Page 25 of The Wandering Season

I wandered the winding cobblestone streets of Beynac for some time, pondering my conversation with Niall and the flurry of texts with Jonathan. Trying to convince myself that I hadn’t been creating an elaborate web of self-deception to keep myself from failing professionally. The more I pondered, the less I liked the conclusions I came to.

Eventually I found my way to the bookstore. The door was unlocked, but Madame DuChatel was nowhere to be found. I thumbed through the titles of the old books. I settled in the posh chair next to the fire with one of the cookbooks. After a few moments, Maximillien padded down the steps and hopped into my lap, purring contentedly.

Less than a quarter of an hour later, the bookstore swirled until it was replaced with a sort of apothecary shop. Rather than books, the shelves were filled with labeled bottles of liquid in a muted rainbow of colors, jars with dried ingredients that went beyond the limits of my vocabulary’s ability to describe, and innumerable empty vials for the finished concoctions. Scales, mortars and pestles, and thick books containing the precise measures for all their medicines took up residence on a massive worktable.

The bell, which sounded identical to the one Madame DuChatel used—perhaps the very same one—sounded as Imogène entered the antique pharmacy. A woman who appeared to be in her late forties emerged from a back room, summoned by the gentle tinkling. Her face was red and streaked with fresh tears. The unending tears of a mother who should never be forced to bury her child. She pulled aside the veil of her grief just long enough to recognize that her guest wasn’t a common customer. She rushed to Imogène and took her in her arms like she would have her own daughter.

“Oh, my darling girl. You’ve heard the terrible news.”

Imogène mumbled something like “yes”

in her would-be mother-in-law’s embrace. “I’m so sorry, Coralie. It was never meant to be like this.”

Imogène’s words were drowned in sobs, but her meaning was plain enough to the only other woman who could have claimed to love Lucien as well as she did.

“No. You two were meant to grow old together. You were meant to take over the shop and have a happy, prosperous life together with a gaggle of children underfoot for me to spoil in my dotage.”

At this, Imogène burst into a fresh torrent of tears. She released her agony on Coralie’s shoulder, allowing the older woman to cradle and soothe her with even more patience than her own mother had shown.

“It’s a tragedy, Imogène, but Lucien wouldn’t want you to fall apart. He’d want you to go on living for his sake.”

Imogène gently pulled away. “It’s not just that, Coralie.”

The older woman studied Imogène’s face, and the light of recognition shone in her eyes. She placed a hand on Imogène’s abdomen. “Two months gone?”

Imogène nodded. “I’m so sorry. We just—”

Coralie held up a hand to silence her. “You owe me no explanation for giving my son a happy memory to take with him, my girl. You will find no judgment here.”

Imogène’s shoulders sagged in relief. “My parents want to send me to a nunnery. As soon as it can be arranged. They expect me to give the baby to strangers.”

Coralie blanched. “That would be a cruelty to you.”

She began to pace the floor, rubbing her temples methodically. “Lucien wouldn’t want to see you ruined, nor would he want you to live through the agony of being parted from your child under such circumstances. I could make you a tincture . . . It’s early enough that it might still work, though I cannot promise there won’t be consequences to your health later on. Other women have been made barren by it.”

Imogène wrapped her arms protectively around her middle. “I couldn’t bear it, Coralie. I can’t bear to do anything to what little is left of Lucien. I loved him—love him still—and I want the chance to love his child. I know it’s reckless. I know I’ll be shunned, but I just can’t.”

Coralie took Imogène in her arms a second time. “The choice should be yours. I only wish the world were a kinder place than it is. For both of your sakes.”

Imogène returned her embrace. “It’s all so brutally unfair, but there is nothing for me to do except to accept my lot as it is. Will you let me work here to earn my keep? I’ve been training with you, and you know I will continue to learn under you. My parents will cast me out if I refuse to go.”

Coralie’s face fell. “Dearest, I would, but the church would see my doors shuttered if I allowed it. They are suspicious enough of me in a man’s profession. They only permit it because I never let anyone think I am anything less than a respectable widow.”

Imogène exhaled, as if the last hope were leaving her body.

“Darling, I am so sorry. They would love nothing more than to have a reason to close me down. If that happened, I’d have no means to support my other children. Not to mention the customers who depend on me.”

Imogène just bowed her head meekly. Given the offer she’d made Imogène, I suspected Coralie was a far more sympathetic apothecary, in particular to her female clients, than most. She would be willing to ease the pain of childbirth, while other apothecaries would hold the line that women were meant to suffer in childbed to atone for the sin of Eve. She would be willing to ease the discomfort of a woman’s monthly cycles when it would be beneath the notice of other practitioners. And when a woman’s health or dignity was on the line, she could be persuaded to take extreme measures if they were called for. She would have been indispensable to the people of Beynac, especially to the women who needed her gentle guidance.

Imogène seemed to compose herself. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking. I couldn’t ask that of you. It was thoughtless of me.”

“I have been training you as my replacement. It was the most natural idea in the world. I only wish I could oblige you. It was the fondest wish of my heart to pass this on to you and to Lucien. You would have taken my place in Beynac to protect the women from the abuses they are too often called upon to endure.”

“But you cannot risk your livelihood or the well-being of your patrons. I understand.”

Coralie held Imogène, one hand on each bicep, bracing her for an uncertain future. Her chin suddenly jutted up in a defiant angle. “I would gladly continue your training and live to see you take over this place when I grow old. To know Beynac was in good hands. I’d give the world to have you stay here as my own daughter. But if I can’t do that, perhaps I can give you the world.”

Imogène cocked her head. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m going to give you money. And more importantly, I’ve given you training. You can sail for America and put your knowledge to use there. I daresay they’ll be more tolerant of a woman in this profession than our own people.”

“I—I couldn’t—”

“Of course you can. You’ll go to the New World as a brokenhearted young widow searching for a fresh start with her new babe. You can claim the papers concerning your marriage and Lucien’s death were lost in a fire or some such thing. Left behind in the Old World and beyond recovery. No one will have any reason to question your story. And you’ll have the money I’d set aside to give you and Lucien as a wedding gift.”

Imogène clapped a hand to her mouth for a moment. “You would do that?”

She took Imogène’s hands in hers. “The money was for you and Lucien to start your life together. Since my son is gone, it is only fitting you and his child should have it.”

“Do you really think it might work?”

“I do. And Lucien’s baby can be raised by his doting mother, not some stranger. I know that’s what he would have wanted.”

At this moment a massive cat jumped on the apothecary table, meowing inquisitively.

I would have thought it was Maximillien himself if the gray portion of this echo-cat’s fur weren’t a few shades lighter, approaching silver. Neither woman shooed him from the work area, and Imogène absentmindedly stroked the fur between his ears.

A few silent tears made tracks down her face. Not the racking sobs from before, but quiet tears of desperation. “I’m scared. Scared to go so far. Scared to have this baby alone. How am I to know what to do?”

The cat approached Imogène, then pawed at her elbow to demand affection, which she readily gave, and offered her reassurance in turn. And it seemed the cat’s antics had their desired effect. “Yes, Horace. You’re a very good boy.”

Coralie looked at the pair mournfully. “I wish I could send your guardian with you, but I doubt they’d allow it. I’ll have to put up with him pining for you for weeks. But never mind that; you are a smart and capable young woman, Imogène. I have every faith you’ll find your path. And I can send a letter of introduction for you to my cousin Giselle in Philadelphia. She’ll be able to help get you on your feet.”

“Why would she do such a thing for me?”

“Because my mother taught her all she knows, and she understands that she owes this family a debt of gratitude. The DuChatel men are steadfast, but there is no equal to the Joubert women for their loyalty to friends—and most especially, their family. You are one of us because you carry one of our own in your womb. She will welcome you as a daughter because she knows that to do any less would be a dishonor to her name.”

“Coralie, I don’t know what to say . . .”

“Tell me you’ll go. Tomorrow night. Don’t bother packing clothes. Put anything you truly can’t live without in a small satchel. Bring nothing more than what you can sneak away without raising suspicion, and meet me here tomorrow after supper. I’ll have travel papers and everything you need packed and ready for you and will devise a plan to get you to Bordeaux and the port. We can’t risk you staying much longer than that. Heaven knows your mother is probably hovering at your father’s shoulder as he writes letters to every nunnery in France this very night to secure a place for you.”

Imogène slowly began to pace, seeming to consider Coralie’s words. It would be the solution to so many of her problems, but it would mean abandoning every aspect of the life she’d known. A hand floated absently to her midsection, still flat and lithe, but which would become round and plump with new life. For this child she would have to make that sacrifice. She screwed a determined expression on her face to mask the uneasy grimace that keenly wished to take up residence there.

“I’ll go to Philadelphia if you think your cousin will welcome me. If you think there will be a future for the baby and for me there.”

“Nothing is promised, my dearest, but I know your chances there will be far greater than anything that awaits you here. I would not send you or my grandchild there if I didn’t believe it to be true.”

Imogène took Coralie in her arms one last time, gave the magnificent cat a farewell, and slipped back out into the inky night to quietly prepare for her escape.

As soon as the door shut, Coralie hauled out a trunk and began to fill it with whatever clothes and necessities she could spare and a healthy supply of funds for Imogène to take with her to the New World. Her hands shook with apprehension, but her face was lined with resolve. She could not save her son, but she could give his love and their child a chance at a better life.

* * *

Later that night, after I’d taken the time to digest the scene from the bookshop, Niall and I had a quiet dinner of simple pasta. While we ate, I relayed the events that unfolded in the bookshop. He seemed as relieved as I was that Imogène had found an escape that hadn’t cost Coralie her livelihood or the women of the village access to her services.

“I wish I understood why I’m seeing these things,”

I finally said. “And I honestly wish it would stop. I have enough of my own life to fill my head without worrying about these women too.”

“They may be trying to tell you something, Veronica. Obviously they have some connection or affinity with you, and they want you to know what happened to them.”

“At other times in my life, I might have thought being visited by Aoife and Imogène was next-level cool. Right now, I’d enjoy some peace.”

“Those times weren’t the season in your life when you needed to see them. I’d stop worrying about your mental health so much and just listen to what they have to say. What meaning this has for you and your future.”

I set my fork aside. “You’re probably right. And for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about earlier. It’s just been . . . a lot.”

“And you have me acting like a sod, pushing an idea—a life—you’re just not ready for. I was being selfish.”

“Offering me a life in a castle doing fun cookery things with you? Doesn’t sound all that selfish, really.”

“It is, more than you know. Caitlin isn’t entirely wrong . . . Blackthorn is a heavy mantle to wear, and it can be dreadfully isolating at times. Having you with me would make it all infinitely more supportable.”

I reached my hand toward his. “And more than part of me is tempted to just chuck my life and do it, despite it being entirely crazy.”

“It is crazy. And given all you’re dealing with, it was wrong for me to push the idea on you, no matter how much nicer my life would be for having you in it.”

I willed the word “yes”

to spring from my lips, but it simply stuck there, as if affixed with superglue. I hated the idea of him alone and miserable in that place, doing a job that wasn’t meant to be his for another twenty years or more.

“Remember, I’m not the only one with the ability to choose. Blackthorn may be your birthright, but it doesn’t have to be a curse. We’ve both been told by people what we should or even must do, but the choices really are ours to make.”

He squeezed my hand. “I’ll try to keep that in mind. And since I won’t be continuing my misguided attempts to persuade you to be my chatelaine, I hope we can move past it and enjoy our last days together as friends.”

“Friends,”

I agreed. And as precious as friendship was to me, the word still felt hollow on my lips.