“He’s your father.”
Michel shook his head. “He’s Monsieur Philippe.”
How could she fault him for his attitude? From infancy he had been raised with people who had toldhim Philippe was the master who had every right to impregnate a woman and then be praised for sending her on her way with money in her pocket. A man who could let his child become a worker in the fields and give him no more affection than he did any other worker’s child. A man who could let that priest call Michel a child of sin and his mother a whore and never admit his own guilt.
She began to feel a ferocious anger kindle within her and she leaned forward and brushed her lips over Michel’s dark curls. “Yes, you’re right, he’s Monsieur Philippe. He’s not your father. You don’t need him.”
“I know. I have the flowers.”
She felt the tears sting her eyes. Michel had his flowers. She had Vasaro. Juliette had her painting. Passions to comfort and heal the pain and loneliness of life, but shouldn’t there be something else? “And you’ll continue to have them and more besides.”
“I don’t need more.”
“Well, you’regoingto have more.” She ruffled his hair. “Now go to your bed and let me sleep. I have things to do tomorrow.”
He frowned. “I heard the doctor tell Mademoiselle that you should rest in bed for a fortnight.”
“I’m tired of people telling me what’s best for me to do. I’m sure it’s meant with the utmost kindness, but it must end. Will you come back this afternoon?”
He nodded. “After I finish in the fields.”
“No, don’t go to the fields. You needn’t—” She stopped. Michel loved the picking of the blossoms as he did everything else to do with the flowers. Because she was indignant, for his sake she mustn’t impose her will on him. After all, she had chosen to go to work in the fields herself. But, by all that was holy, it had been her own choice. Michel had never had a choice. “Come after you finish then.”
He smiled and rose to his feet. “I’ll bring you flowers for this room. Every room should have flowers.”
“Yes, please.”
She watched him move across the room toward the door, small, jaunty, vulnerable, and yet with a strengthunusual in such a young child. He would have been a son any father would have been proud to claim, and Philippe had rejected and thrown him away as had his own mother.
As the door closed she nestled deeper under the covers, the hollow sadness returning more intensely than before. Now that sadness was not for the death of the child who had lived for such a short time in her body but for something precious and golden that had warmed her since she was a small child. Had the Philippe she had adored ever really existed, or had he changed as the world changed?
She felt the tears run down her cheeks but made no attempt to halt them.
A woman had the right to weep when a dream died.
“What are you doing?” Juliette gazed at Catherine in astonishment as she watched Catherine coming slowly down the steps. “Go right back to bed. The doctor said—”
“I feel fine,” Catherine interrupted and then grimaced. “No, not fine. I was so sore it took me almost an hour to dress myself.”
“You should have called me.”
Catherine looked at her in surprise. “Why? I knew I could do it. I had only to persevere.”
“But you’re too ill to—” Juliette stopped and sighed. “I’m doing it again. I swore I wouldn’t smother you with attention and immediately I break my promise to myself.” She winked. “But it’s all your fault What can you expect when the first thing I see is you looking as if a carriage had run over you?”
Catherine smiled. “It’s the way I feel. A very heavy carriage like that berlin Cecile de Montard left the abbey in that—” She stopped and drew a deep breath and went on quickly to another subject. “Where’s Philippe? I wish to see him.”
“He left to go to the fields.”
“Which one?”
Juliette shrugged and shook her head.
“Probably the north field. There was a good deal left there to pick a few days ago.” Catherine started for the door. “I’ll see you in a little while, Juliette.”
“Wait. I’ll order a wagon.”
“A wagon?” Catherine laughed. “To take me to the field? It’s only a little over a mile away. Two days ago I worked from dawn until late afternoon in that same field.”
