AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The train continued to slow, and Julia saw a sign.Rivulet. She’d never heard of it, but it was as good a place as any, she reasoned. Provence was out of her way, but the world would not end. Her only disappointment was to miss out on a day at the World’s Exhibition.
Once the train stopped, Julia moved to the door.
The bushy-mustached conductor climbed out and took her hand. “Your luggage, mademoiselle?”
“I have none,” she said, stepping down and ignoring his brow lift.
“Very well, mademoiselle.”
The morning was misty, and dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, portending rain. Julia pulled her wrap tighter and shivered, wishing she had a coat. The wrap was elegant, well-suited to a dinner on a heated train, but it offered no protection from the chilly, cloudy morning. She started toward the small stone building that served as Rivulet’s train station, thinking she should get inside before the rain began.
The station’s entrance was located on the far side of the building, opposite the train tracks but facing the road. She supposed the building predated the railway, and nobody had bothered to change it for convenience of the train travelers.
The door was locked.
Julia knocked and stepped to the side to look through a window. She cupped her hand against the glass and peered close but could see nobody within. A small plaque was on the desk, bearing the name,Mathieu Laurent.He must be the stationmaster.
She looked up the road in both directions but saw no structures. Aside from a horse in a paddock beside the station, there was no sign of life. Where was the town? A shiver that had nothing to do with the chilly morning moved over her skin.
The train whistled, and she could hear it start away.
Well, perhaps the stationmaster was simply in a back room. She looked through other windows, moving around the side of the building. When she reached the back of the station again, she noticed two large crates beside the tracks—those had certainly not been there a moment earlier—and recognized Greek lettering painted on the sides, though she couldn’t read it.
The smoke from the train’s coal and the caboose of the receding locomotive as it picked up speed gave her a moment of panic; she feared she’d been too hasty disembarking in an unknown place. But the stationmaster must return soon, she reasoned. Better to wait here than to continue on, getting farther away from her destination.
Hearing a horse’s whinny, she turned and saw the man Nicholas had introduced her to at the Igney-Avricourt station.Luc Paquet,she remembered. It stood to reason that the countryman lived in this desolate location. She felt both relief at seeing a familiar face and frustration that the only other person in this place was the critical rustic. He was leading the horse from the paddock to a wagon beside the road.
Julia blew out a breath and approached him. “Bonjour, Monsieur Paquet.”
He glanced up and returned to attaching the horse’s harness. “Mademoiselle.”
The horse bobbed its head, and Julia stepped back, wary. The animal was large and sturdy-looking, nothing like the sleek carriage horses she was used to. And what if it should want to eat her cake?
“At what time does the station open?” She checked both of her watches, wanting to be certain they were in accord. She could not afford to miss the train to Paris.
“Maybe after lunch. Maybe later.” Monsieur Paquet tugged a worn leather strap, feeding it through its buckle. He didn’t look at her as he pulled the strap tight and patted the horse’s neck. “Today is Monday. It might not open at all.”
Julia had not previously heard the man speak more than a greeting, and for a moment his words were almost impossible to understand with the thick Provençal pronunciation. A moment passed before she comprehended completely what he’d said.
By the time she did, he was walking back around the station.
Julia followed. She didn’t appreciate his teasing. A civil servant didn’t simply choose whether he was inclined to work or not. Trains ran on schedules and followed rules. “Excusez-moi.I must speak to the stationmaster. I need to purchase a ticket. And to send a telegram. You see, I’m supposed to be in Paris.”
“You’re a long way from Paris.” He hefted one of the crates with a grunt.
“Yes, I know.” She followed him back to the wagon, forcing her feet not to stomp in frustration and keeping her voice polite. “My father will be very worried. From whence might I send a telegram?”
“Nowhere around here.” He lifted the crate into the wagon. “Nearest place is Beaucaire, about thirty miles that way.” He motioned up the road with his chin, then started back around the station.
Thunder sounded overhead as Julia looked in the direction he’d indicated. Surely he wasn’t suggesting she walk thirty miles along a dirt road in her evening gown. Could she hire a carriage? But where? Raindrops started to fall.
Monsieur Paquet pushed the second crate into the wagon and lifted up the back gate and secured it closed.
Julia shifted the cake to her other arm and pulled her wrap tighter. “I am sure the stationmaster will return and open the door once he sees the rain. I shall wait perfectly comfortably inside.”
“Wait for what?” He pulled a sheet of canvas over the crates and started to tie it down.
“Why, the next train, of course. Surely it won’t be too long. Good day, monsieur.” Julia turned and started back to the station. A small bench sat next to the door beneath a section of overhanging roof, where she could at least be dry. She would wait there.
