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Marguerite was glad to see that at least the child was responsive. She seemed just as curious about Marguerite as she was about her, as she reached towards Marguerite’s face. If Jacob was still there he would have remarked upon it in wonder, considering how guarded she’d been for most of their time together.
Instinctively, Marguerite bent down and the child’s fingers fluttered against her cheeks, like a butterfly, or a person reading a map.
‘We look alike?’ guessed Marguerite. ‘Your maman and me?’
The child nodded, with a look of wonder in her eyes. Eyes that seemed to be on the verge of brimming over with tears.
Marguerite had to look away for a second, to surreptitiously wipe a corner of the apron beneath her eyes. When she looked back at the child, her face had cleared and she put on her bravest smile, then clapped her hands together. ‘Do you like cake?’
The child frowned, then nodded.
‘Well, come in, come in – I just started making it – we can finish it together.’ Then Marguerite caught the child staring at her. ‘What is it?’
The child shook her head. Even if she could, she wouldn’t have known how to explain the feeling that had come over her, like getting into a bath after a long day, or like spotting familiar terrain after you had been stranded in a seemingly endless desert.
It was relief.
