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“No.”
She sighed, realizing she was destined to spend the entire day sitting beside a person who was determined to ignore her. She considered how she might make the time pass more quickly. Perhaps she could count the trees they passed or play a number game in her head.
“The trip last week was my first,” Luc said after a long pause.
Julia started. His voice sounded loud after the quiet. “Oh,” she said, not about to let the conversation dwindle. “And how did you find it?”
“Hot.”
Julia could think of no response. The silence returned, and she shifted in her seat, thinking how nice it would feel to sit on a cushion. She watched the sky lighten until at last the sun appeared and the shadows receded as it rose higher. Farmland surrounded them, and it seemed everything in Provence was in bloom. Fields of lavender spread over hills like blankets set among the blossoming orchards and vineyards, the flowers filling the air with their fragrance. They were drawing closer to the rocky mountains. Atop one, Julia could see a city built of stone on the rounded peak.
Luc cleared his throat. He scratched the back of his neck and glanced at her. “I hear l’Exposition Universelle is very... ah... very impressive.”
“Yes,” Julia said, feeling a rush of excitement. Her father had prepared for years for the World’s Fair, and his descriptions of its development over the past months had filled her with anticipation. “Did you know they have created an entire Egyptian village where one might ride a camel or take tea in a Bedouin tent?”
“I did not know that,” Luc said.
“I hear even the shah of Persia is expected to attend.”
Luc gave a nod but didn’t seem particularly impressed by the rumor.
“And, of course, there is an Aztec Temple in the Mexican pavilion,” Julia continued, not allowing his lack of enthusiasm to dampen her own. “Jules Massenet has composed a brand-new opera for the event. My father told me there are miles and miles of displays and exhibits and performers. Even sporting events and carnival rides, if one is interested in that sort of thing, and if one becomes tired from all the walking, an electric moving sidewalk will take you from place to place.” She stopped when her voice ran out of breath, looking at her companion eagerly. Surely one could not help but be thrilled by the aspect of such a spectacle.
Luc nodded. “It sounds enjoyable.”
He may have been speaking sarcastically, but if that was the case, she ignored it. She was far too excited. “And the art.” Julia clasped her hands. This was the element of the exhibition for which her father had worked so tirelessly. “A gathering of the greatest works of the greatest artists in the world, all in one place—no museum can compete.”
Luc seemed even quieter than before.
“My father said France has the most impressive presentation of all. Meissonier, Manet, Bouguereau...” She glanced at Luc, then took a breath. “You belong among them.”
He scowled. He clicked his tongue at the horse, flicking the reins.
But he was trapped with her here, on this wagon seat, and she took advantage of his inability to walk away from something he found uncomfortable. “Luc, your art—”
“Non, Juliette.” His voice was low, but Julia thought it sounded sad rather than angry.
“I know what I am saying. I’ve traveled with my father since I can remember. He’s taught me to recognize the difference between good and remarkable art. Your paintings... Why do you keep such talent hidden away?”
“I have my reasons.” Luc kept his gaze fixed on the horse.
“Do you worry that it is not good enough? That some might criticize? There are always those who will find fault.” She turned toward him as much as she could on the wagon seat without losing her balance, wanting to give emphasis to her words. “Luc, you must believe me when I tell you this talent,yourtalent, is rare, and you should reveal it to the world.”
“I will not.” His words cracked in the air. This time, his voice was angry, leaving no room for argument.
Julia sighed, sitting back in the wagon seat. Luc didn’t understand. Or he didn’t trust her judgment. Frustration made her clench her teeth as she thought about how selfish he was being. Both he and Gabi would benefit from the profits if he sold his paintings. She had no doubt that once her father saw Luc’s work, he would speak to his French counterpart and the paintings would receive a place of honor in the Grand Palais des Beaux-Arts. Julia imagined how proud Colonel Weston would be of her discovery. But as soon as she had the thought, a burning guilt stung her throat. She wasn’t simply thinking of her father’s approval but of Luc. The man’s house was in shambles, he’d been forced to sell part of his family’s farm, and the answer to all of his problems was sitting unappreciated in a storage building. She wanted people to know, but even more than that, she wanted Luc to realize that his work was special. The solution was so obviously simple.
“Shall we see what’s in Gabi’s basket?” Luc asked after a long silence.
Julia glanced at him. The glower was gone, and for that she was glad. She turned in the seat and reached back toward the basket, wishing there was something to hold on to as she did. Until two days ago, she had never ridden in a farm wagon, and she found the vehicle to be not only uncomfortable but unsafe as well. The seat sat high in the front, with no railing before it and only a low back behind. As she reached, the wagon went over a bump, causing her to lose balance. She grabbed on to Luc’s arm to keep from falling into the wagon bed.
He pulled on the reins. “Perhaps a picnic is a safer proposition.”
The pair climbed out of the wagon, and Julia was relieved for a chance to stretch out her legs and back. Her heart still beat rather fast from her near-fall. A glance at her two timepieces showed it was nine o’clock, long past the time for breakfast. She took off her coat, glad the morning had grown warm.
“Ground’s rocky,” Luc said after glancing around the area. “We can eat in the wagon.” He stepped onto the running board and swung his leg over the side of the wagon. Then he reached down a hand to help Julia to do the same.
The step was high. She took his hand, held her skirts, and clumsily put her foot on the running board.
