“Sure will, my friend. You know once a thought’s in my head, it has to come out of my mouth.”
Their bus pulled into the drop-off area near a large town square. After everybody gathered in a semicircle around her, Caroline said, “We have arrived at the place du Vieux-Marché, the Old Market Square. Our tour begins at the Joan of Arc Church, which is behind us, then we’ll walk toward the Notre-Dame Cathedral, follow rue Saint-Romain, and end our walk at the Plague Cemetery, where François will pick us up again.”
“A cemetery sounds very romantic,” a man remarked. He was portly and unkempt, with grayish three-day stubble creeping over his double chin and down to his shirt front. Stella guessed him to be around sixty. The way his beady eyes wandered over the female travelers made her feel uncomfortable. Like a predator picking out his next victim. Stella couldn’t wait to hear Naomi’s thoughts about him.
Caroline nodded and smiled. “You are correct. The plague wasn’t romantic at all. But I’m taking you there because of the buildings and their history. Over the next few days, I will show you romance can be found in unexpected places, which will give your customers something special to remember.”
She pointed behind her. “Take this square, for instance. This is the Joan of Arc church and was built in the 1970s. What does it look like to you?”
“An overturned boat,” a young woman said.
“Yes. The Vikings left their mark all along the coasts of France, and this church honors Normandy’s Nordic roots and heritage. But the roof also symbolizes the flaming pyre on which Joan of Arc died. To me, it’s a good example of the present remembering the past.
“In a few minutes, we’ll go inside and look at the gorgeous sixteenth-century stained glass windows, which were saved from another church destroyed during World War II.
“But while we admire this building, keep in mind this spot also has seen more than its share of death. What’s now a lively square with cafés, small stores, and market stands, was Rouen’s place of public executions during the Middle Ages and later.” Caroline walked toward a tall aluminum cross with flower beds surrounding it. “This marks the spot where the guillotine stood during the French Revolution and cut short eight hundred lives.”
“More uplifting stuff, eh?” remarked the unkempt man. “When are you showing us the best hidden spots to steal a kiss?” he winked at the blonde who’d been sitting with him. Stella overheard her say, “I don’t think so,” while she took a step away from the guy.
Stella gave Caroline bonus points for staying calm when she said, “We don’t want to take the magic out of discovering these places for yourselves, so I suggest saving juvenile games for after our official program ends each day—if the need is warranted.” The last remark had a bit of a bite to it.
Naomi whispered to Stella, “What an asshole! I pity the poor woman who’s with him. She doesn’t seem to like him very much. Can’t wait to find out what their story is.”
Stella whispered back, “What? You haven’t made it up yet?”
“Oh, I have a few scenarios in mind, but I hope I’m wrong.”
“We’ll take ten minutes for you to look around on your own or use the public restrooms over there,” Caroline pointed to the other side of the church entrance, “and then let’s meet here again.”
After visiting the church, the group moved on to follow old cobblestone streets lined on both sides with half-timbered houses.
Caroline explained, “These colorful houses were built on waterproof stone bases, some with heavily decorated oak jetties. Jettying means that an upper floor extended beyond the dimensions of the floor below. It gave the owners more living space without having to pay more taxes, which were calculated based only on the footprint of the house, not the number of rooms or floors. But having wooden structures standing so close together increased the danger of fires spreading between the buildings, and jettied houses were no longer built after the sixteenth century.”
They approached a building with a large arch spanning the street and an enormous clock embedded in the middle, its face showing a golden sun and the blue night sky with stars surrounding it.
“This is the Gros-Horloge, the Great Clock, an astronomical clock dating back to the fourteenth century,” Caroline said. “The clock’s mechanism is from 1389 and the oldest in France.”
Stella held her bracelet in front of Naomi. “Of course we have to come across a star clock at our first stop.”
“You’ll always come across something with stars or the moon, and it doesn’t always have a connection to David. Let it go.”
“Easier said than done,” she muttered.
Caroline kept the group going, but Stella didn’t listen to her explanations about building styles, or which fire destroyed what and when. It was an inevitable part of history and repeated itself time and again.
“Is everybody ready for the ossuary of Saint-Maclou, the Plague Cemetery?” Caroline asked and explained while they walked on, “In 1348, the Black Plague killed seventy-five percent of Rouen’s citizens. When the disease returned in the sixteenth century, sixty percent of the parish succumbed. The cemetery of the Church of Saint-Maclou wasn’t big enough, so the bodies were buried in communal graves in this courtyard.”
They entered an atrium with more half-timbered houses on all four sides. The center of the courtyard was welcoming and cool, with trees and benches where people took shelter from the hot summer sun.
Caroline gave them time to look around before she said, “Getting back to our purpose, which is finding romantic locations, I agree this isn’t the first place you’d think of. But we are seeing more themed weddings, and I believe some couples won’t be opposed to having their pictures taken in front of a medieval treasure.”
Making their way out of the former graveyard,
