Le Caprice

By Michael B. Johnson

Times have become desperate in 1814 France. Napoleon’s reign is at an end, and France’s social structure is beginning to show signs of collapse. Desperate to flee to the New World and begin anew, one woman’s courage and determination will become fully tested. Entangled in a struggle with a dark force at work in her life, it sets off a series of events that create unbreakable bonds with the distant future.

Like will beget like as you can truly feel the emotions transcend the links of time, putting into motion the unfinished will from the past—hidden secrets that lay buried and undiscovered, screaming out for existence and justice.

Mystery, humor, romance, and danger are the common stepping stones as you travel along in this action-packed adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662449741

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Le Caprice

Michael B. Johnson

Copyright © 2021 Michael B. Johnson

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-4973-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-4974-1 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

A New Dawn

Parallel Vision

Snagged Hard

Three’s a Crowd

The Snakes Are in Eden

To the Finish Then

This book is dedicated to the living God in my life—that being Jesus—for hope, mercy, wisdom, faith, and joy.

It is also dedicated to my beautiful wife, Patricia. Our marriage has proven to be nothing short of a wonderful and loving adventure.

Chapter 1

A New Dawn

The horse gleefully clopped along as he pulled the carriage down the old cobblestone road. As he strode, it seemed as if he had been down the road so many times that he had each stone memorized. It was falling on night now, and a woman’s voice came from the carriage. Have you ever seen a more romantic moon? she said to the driver.

The bright moon struck the edges of the clouds and the landscape, giving everything a silvery lining. You could hear and see the silvery waves crashing against the break that the road was built on that led to a small stone house that was connected to a shop where an old glassmaker plied his trade.

The glassmaker blew the ambers of the fire with the billow creating a warm glow in the late evening window. Finally the last one, he thought to himself as he began to blow on the molten glass orb on the end of his tube. Three months ago, he was given the task to make one thousand glass vials, not just any vial though, double-sealed vials, able to withstand heat and moisture without destroying the valuable liquid contents within them. As the old man heated the orb again and was ready to blow through the tube, there was a knock on his door, however, not just a seemingly normal knock, it was a coded knock: three heavy, two light, one heavy. The old man came straight to attention. Being all business, he knew the glasswork could wait and went straight away to the door and opened it. Madame Moreau, you’re two days early. I was hoping to have your order finished and lined out, ready for your inspection.

You needn’t bother. Time is of the essence, and I will just have to take your reputation for it. How far along are you?

I’m working on the last one now. Would you care to watch me finish it?

Whatever it takes—we must hurry.

The old man took the inner vial that was previously filled with a purple liquid, of which the top was corked, and then dipped in wax. It was one foot long and one inch wide. The outer vial was one foot, three inches tall and two inches wide. He carefully inserted wax into the bottom of the outer vial and heated it until the wax melted, then he took the inner vial and set it in the hot wax to create a separation between the glass vials.

Then he carefully began to spin the glass in the center of a spin wheel with a flame heating the top edge to near liquid but solid still. At the same time, he took molten glass on the end of a metal hollow tube and began to spin it in a flame until it was the right viscosity, and then gently blew until it became a hollow glass ball on the end of his tube. One last time in the fire, he spun it round and round until it was perfectly ready. It was a perfect marriage in time. Just as the top of the glass vial was ready to melt, he set the ball on top of it—the two pieces melting together sealing out the air until broken.

He then laid it next to the others in order of color: purple, green, red, on down in that order of one thousand.

There you have it, madam. They are ready to crate.

Things have become more desperate by the day, tradesman. Soon it’s said Napoleon will lose power over France. The Franc will lose its value, and instability will run rampant in France. Has the special crate I had built arrived?

Yes, madam, yesterday. I must say, it in and of itself is quite impressive. It took four pulleys and two horses to lift it from the wagon. It is so well-built and sealed, if you put a mast on it, you could probably sail it.

Never mind that, I believe our agreement for the work was the title deed to your home and property. Here it is, dated three months ago. My signature on it makes it finale. Please make sure and take great care in crating them. I know our agreement was supposed to be completed two days from now. But I need it crated by tomorrow afternoon, if possible. I need to have it at the shipyard as timely as possible after that.

I will be as safe and as timely as possible, madam.

Just then, the carriage driver tapped on the door and said, Madam, we must be going. There are lights coming in the far distance.

Luckily, the lights in the shop were dim and normally lit for an average evening.

The woman quickly turned and said, I will return tomorrow with a contingent of men for the crate. If anyone asks, I was never here. Until tomorrow, tradesman. With that, she quickly got into the carriage and, with a light tap, the horse gently strode away into the night.

The old man was somewhat besides himself because now he owned his home and land but also knew trouble could be banging on his door. So he quickly dimmed one of the lights and kept one burning and hurriedly changed into his night clothes and prayed that they would continue past his house. Quickly realizing the vials were laying out and exposed with no way to hide them, he figured he would have to draw them away from his house. So he grabbed the lantern and went outside the house across the stone dike that the road was built on and hurried to a small fishing dinghy tied to a small dock. Just as he began to sort through stuff, a carriage pulled up.

The carriage itself was opulent, suggesting wealth and authority. It had two coachmen, one riding front and one riding rear. The rear man got off and opened the door. A short heavyset gentleman stepped down and walked up to the dinghy. Strange, isn’t it? said the man.

The tradesman looked up at him and said, What?

That a person would be attempting to untangle fishing nets at this time of night with only one lantern.

Oh, he said, now that I think about it, it would seem funny. However, I have been pressed for time all day, and this was the only time I’ve had to get ready for tomorrow’s excursion. You see, winter is coming on, and I only have so long to get my fish rations and dry them to get through the three months of winter.

Hmm, said the gentleman out loud. Such matters don’t concern me. I’m merely interested in knowing if you have seen a more prominent-type carriage carrying a beautiful middle-aged woman travel this way within the last couple of hours. As the man continued to speak, he walked closer into the light. He was barrel-chested and had beanpole legs. His stomach was three sizes too big. As he got closer, the tradesman was taken aback by his facial features. He had a long, narrow face down to the base of his lower lip. From there, it ovaled out to a flabby double chin. His nose was narrow and pencil-thin. He had an ultrathin mustache that was pointy and long and blackish-brown beady eyes and a sinister smile that was socially neutral at all times.

The tradesman was astonished at how much he resembled the face of a saltwater shrimp. So much so that he only heard half of what the man was saying. I’m sorry, what were you asking? My foot was caught in the net.

Peasants! snapped the man. Has anyone come down your road in the last couple of hours?

From what little I saw, there were the two normal centuries, the milk cart, and the church minister’s wagon. I suppose other wagons could have gone by, but like I’ve said, I’ve been so busy. Oh, look. Here come lights off in the distance now. Perhaps it is who you are looking for.

The odd man quickly turned to see off in the distance. He could see two wagon lights flickering and the sound of the horses and wheels getting closer. The man quickly scurried off to the top of the road and told his men to be ready if necessary.

Moments later, the wagon pulled up and stopped. It was eight French centuries and one officer. The officer climbed down and walked up to the strange man and asked, What goes on here? as he lifted his lantern. But before the strange man could answer, the officer recognized him and said, Ah, Monsieur Le Shemanont! What brings you out on a night like this so far from the village?

The man, being as cunning as he was, gave an immediate response. A debt settlement! You see, the person I collected payment from is poor and unable to travel to the village, so I took it upon myself to come out here to collect.

I see, said the officer. But don’t forget you only have an hour and a half more to get back to the village because of the strict curfew.

Oh, I haven’t forgotten. We were just getting ready to head back now.

Okay, but make straightaway. You haven’t got much time. And the centuries at the city’s edge will detain you if you are late. With that, the officer gave a nod, and the wagon and men strode off.

The odd man looked down at the tradesman in the boat and said, I was never here tonight. Do you understand? I am a very powerful man, and I can make your life very miserable. And with that, he strode off.

The tradesman was simply astonished. In all his life, he had never experienced such social behavior. Now that he owned his home and property, he just wanted to be out from under this whole thing and whatever it all entailed. So he made up his mind to begin packing the vials into the crate.

The crate itself was beyond belief. It had to be hauled in on a flat-level hay wagon. The crate was double-lined and sealed oak—four feet high, four feet wide, and ten feet long. When he opened the lid, it looked like a giant rectangle honeycomb. It had three levels in the chest and one drawer built into the lid that popped open. Each level had ten pullout boxes. Each box had thirty-three cists, one for each of the thirty-three vials. So he emptied out all the honeycomb boxes for a total of thirty boxes.

Now that the crate was empty, he hooked a rope into each corner and cinched the four pulleys tight, hooked up the horses, and lifted the crate onto the waiting wagon in the stable next to his workshop. Well, we are halfway there, he said to himself. Now to load the boxes. He took a sack of finely ground corncob powder, then took a generous pinch and started filling the bottom of each cist in the box but only enough to create cushion. Next, he placed a vial in one of the cists and filled around all the edges to the top. The glass orb was level to the top of the cist and repeated in color sequence until he had thirty-three. Then he loaded the box carefully into the waiting crate. Well, he said, only twenty-nine more to go, and continued to labor into the night. As morning set on, the old man didn’t even have to look out the window. He could hear the doves cooing like owls as they pecked for gravel in the cracks between the cobblestone road. He had been carefully vigilant all night and was down to the last two boxes when he could hear wheels off in the distance.

As the woman said, she had returned with a small contingent of men. As she pulled up, the old man waived to her through the window, so there was no need for the secret knock. All the noise and scurrying around by the men, it didn’t matter anyway. The woman came straightway to the door.

The tradesman spoke to her softly with a tired voice, Only two more boxes to go and it will be ready.

The woman said, While you fill the last two, I will need access to the lid. As she walked to the wagon, she said, I will also need a little privacy for a few minutes.

The tradesman said, As you wish, and went back to his work.

The woman carried a thick woven basket with her up to the crate. The lid was not flat. It was arched, six inches high, four feet wide, ten feet long. As she lifted the lid, two hinged braces dropped down to hold it open. This exposed a lock which was opened by a double-bladed skeleton key. She took the key from her necklace and opened it. When she