The Copper Sign (24 page)

“That’s a wonderful idea, Ellen—a bit devious, but brilliant. Of course I’ll help you with it.”

Baudouin provided her amply with cookies and cider, and finally Ellen had a little sticky spot on her dress because the boy hadn’t wiped his mouth before hugging her to say good-bye. Although Ellen had no experience dealing with children, she couldn’t resist the charm of young Baudouin and kissed him on his reddish-brown hair, thinking for a moment of the child she had lost.

“Claire won’t be exactly thrilled that I have been gone for such a long time, but I’ll have to live with that. It’s for a good cause, after all,” she said, smiling and turning to Adelise de Béthune. With an almost perfect curtsy, she bade farewell and set out for home.

As expected, Claire was in a bad mood because Ellen had been away so long.

“I went to see Baudouin. I stayed longer than I meant to, but he and his mother insisted I stay for a while, and what could I do?” Ellen said apologetically.

“Just look at you!” Claire grumbled. “The beautiful dress!” She didn’t usually get excited about such minor things.

“Baudouin, cider, and cookies,” Ellen said, and shrugged.

“Get right to work—there’s still time before it’s dark. The scabbards for Master George aren’t finished yet, and he wants them by the end of the week.”

“I’ll work as fast as the wind,” Ellen declared lightheartedly.

Claire, who used to be so happy anytime Ellen showed even a hint of a good mood, looked at her crossly. “Why all this fuss? Just get to work!”

Ellen didn’t reply but did what Claire asked. She was quietly humming a happy tune, and Claire looked at her several times with a stern expression but didn’t say anything else to her.

Two uneventful weeks passed. Claire was busy and had little to say, and Ellen tried hard to do everything the way she wanted, although recently that had become almost impossible.

Then, one early morning in September when the air already had a touch of fall in it, men on horseback came riding into the village and stopped in front of the workshop.

Claire and Ellen went running out.

It was Adelise de Béthune accompanied by some other men. A young knight hastily dismounted from his horse to help. She waited patiently while he lifted her down.

“
Madame
, what an honor! What brings you here?” Claire said politely, and curtsied.

Adelise de Béthune beckoned to one of her escorts, an older man with a pinched mouth and warts on his nose, who struggled to dismount and walked over to them. He exuded an unpleasant odor of sweat and foul-smelling hair.

“My dear Claire, this is Basile, a scabbard maker just like your late husband. I know I should have long ago taken it upon myself to search for a new husband for you. The burden of running this shop is surely much too great for your delicate shoulders, and you are too young to stay single.”

Claire gasped as if she wanted to interrupt the lady but couldn’t say a word, and Adelise de Béthune continued her happy chatter. “My husband would like to help him get established in Beuvry and marry you.” The Lady of Béthune beamed innocently at Claire, who said nothing.

Ellen suspected what Claire must be feeling. Of course she could refuse, but then she would have to worry whether the advocate would marry him off to another young woman and set them up in her house and her workshop.

Claire looked at him in disgust.

Adelise de Béthune smiled. “I told Basile how long you have been managing the workshop by yourself. He is very happy that you are such a good worker.”

“Until we have children you can help me,” Basile said haughtily, “and later you can stay at home.” His wide grin revealed a few decaying teeth.

Claire lowered her eyes.

Basile leaned against the doorpost to the workshop and examined it as casually as if he were already the owner.

“As you wish,
madame
,” Claire mumbled obediently, and she didn’t look up so that no one would see the tears in her eyes.

“Very well, Claire, then we’ll have a wedding a week from Sunday. You know how much I care for you, and thus I’ve decided to give you and Ellen a new dress for your wedding. Come to see me tomorrow so we can measure you, and please bring Jacques along as I would like to give him something decent to wear, too.” Adelise de Béthune smiled amiably and was helped back up onto her horse.

“Come, Basile, let us leave. It won’t be too long before the workshop belongs to you,” she called out, turning her horse.

“He’s dreadful!” Ellen exclaimed after they had left. “Just how could she do that to you?”

Claire endeavored to look nonchalant. “She means only the best for me. Do you think my first husband was any better? Certainly this Basile has his good side, too.” Claire’s voice was trembling.

“But he’s old and his eyes are, oh, I don’t know…so…piercing,” Ellen replied, though she knew the anguish this would cause Claire. But she had to do it if her plan was to succeed— there was just no other way.

“It’s the advocate’s right to pick out a husband for me. Neither the house nor the workshop belongs to me. If I don’t marry Basile, I shall have to leave Beuvry. But this is my home, and Jacques’ home, too. So I’ll marry him even if I get sick when I think of having to raise his children and share a bed with him for the rest of my days. Perhaps God will be merciful to me and I’ll die in childbirth,” she gasped.

Just as Ellen was considering giving away her secret, Claire regained her composure.

“Oh, God, my first husband was also no prize, but I found a way to get along with him,” she said with determination.

Claire looked more miserable from day to day, and finally, on the evening before the wedding she was crying uncontrollably.

Ellen took her in her arms to console her.

“I’ve done everything wrong,” Claire lamented. “I was so stupid! Certainly this is just what I deserve, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to go through with it.”

Ellen tried hard to look horrified so that Claire wouldn’t figure things out. Claire’s eyes were red from crying, and it really grieved Ellen deeply to see her friend so saddened. She was almost at the point of releasing the poor woman from her sorrow, but she had resolved to hold the course even if it wasn’t easy.

“Maybe they wouldn’t have approved of Guiot. If the Lord of Béthune had wanted to, he could have planned for me to marry Guiot…if only he hadn’t disappeared so fast…” Claire broke out in loud sobs.

“But my dear, you said yourself that an arranged marriage is the best thing that can happen to a woman.” Ellen was a bit ashamed of how cruel she was.

“Yes, I know I said something dumb like that, and now I have to pay for it.” Claire sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll marry this Basile fellow tomorrow, proudly and with my head up. But he shouldn’t put too much hope in my working in the kitchen and caring for our brood of children,” she declared defiantly.

Ellen nodded, in agony. Perhaps she had been wrong about Claire after all, and she was in fact as strong as she always pretended to be. Would she truly acquiesce and go along with this marriage?

On her wedding day, Claire got up as early as on any other day. Ellen saw her going into the workshop and looking around sadly. All the ongoing projects were completed, and everything was tidied up. There wasn’t a stray thread lying around, not a tool that had not been neatly put away. Although Claire had already put on her wedding dress, she swept up one more time. Now it looked as if no work had been done in the shop for a long time. Claire squared her shoulders and walked out.

Ellen watched as she left. She would have to summon up all her strength to make it all the way to the church. Stone-faced, Claire walked out of the cottage to meet her fate, looking not like a bride but like a convicted person on the way to her execution.

Adelise de Béthune and her attendants were already waiting at the church.

With apparent indifference and her head high, Claire marched toward the church, but when she caught sight of her repulsive-looking husband-to-be, she finally lost her composure. “I can’t do it,” she whispered with a trembling voice.

Ellen acted as if she hadn’t heard, and a moment later Adelise de Béthune walked toward the two of them, smiling and reaching out to the bride with both hands. She greeted them warmly.

“Soon you will once more be a married woman, my child.”

Claire shook her head and pulled the lady off to one side.

“Please,
madame
, you must release me from my obligation. I love another man. I can’t marry Basile.”

“What sort of nonsense is that, my child? You love another man? That’s not really any reason not to marry Basile. It’s foolish to build a marriage based on love—believe me, I know what I am talking about.”

“That’s what I always believed, too, until Guiot came back. He wanted to marry me, and I, silly goose that I am, said no.” Claire was at the end of her rope.

“Well, then, everything is settled, and we can now finally celebrate your wedding,” said Adelise de Béthune, looking at Claire with unusual severity. “Come now!”

Claire gave up and followed her. She was staring straight down at her feet so they couldn’t run away and didn’t notice that Guiot in the meanwhile had taken Basile’s place. Her eyes filled with tears.

The priest began his homily about marriage, its duties, and the will of God.

Claire seemed hardly to hear what he said.

“Will you, Claire, widow of the scabbard maker Jacques and mother of his son Jacques, take this man Guiot standing before you, also a scabbard maker by trade, as a husband? Will you love him and cherish him…”

Claire’s eyes suddenly shot up, like those of a startled deer. Had he said Guiot? In disbelief she looked to her side where she’d assumed Basile was standing.

Guiot smiled bashfully.

“…be faithful to him until your life’s end, bear his children, and raise them in the fear of God as the Mother Church demands, and all this of your own free will, then answer yes.” The priest looked at her questioningly.

“This wasn’t my idea,” Guiot whispered apologetically as the priest waited for an answer.

The priest patiently repeated his question.

This time she hastened to answer, “Yes,” loudly and clearly, though her voice was trembling.

After Guiot had also answered affirmatively and the priest had given them his blessing, all her fear melted away.

“Who is behind this?” Claire asked, looking around and smiling at Guiot and the two women.

Guiot simply raised his hands and looked toward the Lady of Béthune.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t my idea. I was only an instrument,” she said, laughing and pointing to Ellen. “Only she was capable of contriving something like that!”

“Ellen!” Claire was much too happy to be annoyed.

“I couldn’t just look on as you threw away your happiness. It’s my way of thanking you. I have been thinking for a while of moving on and didn’t want to leave you alone with all the work. Then, because you didn’t want to hire him, being the obstinate person you are, I thought the best solution would be for you to marry Guiot. That’s really what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“Thank you,” Claire said in a choked voice.

Ellen took a wreath of little white flowers that she was holding behind her back, untied the tight bun behind Claire’s head so that her beautiful dark-blond hair fell down over her shoulders in soft waves, and then placed the wreath on top of her head. “You are a beautiful bride, Claire, and Guiot is one lucky fellow!”

“Well, Claire is also lucky, and she’ll soon realize that,” Guiot said jokingly, pulling his bride to him in order to finally give her the second kiss he had yearned to give her for so many years.

“Is it better than the first?” he whispered.

Claire blushed and nodded.

The whole town had gathered at the church and broke out in applause. A few men whistled between their fingers, and the miller took his little flute and played a merry tune. The women sang a satirical song about marriage, an old custom in the village. Even Morgane, Adele, and the other young women seemed not to begrudge Claire her happiness. Perhaps they were thinking that if something so wonderful and unexpected could happen to one of them, then all of them might expect to find the right man someday.

Old Jean stepped out of the crowd with trembling legs, embraced his son who had returned, and cried softly at his good fortune.

“We are running short of glue,” Claire observed as casually as possible.

Ellen frowned a bit, but Claire seemed not to notice it. Ever since her wedding she was at times in a muddle. Had she really forgotten that tomorrow Ellen would be leaving forever?

“We’re also running short on linen.” Ellen’s voice sounded thick.

Claire nodded without looking at her. “I’ll bring some along tomorrow morning,” she replied, but then suddenly muttered an apology and raced out of the workshop, nearly knocking Jacques over.

“Mom can’t stop crying, and it’s your fault.” Jacques looked at Ellen disapprovingly.

“My fault?” Ellen asked indignantly.

“She’s sad because you want to leave—and so am I,” he said, embracing her awkwardly. As he got older his simple-mindedness became more noticeable.

“I’m sorry, too, Jacques, but it’s time for me to move on.” Ellen surreptitiously wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“I saw it, you’re crying!” he crowed.

Ellen laughed, and this time a tear really did roll down her cheek.

“You need not cry—you can stay here, you know,” Jacques pleaded affectionately, hugging her again.

“No, I must go, believe me,” Ellen said, her voice trembling.

“But you will come again soon, won’t you? And then I’ll marry you,” he said, with a broad smile.