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PROVENCE, 1932
‘Read it to me again?’
Elodie and Jacques were lying in the wildflower meadow, which over the years had grown even larger. They were watching Huginn as he tried to teach his hatchlings how to hunt for peanuts. It mostly involved begging the humans.
Jacques smiled.
‘Dear Monsieur Blanchet,’ he began. ‘It is with great pleasure that we would like to offer you the apprentice research position under Doctor Franz Goethe at the esteemed Heligoland Bird Observatory, one of the world’s first ornithological observatories. We are thoroughly impressed with your self-study of the migration patterns of Mediterranean birds. Your role, should you choose to accept, will be to aid Doctor Goethe in his research on bird migration and contribute to the annual report.’
Elodie smiled. ‘You did it, Jacques. You’ve actually managed to make your dream come true.’
‘One of them, anyway,’ he said, reaching for her hand. Kissing the inside of her palm, he closed her hand over it; a kiss for her to keep.
He hadn’t asked her to marry him, but she knew he would. Once she was finally finished with school.
They had plenty of time.
‘The only thing that makes me sad about it is that our summers will be cut short,’ he said. ‘I won’t be able to spend more than two weeks with you – it’s our busy season, apparently.’
She sat up on her elbows, then leaned forward and put her head on his shoulder. ‘It won’t be forever.’ Then she sighed. ‘Though it’ll feel that way.’
He played with a strand of her hair, which Huginn decided to come investigate. ‘Shoo,’ he said, laughing.
‘Have you told your father?’ she asked.
He sat up, then put his head in his knees for a moment. ‘No. I have to break it to him tonight.’
She patted his back. ‘Good luck.’
Jacques had reason to be apprehensive. Monsieur Blanchet did not take the news at all well. Elodie heard them fighting in the vines near Grand-mère’s house, and they were still going at it later that morning when she went down to help Grand-mère at the restaurant. The old man kept tearing at his thinning hair, and shouting words like ‘duty’ and ‘my only son’.
‘So it hasn’t gone well, then?’ asked Grand-mère, handing her an apron, and looking at her face.
Elodie shook her head, then got to work washing the vegetables the older woman had left near the sink.
‘We’re doing roast pheasant today with summer vegetables,’ she said.
Elodie nodded, and began to chop the vegetables. She told Grand-mère what Monsieur Blanchet had shouted outside.
Grand-mère paused her preparations of the pheasants. ‘Oh, George,’ she whispered. ‘I will talk to him – he doesn’t want to make my mistake.’
Elodie looked at her curiously and her face turned grave. ‘When your mother ran off with your father – I also used words like that. Well, we know how that turned out, she never came home. It’s not worth it.’
Elodie nodded. ‘I think Jacques is different.’
‘What’s different is he has you.’
Elodie brought fresh strawberries from Grand-mère’s potager for the nuns at the Abbey de Saint-Michel. Sister Augustine was working in the garden when she saw her come in. ‘Oh, I was hoping I’d get to see you,’ she said, smiling in welcome.
The two had become firm friends. Ever since she had discovered for the first time that the feelings she had for her best friend might be more than she bargained for.
‘I brought strawberries.’
‘Wonderful. Do you feel up to helping an old woman with her gardening?’
Elodie smiled. The nun was barely a few years older than her.
‘Of course.’
