Page 45 of Across Time

“I don’t sing,” I tell him, and he smiles. A somewhat blinding smile, I reluctantly admit.

“Not enough profanity in the hymns for you?” he whispers.

I laugh quietly against my will and glance once more at Marie, who is watching the doors of the church now with something like reverence on her face. Except everyone is seated and she doesn’t seem to be looking at any particular person.

She’s still waiting, I realize.

Two altar boys enter, followed by an old man carrying a bible and a middle-aged woman carrying a chalice.

And behind them, the priest.

He is young, tall and extremely handsome, with the kind of broad shoulders that don’t come from baptizing babies and hearing confession. Father What-a-Waste, my friend Rina would have called him back home. Marie's eyes lower as he passes, as if the whole world will see what's in her heart if she doesn’t. And maybe they would, because I see it even with her eyes closed.

I wonder what it all means for the future—hers and Henri’s. If she's truly the hidden child of the prophecy, and if the circle of light is related to her giving birth, which is certainly what it seems, how will she ever fulfill her destiny if she’s so hopelessly in love with a priest?

And if she doesn’t ever move on with her life, how can her brother move on with his?

I glance up at Henri, who looks sleepy and mildly bored. Completely unaware of the whole thing. I wonder if he’d be so open to Marie spending the time she does here if he realized why she was doing it.

* * *

After mass ends, we make our way toward the back of the church where a small refreshment table is being set up—with Marie’s assistance, of course.

André is the first person who steps in our path. He bows his head. “I was hoping I might see you today,” he says.

Henri makes a small noise of disgust, placing his hand on my arm and giving it a small tug. “We can’t stay. We need to find Marie.”

André arches a single brow at this, and I don’t blame him. Henri is generally not rude to people other than me, but André appears to be the one exception.

“I’d be happy to take Amelie home,” Andre offers. “My day is quite empty and I’m sure you have things to attend to on the farm.” It’s a masterclass in posturing, the subtle reminder that Henri’s peasant labor is never done, while André is free as a bird. And though I’m annoyed with Henri, I can’t say I especially like it.

“We have plans,” my unhappy host growls, his hand still on my elbow.

Just then, the girl who accosted Henri before mass comes up to us, wide-eyed and delighted, as if it’s so very unexpected to find us here when she already saw us here.

I meant to ask earlier, she says, if you’ll be at the dance next weekend.

Henri glances at me. I'm not sure yet, he tells her.

You should come, the girl replies. There will be plenty of men to entertain your cousin. Though she’s a bit old for a babysitter.

You obviously don't know my cousin well, he says.

André frowns at them both. “They’re talking about the town dance,” he says to me. “I hope you plan to come. It’s still a week away—I don’t suppose you’ll be out of the cast by then?”

I glance down. "I have three more weeks, so if I come, I’m not sure how much dancing I’ll be doing."

Henri shoots me a hard look. "You won’t be doing any dancing. You’ll probably fall over and break the other ankle too.”

"Do you treat all your cousins as if they’re made of glass?” asks André.

Henri straightens. He’s several inches taller than Andre and for the first time, I get the sense that he’s trying to make a point of it. "Just the ones who tend to break easily. Excuse us," he says abruptly, and with his hand firmly pressing on my back he all but pushes me to the left, toward the refreshment table where Marie is talking to Father Edouard.

Her eyes are shining, her cheeks are flushed. And, I notice, so are his. Father Edouard is looking at Marie with a sort of reverence I did not see on his face during mass.

I push back against Henri’s hand. "Leave them alone,” I say quietly. “Marie can come home later if you’re in such a rush.”

He glances at me. "Why?"