Read Online Dancing in the Baron's Shadow by Fabienne Josaphat - Free Book Online Page A

“I’m ready!” Yvonne’s hands ran across his chest, but as soon as she leaned in again to kiss him, the sound of soft knocks jolted them. She grabbed Raymond’s arm.
    â€œDon’t—”
    â€œI have to,” he said. “You stay in bed. I’ll go help her.”
    Raymond scrambled in the dark to put his clothes on. In the kitchen, he called out as the knocks persisted. “You have to wake up, Madame Simeus! This is a dream; you’re not awake.”
    He opened the door to find his landlady standing there, her coarse silver hair combed back into a chignon, mumbling incoherent words. She had smeared peach lipstick around her mouthand donned a pearlescent gown he’d never seen on her before. Her eyes were open, vacant, but deeply asleep.
    â€œWill you take me to the dance?” she asked.
    Raymond stifled a smile. He saw her legs uncovered where the dress stopped at the knee, her ankles scrawny, her feet in fuzzy white slippers. Madame Simeus, always so proud and indignant.
    â€œCome, I’ll walk you back to bed.”
    â€œI’m waiting for my date.”
    â€œRight.”
    He grabbed her arm and guided her back into her house as he’d done many nights before, thankful for the interruption, his eyes searching the darkness around them.
    Nicolas was also awake, staring at his notebook, holed up in the darkness of his study, and hoping that if he couldn’t sleep, at least he could work. The manuscript was tucked away in its usual spot, and as usual it seemed to blaze and crackle like a glowing fire in the room. Maybe that was why he felt slightly feverish.
    Eve had finally fallen asleep after starting to fold clothes and precious little things. They were slowly preparing to leave for the Dominican Republic. Amélie was at her side in her crib. Nicolas, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to sleep since he’d started working on the book.
    In the glow of the lamp, Nicolas peered over his notes. He bit his nails at the thought of Jean-Jean reprimanding him for writing the book, for unearthing such sensitive information in the first place.
    And yet he couldn’t ignore the anarchic nudge within to challenge all of this, to change the world around him when everyone else was being coerced and corrupted. Sometimes the sleeping anarchist in him would just wake up in the middle of a lecture. His students would sit there in shock as the words poured out of him. When they began to gasp or grow awkwardly still, he’d know to rein it in quickly. He hated that look of resignation on their faces. Resignation sickened him.
    Molière! he thought sadly. Where are you? Molière, his former pupil, who had been the opposite of resigned when he reachedout to Nicolas. “I’m now an archivist in the prisons of Port-au-Prince,” he’d said with a quiet smile. “I remember what you taught me about justice.” And Molière presented Nicolas with what would become the backbone of his book. “You said there were many ways to start a revolution, Maître. Remember? Well, here. I thought you’d want to know about the disappearance of a certain Dr. Alexis.”
    Three days now of trying to reach his young source and still no word. Nicolas tried not to panic when the last phone call led him to a relative who announced sadly on the other line: “Molière is gone. He has disappeared.”
    He heard a pop outside the window. Nicolas jumped and peered through two louvers. Something had hit the shutters, something thrown. A stone, possibly. His eyes adjusted gradually, and he could make out the branches of almond trees swaying eerily over the hood of his car. A distant streetlight cast a bright glow on the sidewalk. Nicolas pushed the louvers wide open and looked at the fragile stems of garden roses that held their weight against the quiet breeze and the sleeping anoles.
    Nothing moved in the night. He must be getting paranoid.