†
D’ata urged the old mare into a slow, labored trot as he approached the small farm belonging to Julianne’s aunt and uncle. Henri had been invaluable in helping D’ata find directions to the modest little farm. Her aunt and uncle, like her father, were also dairy farmers. Their cattle were similarly well known for quality.
He’d only gotten off track twice but garnered help from some peasants along the way. Because D’ata had a kind face, strangers were naturally compelled to assist him, and since most knew of the good dairy farmer he sought, he was considerately shown the way. Finally, he found himself at the edge of the farm and his long sought destination.
His excitement mounted at the thought of seeing his beloved again. The old gray mare tossed her head, snorting her objection as D’ata thumped heavily on her ribs with his heels. The horse was almost twenty-five, her eyes milky with cataracts, her back swayed, and her hooves long and wide like shovels. It was not in her disposition to do anything more than amble, and she pinned her ears back in frustration. Despite D’ata’s insistence, she lumbered back into a plodding walk, tossing her head again in protest. He gave up pushing her.
Pausing at the edge of the woods, he slid from the horse, patting her briefly on the neck. “You’re a good old girl, aren’t you.” He took a moment to pull the bridle, deposit a few armloads of withered grass in front of the mare, and tether her out of sight.
Continuing on foot, he made his way to the edge of the barley field. It was now early December, and the already harvested stalks, sad and frail, appeared to woefully truss the heavy, gray sky. Taking care to shield himself within the remains of the weather beaten stalks, he reached the edge of the field, squatting on his heels to watch…and wait.
It was late afternoon and cold. Drizzling rain began to fall. His clothes were soon damp, and steam lifted from his trembling shoulders, his body fighting valiantly to stay warm. He was unsure of the hour as there was no sun by which to gain perspective, but his internal clock told him that the day was in the winter of its life. With time, the dull wet blue of afternoon slipped and gave way to gray. Darkness threatened as dusk pounded upon the door, and still he waited.
Praying that he would see her before the last light faded, he also prayed that she was well and the baby healthy. He desperately needed to sleep, and his eyes played tricks on him. The tiny farmhouse would vanish from sight altogether. Blinking, he was relieved when it reappeared.
After a while, he reached back, massaging his calf muscles and rubbing away the burning that had set in from squatting for so long. He pulled the farmers jacket closed around his neck as best he could and rubbed absently at the beard stubble on his chin. As he waited, he started to softly hum a hymn, and then he prayed again—a prayer of gratitude that he’d come this far.
D’ata’s eyes never left the small cottage, and when finally a young woman carrying buckets backed out of the front door, his heart leapt into his throat. He stood up too sudden and tumbled back to the ground, his legs refusing to obey him, paralyzed from squatting so long.
The young woman had a thick long scarf obscuring her hair and face, but as she turned, her profile came into view. D’ata knew, even from the distance, the movement of the woman. He recognized instantly the way she carried herself. Memories rushed back upon him, of the first time he’d seen her sitting in church, of her reading on the tree stump by the river, of how beautiful she was that night in the church when…
His eyes blurred as he blinked, desperately willing the image to be real. When it didn’t disappear, he knew instantly that it was his lovely Julianne. As she made her way toward the barn, D’ata crossed the little meadow, vaulting easily over the rail fence that was all that separated him from the stable and the greatest happiness he’d ever known.
* * *
Julianne lit the candles she would use to milk the cow and placed them on the shelf. She was still unaware of the intruder that had stolen in behind her. The cow blinked, turned her head to look at the humans, and her cowbell clanked softly. With a shake of her head she turned back to her manger and the meager ration of oats that the cold, short summer had provided her. She was unconcerned with the humans’ presence, anticipating the impending relief that milking would provide her.
“There’s a good lady,” Julianne spoke gently to the cow, her pale hand pushing softly on the animal’s velvety flank. She moved the cow gently over in the stall so that she could sit beside her.
Turning to reach for the milking stool, Julianne startled when she saw the darkened figure, standing in the shadows. Dropping the stool, she backed away. As the figure stepped into the light, her fear was instantly replaced with shocked amazement as she recognized the lovely, lonely man before her.
Her emotions came rocketing to the surface as the anguish of the last three months was released in one sweeping moment. She sobbed as her eyes scanned the thin and ragged figure, finally resting on the forsaken face and those beautiful, somber eyes. “Oh,” was all she could manage to say.
They closed the gap, grasping onto one another as a drowning man might grasp for a lifeline. They just stood, clinging desperately to each other, disbelieving, afraid to let go. Pulling each other closer, they held fast, unwilling to move for fear the dream might dissolve.
D’ata wrapped her in his arms, hugging her so tightly that it took her breath away. He inhaled deeply, smelling the scent of her as though he were pulling her into his world again, erasing their separation and despair.
Julianne’s arms slipped beneath the tattered tunic and work shift. She slid her hands up then down his ribs, feeling the weight he'd lost—his skin hot to the touch. She hugged him tightly as though he might vanish again.
“Oh, how much I love you!” she exclaimed.
He closed his eyes, sighed, and kissed her deeply, turning her face gently up to his. If someone had walked in just then, they would have seen something much like a Campione sculpture, in every way as tragically beautiful as the artist’s short life.
D’ata’s hand slid down to her barely swelling belly, caressing the small, firm roundness of it. “It’s all right now. We are together again,” he whispered into her ear. Kissing the top of her head, he allowed his lips to linger against the sweet silkiness of her hair, hanging just below her shoulders. “I will never again let us be parted.”
“I am with child,” she said softly, her face buried against his chest.
“I know—I have always known.”
Perplexed, she glanced up at him.
He smiled, “I am a godly man and a good man, Julianne. God has blessed me. This child belongs.” The words were uncommon, mature beyond the tender years of the one who stood before her.
She smiled warmly, but it suddenly faded. “D’ata, they will not allow us to be together. They’ll find out and—”
He shushed her, his finger soft against her trembling lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll leave and go far away.” He grasped her arms gently, peering into her eyes. “We’ll go to Italy, my love. There we can build a life together—raise our child.”
She searched his eyes for truth, wanting to believe it could be so.
He pulled her close again. “We’ll hide next to the sea. We can watch the tides turn and our children grow. You’ll see. It will be all right.”
She glanced away to the farmhouse, chewing her lip. “And our families—what of them?”
“Our families cannot be helped, Julianne.” His face was somber with true regret, but he shook his head firmly. “They may never accept what we are to each other. I know this now.”
Julianne was saddened and struggled with the thought of leaving. “But my little sister—what of Yvette?” Her voice caught in her throat, and she let out one choking sob before the grief of the inevitable overwhelmed her. “I never thought I would see you again!” She collapsed against him, her words catching as she struggled to speak. “Your father and the church—they have been searching for you.” She blinked back tears.
“All the more reason why we must be gone as quickly as possible.” He kissed her again and tried to reassure her. “Julianne, trust God—trust me. It will be all right. I promise you this.”
She forced a smile, brushed the tears away, and nodded bravely. “Yes, of course. You are right. Let us be gone from here…tonight.”
D’ata hugged her again, closely, and then they sank into the straw by the dairy cow to make their escape plans together.
* * *
Julianne finished milking the cow. Then, under the pretense of cleaning up after supper, she fixed a small sack of food—enough to last a day or so. She packed bread, cheese, boiled eggs, salted pork, and dried radishes. Then, excusing herself to bed, she layered her clothes and pulled on both pairs of stockings.
Waiting until she was sure her aunt and uncle had gone to bed and were sleeping soundly, she crawled from beneath the covers of her bed. Hearing her uncle’s snoring reverberating through the wall, she tiptoed from her room and stole quietly out the back door. She made her way across the dark back yard to the small stable. Her feet knew the path, and her heart pounded as she covered the short distance.
Julianne left behind a letter to her aunt and uncle. It was true; they’d been fiercely condemning of her pregnant state and berated the unborn bastard child, but they had kindly given her safe haven and a place to work until the baby was born. After the birth, it would be decided what to do with the babe. Most likely it would be raised away from society as the bastard child that it was, eventually to become a common laborer. It would be only woefully welcomed into the Lanviere family of dairy farming.
She folded the note carefully, tucking it under the kitchen table candle where she knew it would be found first thing in the morning. Wiping tears away with the hem of her shawl, she recalled her written words to her aunt and uncle.
“Please don’t worry for me. I am happy and will be safe from harm. I know how you feel about this—how my father feels. I know you disapprove, but I want my child, and I want him to know his father. I love D’ata, and we are going away. Whatever life we may have together, condemned by this world, would be better to me than eternity in good grace without him.
Please tell my father and brothers that I love them dearly, and please give Yvette my books. Tell her she is my heroine and that I am so proud of her.
I love you both. I beg you to try to be happy for me.
May God keep you in His grace always, Julianne.”
* * *
D’ata waited impatiently for her to return to the stable. He paced nervously in the straw, and the bay gelding tossed its head and swished its tail, absorbing the human’s tension as a horse will do. When D’ata heard the stable door creak and saw her step into the dim candlelight, he breathed out a deep sigh, relieved that she was finally there.
She smiled warmly and handed him the small sack of provisions. “For the journey,” she whispered.
He smiled and put out the candles, leading the gelding from its stall only when all was dark. When the pair finally left, it was well past midnight, and as though God wished them good journey, the clouds broke apart into lacy, milky fragments to reveal a beaming full moon. It easily lit their path as they rode quietly into the night—heaven’s light guiding their way.
They doubled together on the big gelding to make better time. The mare would never have tolerated both their weights as the gelding now did. She remained behind, munching hay from a crib in the barn. Julianne’s aunt and uncle would be furious to lose the better horse, but D’ata only sighed. There was no better choice, and perhaps he could make it up to them one day.
He sat behind with his arms snug around his precious Julianne to stabilize her should the horse start at something in the night. His breath was warm on the back of her neck, and for now, all was right in the world.
The hours passed, seemingly only a moment as they quietly rejoiced in their reunion—in feeling the closeness of each other. They spoke in whispers, both knowing the precarious situation that they were in, the terrible risk of it all, and the magnitude of the potential loss that was at stake.
“I love you,” D’ata breathed into her ear.
She reached a gloved hand up behind her to caress the cheek of the man who spoke these words to her.
As morning approached, he slid from the animal’s back to allow it a reprieve from the extra weight.
“Please stop, D’ata. I must rest a bit, “Julianne begged him, weary from the long night.
“No, my love. This first day, we must put as much distance between your uncle’s house and ourselves as we possibly can.” He tried to sound encouraging.
“Then, I should like to walk for a bit.” She shifted her weight on the animal, reaching for D’ata so that he could help her down, resolved to have her way.
He sighed, knowing it would slow them down. Her stride was half his as a result of her pregnancy. All the same, he reached for her, swinging her gently to the ground. Her strong will would not be denied; this he’d learned that very first day when they’d walked from the river to her home together. He felt he’d known her forever; she was that much a part of him already. He allowed her to walk in front and set the pace most comfortable to her.
She glanced back at him. “I believe you will have a son.”
He thought happily how many things he would do differently for this child. He would be the one to take him or her to mass. He would teach this one to ride, to lace their boots, and to work hard and be kind. He halted these thoughts, unwilling to presume too much. “A son or a daughter—I love them already as I’ve loved no other.”
“Mmm, a daughter would give you much to learn,” Julianne mused aloud. “All fathers should have at least one daughter.” She lifted her skirts to step over a fallen timber.
D’ata thought about this for quite some time, with great joy.
They moved along slowly. D’ata’s heart was tranquil; his mind, however, was not. It nagged with trepidation. Recognizing full well the seriousness of their situation, he knew they needed to put miles behind them. He glanced behind again, and as miserable as it would be, he prayed for rain to obliterate the scent from the hounds, should they come.
* * *
Back at the dairy farm, Julianne’s aunt discovered the letter and ran to her husband. They’d feared the worst, and the worst had happened. That impetuous young man had come and taken dear Julianne from them, certainly exposing her to untold dangers. And her with child; it was preposterous!
Her uncle harnessed the mare to the carriage and made his way to town, to send word to Monsieur the Baron of Cezanne. As though the mare knew of the whole situation and sided with her former master, she objected, snorting her refusal to break from her ambling walk, giving the escapees precious minutes more.
Five evenings later, the Baron was notified, and an urgent conference was held. The Baron, Julianne’s father, her two eldest brothers, and the Baron’s advisors were present. The archbishop Leopold had also been notified and entered in a whirlwind of robes a good half hour into the meeting. He was also flanked by father Leoceonne. The archbishop’s primary concern and the position of the church was in securing the young priest—so he said, anyway. The Baron agreed. In all of the discussion, Julianne’s welfare was hardly mentioned and only in regard to securing the Baron’s ward.
Archbishop Leopold gestured, palms up. “I am afraid it is the work of the devil!” He paced slowly, deliberately. “Satan has so afflicted our young D’ata so that he knows not the tragedy of his actions.”
“He should die, and I would gladly run him through!” Julianne’s father was incensed. “My daughter is a good girl, and were it not for that heathen you call a priest, she would be safe at home!” He continued quickly, gesturing toward the Baron, “And were it not for gold, the fiend would be on the gallows already!”
Julianne’s eldest brother piped in, “And there has been no one to tend the chores and cook since this has all happened!” He stomped his foot for emphasis.
“Perhaps, were it not for your daughter and her promiscuous ways, D’ata would also be safely at home!” Monsieur Cezanne rose from his chair to confront Julianne’s father.
The tension in the room thickened and settled over the small crowd like stench on forgotten swill.
“Gentlemen, please!” The Archbishop stepped between the two men, dramatic in his countenance. “The situation is delicate. Should the devil have his way, harm could come to D’ata…and the girl. Let’s be reasonable.”
He allowed a moment for his words to sink in then added, “None of us benefit from hasty decisions or insensible behaviors. We are civilized men. There is no need to be rash.” He motioned to the chairs, encouraging them to be seated, to regain composure. “Our primary concern is God’s will. All must be placed in His hands.” He bowed his head in reverence as he spoke.
“The Archbishop is right,” one of the Baron’s advisors interjected. “Our priorities should be to get them both home safely as I believe God would want.”
Julianne’s worry wearied father hung his head. “I am sorry I was rash a moment before. I regret that.”
Baron Cezanne approached the farmer and extended his hand. “We are both with loss. Let us find them, and then we will sort it out.”
There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd. By nightfall, plans were drawn, and a search party was organized. There was no indication which direction the pair might have gone, and it would take time to determine the trail, but they had the best hounds gold could buy.
The Baron provided quick and sturdy mounts for all. There was no time to be lost. Before long, a search party was gathered outside. Henri wrung his hands as the party stormed from the courtyard, scattering pigeons as they thundered away.
A week later, D’ata and Julianne had scarcely a day and a half lead on them…and the gap was closing.