Finding Gabriel (21 page)

Frantic sobbing jolted Ariah awake. The candlestick had burnt out hours ago, sentencing the room to an impenetrable pitch-black. Panic hummed through her body. Beyond the walls, the wind howled a grim melody and rattled the nude trees. Branches clawed against the wooden panels and sent tremors racing down her spine. As the crying loudened, she threw the coverlet aside and battled to focus her eyes.

The darkness prevailed.

“Emmaline! Emmaline – what is it? Are you all right? Answer me! Answer me this instant!” She reached for the opposite side of the bed and raked a hand over the mattress. The covers were empty. Cold.

With rising panic, Ariah lurched from the bed and searched the small room. A damp chill penetrated her skin as she shuffled across the worn floorboards. Her bare feet whispered against the panels and grew numb from the biting cold. Mind reeling, she crinkled her toes in an attempt to nurse them back to life. “Emmaline?
Dieu
. I can hear you – where are you?” The frantic sobbing gradually tempered to a chorus of sniffles.

“I’m over here, Maman.”

Ariah followed after the sorrowful voice.

“Oh, darling! Whatever are you doing? What happ – ” Ariah’s eyes came into focus, and the words died on her tongue. In the same breath, Miriam tore inside the room. Standing by her side, she grasped onto Ariah’s forearm as they took in the tragic sight.

Both of Emmaline’s legs were pulled against her chest. She embraced them with her arms, while her tear-stained face hid below a fortress of upright knees. Oliver lay beside her, still and silent. No characteristic snoring. No twitching paws or those beastly grunts they’d come to adore so much. Ariah felt her heart plummet. She crouched in front of the creature’s motionless form. Then she spread a shaky palm over his coat, smoothing it down his sides in repetitive motions – but his body remained mute and motionless. Ariah’s eyes fluttered shut as she bowed her head in despair.

He’d been much more than a lovable, oversized mutt. He’d been her daughter’s companion. The loss would be deep and profound – something that could take years to heal while derailing Emmaline’s fragile health in the meantime.

The entire situation was tragic; Ariah inwardly chastened herself for not preparing much sooner.

“Poor boy,” Ariah whispered, her voice strangled with emotion. She laid her head across Oliver’s ragged coat and inhaled his scent. A thousand memories raced through her mind: Oliver quivering and half-starved in the sewer, Oliver roughhousing with Emmaline, Emmaline and Oliver sleeping side by side … Oliver speaking his mind and urinating on Madame Lupont’s front door.

The last thought brought a sad smile to her lips. Shaking her head, she massaged Oliver’s unsightly ears in the way he’d so often loved.

Only the moaning wind and Emmaline’s crying fractured the quiet.

•

For over a decade, Colonel Gabriel de Laurent had breathed death and decay – and yet, nothing could have prepared him for this moment. At a loss for words, he stood beneath the archway and clasped onto the doorjamb.

He’d seen countless men fall during his time at war; he’d witnessed death on a profusely grand scale. And after each battle, he’d walk the bloodstained field, searching the faces one by one, paying his respects to his men’s sacrifices. He’d always viewed the notion of death with a numbing degree of apathy. Emotional detachment was a critical and inevitable part of being a commander.

And yet something opened inside Gabriel’s heart as Emmaline peered up at him. Her cheeks were sopping wet, plastering curls against her skin. Her eyes momentarily widened – then filled with despair. A split-second later, she vacantly stared forward and shattered into a heap of sobs. Miriam eased onto the mattress, as silent as ever, and dabbed away her own tears.

Ariah turned from Oliver’s body and locked onto Gabriel’s gaze. An entire, wordless conversation transpired between them. He stepped forward and draped a bandaged hand over her shoulder. A slow breath of air slipped between her lips. He felt her muscles relax beneath his touch. Then she turned her face until her chin rested on top of his hand. It was a small, arguably insignificant gesture – perhaps even unconscious – yet Gabriel’s heart soared. In his mind’s eye, she was turning to him in her hour of need … seeking comfort from his nearness. Although it was a small victory, it was a victory nonetheless.

Ariah exhaled a weary sigh, held Miriam’s gaze, and returned her stare to Oliver’s splayed body. Gabriel knelt in front of the mutt and smoothed a palm over the wiry coat. Even through the bandaging, he could feel the fur’s uneven, coarse texture.

“He was my friend,” Emmaline whispered, her entire body convulsing with hiccups.

“And he was mine as well,” Gabriel replied. Grinning to himself, he thought of the morning Oliver had woken him with a wet kiss. “He is at rest now.” He hoped the words sounded more sincere than they felt. Since the war, he’d held little room in his soul for God. He’d witnessed too much unnecessary evil. Far too much grief and unexplainable tragedy. Over brandy and cigars, Napoleon had once claimed that, “All religions are made by men.” Gabriel had toasted the declaration and drank to their victory. The emperor was a closet atheist and perceived religion as more of a tool than a conceptual reality. He recognized the unifying power of faith as well as its political influence. For Napoleon, religion was nothing more than another piece upon his chessboard.

Until this moment, Gabriel had shared the emperor’s perspective. But now everything was changing.

Beyond the home, the clouds parted and gave way to morning’s first rays. Streaks of orange and red bled across the horizon and set Paris aglow.

Emmaline nodded into her legs as the tears returned full force. Her lean shoulders rose and fell with labored breaths.

Ariah splayed a hand across the child’s back and attempted to help her rise. Shafts of light speared through the window and illuminated her taut features. “He was suffering. Gabriel is right, sweetling. Oliver is at peace now.” Shining like a beacon, Ariah’s cross reflected the surrounding rays. A chill swept down Gabriel’s spine, and each hair on the back of his neck stood erect. “He is with God in heaven, where he can chase rabbits all day long without ever tiring.”

The words seemed to console Emmaline. Nodding, she sniffled and continued to run her fingers over his coat. “But he would never … never hurt a rabbit. He never hurt anything.”

Ariah’s expression relaxed. She smiled, reached forward, and pinched her daughter’s tearstained cheek. “Of course not. Now come with me, darling. Come and try to lie down – ”

“Your m-maman’s r-right,” Miriam interjected. “You o-ought – ”

“I wanna stay with Oliver. Just a bit longer.” Defeated – clearly ignorant of how to handle such a fragile situation – Ariah turned to Gabriel with pained eyes.

His throat dropped into his chest. He felt helpless. Helpless and utterly defeated. He scrubbed a hand over his features – and, for the first time, realized he wasn’t wearing the facial bandage.

Emmaline glanced at his disfigurement, free from horror and disgust. Gabriel felt his heart crack open once more. Inclining his chin, he thought of the inscription on Ariah’s wedding band for the hundredth time:
the only journey worth traveling starts from within.
The words shone in front of him with the glory of the North Star. Returning to his chateau had been the first step; now he was ready for another.

He yearned to eliminate Ariah and Emmaline’s pain, to ease the little girl’s grief, to return Ariah’s infinite kindness with his own.

And on the heels of that thought, an idea unraveled inside his mind.

•

Dawn was an hour off, and Paris’s streets stood quiet and still. The only traces of humanity were the homeless citizens, wandering orphans, and an occasional stray creature. A blanket of clouds sulked low, cloaking the velvety sky from view.

Ariah tracked Gabriel’s massive silhouette, Emmaline’s hand clutched within her own. Oliver’s body was wrapped in the threadbare rug that he’d loved so dearly all those years. Despite the mongrel’s excessive size, Gabriel cradled him with great care.

Ariah’s stomach ached as she waded through the impenetrable darkness. She clutched at her shawl and secured the material about her shoulders. A strange fog swirled through the monuments and towering stonework, emerging from the nearby Seine. Wind screeched in a ghostly howl and sent shivers up and down her spine.

Emmaline, however, didn’t seem to notice the dreary surroundings. She’d resorted to silence, far too consumed with her own inner pain. Her chin was downcast, cheeks tearstained, and skin as pale as freshly fallen snow. Their hands were entwined and bodies melded together in an attempt to generate heat. It was impossibly dark, only the occasional swaying oil lamp alleviating the blackness. Ariah grasped her daughter’s hand tighter still and rubbed warmth into her palm. Despite the two shawls and woolen coat, Emmaline’s flesh felt rather cold.

Where, pray tell, was Gabriel taking them? She had no idea where he was going – but she trusted his intentions. Ever since his arrival, he’d shown an unparalleled kindness toward Emmaline.

The previous evening, he’d dedicated several hours before the hearth, mollifying Emmaline’s sadness with playful small talk. Ariah and Miriam had observed in silent awe as he’d reminisced on his youth and his childhood dog Captain; then, over a bowl of warm stew, he’d urged Emmaline to share fond memories of Oliver. Before Ariah’s eyes, her daughter had resurrected. The tears gradually dried from Emmaline’s cheeks, and a smile had taken their place. Gabriel had leaned in close, absorbing every word, those cognac eyes of his wide and attentive. Tucking Emmaline into bed for the night, he’d concluded the evening with a fairy tale.

Afterward, he’d mysteriously vanished from the home – and returned dirty and slick with perspiration. From the shadows, she’d watched as he’d stripped away his sodden shirt. Using a small basin, he’d wiped the dirt and sweat from his muscles with a rag. Mixed emotions had welled in her stomach as she’d indulged herself in the sight of the damp cloth sliding over his wide shoulders. He’d imagined her to be fast asleep, of course – until he’d somehow sensed her presence. She’d immediately fled back to Emmaline’s chamber, her mind thrumming.

A light rain began to fall. After about a half hour of walking, Gabriel halted before a humble-looking cemetery. She’d had a strong feeling he was leading them to such a place. The wrought iron fence that encapsulated the gravestones was plagued with rust. A gust of wind rattled the bars with the audacity of shivering bones. Gabriel turned toward Ariah and Emmaline, a severe smile adorning his lips. Shadows obscured his features and further distorted the left half of his face.

“Come along,” he murmured. He adjusted his grip on Oliver’s body and outstretched a hand. Ariah swallowed and met Gabriel’s powerful eyes. An entire conversation seemed to pass between them, as tangible as the very air they shared. Then she nodded and gently urged her daughter forward. Emmaline took his hand with slight hesitation, her small fingers consumed by his large ones.

“Are you frightened,
ma chérie
?” Emmaline gazed at Ariah before surrendering to a quick nod. He smiled warmly, the angular lines of his features softening from the movement. “I assure you, there’s no reason to be afraid. This is a place of rest, peace, and goodbyes.”

He shifted forward until he was centimeters from the antique gate. Then he set Oliver’s body onto the ground, turned to Emmaline, and knelt to her level.

“I don’t understand. Why are we here, Monsieur Gabriel?” Emmaline asked.

“Well, tonight we are going to honor Oliver with a proper soldier’s burial. Would you like that?” Her eyes widened at his words. She grinned and gave an enthusiastic nod. “Very well,” he sighed. “I shall have to lift you over the fence.”

Concern knotted Ariah’s stomach. She examined her surroundings, wary with apprehension. “Are you quite sure this is safe? I mean, we won’t get in trouble … will we?”

Gabriel’s eyes flickered with something that might have been boyish mischief. “Not if we don’t get caught.”

Returning to his feet, he swept Emmaline into his arms and feigned a groan, as if the burden of her twenty-five kilograms was too much to bear. “Up we go. Careful now, we don’t want to snag your pretty coat.” He marched to the fence and carefully placed her over the bars. She slipped free of his clutch and safely landed on the other side with a dull thump.

Gabriel turned to Ariah and signaled her over with a suave wave. She did as commanded, drawn forward by the raw magnetism in his eyes. Sparks of awareness lanced through her body as her fingers lost themselves within his. For a passing moment, the streets of Paris warmed and brightened. His opposite hand rested on the small of her back and tentatively pressed forward. Her spine tingled from the simple touch, and every nerve ending hummed with awareness.

A wolfish grin crinkled the right corner of his mouth. Then he briefly met her gaze, lifted her in the circle of his arms, and eased her onto the other side of the gate. As the soles of her boots touched the grassy knoll, her heart hammered at a fierce sprint. A feeling of lightness descended, and perspiration welled in the curves of her palms. Gabriel collected Oliver’s body from the ground – then lowered him over the fence while preserving as much of the mutt’s dignity as possible. Gabriel followed suit, hopping the gate with a feline’s grace. Without another utterance, he swept Oliver from the grass, signaled Ariah and Emmaline to follow, and eased deeper into the cemetery.

Shivers quaked through Ariah’s body. She massaged her arms as they passed by chipped headstones, moss-covered statues, and dried bouquets of flowers. She recalled stories of grave robbers pillaging dead bodies – and another tremor ricocheted through her bones. Yet with Gabriel at her side, she felt remarkably safe.

He finally halted before a gaping hole. Ariah wondered how he’d dug the thing – then remembered the shovels inside her closet. He gently placed Oliver beside the dirt pile, fingertips lingering over the rug’s faded, threadbare material. Then he crouched in front of Emmaline and awarded her with a lopsided grin. He curled his hand into a fist and gently nudged her chin. She met his gaze and straightened her slumped shoulders. “Oliver was an honorable lad, wasn’t he?”