Dominique did her best to be as inconspicuous as possible over the following months. Quiet was certainly not difficult as the one person with whom she had ever shared conversation and laughter was gone. Her days were spent curled in the corner of the workshop where she had spent so many happy hours with her father. Closing her eyes, she went through her mental catalog of memories; the tiny, intricate marionette he had crafted for her, the time they had wandered into town and he had spent his last coin on a beautiful ribbon for her hair and so many more. When he purchased the ribbon, he had known that it would earn him the sharp crack of Rene’s tongue but he didn’t care. The ribbon had made his little Dominique smile and that would preserve him from the most hateful of her retorts.
But as the months went by it was getting harder to remember his smell. The butcher was spending so much time with her mother and all she could smell now was the acrid odor of animal blood which always seemed to cover his clothes. It filled their house now. Her mother was a beautiful woman and relatively young. Dominique did not expect her to stay alone forever. It was hard for women to be alone, she knew that, but did she have to replace her beloved father so soon? It seemed heartless.
Dominique, a mere child, had not been aware of the chasm that had existed for years between Rene and her husband, Francois. His focus and attention, while always on the passion for his work, left little room for Rene. It was even harder to bear when she witnessed the love and devotion he had for Dominique. The love that had once brought them together had seemed all but extinguished over the last years of Francois’ life. His livelihood, carpentry, meant that his income was sporadic. He never excelled at the “business” side of his craft and continually accepted less money for his work than he should have demanded.
Rene had longed for the attention and devotion she craved. Josef, the town’s butcher, had been all too happy to show her that devotion—and had been doing so for quite a while even before Francois’ death. He doted on her, lavishing both attention and money on Rene. She thought it was ironic that Francois never noticed the long hours she spent in town, or the prime cuts of meat she returned with that they could ill afford.
Rene’s period of mourning lasted only long enough for appearances. Josef moved into the house she had shared with Francois, as his death meant she no longer had to hide their affair. The attention she had initially garnered as the widow of Francois DuBois turned negative quickly as word spread of Rene’s treatment of Dominique at the funeral, so there was no need to keep him at arm’s length. Rene petulantly thought, “None of these damn townspeople understand what I went through with that man. Never charging enough for his work, spending his last coins on the child, never buying me things…what do they expect of me?” Josef was different, though, he saw her and loved her – he wanted to provide for her. He understood why she couldn’t bear the sight of her daughter and he did not judge her harshly.
Jean Louis was taking the time required to find the perfect buyer for the armoire. He wanted to insure he got top money for this amazing, yet functional, piece of art. Anxious to move on with her life, one that now revolved around Josef, Rene pestered him weekly to just sell the thing and give her the opportunity to rid herself of Francois’ offspring. It now seemed to be the only thing standing between her and the life she felt she deserved. Jean Louis explained, as patiently as he could, that this was an exquisite piece. In his search for a buyer, he must look outside of the town of Thouras, where they lived, to nearby towns in order to find just the right person. He wanted someone not only with enough money but with an understanding of the artistic value of such a piece. In short, he wanted to honor Francois by finding someone who would cherish the work he spent his dying hours in finishing.
As Dominique approached her 12th birthday, Jean Louis Cannard closed the deal on the sale of the armoire. He had finally found the perfect person to purchase such a prize. Shortly thereafter, Jean Louis pulled his horse-drawn carriage into the DuBois’ yard and steeled himself against his meeting with Rene, whom he found so abhorrent. Jean Louis lived a quiet, circumspect life and was not given to drama. He found it difficult to comprehend that such a gentle soul as Francois had made a life with someone as vile as Rene. This meeting was sure to generate the level of drama he typically tried to avoid.
Stiffening as she opened the door, he decided to take a business-like tone and maybe it would not be as bad as he expected. “Good afternoon, Rene, Dominique.” He began tentatively. “As executor of the estate of Francois DuBois, I have come to inform you that I have secured the funds for Dominique’s trust as per your husband’s wishes. I wish to discuss her future with you, if it is convenient.” Crossing her arms, Rene glared at him as if he was a thief entering her property, but ironically, he was the only one who stood in the way of her new life. She stepped aside so he could enter her home.
“As you are aware, I have patiently awaited just the right buyer for the armoire. The piece is a masterpiece and deserved a magnificent home to grace. The buyer is a salt merchant from Loudun, a town almost 20 miles from Thouras. He is very well connected and has paid handsomely.” He paused knowing the figure he to which he was about to give voice would incur her instant wrath. “…2,000 sous.” He cringed slightly as Rene did not disappoint.
“Do you delight in informing me that you and my dead husband have managed to rob me of this fortune?” she screamed, the veins in her neck protruding to what seemed a dangerous point. Her face grew an even uglier shade of red as she continued. “You have told me that legally, I can do nothing about this affront. But let me be perfectly clear, I will not feed, clothe, or provide refuge for this child any longer. Either find her a place to move to or I will happily auction her off to the highest bidder at the local tavern.” Beyond able to see straight, Rene no longer cared what he or the townspeople thought of her.
Prepared for her reaction, he said, “I have taken the liberty while in Loudun, in securing Dominique refuge at a convent where she will be taught and cared for until such time as can care for herself or a suitable husband is found for her. I am prepared to take her there today, if that is amenable to you.”
Dominique, having heard this whole exchange, began crying softly and shaking her head. Rene looked at her dispassionately and with a sour, icy laugh said, “Well, now, that sounds perfect. We’ll see how long it takes the nuns to beat the unholy visions out of her. Run along and pack your belongings now, Dominique, it would be rude to keep Monsieur Cannard waiting.”
Dominique was exhausted as they neared the convent, having spent all of her energy pleading with her mother to reconsider. While living with her and the butcher was not what she wanted it seemed somehow better that the unknown that lurked behind the walls of this convent. As the realization dawned that her mother wanted nothing to do with her, so did the resignation with which she must face this new phase of her life. Her eyes were raw from crying as they entered the town. Square bell towers looming over her head. As they passed through the Porte du Marche, she felt a shiver pass through her as the Eglise des Carmes loomed ever nearer.
The Abbey, which was home to the Carmelite convent, proved through its gothic, imposing exterior to do little to quell Dominique’s quaking. The walls of the Abbey had been constructed using local stone which was a dark gray, giving the enormous structure an even darker and more brooding appearance at night. The gravel crunched beneath the wagon wheels as they approached the heavy wooden paneled door. Jean Louis climbed down from the wagon and reached for the bell pull to the right of the massive entrance. It was some time before a short heavy-set woman with graying hair cautiously opened the door.
“Who goes there at this time of night?” Sister Marguerite growled, peeved as she was at having her sleep disturbed. “I apologize for the lateness of the hour, Sister, but we have travelled straight from Thouras this evening. I am Jean Louis Cannard and this is Mademoiselle Dominique DuBois, I have spoken to Mother Superior with regards to her care and have secured her living arrangements with the convent.” Understanding Sister Marguerite’s reticence to open the door at this hour to a strange man, Jean Louis was careful to stand back from the door in hopes she would not feel threatened. But he was hopeful that she would accept this poor waif and relinquish him of the responsibility.
Sister Marguerite cast a discerning eye over the shivering girl in the rear of the wagon, softening slightly. “Fine, she can stay until we have had a chance to speak with Mother Superior. But she had best behave or she shall find herself in the hands of the Bailiff at the first sign of trouble. Mark my words.”
As the frightened girl uncurled herself from the wagon and climbed down, Marguerite was struck initially by Dominique’s stature. Much taller than her curled form had intimated, Dominique was slender with long tresses of golden brown hair crowning her head. As her brown eyes met Marguerite’s something told Dominique that she was not to be the source of the terror her mother had promised. She quietly followed the Sister into the Church, turning at the last moment to thank Monsieur Cannard for his kindness. She thought she heard him promise that she could contact him if she needed but the loud thud of the wooden door closing drowned his words.