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Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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niece, I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”
The wind gusted, cutting to the bone. Cassie pointed out, “This reunion will be even better indoors.”
“Oui, oui!” Madame Boyer took her uncle’s arm and led him to the house.
Cassie asked, “Is there a stable for my pony?”
A broadly built man who must be Romain Boyer appeared, drawn by the commotion. “Père Laurent, it really is you!” After a brief, intense clasp of the old man’s hand, he said to Cassie, “I’ll take your pony to the stable and bed it down, madame. You and your companions need to warm yourselves by the fire.”
Ordinarily Cassie would have seen to her horse herself, but this evening she was willing to turn Thistle over to someone else. “There are oats in the back of the cart,” she said wearily. “Thistle has earned them.”
“Indeed she has.” Romain Boyer moved into the storm and took hold of the pony’s bridle. “I promise she’ll be well cared for.”
The door opened into a large, warm kitchen with bunches of herbs and braids of garlic and onions hanging from the rafters. A fire burned on the hearth and the warmth almost knocked Cassie out. She stood, swaying, too tired to think.
A young girl and a smaller boy appeared. Seeing Cassie’s condition, Madame Boyer said, “You need rest, Madame Renard.” To her daughter, she said, “Light the fire and warm the extra bed in your room. This lady has brought my uncle home to us!” She turned to her son. “Fill three porringers with hot soup, André.”
To Cassie, she said, “Give me your cloak. I’ll dry it by the fire. Please, all three of you, sit before you fall over!”
Cassie was used to taking care of people in her charge as well as horses, but she let herself be ushered to a chair by the fire. Père Laurent sat on her right, and Grey withdrew to the corner, as far from all the chattering people as possible.
André ladled steaming soup from a pot on the hob into a wooden porringer, then hesitated, unsure whether to serve the lady or the priest first. Cassie gestured toward Père Laurent. “A priest has precedence over a female peddler.”
Glad to have that clarified, the boy handed the porringer to his great-uncle, then filled another and handed it to Cassie. She cupped it in her hands, her fingers tingling uncomfortably as they warmed. She was just finishing the soup when the young girl returned. “I am Yvette. Come, madame. Your bed is warmed and ready.”
“Merci.” Cassie set down the empty porringer and followed the girl from the warm kitchen, down a cold, drafty corridor, then into a small, warm bedroom with single beds on opposite walls.
“My sister, Jeanne, is married, so there is a spare bed,” Yvette explained. “The one on the right is yours. Can I help you disrobe?”
“Thank you, but I can manage.” Cassie sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off her half boots and loosened her hair. She stood to remove her sturdy gown, then crawled into the narrow but comfortable bed.
Usually in France she slept with one ear cocked for trouble. But this welcoming family and farmhouse were a haven, protected from all enemies by the storm rattling the windows and concealing the fugitives’ path.
She was asleep before Yvette left the room.
Chapter 13
It was still dark outside the frost-patterned windows when Cassie woke. She had the sense she’d slept only a few hours, but long enough to cure her exhaustion.
Wondering how her newly freed charges were faring, she dressed again. Yvette had left her half boots by the small fire so they were warm and mostly dry. After pulling them on, she returned to the kitchen, which was the center of life in most farmhouses.
The long room was empty except for Madame Boyer, who was mending by the fire. She glanced up, her happiness at the reunion with her uncle still visible. “Ah, you look much better than you did, madame. Join me by the fire. Would you like more to eat? To drink? Perhaps
The wind gusted, cutting to the bone. Cassie pointed out, “This reunion will be even better indoors.”
“Oui, oui!” Madame Boyer took her uncle’s arm and led him to the house.
Cassie asked, “Is there a stable for my pony?”
A broadly built man who must be Romain Boyer appeared, drawn by the commotion. “Père Laurent, it really is you!” After a brief, intense clasp of the old man’s hand, he said to Cassie, “I’ll take your pony to the stable and bed it down, madame. You and your companions need to warm yourselves by the fire.”
Ordinarily Cassie would have seen to her horse herself, but this evening she was willing to turn Thistle over to someone else. “There are oats in the back of the cart,” she said wearily. “Thistle has earned them.”
“Indeed she has.” Romain Boyer moved into the storm and took hold of the pony’s bridle. “I promise she’ll be well cared for.”
The door opened into a large, warm kitchen with bunches of herbs and braids of garlic and onions hanging from the rafters. A fire burned on the hearth and the warmth almost knocked Cassie out. She stood, swaying, too tired to think.
A young girl and a smaller boy appeared. Seeing Cassie’s condition, Madame Boyer said, “You need rest, Madame Renard.” To her daughter, she said, “Light the fire and warm the extra bed in your room. This lady has brought my uncle home to us!” She turned to her son. “Fill three porringers with hot soup, André.”
To Cassie, she said, “Give me your cloak. I’ll dry it by the fire. Please, all three of you, sit before you fall over!”
Cassie was used to taking care of people in her charge as well as horses, but she let herself be ushered to a chair by the fire. Père Laurent sat on her right, and Grey withdrew to the corner, as far from all the chattering people as possible.
André ladled steaming soup from a pot on the hob into a wooden porringer, then hesitated, unsure whether to serve the lady or the priest first. Cassie gestured toward Père Laurent. “A priest has precedence over a female peddler.”
Glad to have that clarified, the boy handed the porringer to his great-uncle, then filled another and handed it to Cassie. She cupped it in her hands, her fingers tingling uncomfortably as they warmed. She was just finishing the soup when the young girl returned. “I am Yvette. Come, madame. Your bed is warmed and ready.”
“Merci.” Cassie set down the empty porringer and followed the girl from the warm kitchen, down a cold, drafty corridor, then into a small, warm bedroom with single beds on opposite walls.
“My sister, Jeanne, is married, so there is a spare bed,” Yvette explained. “The one on the right is yours. Can I help you disrobe?”
“Thank you, but I can manage.” Cassie sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off her half boots and loosened her hair. She stood to remove her sturdy gown, then crawled into the narrow but comfortable bed.
Usually in France she slept with one ear cocked for trouble. But this welcoming family and farmhouse were a haven, protected from all enemies by the storm rattling the windows and concealing the fugitives’ path.
She was asleep before Yvette left the room.
Chapter 13
It was still dark outside the frost-patterned windows when Cassie woke. She had the sense she’d slept only a few hours, but long enough to cure her exhaustion.
Wondering how her newly freed charges were faring, she dressed again. Yvette had left her half boots by the small fire so they were warm and mostly dry. After pulling them on, she returned to the kitchen, which was the center of life in most farmhouses.
The long room was empty except for Madame Boyer, who was mending by the fire. She glanced up, her happiness at the reunion with her uncle still visible. “Ah, you look much better than you did, madame. Join me by the fire. Would you like more to eat? To drink? Perhaps
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