swiftly explained the circumstances of her presence. Father Lawrence nursed his chin with a well-groomed hand and sighed: “Yes, I can see your problem, Pere Mourier. This young person has already the devil's influence manifested by the young wretch whom you so rightly halted from his vile intent, and it is best to do all in one's power to restore her to the path of righteousness. She must certainly be wed, and as soon as possible.”
“I am of the same opinion, Father Lawrence. I shall read the banns next Sunday. Tomorrow morning, when I confer with Monsieur Villiers, I shall see to it that is in agreement to hold the wedding ceremony not later than two weeks from then. I shall not be able to rest at night until Laurette Boischamp is legally wedded and bedded by this worthy patron, who has made so many charitable contributions to the village and to my own humble church.”
“I shall try to reason with the girl,” said Father Lawrence. “I have some little experience in these matters, you see.”
“Of course, Father Lawrence,” Pere Mourier said somewhat dolefully, “in one sense it is a pity that this charming maiden cannot be linked to a husband nearer her own age. But who would you have? Our village is humble and poor, and all the vineyards are owned by the patron. The people here are tenant farmers, dependent upon his good charity for their wages and their little cottages. Without his efforts and benign humanitarianism, they would be all penniless and out of work, and hence liable to mischievous employment. The devil finds work for idle hands, you know.”
“I am acquainted with the proverb,” Father Lawrence dryly retorted. “Yes, nature and the call of the senses —which is so often that of the devil himself—urges a liaison of youth to youth. But domestic bliss with so worthy and affluent a man as you tell me this Monsieur Villiers is—and we must not forget that he is a contributor to the greater glory of Mother Church—has great virtues to commend it.”
“Exactly my opinion,” beamed the obese holy man. “Well, I shall open the door and then you shall see this delicious young sinner.”
So saying, he turned the knob of the door and the two priests entered. Laurette turned her head and uttered a startled cry of shame and fright, her face turning scarlet to behold a stranger seeing her thus humbled, kneeling on the chair where she had received her scourging.
“Do not be distressed, my daughter,” Father Lawrence spoke to her in excellent French, “I am of the same faith as your good father confessor, Pere Mourier, and he has told me much about you. I feel already a warm sympathy for you, my daughter. We have come to help you make good resolutions for the future.”
“Aye, that we have,” seconded the fat French priest.
I need not recount to my readers the tedious and pompous sermon which both men preached to the unhappy, golden haired Laurette. Suffice it to say that they threatened her with a fall from grace and even excommunication if she did not swear to be chaste and true until the marriage ceremony to her intended husband, and that both strictly forbade her to even so much as a whispered conversation with that scoundrel Pierre Larrieu. Father Lawrence ended by warning her that if she sinned again, Pere Mourier would doubtless let her taste the scourge and even more severely than she had already felt it this night. Then Pere Mourier volunteered to see Laurette safely back to her parents' abode, and departed from the rectory with her clinging to his arm.
Father Lawrence rubbed his hands gleefully and went back to the salon, where, as he had anticipated, he found the chestnut haired Amazon awaiting him. “Let me show you to your room, Your Reverence,” Desiree invited. Her glowing eyes promised even more than safe conduct to the bed prepared in his honor; I could already then have predicted that she meant to share it with him. “It is, alas, only a humble cot, and it is in a room just off the kitchen. It is not at all worthy of Your Reverence, but it is all that we have.”
“Do not apologize, my daughter,” Father Lawrence said smilingly. “It is the spirit and the intention which count favorably under heaven. Lead me, then, to this gracious shelter where I may seek repose after my long journey.”
She lead him at once to the little room, which had no window, was cramped and narrow and, just as she told him, provided only an old cot with a rather worn mattress.
No sooner were they in the room together (once again, out of my Fleaish curiosity, I had decided to follow them rather than Laurette and Pere Mourier), than Father Lawrence inspected the cot by seating himself upon it. “It will bear my weight and that is good enough, my sister,” he approved. “We are taught humility and poverty throughout this material life, so that I am not one for fine trappings. But tell me now, my daughter, I am told you are a widow like this Madame Bernard. How is it that no one in this village has asked for your hand in marriage, for it seems to me that you are sturdy and comely and well capable of bringing joy to the household of a worthy man.”
“The fact is, Your Reverence,” the chestnut haired Amazon chattily retorted, not without another roguish glance at him, “there is no man in Languecuisse who feels himself endowed enough by nature to satisfy my fleshly longings. And I would not be a burden on any man unless he wished me as his loyal loving consort.”
“The attitude that you have is praiseworthy, my daughter. But you may speak freely to me of such things, for I know much about that which takes place between husband and wife, having traveled a great deal and observed the foibles of man and womankind. Do you mean that the men of this village are frightened off by your tall and magnificent beauty?”
Desiree blushed like a modest virgin at this, and clasped her hands before her and lowered her eyes. “It is not entirely that, Your Reverence. It is true that I am tall as a man, but I think they are afraid that I will tire them out between the sheets at night. I ask your pardon for speaking so grossly.”
“Oh, there is no need to ask for pardon, my child,” smiled Father Lawrence. “For heaven looks down with happy gaze upon truly united souls in wedlock who enjoy each other and keep unto themselves once their troth is plighted. But I am still somewhat dense, my dear daughter, as to the precise meaning you imply. Do you mean to tell me there is no man in all this village who can satisfy your physical cravings?”
“None thus far since my poor husband's passing, Your Reverence,” Desiree mournfully replied, shaking her beautiful head so her thick chestnut mane danced in the air about her shoulderblades. “And, once again, begging your pardon, even my husband was not sufficient unto me, though of course I knew it would be a sin to seek out the beds of others while I was still his wife.”
“Rightly so, my daughter. But now that you are unattached, as it were, you are free to look for such a man. Now tell me, has this good Pere Mourier shown any designs upon your person?”
Desiree blushed at this forthright question from a holy man, then giggled at the irreverent thoughts it provoked. “I think he may have, Your Reverence. He saw me this afternoon trampling the grapes in the cask, and he stared very boldly at my naked legs and belly. And it was directly after staring, when I had stepped out of the cask, that he proposed that I should come to be his housekeeper. He asked nothing about my culinary talents nor any others. But of course, he has known me for several years as a faithful spouse and one of his parishioners.”
“That then explains his interest in you.” Father Lawrence had approached the beautiful, tall Amazon. Now he put his hands on her hips and boldly appraised her swelling breasts with knowledgeable eyes. “You seem very young, my daughter.”
“Alas, Father, I am twenty-eight. In Languecuisse, this is almost old age for a woman. The young men have eyes only for the damsels like that little Laurette you just met. She is nineteen, and that too is much older than is customary for the time of marriage in this region.”
“All the more reason for her being wed as soon as possible, and she will be,” Father Lawrence avowed. His hands slipped back now over Desiree's jutting, boldly ripe bottom cheeks, which he squeezed through her thin skirt. “Of a truth, my daughter, you do not feel to be much older than Laurette yourself. And you tell me that there is no man hereabouts whom you deem sufficient to give you physical joy?”
“I said not so far, Your Reverence,” Desiree murmured. She stared into his eyes, her red lips curving in a comprehending smile. And she moved closer to him, letting his hands wander as they would. Then she uttered a little gasp and looked down. Between their bodies, there was already a polarity: the cassock of the good father bulged out tremendously from his loins. Furtively, the beautiful chestnut haired Amazon slipped her hand down to discover what this could signify, and her fingers tentatively closed over the protuberance. “Oh Your Reverence, I cannot believe it!” she ejaculated in a tremulous voice.
“What cannot you believe, my daughter?” His voice had hoarsened noticeably by this time, as might well be imagined. And his fingers grew bolder still kneading and squeezing the luscious contours of Desiree's bottom through the thin stuff of her skirt.
“That—that you are such a man as heaven should have sent me long ago,” the Amazon brazenly murmured, looking deeply into his eyes, and her red lips moist and parted with obvious invitation.
