“How do you mean?”
“Pretend you’d never met thatcrétinLéon Morice. Would you go back to Bayol’s workshop in Angers when you’re done with the carousel?”
“I did learn a great deal there, it’s true,” Maëlle begins, not wanting to be ungrateful. “But it’s difficult. I am the only woman, as you can imagine. And I feel... Well, Monsieur Bayol and the others call me ‘little girl.’ It has been a revelation to be here at Château Clement, to be in charge. It is the one blessing that came of Léon’s irresponsibility.”
“What is in your heart of hearts? If you had been born a man, for instance. What would you most want, in this whole wide world?”
Maëlle gives a shy smile.
“If I were a man? Promise you won’t laugh? I had a fantasy that you might ask me to stay on at Château Clement, to carve your lintels.”
“My lintels?”
“Your doorways, and window frames. Fireplace mantels and columns... they’re beautiful wood, but so... plain. Rather severe, even. Can’t you imagine them covered in the leaves and berries of thewoods that surround the château?” Maëlle blows quietly into the handkerchief again, but she is no longer crying. “And the birds that your husband loves so well?”
“Whenever you speak of carving, your whole face lights up,” says Josephine.
“Ever since I was very young, I’ve been happiest with wood under my fingers, cradled in the palms of my hands. I feel as though the very spirit of the wood calls to me, asking me to release its figures. I love the sharpness of the knives, the pointiness of the awls and veiners, the way the planers smooth things out. I even love sanding—andnoone likes to sand.” She shakes her head. “It makes no sense.”
“I beg your pardon, but it makes a great deal of sense.” Josephine’s voice gentles. “But here is what I find interesting: I think most women, when asked what they dream of, would mention a kind husband, and having children. Making a family.”
“I know it sounds... unnatural.” Maëlle hesitates. “But all I’ve ever wanted to do was carve. I helped raise my younger sisters, and I love them, but I don’t feel the same urges some women do. I never wanted this. To be a mother.”
“Like I do,” says Josephine. “Personally, I grow weary of people telling me what is ‘natural’ for a woman. Are we not humans with varied emotions, just as men are?”
Maëlle begins to cry again, whimpering into her already damp handkerchief. “How can the fates be so cruel? How is it that I should find myself in this condition, while you...”
“Remain childless.” Josephine’s voice is flat, but she grabs the iron poker and stabs at the fire with vigor, sending up a spray of orange sparks. “The fates are cruel, indeed. But it occurs to me, Maëlle, that the fates are a little like the winds that sweep over these lands.”
“How so?”
“There is a local story about negotiating with the wind known as themistral.It seems impossible at first glance, but... perhaps the fates can be negotiated with.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
PRESENT DAY
CHÂTEAU CLEMENT
Cady
The next morning Cady got to work on the carousel bright and early, excited to try out some of the products Élodie had given her.
Johnny showed up, as sullen as ever, but right on time. And then Jean-Paul appeared, wearing torn jeans and a sweatshirt over a stained white T-shirt.
“Guido’s expecting us after lunch,” Jean-Paul said. “He’s not sure he’ll have much time to spend with us, but he says you are most welcome to use his darkroom.”
“That’s great,” said Cady, her eyes traveling over his outfit. “I notice you’re wearing work clothes.”
“I assumed fixing a broken-down old carousel might be dusty work.” Jean-Paul looked around the building. “This is...” He trailed off with a shake of his head.
“C’est un saloperie,”Johnny said, referring to the building as a pigsty, essentially.
It did look like a chaotic muddle. But now more than ever Cady was able to envision what itcouldbe. Last time she and Johnny had started to organize the figures according to level of need. The old poleswere still scattered about, some still attached to the platform while others lay like kindling on the floor. The scenery panels, rounding boards, and mirrors from the original structure were black with soot, but appeared largely intact. She had no idea how to fix the motor or reconnect all the cranks and pistons to make it whirl around again, but that would be a later step.
First things first: to reclaim the art.
Johnny insisted on broadcasting the playlist on his phone—including songs by Johnny Hallyday and Johnny Cash, both of whom he claimed to be named after—so they listened to a mix of American favorites and Europop while the three of them got to work.
