Legacy

were living in, the days of slavery in America, the last years before the Revolution in France. And what happened to them afterward? Did he lose his chateau? Was he a Royalist resistant? What happened to their children? The Indian piece makes it even more fascinating. And from a love angle, she came to France with one brother, and married another. How did she escape the Crow? Did she really kill her captor? Was she dangerous or an innocent girl? You have enough for ten books there, not just one.” He said it almost enviously with a wistful look in his eyes.

“Maybe you should write the book,” she said seriously.

He was quick to shake his head. “It’s your story, not mine. Writers don’t respect much, but I do respect that. Honor among thieves,” he said, and laughed as he looked at her, and then grew serious again. “I truly hope you write it, Brigitte.” He always pronounced her name in French, and she liked it. “I think you should come back and do more research, and spend a year or two writing it here.” And then he added with a meaningful look, “I would like that very much. I can help you, if you like.”

“You already have,” she said sincerely. “I would never have found the court diaries without your help. I wouldn’t know as much as I do now if I hadn’t found them. I would never have known that the marquis’s younger brother brought her here and died on the way. I thought she just got lucky and married a marquis. The real story is so much more interesting than that, and more complicated.” She had to agree with him, it would make a wonderful book. It was more than just family history, it was an important record of the times, in both countries, America and France.

“That’s why you have to write it. I’m going to continue annoying you until you do. Besides, I have a vested interest in this.”

“And what’s that?” She was teasing him and enjoying their banter. They hardly knew each other, and yet she felt completely at ease with him. She wondered if Wachiwi had felt that way with her marquis, or if he had been daunting. There was nothing daunting about Marc. On the contrary, she felt relaxed and so at ease with him, and she enjoyed their conversations on a variety of subjects.

“My vested interest,” he confessed, “is that I want you to come to Paris, and stay for a while. Long-distance relationships are too hard, and I don’t like them. In the end, they always fall apart. I like Boston, but I’ve already lived there. I’m too old for the student life, and even the life of an academic, and I’m much too old to be traveling every few weeks. It’s too tiring, and I have to write. So do you. You can’t commute to Paris either. Long distance won’t work.” He spoke as though a relationship were a serious option, for both of them. It seemed premature to her.

“I thought we were just friends,” she said calmly.

“Is that all you want?” he asked her honestly, taking his eyes off the road to look at her, but there was very little traffic.

“I don’t know what I want,” she said truthfully. “Maybe it’s enough for now. And you’re right. Long distance doesn’t work, which is why my boyfriend and I broke up.”

“Do you miss him?” Marc asked, curious about how she felt. He had asked her that before, and she thought about it again now.

“Sometimes. I miss having someone familiar in my life. I’m not sure how much I really miss him. I’ll probably know when I go back to Boston.”

“That’s not missing him then. That’s just missing having a generic boyfriend. If you missed him, as a person, you would miss him here too.” She thought about it and realized he was right. And the odd thing was that after six years of evenings and weekends and dinners and daily phone calls, she didn’t miss Ted that much. She missed being able to tell him things, like what she had discovered about Wachiwi, but she didn’t long for him like a woman who had lost the love of her life. He hadn’t been. It had been easy. And she had been too lazy to want more. She thought that was a terrible statement about herself, and she shared it with Marc. He was less critical of her than she was of herself.

She had thought a lot about the relationship with Ted since it had ended. There hadn’t been enough there to justify keeping it going for six years, with no future plans between them. She had just “assumed.” It was so stupid, and yet it was so easy to do. Easier than facing what wasn’t there. And now she was thirty-eight years old with no man in her life, no future plans, and no kids. Not even a job now. Because she had assumed that that would last forever too. And the worst of it was that she had been passionate about neither, neither the man nor the job. She had settled for “good enough,” mediocrity, and no passion. Worst of all, for the last decade, she realized now, she hadn’t been honest with herself, or demanded much. She had settled. She didn’t want to do that again. Nor did she want to get into something she couldn’t handle, or that didn’t make sense. Like a long-distance relationship between Paris and Boston. And he didn’t seem to want that either. So they would have to be friends.

“What about you?” she asked him. “Do you miss the woman you were with?”

“Not anymore,” he said, truthful again. “I did in the beginning. It was convenient, but not enough. I’ll never do that again. I’d rather be by myself than settle for so little.” And then he smiled at her, looking very Gallic. “Or with you.” He was charming, and had been enormously helpful to her, but it was too soon to know if he was sincere. Maybe he was just smooth. But it sounded good when he said it, and she took it at face value. A flirtatious thing to say and nothing more.

They rode on in silence for a while after that, and stopped for lunch at a quaint inn he knew in Fougeres. He told her about the region they were in, and its history. He knew a lot about many things-literature, history, politics. He was an intelligent man, and she was grateful she had met him. He had been invaluable to her research, and her mother would be thrilled with all that she’d found. The project seemed to have grown beyond its original purpose, and she now knew so much more than just a list of her ancestors, and when they lived and died. Wachiwi had become a little sister, a symbol of courage and freedom, an inspiration, a best friend.

“Tell me about the Chouans,” Brigitte asked him as they finished lunch. He had referred to them several times now, and she knew it had to do with Royalist resistants in the aftermath of the French Revolution, but she didn’t know much more than that, and it was obvious that he did.

“You should read Balzac’s book on the subject,” he suggested helpfully. “Les Chouans were the nobles and their supporters who refused to give in to the Revolution. In Paris, with rare exceptions, they lost their heads, and whatever they had-their houses, chateaux, lands, money, jewels, and mostly their lives, unless they were able to escape, but few did. The revolutionaries wanted revenge for years of oppression and inequality, and they wanted all the royals and nobles and aristocrats killed, and they made it happen. But the heat of the battle was in Paris. Farther away, particularly in a region called La Vendee, and Brittany, where your ancestors lived, the battle was not so thick, and the resisters were stronger. Many of them refused to surrender their chateaux, and put up a fight. Les Chouans are all of those who resisted, and also les Vendeens, but the heart of the resistance was in Brittany. Many kept their chateaux, although some were badly burned by the revolutionaries. But they weren’t able to kill as many aristocrats in Brittany. They didn’t have the forces they did in Paris, so the Royalists held their ground. Many were killed, and some of the chateaux were destroyed, but many survived. It will be interesting to see how your marquis fared when we get to Brittany. He may have been forced to surrender his chateau. It obviously wasn’t entirely destroyed if it’s still standing and they have tours there, or it may be nothing more than a burned-out shell. Many of the burned-out chateaux were never restored. It’s a great pity.”

And then he added some gratuitous information. “Many people blamed Marie Antoinette for the excesses of the time, and the direction in which she led the king. One can’t put it all at her door, but the nobles in those days, and the royals, certainly created a terrible situation for the poor, and didn’t seem to care. They paid for it dearly. Les Chouans were the only resisters, and their neighbors in La Vendee. But they weren’t as overwhelmed by sheer numbers as they were in Paris. It served them well that they were so far away. They were safer in Brittany, as safe as anyone was during the Revolution.” It shocked her to realize that the Revolution had been barely more than two hundred years before, which didn’t seem so long ago. Napoleon had come just after. The monarchy had been replaced by an empire, which wasn’t much better. And Napoleon had been just as excessive in his own way.

“It’s fascinating the role that women played in all that. Marie Antoinette before the Revolution, and Josephine after. It fits into my women’s gender studies. I should write a paper on it one day,” she said, looking pensive. She liked the idea.

“And don’t underestimate the courtesans. They were powerful women as well. The intrigues and manipulations at court were tremendous, and in some cases, women held all the power, and the key. Men are always willing to ride into battle. Women are much more clever, and can be very dangerous at times.”