Read Online Le Temps des Cerises by Zillah Bethel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Zillah Bethel
Ads: Link
without reprieve, jumping up at the least little sign to wipe a cooling flannel over Aggieâs brow, spoon a few mouthfuls of the broth Brother Michael had made between her dry, parched lips, soothe the tiny blue babyâs cries. She barely heard the angelus though it must have sounded for dawn, midday and dusk. Night and day had become indistinguishable to her as she watched and waited. There was nothing to be done but wait and pray, wait and see. Sometimes she clasped the Holy Book to her knee, feeling the gilt-cut edges with her fingers, and stammered out a few verses in a high contralto as if it might do some good. My beloved is mine and I am his. He feedeth among the lilies until the day breathes and the shadows flee away.
Sheâd rigged up a hammock for the baby, too, with blankets and hemp and on the table beside the bed stood the iron water as well as the medicinal herbs now decocted and tinctured into pots, a bar of soap, a candlestick and taper and a bowl of cooling water sprinkled with dry geraniums. She allowed no visitors apart from Brother Michael who brought his nourishing stews and broths, diced mutton and haricot, boiled beef, a wing of chicken and a slice of cake to tempt the invalid back to health. He must have searched heaven and hell for the food though Bernadine never asked him. She simply accepted the bounty brought out of the folds of his cassock and blue twill apron, thanking God for His grace and mercy. Once he brought an orange and she had shut her mind to the thought that he must have stolen it from some hot house in the Tuileries. Aggie had gasped in delight at the sight of it and Brother Michael had turned the colour of an orange himself, hanging about at the edge of the bed and wringing his hands, glad to be of use to the Prettiest Peach, yet saddened to see her so done in and done out as he put it. Occasionally he crouched down beside the bottom drawer of the tallboy and laid a thick and stubbly finger on the childâs forehead, making the sign of the cross. Then he would sink back on the horsehair chair in the corner and hold his breath until Bernadine almost forgot he was there. He had a knack of fading into the background like a chameleon or a white cat in the snow, and once he stayed several hours before Bernadine, on the point of rendering some intimate service for her friend, had remembered he was there and shooed him away as if he were a small boy.
It must have been very late or very early, for the light that came through the narrow slit of window was too soft, too gentle. It bathed Aggieâs face in a milky glow, a delicate muslin, then hit the wooden crucifix with the sweetness of a blade. The baby slept peacefully in the bottom drawer of the walnut tallboy â Aggie had managed to feed her before sinking back into a sleep of exhaustion. Bernadine watched them both, her own eyes drooping with fatigue. Up until now she hadnât been aware of her bodily functions, had felt no hunger, no thirst, no sore, aching muscles; but now an immense desire for sleep overwhelmed her and she must have dozed off for a while because suddenly she was in her beloved little garden, walking through snowdrops and shy peeping bluebells, her feet and habit wet with dew. The sun had the face of an angel, the sky new washed, new created. She smelled the smell of the earth, the grass, the sticky green sap of the trees, felt the silken downy buds of leaves. Gilded insects murmured in their flight and the chortling of toads trickled through the wall with the kyrie eleisons of a service. Disembodied voices of nuns and toads⦠She woke up suddenly in alarm and ran over to Aggie who still slumbered fitfully, her breath shallow and ragged. She dipped the flannel in the geranium-scented water and dabbed at Aggieâs temples then went to check on the baby. The gentle rise and fall of the tiny chest calmed her a little and she sat back down on her chair, deciding to bring out her box of
Sheâd rigged up a hammock for the baby, too, with blankets and hemp and on the table beside the bed stood the iron water as well as the medicinal herbs now decocted and tinctured into pots, a bar of soap, a candlestick and taper and a bowl of cooling water sprinkled with dry geraniums. She allowed no visitors apart from Brother Michael who brought his nourishing stews and broths, diced mutton and haricot, boiled beef, a wing of chicken and a slice of cake to tempt the invalid back to health. He must have searched heaven and hell for the food though Bernadine never asked him. She simply accepted the bounty brought out of the folds of his cassock and blue twill apron, thanking God for His grace and mercy. Once he brought an orange and she had shut her mind to the thought that he must have stolen it from some hot house in the Tuileries. Aggie had gasped in delight at the sight of it and Brother Michael had turned the colour of an orange himself, hanging about at the edge of the bed and wringing his hands, glad to be of use to the Prettiest Peach, yet saddened to see her so done in and done out as he put it. Occasionally he crouched down beside the bottom drawer of the tallboy and laid a thick and stubbly finger on the childâs forehead, making the sign of the cross. Then he would sink back on the horsehair chair in the corner and hold his breath until Bernadine almost forgot he was there. He had a knack of fading into the background like a chameleon or a white cat in the snow, and once he stayed several hours before Bernadine, on the point of rendering some intimate service for her friend, had remembered he was there and shooed him away as if he were a small boy.
It must have been very late or very early, for the light that came through the narrow slit of window was too soft, too gentle. It bathed Aggieâs face in a milky glow, a delicate muslin, then hit the wooden crucifix with the sweetness of a blade. The baby slept peacefully in the bottom drawer of the walnut tallboy â Aggie had managed to feed her before sinking back into a sleep of exhaustion. Bernadine watched them both, her own eyes drooping with fatigue. Up until now she hadnât been aware of her bodily functions, had felt no hunger, no thirst, no sore, aching muscles; but now an immense desire for sleep overwhelmed her and she must have dozed off for a while because suddenly she was in her beloved little garden, walking through snowdrops and shy peeping bluebells, her feet and habit wet with dew. The sun had the face of an angel, the sky new washed, new created. She smelled the smell of the earth, the grass, the sticky green sap of the trees, felt the silken downy buds of leaves. Gilded insects murmured in their flight and the chortling of toads trickled through the wall with the kyrie eleisons of a service. Disembodied voices of nuns and toads⦠She woke up suddenly in alarm and ran over to Aggie who still slumbered fitfully, her breath shallow and ragged. She dipped the flannel in the geranium-scented water and dabbed at Aggieâs temples then went to check on the baby. The gentle rise and fall of the tiny chest calmed her a little and she sat back down on her chair, deciding to bring out her box of
Similar Books
