The Exiles (22 page)

“Don’t be foolish. He’s perfectly harmless,” Chantel said. But it gave her pleasure that Yves would show such a protective manner.

“Well, the lights are still on even if it is after midnight. I expect Marie is waiting to cut a switch to me.”

Chantel laughed at Yves’s words. “I knew they’d be up. Marie and Elise at least.”

Leaping out of the carriage, Yves helped her down and then took her to the door.

“I wish you could come in, but it’s very late.”

“I wish I could, too. It’s been a marvelous evening.”

“Oh, it’s been great fun! Come in for a cup of coffee, anyway.”

The two ascended the steps, leaving Brutus to unhitch the team. As soon as they entered the door, Chantel stopped in surprise, for Neville Harcourt stood in the foyer watching her.

“Why—Neville!”

“Good evening, Chantel—or I guess good morning would be more appropriate.”

Chantel was embarrassed, and was glad when Yves said, “Why, it’s good to see you again, Harcourt. Have you been here long?”

“I got here about nine o’clock.”

“If I had known you were coming, I would have made you come earlier, and you could have gone to the ball with us,” Chantel said.

She stood for a moment, waiting for Neville to tell her why he had come, but he said nothing, and she could feel a mounting tension that made her nervous.

“Marie, did you fix a room for Mr. Harcourt?”

“Yes, he’s in the green room.”

Yves was watching Neville closely. Abruptly he said, “Well, I’m danced out. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Harcourt.” He turned to Chantel, saying, “Good night, Chantel. It was fun.”

As soon as he left, Neville said, “I came down to see the place and what you’re doing to it.”

Chantel began talking rapidly.

“I’m sure you’ll like the improvements I’ve made. I’ll show you everything tomorrow. And I do need to talk to you about some of the finances.”

“And Gaspard. What has he been doing with himself?”

“Oh—he’s doing some painting.”

This sounded false in her own lips for, indeed, Yves had done practically no painting. He had made some efforts at first, but as the days had passed, they had spent them riding and visiting and simply enjoying each other’s company.

“I see.” Neville hesitated, then said, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, Chantel.”

Chantel said in a small voice, “Good night, Neville. I’m—I’m glad you came.”

She went to her room, and as Elise helped her to undress and get ready for bed, she mechanically answered her questions about the ball. But she was thinking,
I wonder why Neville really came.
She pushed the question away, and when she had her nightgown on, she said good night to Elise and got into the large four-poster bed. Elise arranged the mosquito netting, and for a long time Chantel lay there listening to the frogs that bellowed forth a rough symphony from the pond. She finally went to sleep, but it was a troubled sleep, unlike that which she usually enjoyed.

Chantel spent considerable time with Neville for the next two days. He was indeed interested in the plantation and spent an equal amount of time with Simon, going over the accounts of the operation. Chantel appreciated his interest, but somehow there was still a tension in the air. She knew it was primarily between Neville and Yves. Not that there were any hard words or signs of ill feeling, but, nevertheless, it was there.
It’s just that they don’t have much in common,
she told herself.

Once she and Yves went riding and paused beside a field of sugarcane. The green stalks were waving in the breeze, and he turned to her abruptly and said, “You and Harcourt have been friends for a long time.”

“Oh, yes. He’s been the best friend I’ve ever had.” Chantel saw a smile touch Yves’s broad mouth. “What are you smiling at?” she demanded.

“It’s more than that.”

“What’s more than that?”

“It’s more than friendship. He’s interested in you.”

Chantel felt her cheeks suddenly warm. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s not interested in me like that. I’m like a child to him, and besides that we’re so
different.”

“Yes, you are. But I’m not sure he appreciates that.”

“Don’t you like him at all, Yves?”

“Why, I have no strong feeling about him.” Yves rested his hand on the saddle in front of him and watched her for a moment. “But I think I can see when a man is interested in a woman. You’re right when you say he is different. He has an analytical mind. Not much romance about him, I’d say.”

“Well, not really. He’s had to work hard all of his life, and the law is not very romantic, I suppose.”

“Well, you told me to warn you about fortune hunters, and he’s certainly not that. I assume he has money.”

“Yes, he’s very well off, I think. But anyway, you’re wrong about him.”

Yves shook his head, smiled again, and then touched his heels to his horse. “Come along,” he said. “We’ll race to those pines over there.”

The next day, right after breakfast, Yves said, “I’ve got to get back to New Orleans, if I could borrow one of your horses.”

“Well, of course, but must you leave?”

“Yes, I have business there.”

Later on Chantel walked out to the stable with him. He swung into the saddle easily and then leaned down and took her hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “Good-bye for a while.”

“Do you really have to go, Yves?”

“Yes, your friend wants me out of the way so he can talk about legal matters—and other things.”

“Yves, you’re so foolish!”

“We’ll see. I’ll write you from New Orleans, and I’ll come back when I can. Will you be coming to town soon?”

“Perhaps. I’ll write you back, and we’ll see.”

Walking back to the house, Chantel felt a disappointment. She had grown accustomed to her talks with Yves. He was teaching her about art, and she felt that she was growing in a way. She also knew in her heart that she was falling in love with him, and it was a wonderful feeling. She had had so little contact with men and none at all with anyone like Yves.

When she walked inside, she found Neville in the study.

“Is he gone?”

“Yes. He just left.”

Neville put down the pen and flexed his fingers. “I can’t say I’m sorry. I think he’s been monopolizing you.” He laughed suddenly and said, “And that’s what I came down to do.”

“What would you like to do, Neville?”

“Well, today, anything you like. Tomorrow I have an engagement.”

“An engagement? But tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“I know. I’ve been asked to preach at a church close by. The Methodist church with the tall spire on it.”

Chantel stared at him. “How did that happen?”

“The pastor there is a good friend of mine. When he comes to New Orleans, we usually meet. He’s a fine man, but he had to be out of the pulpit tomorrow so he asked me to fill in for him.”

Chantel knew that Neville spoke at churches sometimes, but she had forgotten. “I wish I could hear you, but we’re not allowed to go to other churches.”

“I can’t understand that.” Neville shrugged. “I’d feel perfectly free to go to a Catholic church if you invited me.”

“You never told me that.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. After all, we’re all Christians no matter what the sign says out in front of the church.”

Chantel flushed. She knew that her own priest would never permit her to go to a Protestant church, and she changed the subject abruptly.

They had a good day riding over the plantation. Chantel kept a close eye on Neville, waiting for him to hold her hand or try to kiss her, but he just wanted to know about sugar production and new methods and storage barns. He talked about enlargements to the house, and she was vaguely disappointed.

I told Yves there was nothing to his crazy idea. Neville would never be interested in me. He knew me too well when I was nothing but a child.

That night Chantel tossed and turned restlessly. Slowly an idea began to take shape within her mind. She had always had this sort of imagination, where an idea would come much like a single grain of corn and then begin to grow and swell until finally it was a full-fledged scheme. At first the thought seemed ridiculous, but as she lay there listening to the symphony of frogs, it came together so perfectly that finally she said aloud, “I’ll do it!” A mixture of fear and excitement came to her, and she nodded firmly. “Yes, I’ll do it!”

The service had evidently already started as Chantel moved up the steps of the small white church with the steeple. She could hear the singing of the people, and for just one moment she took counsel of her fears.

I must be crazy! It will never work—someone is sure to recognize me.

Still, she stood there wearing the black satin dress with the black hat and the veil that covered her face almost down to the chin. The idea of disguising herself and coming to hear Neville preach had seemed wild and fantastical at first, but as she stood there she determined not to listen to her fears. She had no idea what to expect inside the doors. Still, she could not see any wrong in it. Neville’s admission that he would be glad to go to her church came to her, and she thought,
If he can come to my church, I can go to his!

Lifting her head, she stepped forward, and as she moved toward the door, a man wearing a white linen suit nodded pleasantly to her. “Good morning, ma’am. We’re glad to have you visiting with us.” He hesitated, then said, “I’m sorry about your loss.”

Chantel murmured, “Thank you.” He opened the door, and she stepped inside. Another man came toward her at once and said, “There’s a seat halfway to the front, ma’am. You can hear everything from there.”

“Thank you.” Chantel followed him down the aisle and sat down. She was aware that people were looking at her, and she kept her head down. Only when she was seated did she look around.

The church was not large, but the ceilings were high. She was fascinated by the stained glass windows that portrayed what she supposed were biblical scenes. The pews were made of some sort of hardwood, polished to a high sheen, and the floors were hard pine glistening clean.

The people who sat in the pews were singing out of books, and she had never heard the song before. A book was lying on the bench, and a man handed it to her and said, “It’s page twenty-nine, ma’am.”

Turning to the page, she began to follow along. The words struck her in a way she could not explain:

Alas! and did my Savior bleed
And did my Sovereign die
Would He devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?

Was it for crimes that I have done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide,
And shut his glories in,
When Christ the mighty Maker died
For man, the creature’s sin.

But drops of grief can ne’er repay
The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away
’Tis all that I can do.

The words did something to Chantel. She had never heard a hymn like this, and she began to think of Jesus in a way that she had never thought before.

The congregation sang several more songs, and then an offering was taken. Finally the choir sang a special song, and by this time Chantel was very uncomfortable. She could not explain why. Just being in a church other than her own seemed wrong—and yet there was joy and excitement on the faces of the worshippers.

She was also struck by the informality of the service. Her own service in the Catholic church, of course, was highly formal, choreographed almost with the precision of a minuet. Very rarely was her heart touched in such a service. But here, somehow, the spirit of God was very real.

Finally she saw Neville stand and come to take his place behind the pulpit. He had a Bible in his hand and looked out over the congregation calmly. There was an ease and assurance about him, and he told the congregation that he was glad to be there and worship with them.

Then he said, “I can speak of nothing other this morning than Jesus and His amazing power to take us all to be in heaven with Him. Turn in your Bible to the twenty-third chapter of Luke to the story of the death of our Lord Jesus. We will read from the Scripture beginning with the thirty-ninth verse:

And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us.

But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation?

And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.

And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.

And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.

Chantel had read this story more than once since Neville had shown it to her so long ago. It never failed to move her. She followed the sermon closely, forgetting her fears and her nervousness.

Neville was a fine speaker. She had known that he must be, since lawyers had to plead cases in court, but somehow preaching brought out a new dimension that she had not seen in him before. The last part of his sermon was clear. “I will remark in closing that this poor, dying thief went directly to be with Jesus. There was no intermediate state. Despite what some may believe, there was no purgatory. There was no more suffering for sins, for Jesus had suffered for sins.”

Despite Sister Martha’s best efforts, Chantel had resisted the idea of her mother and her sister and lately her father going from this life to a place where they would be tormented for an indeterminate time. Now Neville had reassured her again, saying that the instant one died, that moment they were in the arms of the Lord Jesus—all pain gone, no more tears, no more sorrow.

Neville stepped out of the pulpit and held his Bible high, extending his other hand toward the congregation. Chantel found herself trembling as she listened to his words. “What did Jesus mean when he said, ‘It is finished’? Why, He meant that He has finished your salvation. Look to Him and be saved. That is all you must do. He is the only salvation. This morning just one look, just one cry, ‘Be merciful to me,’ and forever your place in heaven is reserved. As we stand and sing, I’m going to ask you to come forward this morning if you want Christ to wash away all your sins and make your place forever reserved in heaven.”