The Iron Rose

By Gloria Rehberg

Born in Dec. of 1759, Jacques is the illegitimate son of King Louis XV of France and Monique Ledoux, a Lady-in-Waiting. Within hours of his birth, Jacques is illegally adopted to a farm family through the auspices of a black marketer known as Baron LeCoq and his cohort, Damon. Damon’s wife, Elaine, feels an unusual bonding with the baby and determines to keep track of him.

Jacques life on the farm, along with his other adopted siblings, is very abusive. The only overt love Jacques receives is from Elaine, Damon’s wife, who visits him and his adopted mother, Lorraine.

After Lorraine mysteriously dies, Pierre, the adoptive father, bans Elaine from the farm. Thereafter, Pierre lives in a drunken stupor that motivates the children to leave. Jacques goes to Paris to find Elaine but to no avail. Left homeless and having to steal for his food and clothing, Jacques’ life becomes a fight for survival. The only jobs he can find are in butcher shops. Years later, his oldest brother, Antoine, accidentally reenters his life. One of the only happy times of Jacques existence is when he meets and falls in love with Paulette and she with him. Unfortunately, Paulette is raped and murdered and Jacques vows revenge.

Monique marries Benet Jabot who is a Member of Parliament and they have a daughter, Catherine. Benet is known as a compassionate and liberal-minded man although belonging to nobility. Their story gives insight to the political and economic atmosphere and is interwoven throughout the book as Benet and Monique worry about their country’s conditions under King Louis XVI’s reign. Doctor Joseph Guillotine and Benet develop a close friendship as they share their concerns for France.

Antoine is head of the gendarmes and gives Jacques, and Jacques only friend, Paul, jobs as jailers in the prison system. Jacques eventually becomes an executioner known as ‘The Iron Rose’ due to his innate compassion for others thereby keeping the blade sharp to ensure a swift death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682228906

Book preview

over.

PART ONE

Chapter One

1765

Jacques awoke to a sharp slap on the side of his head accompanied by, Get up you lazy little bastard! There’s work to be done, and you’re the only one still in bed. Pierre grabbed the bottom edge of the ragged quilt in his cracked, dirty fists and jerked it to the floor, exposing Jacques’ frail six-year-old body to the crisp chill of the dormitory he shared with his brothers. Even before the quilt hit the floor, Jacques scrambled off the bed on the opposite side, almost tripping over his shoes in his haste to keep distance between himself and Pierre. His face smarted and turned red with the imprint of Pierre’s hand and his head felt as though it would fall off his shoulders if he were hit again.

"S’il vous plaît, Monsieur, don’t hit me again. Je regrette, je regrette," Jacques begged while tugging at his pants.

You’ve always been a real pain in the ass boy. You hear me? Pierre yelled while shaking his fist at the frightened and shivering boy who wiped at the tears trickling down his cheeks.

"Oui, Monsieur. Je regrette, Monsieur. I’ll try to do better. Je promettre," Jacques replied as he tied his shoes and then stood at attention.

See that you do, Pierre’s voice came down in decibels. Now, get to work or you’ll go hungry.

The sun’s rays were just beginning to peek over the horizon as Jacques picked up his pail and headed to the barn.

Entering the barn, he was greeted with, Hey, look who finally got up. Judging from the mark on his cheek, it was Pierre who roused him again, Antoine teased. Antoine paused to look over his shoulder making sure his audience, comprised of the other four boys, was in place. Then he continued, About time, little brother. Guess Pierre was really mad at you again, huh? The laughter of the other children followed Jacques as he placed the stool beside the cow.

He always tried to ignore Antoine, so he remained silent as usual. His small hands tugged at the teat, but it seemed very reluctant to release its contents. With his back toward the others, he let the tears flow. His heart felt as though it would burst with anger, hurt and humiliation. Pausing for a moment, Jacques wiped the tears away, and put his hand to the still smarting cheek.

Ten minutes later Antoine teased, Is that all you’ve gotten, Jacques? You’d better get with it or Pierre will have your cheeks matching each other. He picked up his pail of milk and sauntered off.

Jacques knew this to be true and continued to struggle with the cow’s teats until his pail was full. His stomach growled with hunger, but he knew that the same thin and runny gruel accompanied by a thin slice of toast would be their fare for breakfast. It was hardly enough to supply the nourishment he needed for the hard jobs around the farm. They all looked forward to Sundays when they were treated to one egg each for breakfast in addition to the gruel and toast.

They had barely finished their last bites when Pierre announced, Time to get back to work. There’s still a lot to do.

Jacques often thought about how he had never heard a kind word from Pierre. It seemed as though Pierre was always angry.

Lorraine Marchand was a silent woman, pensive and meek-mannered. She knew her place and maintained it by trying to make sure she didn’t give her husband any reason to beat her. As for Pierre’s growling, no one could ever change that. She had learned to accept it as his nature, although, when he was courting her, she had gotten a glimpse of a smile now and then. That must have been a huge effort, she often thought.

Reaching for his jacket Pierre announced, Lorraine, lunch will be at twelve sharp. I have to get more chicken feed this morning, so make sure the brats get their work done on time, you hear?

"Oui, don’t worry Pierre," Lorraine answered in a tired monotone.

After putting on his jacket, Pierre turned, roughly grabbed Lorraine’s arm and snarled, What? I couldn’t hear you.

Lorraine grimaced with the pain in her arm that was in the vice grip of her husband’s large hand. She hung her head and said in a little louder voice, "Oui, I will. Don’t worry Pierre."

Before releasing her, Pierre complained, I just hate it when you answer me in a tone you know I can’t hear. Your whining makes me angry.

Release of her arm gave a sudden rush of relief, and Lorraine stood silent, waiting for her husband to leave. When the door slammed behind him, she sighed. There was, however, one bright star in her life, and that was the visits from Elaine.

She had seen Elaine at market several days before and explained that Pierre would be going to town for supplies on this day, hoping Elaine would be able to come for a visit. These secret meetings had been taking place ever since Jacques had been delivered to them that cold day in December six years ago.

For his part, Jacques stood still as he watched Pierre climb into the wagon and start toward Paris. He watched the dust billow up from the road, and once the wagon was out of sight, Jacques relaxed. It always felt as though a great weight was lifted when Pierre left, and it seemed as though sighs of relief could be heard all around the farm. Even the wind sighed empathetically through the trees.

Jacques, don’t just stand there! Go feed the chickens. It’s getting late, Lorraine yelled at the boy as she gestured toward the chicken coop.

Jacques picked up the pail of feed and walked toward the coop. I wonder what Paris is like? He often found himself daydreaming as he leaned on a fence post and stared off into the distance. His daydreams helped him to escape, and were filled with the fantasy of what it would be like to have a loving family who really listened and cared.

Jacques, I told you to get the chickens fed. Why don’t you mind? Giving him a little shove toward the coop, Lorraine felt sorry for him . . . so small and frail. However, she couldn’t afford such feelings, because she knew all too well what the repercussions would be if she did.

As she watched Jacques head into the coop, her heart ached. She wanted to hold him and press him to her heart. She wanted to give him the love she knew all children needed. Nevertheless, the memory of a certain day nine years ago always surfaced whenever she thought about showing any love and tenderness to the children.

She could still feel the pain as Pierre’s fist hit her on the jaw and jarred several teeth loose. The teeth were soon lost. The floor had come up to meet her as she reeled from the blow, and forever etched in her memory was the sharp pain in her stomach and buttocks as his booted foot slammed into her flesh.

She wondered why she stayed with him as she lay on the floor in a fetal position trying to shield her head in anticipation of more blows. She didn’t love him. No, deep down she hated him, but she couldn’t afford to give in to such feelings. No woman could. After all, where could a woman go and how could she survive on her own? Instead, Lorraine always had to work hard at desensitizing herself for the sake of self-preservation.

It had started that morning when Pierre had walked into the kitchen and loudly demanded that Antoine hurry with his porridge.

"Pierre, s’il vous plaît. Don’t yell at him. It scares him." She tried to comfort the three-year-old by patting his back. She saw the child’s lips begin to quiver and his eyes tear up with hurt and fright.

Stop that! Pierre had yelled. You’re spoiling him, and we can’t afford that. Pierre reached Lorraine’s side in one large, angry stride. I said, stop that! He had grabbed his wife’s arm and jerked her to her feet, shook his finger within an inch of her face, and yelled, Don’t ever let me see you behave like that again you hear me?

Antoine had cried louder in fright and Lorraine felt drawn even more to the screaming child. As she turned toward Antoine, Pierre shouted, You bitch, and hit her.

No, she could never forget…for her sake or the children’s.

The sound of a horse and wagon interrupted her hellish memories, and she turned to see who it was. I hope it’s not Pierre. The sight of Elaine was like a ray of sunshine in Lorraine’s dark life, and a smile lit up her whole face.

Jacques always felt the change of atmosphere whenever Elaine came for a visit. It made him feel happy, and free of oppression. He wasn’t sure why, nor could he fully understand.

As Elaine stepped down from the carriage, Lorraine ran toward her with outstretched arms and happily shouted, It’s so good to see you. The women hugged for a couple of minutes and then Elaine asked, How are you Lorraine?

As well as can be expected. You know how it is. However, enough. Come into the house where we can visit.

Elaine hesitated, and looked toward the barn. Lorraine knew who she was looking for and said, He’s feeding the chickens.

Would you mind if I have a few moments with him?

Of course not, I know you’ve always had a special attachment to Jacques. Besides, he’s always happy to see you. His face lights up whenever you’re here, or haven’t you noticed? Lorraine couldn’t understand it but never begrudged Elaine and Jacques their time together. She knew Jacques received the much-needed love and attention from Elaine that she didn’t dare give him.

"Merci. Elaine walked toward the chicken coop feeling happy and anxious to see the little boy she loved so much. As she neared the coop, she called out, Jacques. Jacques, are you in there?"

Hearing her voice, Jacques heart seemed to skip a beat. He knew he would feel the warmth of her arms around him, cradling him, and for a short while, it would grant him sanctuary from his tormented world. He ran into her arms giving in to the unmistakable and mysterious bond that had always been there. They both wished they could be a family but knew it could never be. However, they would make the most of their time together.

Chapter Two

Lorraine, how is Pierre treating Jacques? I know he’s not nice to you or to the other boys. Elaine paused, but judging by Lorraine’s silence and bowed head, her suspicions were confirmed.

"Oh non, not Jacques too!" Elaine had hoped that because Jacques was a baby when they got him, Pierre wouldn’t be cruel to him, that there would be some kind of a bond that wasn’t there with the other boys.

I’m afraid so, Elaine. It doesn’t matter who or how old the person. He’s just plain mean.

Do you have any idea why? Has he always been this way? If so, there must be a reason, Elaine pushed.

Lorraine poured another glass of wine for them and thought back over the years to a time when she first knew there was a Pierre. That had been fourteen years ago but it seemed like a lifetime. . .a lifetime of hell.

"The farm looked newer then. The herd of cows was larger. Times were hard but not as hard as they are now. I was only fourteen when I rode out there with my father that spring day. Father wanted to buy one of the bulls Monsieur Marchand had for sale. However, it was obvious right away that they weren’t expecting us when we got there." Lorraine frowned and her face paled from the scene being recreated in her memory.

Lorraine, what’s wrong? Let me help if I can, Elaine reached for her friend’s hand.

Lorraine looked up; tears rimmed her eyes as she continued, There he was, his shirt covered with blood and one eye swollen almost shut.

Who, Lorraine?

It took a few moments for her to return to the present. Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say?

Who, Lorraine? Who was covered with blood?

Lorraine’s face clouded up as she relived the scene again. It took her several minutes before she said, It was Pierre.

Pierre? What happened to him?

"His father had knocked him to the ground just before we reached them. When Monsieur Marchand heard us he dropped his fist. It seems that he beat Pierre, who was the only boy in the family, on a regular basis. I can only guess how he treated his wife and three daughters."

My God! But he knows how it feels to be abused. Why in the world does he do it to others? I don’t understand, Elaine shook her head in disbelief.

I think he’s so full of anger and hate that it’s his means of letting it out.

That does answer quite a few questions, Elaine replied. Yet, surely he knows how it hurts.

Jacques burst through the door panting and shouting, He’s back. He’s back.

Pierre? Lorraine asked, a frightened knot filled her stomach.

"Oui. Pierre. He’s driving the wagon fast as though he’s really angry." Fear was written all over Jacques’ and Lorraine’s face. Elaine knew things were bad, but now she realized to what extent the fear was that reigned in this household. She felt fear for this family and herself rising from deep within.

I’d better go, Lorraine, Elaine said as she stood to give Lorraine a quick hug. As she got within a few feet from the door, Pierre threw the door wide almost hitting her.

Suddenly he stopped and growled at Elaine, What in the hell are you doing here? The women usually timed their visits so that Elaine would be gone when Pierre returned, but something had gone wrong today.

I asked you a question, Elaine. What are you doing here? Pierre took threatening steps toward the cowering woman. The lump in her throat stopped any answers she could give. This must be what Satan looks like, she thought.

Lorraine found her voice, and explained, Elaine just came by for a moment to buy some fresh eggs. Her body trembled with fright, as she crossed her fingers behind her back and prayed that her answer would be accepted.

Ohhh? Since when? Pierre wasn’t fooled.

Elaine swallowed hard, I went to market this morning for eggs, but I got there too late. I know you have chickens and thought you’d be willing to sell me some.

So, where are they? I don’t see any eggs. Then looking at the table, Lorraine, do you always give customers a glass of wine? His face had become gray with suspicion as his eyelids closed to half-mast.

"Non. Not usually but…"

"But what épouse?" Pierre approached Lorraine with an upraised hand.

As she stepped back, Lorraine bumped into a table causing an oil lamp to teeter. She managed to steady the lamp, and looked back in time to see Pierre within a few feet of her. Feeling confused, Elaine wondered if she should leave or stay to try and defend her friend although self-preservation was her first instinct.

"S’il vous plaît, Pierre. S’il vous plaît," Lorraine begged holding her hand up to shield her face. When he acted as though he was going to hit her in the stomach, Lorraine brought her hand down as a shield. At that moment, he slapped her hard on the cheek.

"It won’t happen again, je promettre, je regrette," she begged as she rubbed her cheek, trying to relieve the sting.

"S’il vous plaît, Pierre. I’ll be going and won’t bother you again. S’il vous plait, don’t hurt Lorraine. It’s not her fault. I asked her for something to drink as I was thirsty from the ride." Elaine slowly backed toward the door where Jacques cowered on the other side listening and holding his breath.

The subservient plea in Elaine’s voice seemed to calm Pierre’s fire. Then leave, woman. We have no more business with you or Damon. We did our business six years ago for the last time. Believe me, it’s definitely the last time, he emphasized, as he glowered at Lorraine.

May I buy some eggs? I’ll pay you well. Elaine stopped and held her breath, hoping she hadn’t pushed too much.

Jacques. Jacques. Now where in the hell is that brat? Pierre stomped to the door still yelling for the boy.

"Oui? I’m here." Jacques timidly presented himself from where he had been listening.

"Go get Madame Bucher some eggs, and be quick about it." Pierre shoved Jacques so hard he almost lost his balance going down the steps.

Jacques never minded doing anything for Elaine, and he skipped off to gather the eggs for the woman who brought to his life the only joy he knew.

As soon as Jacques brought her the eggs, she paid Pierre for them and left. As Elaine thought about the events of the morning, her concerns focused on Jacques. Do they somehow know Jacques’ background? Is that why Pierre picks on him so much? She wondered and worried and would have many restless nights thinking about the little boy that she wished with all her heart had been hers.

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Six years had passed since she lived at the palace, but Monique’s memories replayed like a vivid picture before her. It seems so long ago, but the memories don’t fade, she thought as she once again remembered the day it all began. Just before Monique and her mother, Rose, had entered the shop, a well-dressed man had greeted, "Bonjour Madame Ledoux." He had doffed his hat, bowed and slowly raised his torso letting his eyes scan the full length of the beautiful young woman standing beside her mother. From beneath her blue bonnet, jet-black hair had shone in the sun, outlining the creamy complexion that magnified her exquisite features. Then he saw the dark blue eyes topped with black eyelashes and brows. My, she’s breathtakingly beautiful, he thought.

"Bonjour, Monsieur LeCoq." Madame Ledoux had felt pressed for time as she had tried to guide her daughter and herself past the Baron.

Sensing they would leave before he was introduced, Baron LeCoq had sidestepped to block the women’s retreat, saying, "Is this your lovely daughter, Madame?"

"Oui, but we must go. We have a lot to do." Madame Ledoux felt anxious. She had never liked this man, and an eerie feeling always surfaced whenever she was around him. She had only heard rumors, but she couldn’t deny her instincts.

Extending his hand to Monique, "Mademoiselle."

Monique looked to her mother for further guidance. Seeing no encouragement to reciprocate, Monique ignored his gesture.

"Monique is her name. Now we must go Monsieur."

Monique. What a lovely name for such a lovely young woman. He had taken her unwilling hand and touched his lips to her fingertips. Then, looking back at Madame Ledoux said, "We must talk soon. Give my regards to your époux, Madame. Bonjour." He bowed, crossed his chest with his hat and took his leave.

"Bonjour." They both had sighed with relief as he continued down the road.

"Mère, who is that man?" Monique had asked, as Rose guided her daughter down the street.

Just a man whom I don’t like, she had replied, as they entered the shop.

But why not? Monique pressed.

Madame Ledoux didn’t wish to pursue the subject. Just things I’ve heard from time to time. That’s all. Now, let’s finish this shopping, shall we?

Within twenty-four hours, Baron LeCoq had called on the Ledoux home, much to Madame Ledoux’s chagrin.

"Monsieur LeCoq? What brings you here?" Rose asked, suspecting Monique was the reason.

"Is Monsieur Ledoux home?"

"Non." Rose made no offer to invite him in.

LeCoq pondered whether he should wait until Monsieur Ledoux was there before revealing his business but decided to plant the seed ahead of time. "May I come in, Madame? Just for a little visit which I think you will find interesting and could be most advantageous for your family as well." He barged past the portly woman, pulled his gloves off and laid them on the cherrywood console just inside the door. He seemed oblivious to the desires of the lady of the house as his arrogance preceded him in the form of an upturned nose that always seemed to be sniffing the air.

"If you insist, but be quick, s’il vous plaît. Rose felt perturbed as she led the way into the parlor, pointed to a chair in the corner, and took a seat across from him. Now, what is it you wish to speak to me about, Monsieur?"

"Madame, if I may speak of your beautiful daughter, I would like to propose to you something about which I suspect you have already thought about."

Oh? And what might that be? Though he had piqued her curiosity, she maintained her aloof composure. He’s so presumptuous.

I knew you had a daughter, but I never realized just how beautiful she is, nor did I realize her age.

Rose felt herself stiffen. "Oui, go on."

If I may be so bold, I wish to suggest that she would add grace, beauty and charm at the Royal Court. He paused, trying to assess Madame’s reaction.

At Court? She sat back in her chair and pondered his suggestion.

Well? Think of the prestige and advantages she would have. Beautiful clothes, security and never having to worry about the future.

I have to admit that I have thought about it. She will be sixteen next month. She stood and paced in thought.

I hope I haven’t offended you. Surely you know my intentions are honorable, he whined.

"Of course, Monsieur. Of course. She had offered him her hand in dismissal. Forgive me, I must think about this and discuss it with my époux."

I understand. He stood, bowed and kissed her hand. "Merci, Madame, for letting me talk to you about this. Let me know what you decide. I will help you in any way that I can as time is of the essence. Soon?"

Indeed. We shall see. He had given her an eerie feeling she couldn’t shake. If it had been anyone else, the suggestion would have had more credibility. However, I must admit that it would be an honor. Maybe, just maybe, she thought. Then she put the hand he had kissed behind her back and wiped it on her skirt.

Standing just on the other side of the parlor wall and peering around the corner, Monique watched Baron LeCoq leave and wondered what life in the Royal Court would be like.

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Monsieur Ledoux had taken a deep puff of his pipe and slowly let the smoke waft into the air as his wife’s discourse from the night before echoed in his mind.

Why not?" He had thought. I’ve worked hard to get us to this status in life, so why not? Then aloud, Monique? Rose?

The two women had rushed into the parlor. The imperative tone of Rene’s voice had caused Rose to ask, What’s wrong, René?

René had motioned to the women to sit down, Rose, I’ve been thinking about our conversation last night and I feel it’s time to discuss this with our daughter. Rose was not surprised.

He turned to Monique, "Chérie, have you given much thought about your future?"

Monique had expected this conversation, but answered, "Non, not really. I suppose I shall marry one day."

Of course, of course. Taking another long puff of his pipe, René cautioned himself to choose his words carefully. Because of her sheltered life, Monique was a shy girl and he didn’t want to alarm her with what he was about to suggest.

Monique, you’ve grown to be quite a beautiful woman, a woman of grace and elegance. This has not gone unnoticed. René paused, took another puff of his pipe and continued with, "Perhaps it is time to introduce you to the Royal Court. What would you think about going to the next gala at the palace with your mère and me?"

Despite having overheard the conversation between Baron LeCoq and her mother, Monique had been surprised that her father would even consider this. Her parents had always tried to keep her sheltered from the outside world. She knew that her parents attended social functions at the palace, but they had never discussed these affairs with her. She felt at a loss for words as she realized what her father just asked.

Well? Would you like to go? René had asked.

Excitement and apprehension had filled her at the same time, It would be exciting to meet the King and Queen, and I’d love to go. But are you sure it would be all right?

René knew it would be. After all, it was time to benefit from his life’s work. They had at last attained some prestige and wealth, and it was time to be recognized. This was an opportunity for his daughter to meet and marry a man of nobility, a man that could give her a secure life and that’s what he had always wanted for his daughter.

"All right? Of course, chéri. After all, you’re sixteen and it’s time to introduce you to adult society. Then he had looked at his wife and said, Rose, she’ll need the prettiest gown we can afford."

Rose nodded and smiled at the idea. Then she had clasped her daughter’s hand in hers. "This will be so wonderful ma chéri. You’ll see. It will be so much fun."

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The light from hundreds of candles had reflected on the mirrored walls bathing the large ballroom in shimmering light. Monique could never have imagined such beauty and elegance. She had only heard about it, but to be present and a part of it was breathtaking.

There had been men and women in their finest attire with glittering diamonds, emeralds and rubies of all sizes and shapes adorning the necks, fingers, wrists and coiffures of the women. Beautiful fans of all colors had hung from their wrists or coyly covered the lower part of their faces. At one end of the long hall, the orchestra had softly played.

Suddenly the music had stopped, and everyone in the ballroom looked toward the huge entrance doors at one end of the room. For Monique, it had been the most exciting thing she had ever seen or dreamed of experiencing. She had stood transfixed as Louis XV and his Queen strolled into the room. People had formed a line to greet their Majesties and to be greeted. Women had curtsied and men bowed. Much to her surprise, Monique suddenly found herself face to face with their Majesties. A gentle nudge and nod from Rose startled Monique and she bowed her head as she curtsied. An amused smile had crossed the King’s lips. Placing the fingers of one hand under her chin and coaxing her head up, King Louis had asked, "Your name, Mademoiselle?"

Monique…Monique Ledoux, your Majesty.

Monique? What a beautiful name for a very beautiful woman.

"Merci. Your Majesty is very kind." At that moment, she had been glad that no one could see her nervousness. She felt uneasy as she glanced at the Queen who knew she would always have to accept her husband’s flirtatious ways.

This ball would not be the last for Monique. Over the next nine years, she become a part of the social life at the palace. Two years after her debut; she was solicited to be a Lady-In-Waiting at the Royal court. Her beauty captivated the King from the moment he had laid eyes on her.

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"Help! Somebody help! S’il vous plaît." Jacques couldn’t believe the sight before him. He didn’t recognize his own voice as he walked backwards toward the door yelling for help. Reaching the door, he found his legs and began to run. Where to was anyone’s guess. He knew he needed help and wanted to escape the horrible sight he had just stumbled upon.

Antoine grabbed him by the shoulders, Jacques, what’s wrong?

Jacques kept looking back at the house in disbelief. Shaking him, Antoine pleaded, Speak to me. Jacques had lost his voice and all he could do was stare and point toward the house.

Turning to their younger brothers, Antoine ordered, You stay here while I go see what’s happened.

Jacques crouched on the ground holding his head in his hands, and gave way to the sobs he could no longer stifle. He wound his arms across his chest, hoping the uncontrollable shaking would stop while the rocking motion became automatic.

The closer Antoine got to the porch, the more apprehensive he felt. As he reached the door, he hesitated and took a deep breath to brace himself. As soon as he entered the old wooden building he became wary and slowly scanned the rooms.

"Mère? Mère, are you here?" The silence was ominous. As he entered the kitchen, it became shockingly apparent. Lying on her side in a dark pool of blood, hair tangled about her face, was the lifeless body of the only mother the children had ever known. Kneeling beside her, Antoine brushed her hair to one side and saw that the blood was coming from a wound on the back of her head.

Mère? He found no signs of life, and he slowly rose to his feet. Tears stung his eyes and he realized that the strange noises he heard were the plaintive sobs of his brothers who were standing behind him. Jacques stood apart. He couldn’t stop staring. He found his mother’s dead body both mysterious and fascinating. Only that morning she had fixed them breakfast before sending them to do their chores. Soon after that, Pierre had left for town. Then he remembered hearing Pierre yelling as he neared the house with the eggs he had gathered. From past experience, he knew better than to interfere.

Once over the initial shock, Jacques’ sobs and shaking ceased. With his eyes still fixed on Lorraine’s body, he felt compelled to speak, Antoine, we need to tell someone about this.

"Oui, I know. But who should we tell? Pierre will be home later."

I know, but should we wait that long, Antoine? I don’t think we should. Jacques, for some inexplicable reason, felt that telling someone was imperative.

"You’re right, but who? If we went to the gendarmes, Pierre would have a fit Jacques, and you know what that would mean. Then, turning to his brothers who were alternating between tears and trying to comprehend, Antoine said, Don’t worry. Everything will be all right." Hugging each other gave them solace in their grief and bewilderment. Now worry and fear set in.

"I know. I’ll go get Elaine. She’ll know what to do. Besides, I know where she lives because mère took me with her a couple of times when we were in town and I know I can find the house again." More than anything, Jacques wanted to feel Elaine’s loving arms around him.

How are you going to get there? Antoine asked.

I’ll take the horse. You stay here and continue with the chores because we all know that Pierre will want them done no matter what.

"Oui, but how come you’re so calm all of a sudden?" Over the years, Antoine had never been able to understand Jacques’ mood swings. Suddenly Jacques seemed so rational while the rest still had tears trickling down their cheeks.

I don’t have time for a discussion, Antoine. I’ll be back later, he called over his shoulder as he headed for the stables.

Be careful little brother, Antoine called out.

Jacques rode the old Bay as fast as he dared, stopping twice along the way to rest and refresh himself and the horse with water from a nearby stream. It was early evening by the time he arrived at Elaine and Damon’s house. Jacques tapped on the door and muttered, Come on, come on. Be home.

To Jacques’ delight, Elaine opened the door.

Jacques. What brings you here? Are you alone? She looked from left to right.

"S’il vous plaît, Madame, let me in. Something terrible has happened." He didn’t wait for an invitation but walked past her into the house.

What’s happened, Jacques? Tell me. She could see and feel his anxiety.

No time to waste. We don’t know what to do. Maybe you’ll know.

Between the catch in his voice and the speed with which his words tumbled out, Elaine didn’t understand what Jacques was trying to say. Shaking her head she said, Jacques, calm down. Tell me again.

"It’s mère. She’s dead," and as he spoke, the scene replayed in his mind.

At first, Jacques’ message didn’t make sense to Elaine. She stood with her mouth open trying to comprehend what Jacques had said. When she found her voice, she slowly said, Lorraine is dead? What happened? When?

I went to give her the eggs I had gathered this morning and I found her lying on the kitchen floor. Antoine said she was dead. We don’t know what to do now.

Elaine stood in silence for a moment and then asked, Pierre. Where’s Pierre? His name was first to come to her mind.

He’s in town buying supplies.

Then he’s probably back home by now, wouldn’t you say?

"Oui," was all he could muster?

"Jacques, we must go to the gendarme immediately and report this."

But Pierre will be furious if we do and will punish us. Just thinking about Pierre’s wrath brought immediate panic.

That may be so, but there is no time to waste. When reality set in, she bowed her head and let the tears slide down her cheeks and softly said, Oh Lorraine. You should have left him years ago. Elaine got the wagon, tied Jacques’ horse to the back and notified the gendarmes who followed them to the farm.

Just as Jacques and Antoine feared, Pierre went into a rage when he saw them.

"What the hell are you doing here? There’s no need for you to be here, so leave.