’s cottage?” Robespierre tried to smother the wild burst of eagerness exploding within him. The Wind Dancer. This statue had to be the Wind Dancer. All his life he’d heard tales of the Wind Dancer, and now it was before him.

The lieutenant nodded. “We searched but found no papers or information regarding the dauphin.” He glanced casually at the statue he’d set on the table before Robespierre.

“But finding a statue so valuable appeared suspicious, so I brought it to you instead of taking it directly to the offices of the National Convention, as we usually do with confiscated property.”

“You behaved correctly. No doubt the traitors were given this prize to pay for their perfidy.” Robespierre wished desperately to reach out and touch the statue, but he carefully restrained the impulse.

The lieutenant clearly had no inkling of how great was the treasure he had brought.

On no account must he find out. “Naturally, this discovery must remain as secret as every other aspect of tonight’s happenings.

The safety of the republic depends on it. ”

“Of course, Citizen Robespierre.” The lieutenant hesitated. “But should we not tell the convention that the child has escaped the Temple?”

“No!” Robespierre tried to temper the sharpness of his tone as he continued. “I’ve no doubt we’ll recapture the boy very soon, and it would do damage to the honor of the republic if it was learned the Capet boy couldn’t be held by the entire National Guard.”

The lieutenant frowned in puzzlement. “But everyone will know he’s no longer in the Temple.”

“I’ve already sent a delegation to the Temple supposedly to take over custody of the boy from the Simons. We’ll issue a statement that the boy’s now in solitary confinement and no one will be permitted to see him.”

“Won’t the Simons—”

“You think the Simons will not obey me?”

The lieutenant suppressed a shiver as he met Robespierre’s cold eyes. “I’m sure they’ll obey you, sir.” He started backing toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see if there’s any report from my men who are searching Le Havre.”

“You’re excused.” Robespierre waved his hand, his gaze still on the statue. “Just remember that no one is to know of this on pain of execution.”

“You can trust in me, Citizen.” The lieutenant inclined his head, turned on his heel, and hurriedly left the room.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Robespierre reached out with a trembling hand and touched the Wind Dancer, symbol of a power that was the ultimate virtue.

Throughout all Robespierre’s years he had sought to teach the ignorant world the power of virtue and the terror that was its protector and friend. Now it was as if some higher entity had looked down and seen the light he’d brought to those around him and rewarded him with this glorious gift.

But there would be those who wouldn’t understand that he was the only rightful guardian of the virtue embodied in the statue, he thought with a frown.

They would call it theft from the coffers of the republic.

The mere idea filled him with outrage. He, Maximilien Robespierre, a thief?

He, the man who had sent thousands of traitors to the guillotine to keep intact the virtue of the republic?

It only showed how wise he was to keep this symbol from the hands of those who would not know how to care for it.

But he must be very cautious and make sure no one knew the Wind Dancer had come into his guardianship. He would put it on a pedestal in his bedchamber so that his eyes only would fall upon its beauty and draw inspiration for the work in the days ahead.

He knew the enemies of virtue would delight in any excuse to send his head rolling from his body.

The wagon moved slowly up the winding driveway of lemon and lime trees toward the front door of the manor house.

Nana’s legs dangled from the back of the wagon as she lifted her head and gazed out over the fields of golden broom just beginning to bloom.

No houses or cafés anywhere in sight, she thought gloomily.

No music. No boats floating down the Seine, no cheerful chatter of tradesmen.

Just wind and flowers and sunlight. Why had she ever consented to leave Paris for this wilderness?

But she knew why she had agreed to come to Vasaro. Even Paris had seemed drab and ugly after those weeks in the dark, twisted world of Dupree. This place was as good as any other.

Robert stopped the wagon before the front door and looked back to grin at her. “Did you ever see such flowers, Nana?”

She would far rather have seen them on a flower cart on the Pont Neuf, she thought. But the old man seemed so happy, she forced herself to smile. “Well, there are certainly a great many of them.”

Marie jumped down from the wagon, her slim, wiry body brimming with energy. “Why are we sitting here? It’s growing late and this wagon must be unpacked before dark. I’ll go see if I can find you some help, Robert.” She marched up the steps and knocked briskly on the door.

Nana stayed where she was on the bed of the wagon. It would be time enough to move when they all began the laborious task of unpacking the paintings and furniture Jean Marc had sent to Vasaro for safekeeping.

“Hello.”

She looked down to see a small boy with curly black hair and eyes as clear and blue as the Seine on a sunny day standing a few feet away from the wagon.

“You must be Nana.” The little boy smiled at her and Nana had the odd feeling the darkness inside her had suddenly been touched by sunlight. “Catherine sent a message ahead to tell me you were coming. My name is Michel.”

Juliette, Jean Marc, and Louis Charles arrived in Charleston on March 3, 1794. On March 7 Juliette and Jean Marc were joined in marriage by Father John Bardonet and took up temporary residence in a pleasant red brick house on Delaney Street.

On May 21, 1794, Juliette received her first communication from Catherine.

Dear Juliette ,

Let me tell you the good news first. No one knows the boy has escaped. Robespierre has thrown a cloak of silence around the Temple and it’s assumed the child is in solitary confinement .

There is no other news that is in the least hopeful.

On April fifth Danton was guillotined. Francois was stricken and said that the last sane voice in France has been silenced.

It appears to be true, for Paris is in a frenzy of terror of Robespierre.

We have left the Temple and gone into hiding, for everyone connected with Danton is suspect .

We still manage to continue our work, but only le bon Dieu knows how long we can go on.

Still, we cannot leave Paris for Vasaro while Robespierre lives and the Terror goes on.

Francois has a plan he hopes may turn the convention against Robespierre.

When trying to locate the Wind Dancer for Jean Marc, it came to his ears that Robespierre may have possession of the statue without knowledge of the convention.

If that’s true, a few whispers to influential members might turn the tide against Robespierre .

You mustn’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a long while. Francois says we must be cautious lest any message fall into the wrong hands. I only dared write so frankly this time because we found a messenger who was absolutely safe .

I think of you constantly and hope all is well with all of you. Pray for us as we pray for you .

Always , Catherine

“Jean Marc, I’m so frightened.” Juliette put down the letter, her eyes bright with tears. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have left them. Is there nothing we can do?”

Jean Marc drew her into his arms and held her tightly. “Pray for them, ma petite . Just pray for them.”

The second letter arrived on September 3, 1794.

Dear Juliette ,

Forgive me for writing so short a message, but we have just arrived and I’m so weary I can scarce keep my eyes open to put pen to paper.

I promise I’ll write in detail at a later time, but this letter must be sent off tomorrow or you’ll scold me.

Dear God, I wish I could hear your voice railing at me again .

I will tell you only what is of most importance .

Robespierre was guillotined on the twenty-eighth of July .

The Terror is over .

I am with child .

We have come home to Vasaro .

Always , Catherine

“It’s beautiful, Jean Marc,” Juliette said.

The white-columned brick mansion stood on a bluff several miles north of the city of Charleston. To the east it overlooked the sea and, to the west, miles of untamed forest.

“There’s a natural harbor a mile from the house,” Jean Marc said as he pointed out the window of the carriage at a path leading down to the shore. “You can have your own boat, Louis Charles.”

“Thank you,” Louis Charles said politely. “But I wouldn’t know how to sail it.”

“I’ll teach you,” Jean Marc said. “And when you’re a little older, I’ll let you go with me on short runs along the coast in a larger vessel.”

“That would be very kind of you.”

Juliette sighed as she exchanged a look with Jean Marc over the little boy’s head.

In more than seven months they had made little headway in breaching the distance Louis Charles kept between them.

She could understand the child had undergone too many partings and tragedies to want to form new attachments, but it was still discouraging.

The coachman reined in the horses and a moment later Jean Marc lifted Juliette from the carriage and then swung Louis Charles down to the ground.

“There’s a stable in back of the house with twelve fine horses,” he told the boy gravely.

“And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you found one that was small enough for you to ride. ”

“Truly?” Louis Charles’s face lit up. “May I go see them?”

Jean Marc nodded and Louis Charles bolted across the lawn and around the house.