THE ALTERED COURSE

BY:  ROSE CARR

CHAPTER TEN

"How could you let her go?" Andre yelled, waving a piece of crumpled note paper in Adele's face.

"Let who go?" Adele snapped back, her face flushed red with indignation. "And what is that you're waving in my face?" she said.

"Humph," he snorted derisively, "it's a note from Richelleen telling me that she's gone back to Paris - as if you didn't know."

"And you think I had a hand in her leaving?"

"Yes, well," he grumbled, "you were the last one to see her."

Adele rolled her eyes. "Now I've heard everything," she snorted. "You know as well as I do that no one lets Richelleen do anything."

Andre slumped down into a chair, "You're right of course Adele," he said sighing deeply. "Even had I known she was planning to leave, I couldn't have stopped her from going. Her mind was made up. Still, had I known about her plans, I could have had someone follow her. Just to make sure she arrived in Paris safely."

Adele put a hand on his shoulder, the smallest of smiles twitching the corners of her lips. "Who's to say someone didn't follow her?"

Andre's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "You had someone follow her? Truly?"

Her eyes widened innocently, "Is that what I said?"

A broad smile cut across his seamed face. "I should have known you'd find a way to watch over her," he said. "Please forgive me for lashing out at you. It's just that I'm so confused. In my head I know Richelleen is smart and resourceful and doing what she thinks is best, but in my heart she's still my little girl. Tell me, am I wrong in wanting to protect her, especially now that she is pregnant?"

Adele's eyes softened, "How can I tell you you're wrong in wanting to protect her, when I'm guilty of doing the same thing?" she said.

He nodded his head, squeezed her hand, "Yes, I know you love her too. I sometimes forget that."

"That I do old man," she said. "But please, don't fear for her, if she were not well I'd know it. Let's just try and be happy for her. She is where she wants to be. And you know, as long as she's with Monsieur Javert she'll be fine." Squeezing his shoulder she added reassuringly, "We'll be hearing from her soon, you'll see, everything will be all right."

***

Javert stepped back, holding Richelleen at arm's length. "Let me look at you," he said, his hungry eyes feasting on her, taking in every detail. "Tell me everything. How is everyone, how was your trip, did Andre come with you?"

"Everyone is fine, and no, Father did not come with me this time," she said shaking her head.

"Oh, Gaspar then, is he still here? I like that young man, and have come to enjoy his company immensely." he said.

"No, Gaspar didn't come either," she replied, putting a kettle of water on the stove.

She busied herself making tea, avoiding him, looking purposely at the teapot, he looking intently at her. His eyes closed, he sighed.

I must be careful, he thought, and not let my concerns cloud my wits in this matter. "Then you made the trip into Paris all alone, did you take the Coach from .......?"

"I told you," she said, cutting him off, "that I had a very easy time of it. No problems at all, what else is there to tell?"

He frowned, a little taken aback by her abrupt tone and manner. "You are fencing with me Richelleen," he said, "and that is not like you. Please tell me," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "What is really troubling you?"

Her voice was calm, but her gaze was anything but. "I don't know Javert, it's hard to explain, I'm not sure if I understand what's really bothering me."

He sat down at the small table, chin in hand, fingers working in the thick steely gray whiskers of his sideburns. Sex aside, until he met Richelleen, his knowledge of women had been extremely limited. Looking at her anxious face he thought of what he might say to her that would be of comfort. Picking up his tea, he took a sip, and looked at her over the rim of his cup. "I may not understand what troubles you Richelleen, but I can listen to your troubles, if you let me."

She blinked, the threat of tears pricking her eyes. She sat across the table from him, looked into his earnest blue eyes and sighed deeply. "For years I 've been trusted to make the right choices, and now.... because I'm pregnant everyone seems to think I'm helpless. Suddenly everybody else knows what's best for me. My father acts if I will break at the slightest chore and even Adele is starting to treat me like an invalid child.. And now, here you are questioning me in your best Inspector Javert voice about how and why I'm here."

She paused, looking at him, but his gaze was steady, his expression sober. He said nothing, only nodded, urging her to continue. "The truth is I had no real idea of when you might return and as you can plainly see, my condition is getting more pronounced every day. I had to make a quick decision, because if I had waited much longer, I wouldn't have been able to travel at all." She closed her eyes, the anguish in her voice unmistakable as she spoke. "Really Javert, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. When I made the decision to come here, I knew all the facts, all the dangers. I would never do anything to harm myself or our child. I thought you would know that."

"It was never my intention to make you feel inadequate, or . . . childish," he said, his eyes dark and moist. "But I understand now that my gross insensitivity to your feelings did hurt you . . . terribly. For that I am sorry and although I cannot change what has passed, I can promise you I will make every effort to see you never feel that way again." They said nothing for a few minutes. He rose from his chair, walked around the table and knelt down in front of her. "Are you very angry with me?" he asked.

"Angry," she said, her eyes meeting his, lifting her hand to smooth down a stray lock of his unruly silver hair. "No, I'm not angry . . at least not anymore."

"Am I forgiven?" he asked, still on bended knee.

"You're forgiven," she said, her lips pursed to keep a smile from spreading across her face, "only if you feed me."

"Feed you?" he said, a little startled. "Yes, I'm starving!" she laughed, the tension broken.

"Of course, you must be hungry after your journey. I'm sorry I have nothing prepared but if you feel well enough to eat out, there is a small brasserie a few blocks from here. The food is simple, but filling."

"Well," she said, running her hands over her abdomen, "that sounds perfect, because there seems to be quite a bit more of me to fill up these days."

Dinner was wonderful as promised. As they dined on delicious vegetable ratatouille, baked chicken stuffed with apples and butternut squash they made plans to go to the church the next day. Richelleen had only asked that they wait until Antoine was released from prison so he could attend their ceremony. Javert had some concern that the two- month wait would not let the marriage take place before their child was born but Richelleen assured him that this would not be so. Knowing how fond she was of the young man, he agreed.

They walked back to the flat, hand in hand, enjoying the fresh evening breeze with it's promise of spring time, stopping along the way to buy fruit and croissants for breakfast. Javert unlocked the door for Richelleen. She asked if he would like some tea before retiring for the night. He declined, telling her he wished to bathe before they went to bed. Richelleen called after him to bring fresh water for the basin. A short while later, he returned with the water and opened the door, drawing a gasp from Richelleen who frantically grabbed at the bed sheet in an attempt to cover herself. "You startled me," she said, clutching the sheet tighter against her swollen abdomen.

"I am sorry," he said smiling, "I should have knocked." A small frown furrowed his fine brow, " Are you all right Richelleen?" he asked. "You look a little pale."

She turned her head, but said nothing. A little alarmed Javert crossed the room and stopped in front her; still, she would not look at him. He put his hand on her arm and she shivered. "Richelleen, please, what is wrong. Are you ill?"

She raised tear filled eyes to him. "I thought it wouldn't matter to me, that everything would be the same."

"I do not understand," he said, clearly puzzled by her words and actions. "What would be the same?"

She looked down at herself, "Me, the way I look."

The frown appeared again, "The way you look, what is the matter with the way you look?"

"I didn't think I was a vain person . . . oh Javert, how can you say that, just look at me," she whispered, here eyes shut tight, "I don't look the same as I did before."

He moved closer, pulled the sheet from her fingers and tossed it aside. She could feel the heat radiating from his body through the flimsy material of her night dress, smell the scent of the soap he had used to bathe in. She felt herself grow dizzy as his fingers tugged at her belt, undid it, her nipples pebbling as he slid the gossamer fabric aside. Slowly his hands slipped down her arms and around her waist until they rested against the rounded curve of her belly, an almost reverent laying on of hands, his manner so gentle and solemn, that it moved her unbearably. She found it hard to breathe, felt she would drown in the depths of his smoky blue gaze if she moved a step closer.

"Ssshh," he whispered. "This is no time for words."

His arms slipped around her, bent his head to her, his firm warm lips pressed against hers in a kiss that began tenderly, slowly as he savored the sweet taste of the offered mouth. She shuddered as his hand trailed across the warm silkiness of her skin, each touch achingly familiar, bringing forth treasured memories of the first time. He became lost, undone, his passion almost an exquisite pain. She returned his embraces, exploring his body and soon his clothes were off and he found himself gently lowering her onto the bed.

He bent to her, kissed the glossy skin of the rounded shoulders. Trailed delicate kisses along the curves of her throat, moved down to the soft white mounds of her breasts that were now fuller and softer than he remembered, the dark pink tips hardening beneath the feathery swipes of his tongue. Her hands clutched in the tangle of his hair, and she moaned, whispering hoarsely of the things she wanted. Her lips sought his, demanding lips that asked for more. He rolled over on the bed, carefully pulling her up and across him, his strong hands grasping her hips to lift her, then gently lower her until the satiny thighs parted and she sat astride him, enclosing him fully in her velvety depths.

Richelleen's long slender legs held tight around his waist, her hands moving across his chest, her sharp nails gently raking his sensitized flesh until he writhed in pleasure. There was no clumsiness in her actions as she moved seductively above him, all sleekness and fire. Her knowing hands and lips kept him trembling on the brink of ecstasy. He looked up at her, delighting in her full womanly existence, welcoming each touch that seared him as though her fingers were living flames blazing new pathways into his soul.

He moaned, arched beneath her, the thick cords of his neck etched like steel ropes beneath the smooth unblemished skin of his throat. His fingers tightened on her driving hips, holding her steady above him for one final deep thrust that released them both from the fire that threatened to consume them. Satiated they clung to each other until their heartbeats slowed and breathing eased. They slept as they fell. Next to each other, her back against his chest, his arm over the deep curve of her waist . . . his face nuzzled against the sweet warmth of her dewy neck. Neither dreamed, nor woke till morning.

***

A little before first light he awoke, smiling to himself as he remembered the night before. He saw no need to wake her before he left for work. But before he dressed, kissed the unknowing lips and let himself out, he wrote her a note telling her when she could expect him back. He did not savor the morning duties that lay ahead of him, and wished them to be over with.

Javert heard his name called and got up from the unyielding wooden bench, stretching his long, cramped legs. He shouldered his way through the standing crowd of people that always appeared at these trials, and made his way to the witness box. His face an expressionless mask he detailed for the prosecuting attorney the account of Gautier's arrest and attempt to escape. He had done this sort of thing many times and was a convincing competent witness, ignoring the stares and contemptuous remarks hurled at him by the prisoner.

He was not kept long on the stand. The judge pronounced sentence over the screams of an outraged Gautier, almost before he left the room. Alone on the street, the shouts of Gautier's threats to his life still rang in his ears. They were of no importance. Threats had been made against him many times before. He dismissed them for what he thought they were, idle threats of an angry man. He motioned for his carriage, noting that the sky had grown dark with the promise of rain; he hoped it would hold off until after their appointment at the rectory. It thundered, he thumped the roof of the carriage with the truncheon he carried, urging the driver to go faster; he did not want to be late.

***

Rain came blowing in across the courtyard, chasing the children who had been playing there into the school classrooms located across the way. Roland watched the rain angle down the window as he sat and munched the bread and cheese the nun had brought for his lunch. One or two of the children he saw laughing and running through the rain he recognized, for he was teaching them the art of silver-smithing. It had not been his idea, but the good father's, and to his surprise he found the teaching to be quite satisfying. He suspected Father Verchese's motive was to keep him busy, give him less time to think about the things he had done, and it had worked beyond his wildest dreams. Roland was more at peace with himself than he had ever been before, he was even thinking of joining a brotherhood, he could teach full time then.

"Have you finished your lunch Monsieur Roland?" came a voice from the open doorway. "May I take your tray?" It was Clara, one of the young women who helped the sisters in the kitchen. Roland liked her, even if she was a bit of a gossip.

"Yes, I am Clara, and thank you," he said as he stood up from his chair and walked toward the window.

"Will that be all sir?" she said as she started clearing of the table.

He smiled and nodded to her. He stood up and stretched, stifling a jaw creaking yawn when he caught sight of a couple scurrying through the rain toward a waiting carriage at the far end of the courtyard. The woman wore a cape, the hood pulled low. The man at her elbow was tall and broad shouldered, and looked familiar to him. His brow knitted into a frown as he leaned toward the window trying to get a better view in the driving rain. He raked his hand through his hair, his eyes wide with sudden recognition. Mon Dieu! It couldn't be! He stepped back from the window, his heart pounding hard inside his chest. It was Richelleen, he was sure of it, and the man with her must be Javert. What were they doing here? Had they found him?

"Clara," he said, "Would you come here, please?"

"Yes sir?" she said.

"Do you see that couple getting into the carriage?"

Clara peered through the window, eyes squinting. "Yes sir, I see them. Do you know them sir?"

"I'm not sure, do you by any chance know why they were here?" he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Indeed I do, they were in to see the father about getting married, and none too soon if you ask me," she said slyly.

Frowning he said, "What makes you say that Clara?"

"Well sir, as any fool can plainly see, she's in the family way."

Richelleen pregnant! He felt the need to sit down, his face ashen.

"Are you all right sir?" Clara asked. "You don't look so good."

"Ah," no he said, clearing his throat. "I'm fine, thank you for . . for your information. You can go now." Looking at him a little strangely, she picked up her basket and left the room.

He expelled the breath he had been holding, relaxed his hands that had been tightly balled into fists. Richelleen getting married, having a child, the news had hit him hard. Hard yes, but not devastatingly so, he thought suddenly excited. He realized the overwhelming jealousy that used to possess him when he thought of her with another man had not surfaced. A small step, a tiny victory, but one that gave him hope.

***

Something woke Javert during the night. He lay awake in the dark waiting for the feeling to go away. Nothing seemed to be amiss. The sweet familiar weight of Richelleen's rounded bottom lay against him, his arm across her waist, his hand resting on the swollen curve of her belly. Richelleen murmured in her sleep, snuggled closer to him and lay still. Careful not to disturb her he started to move his hand away when he felt something move under his fingers. He stilled, swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, loathe to move his hand away, not sure if his imagination was playing tricks on him or not. He waited to see if it would happen again. Then a tiny limb kicked against his hand, a little stronger this time. He smothered an imprecation. Now that one he felt! In awed silence, licking lips that had suddenly gone dry, his mind reeled. How wondrous! How incredible! His child, their child was . . . was alive and moving against his hand, letting his presence be known. In the dark his face broke out in a wide grin. He lay wide awake, his arm across Richelleen and the baby, marveling at the sign of life he had felt. Never again would he think about her pregnancy as a condition. Now he knew what brought the glow to the faces of women who carried life inside them. He wondered, did his father lay by his mother and marvel at him? He hoped it had been so. His hand still in place, anxious to feel once more the evidence of the child they had conceived, he patiently waited for his child....their child, to move again. He did not know when he feel asleep, but with sleep came a dream. A dream in which he held a child in his arms, a tiny fragile creature whose fist reached out and gripped his finger, and in his sleep he smiled.

***

"You have a visitor Gautier," the guard said, opening the door to let in a dour faced, roughly dressed man.

Gautier scuttled across the cell, waving his visitor over to the corner to join him. "Ten minutes, no more," the guard called out.

"Yeah, yeah," Gautier rasped out, spitting in the direction of the retreating guard.

"I got the message you wanted to see me," the visiting man said. "What is it you want?"

"I have a job for you. I want you to get Javert, make him pay for putting me in here."

"Javert!" the other man snorted. "The chief inspector himself? I'd sooner go after the Chief of the Paris Police. That Javert, he's a devil that one, and smart as a fox, it won't be easy to get him."

"I didn't say it was an easy job," Gautier sneered contemptuously, "if you don't want the 100 Francs, I'll get someone who's not afraid to do the job."

"Your time is up." came the voice of the waiting guard. "Be on your way."

"Okay, okay," the visiting man called over his shoulder to the guard before he turned to leave. "I'll see what I can do for you," he whispered to Gautier, "you'll be hearing from me."

to be continued. . .

© 1997 Rose Carr

Contact the author:Rosematuse@aol.com

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