Naomi Rawlings - The Soldier's Secrets

He opened his mouth to ask, but the woman braced her hands on the ground to push herself up. “Merci, Citizen, but I must away.”

He shoved the water back in front of her face. “Drink more. I’ve brought you bread and cheese, as well. I’ll not have you nearly swoon one moment and then be up and about the next.”

She took the mug from his hands and swallowed. The wooden cup no sooner left her lips than he placed the bread before her. She nibbled at a crumb or two then wrinkled her nose, a ridiculous expression considering how ill she’d looked just minutes before.

But with the thick, dense state of the bread, he could hardly blame her. It tasted little better than mud, he knew. He’d been making and eating the loaves since his mother’s death last fall, and no matter what he tried, the heavy dough refused to rise.

The woman handed the bread back to him then rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’m fine, truly, and I’ve other business to attend now that I’ve an answer regarding a post here.”

He stood with her. So they were back to discussing a post. Could the woman cook? Mayhap offering her work wouldn’t be so terrible...

But no. He wasn’t ready to have a woman about his house, not with the way Corinne’s memories still rose up to grip his thoughts. “Try looking about town for work, and if you find naught there, then head to Saint-Valery. ’tis not more than a day’s walk, and there’s always work at the harbor.”

Her chin tilted stubbornly into the air. “I thank you for your time, Citizen.”

He held out a bundle of bread and cheese. “Here, I trust it keeps you until you find a post.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re too generous.”

The woman didn’t know the half of it. “Take it.”

“Merci.” She tucked the bundle beneath her arm. “I think I should have enjoyed a post here.”

And with that she walked off. Head high, shoulders back, posture perfect, even if her gait was rather wobbly.

* * *

Brigitte settled the food in the overlarge pocket of her apron and hurried down the road. The children. She had to get to the children. They’d been alone in the woods for far too long while she’d sat in the shade like a child, drinking water and eating bread.

Of all the ways to prove herself a capable housekeeper to Citizen Belanger. She’d gone half-mad, nearly fainting and then screaming at a man who’d tried to help her.

Tried to help. How long since a man or woman had shown her kindness the way Jean Paul Belanger just had?

And here she was forced to spy on him. She swallowed the unease creeping up her throat and rushed forward, not slowing until the lane curved and the woods started, its towering trees and rambling brambles shielding her from the farmstead. At the first break in the brush, she veered into the forest.

“Danielle, Serge.”

Only the song of insects and birds answered her.

“Serge,” she called louder. “Danielle.”

Somewhere ahead, a babe mewled. She stepped over a decaying log then skirted a pit of mud.

“Here we are.” Serge sat on the forest floor beneath a tree, holding eight-month-old Victor in his lap. The babe’s eyes landed on her, and he let out a piercing wail. Brigitte reached for her youngest son and settled onto the ground, then brought him forward to feed.

“Are you unwell, Maman?” Serge’s vibrant brown eyes, humming with energy and life, searched hers.

Unwell? Was it possible to be anything but unwell with the orders Alphonse had given her and her failure to gain a post at the farm? How was she going to tend her children and feed her babe while working a job in town and spying on Citizen Belanger two kilomètres away?

If only Alphonse had given her money to live on while she carried out her assignment. But he’d been all too clear on that point: she’d receive funds only after she provided information.

Where were they going to live in the meantime?

“Maman?” Serge rose up on his knees and pressed his forehead to hers. “Why are you crying?”

She reached up and touched her cheek. Sure enough, moisture trailed down her skin. “Maman had a hard day, is all. Nothing you need worry about.”

Her six-year-old son sank back to the ground, a frown tugging his little lips downward, but he stayed quiet. She wiped the last of the tears from her face and leaned her head back against the tree trunk while Victor nursed.

The leaves swayed peacefully above as the soft songs of crickets, birds and toads twined around her. She sucked in a breath of moist air ripe with the scent of foliage. If only she could stay here with her children, shrouded by the forest and never worrying about money or Alphonse, or how to feed her sons and...

Daughter.

She jerked upright so quickly the babe howled. “Where’s Danielle?”

Serge shrugged. “She went off to find some supper. Said she won’t eat no more pulse.”

A sinking sensation started in her chest and fell through to her stomach. “How long ago did she leave? I told her to watch you.”

Serge shrugged again.

That girl. One would think an only daughter raised with four brothers would be a help to her mother, but not Danielle Dubois. Oh, no.

“Danielle,” Brigitte called into the trees.

Nothing but the birds and frogs again.

“I’ll find her!” Serge jumped to his feet, a patch of reddish brown hair flopping over his eyes.

“Non.” She gripped his hand and pulled him down beside her. “Once Victor has finished eating we’ll look together.”

Serge scowled at his little brother. “Do we have to wait? Victor eats slow.”

She smoothed her hand over the babe’s head, the featherlike hairs separating between her fingers. “He doesn’t take so very long, and he needs to eat. You were the same as a babe.”

Serge poked out his bottom lip. “I suppose we can wait a bit before we look.”

“What will you be looking for?” a young female voice asked from behind them.

Brigitte craned her head around and released a breath. “Danielle.”

Her daughter of three and ten stood not a mètre from them, moving silently over the fallen leaves and underbrush. Her black hair tumbled freely about her shoulders and mud-streaked face, and thorns had tangled in the shoulder of her dress—one of only two she owned—to shred fabric about her upper arm.

“Danielle, come forward this instant.” Brigitte stood and shifted Victor to her shoulder. “What were you thinking leaving your brothers alone in the woods?”

“I was looking for food.” Danielle swiped a strand of hair away from her face. “But the rabbit got away.”

“And a rabbit justifies you leaving your brothers?” She raised an eyebrow, hoping against hope that some semblance of guilt might flit through her daughter’s head.

Danielle merely rolled her eyes.

“Aw, Danielle.” Serge sprang to his feet. “You said you were going to catch one this time. I don’t wanna eat no more pulse.”

“I can try again.”

“Non. Non. Non. There will be no more hunting expeditions, especially on land that belongs to another. And no one has to eat pulse tonight because I’ve bread and cheese.” Brigitte reached into the pocket of her apron, fumbled to unwrap the food and broke the cheese into several sections.

“Is it from the land owner?” Danielle snatched a hunk of cheese and bit into it. “Did you get the post?”

“Non.” And she had no one to blame but herself. What man would hire a woman who nearly fainted on his doorstep?

“So what are we going to do?” Serge stuffed his entire piece of cheese into his little mouth and chewed.

“I’ll go back and request the post again.”

Her cheese gone, Danielle reached for a piece of bread. “But if he already told you no—”