“Well, you’ll go alone next time. She’s not going back to that village.” Her voice and face grew tight.
“I know. Never should’ve agreed to take her in the first place.”
“Yes, you should,” I said. “I can’t stay inside forever, Papa. Sooner or later, I’ve got to stand up.”
“Hush now,” Mama said, stroking my
forehead. “Henri, get a basin of water.”
43
Papa left without a word.
“I have to stand up, Mama,” I repeated.
“You need to lie down.”
“No. I have to stand up to them. I have to fight.”
“Hush. Just keep far away from those boys.”
I stared at her, marveling at her perfect appearance and poise. Her auburn hair up in a beautiful bun with ringlets dangling about her ears.
Her homespun dress – she was an amazing seamstress – rising from her shoulders in shapely curves, its intricate pattern decorating her slim arms and wrists. Her face peaceful and soft, even when flushed with anger. “Mama? Am I a monster?”
Her eyes flared. “What on earth would make you think that?”
“That’s what those boys said. That’s why they beat me. Because I’m so ugly.”
She gaped at me as if I had burned down our cottage. “If that’s why they beat you, it’s those boys who are ugly monsters.”
A tear slid around my cheek as I admired her features. “I wish I were pretty like you.”
She nearly lunged at me, scooping me into her tight embrace. Papa hurried in with the water basin, but slowed and set it down gently when he saw us hugging.
“Helena, you are pretty,” Mama said.
“Not to boys, I’m not.”
“You don’t need to worry about boys just now. You’re a beautiful girl. And you have a 44
beautiful heart. Someday, when you’re much older, you’ll meet a boy who sees that.”
Papa glanced sharply at us. Then he focused on soaking a rag in the water. He didn’t like for me to talk about boys at all, even with Mama.
“The boys in town think I’m a monster.
Except for Pierre.”
Mama trembled against me. “Well, he’s a nice boy, at least. You can forget about the others.
Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
Papa slid the basin closer and Mama helped me remove the boy’s tunic and trousers. She cleaned every bruise and cut, put fresh bandages over a few of them, then dried me off and helped me dress in my nightgown. “Say your prayers,”
she said.
I knelt carefully beside my bed as they stood watch. My back and side and one knee still ached horribly. I made the sign of the cross over myself and folded my blistered hands. “Dear Lord, please bless and secure our home. Protect us and lead us. Bless our province. Bless Francois and Father Vestille and Duke Laurent, and help the King see that we need help. Heal me and help me sleep through the night. Amen.”
I rose slowly, pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. Papa hung his head and tightened his fists as Mama kissed my forehead. “I love you, Helena,” she said, her voice strained.
“Sweet dreams.”
They stepped out and shut the door, encasing me in blackness.
45
Nightmares, nightmares, nightmares.
I wandered through the flowery meadow outside our home and on into the dark canopy of the woods. My little basket swung at my side. I smiled at the red hooded cloak surrounding me, the one Grand’Mere had made, warding off the early morning chill. My cheeks were rosy and free of scars.
I listened close in the darkness of the pine trees, shuddering. Within the whistling wind, I could hear its voice.
Where are you going, little girl?
I started to run. Through the woods, past shrubs and towering trees and
