THE ALTERED COURSE

BY:  ROSE CARR

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Consciousness returned slowly to Roland, the morning sun shining redly though his closed eyelids. He moaned, tried to sit up, but was forced back by his own dizziness. He blew out a deep breath, grabbing at his head that felt two sizes too large. Gingerly he raised himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, hands clamped tightly to the edge of the mattress to keep from falling as he willed the room to stop spinning.

"If you don't mind me saying so, I've seen better-looking corpses."

Roland raised squinty bloodshot eyes to the voice coming from the doorway and saw Father Verchese leaning against the door jam, arms crossed, looking annoyingly amused.

A sheepish grin flashed across Roland's face as he ran his hands through his dark tangled hair. "I think I would have to die to feel better," he grumbled. "Do you suppose hangovers are God's revenge for over . . . indulging?"

"Hum . . .I don't know that for sure, but you could be right," the Father said, suppressing a small grin. "He does work in mysterious ways."

"Father, I'm sorry I . . . " Roland began.

"Roland, you . . . please forgive me, you were saying?"

"No father," Roland said. "You first, please."

Father Verchese crossed the room, stood quietly, arms folded, staring out the window at the children playing in the sun dappled courtyard. "I don't think I've ever seen you drink this much before Roland," he finally said. "Is there a problem, something you care to talk about?"

Roland took a breath and expelled it, before answering. "Ah, you counseled a couple on the Sacrament of Marriage last Friday, people I know. I saw them as they left your study."

A small frown creased his brow as he searched his memory. "Actually I counseled three couples that day. Is there a name you can give me?"

Roland rubbed his head, "Javert . . . the man's name is Javert and the lady's name is Richelleen. Richelleen Buscon."

"And," he said searching Roland's face. "Madame Buscon is the lady from your past."

Roland nodded his head, his shoulders slumped in resignation, "Yes, she is." Father Verchese pulled the lone chair in the room over to the side of the bed and sat down.

"I can see why you were so taken with her. She's quite a woman." Roland's mouth fell open. "Father Verchese!" he exclaimed.

The priest grinned, "I was a man before I became a priest, and can still appreciate a beautiful face Roland, but that is not what I meant by saying she was quite a woman."

A flicker of a smile softened the edges of a questioning scowl. "I don't understand," Roland said.

"Don't get me wrong, she is very beautiful and quite charming. But what I meant was this. I've known Monsieur Javert for almost twenty years, and anyone who can put the light I saw in his eyes when he looked at her, has to be very special. You may not want to hear this Roland, but he's a good man. A little rigid in his thinking perhaps and some perceive him as being cold, but I've always thought he used that persona as protection, to keep himself from being hurt. Try as I might, I could never get him to talk about his childhood, but from the rumors and stories I've heard about him, I gather it was a lonely loveless one. He was orphaned at an early age and raised by people who felt it their duty to do so, not because they cared about him. I can honestly tell you now that my prayers for him have finally been answered."

"What prayers were those Father?"

"That he would find someone to love, and be loved in return. The look on their faces as I spoke to them made me believe that this has come true."

Roland blinked back tears. "I think that is what troubled me so. I've seen them together and knew the moment I did, that she would never look at me liked she looked at him. That my dream to live out my life with her would never be, and the loss overwhelmed me. Look at me Father, I cry like a child. What kind of man am I to carry on so. Am I such a hopeless fool that I will never get over this?"

Father Verchese looked into his troubled face. "No, you're not a fool Roland. The death of a dream, is always painful. But the pain will pass, I promise you." Leaning closer he said, "The world offers us all one truly sweet moment in this life Roland. Yours will come, and when it does you will know it and find the peace you seek."

Sighing deeply he patted him on the knee and rose from the chair. Crossing to the door he turned and stopped. "Time for prayers, will you join me?" he said standing in the doorway.

Roland shook his head, "No, if you don't mind, I'd rather be alone for a while."

"Certainly," the priest said. "I'll see you at dinner?" Roland smiled and nodded his head.

" Ah . . . Father before you go there is one thing I am curious about."

"Yes?" said the priest.

"You didn't insist that Javert and Richelleen marry immediately, even though she is . . . in the family way as Clara put it. Does the church not consider it a sin for them to continue as they are?"

"A sin?" the priest said. "Yes, I suppose it is, but I prefer to look at their relationship as a blessing that might prevent a greater sin."

"Oh," Roland said, clearly puzzled by his statement.

With measured words as if explaining a lesson to a child, he said. "As I see it Roland, the greater sin would have been for Javert to live and perhaps die a bitter, lonely man. You can confess and receive absolution for sins of the flesh. Tell me, what absolution or salvation is there for death due to a lonely soul?"

"I'm surprised at you Father, that's very secular thinking for a cleric."

His shoulders shrugged beneath the black cassock, "Perhaps, and I'll wager there are those within the clergy who would agree with your observation. But I must be true to the God I serve, not the men who serve Him." Without giving Roland a chance to say anything more, Father Verchese turned and walked away, leaving behind a very bemused young man.

***

Five more weeks, Javert told himself as he fixed his cravat, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. Five more weeks and I will be getting married. And that's not all said the tiny voice in his head. In eight more weeks you will become a father. The placid blue-gray eyes that stared back at him from the mirror belied the turmoil within. He had not been afraid of anything since he was a little boy, but suddenly the once joyous prospect of becoming a husband and father, now had him scared witless. Was he up to the task? Did he have the patience and heart to raise a child, the goodness to be the kind of husband Richelleen deserved? He removed his new black silk top hat from the hook and turned to walk out, but changed his mind, crossing the room instead to stand by the bed.

A lump formed in his throat as he looked down at Richelleen's sleeping form, her face pale against her hair, spread like a black fan against the pillow. Somehow the softly rounded mound of her belly made her seem fragile, vulnerable and seeing her so made him feel his inadequacy more keenly. He did not fear any man, could not think of anything he would not do for her, so what was he afraid of?

"Richelleen," he whispered softly, "I will prove myself worthy of the love and trust you so willingly give me, I swear it." Bending down, he brushed his lips across her forehead in a gentle kiss goodbye. Walking softly he quietly left the room, locking the door behind him.

The early morning air was crisp and clean and there were few people out this early so he decided to walk. He strode quickly along the sidewalk, and although his mind was absorbed with thoughts of his latest case he was still acutely aware of his surroundings.

Something moved at the mouth of the darkened alley to his left. As he neared it, he caught another flash of movement. Frowning he started toward the alley, standing at the entrance his eyes squinting, adjusting to the semi-darkness.

"Who is there?" he called out. Javert felt the movement before he saw it and ducked. As he moved to the side, his assailants closed in. Two men, one tall, one short, both stout and both seemingly experienced fighters. Javert lashed out with a kick toward the shorter one's chest, connecting with enough force to temporarily disable him. Grasping his night stick, he spun around as the tall man charged him. Swinging the stout truncheon in a wide arc, it landed with a satisfying thud across his assailants skull. He grasped the collar of the tall man's jacket, dragging him towards the street when he heard a voice shout out.

"You in there, come out! Show yourself." It was a young patrolman Javert recognized. He dropped the man, and walked towards the entrance of the alley. The young Gendarme stepped smartly to bar his path.

"Slowly," he shouted. "Don't do anything you'll regret!" Javert advanced, stepping into the light drawing a gasp of stunned recognition from the young Gendarme who snapped to attention the instant he recognized his quarry.

Not wasting a moment Javert said, "Officer Lemieux, I was assaulted by two brigands, and I need your assistance in securing them for transport to the station." Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Javert turned on his heel and walked back into the dark alley.

Every detail of the altercation had been carefully noted and logged in his report, when Chief Inspector Emile Dupre came into the room. Javert leaned back in his chair, stretched and flexed the tired cramped muscles in his arms and hands. Reports were a chore his disliked, but one he knew was necessary. Javert nodded a hello as the Chief Inspector sat down in the worn leather chair opposite Javert.

"You were expecting an attack on your life to come soon. I should think you would be relieved that it has, yet you still seem troubled. Why is that?" said the Chief Inspector, crossing his legs as he leaned back in the chair.

"It was too easy, too neat." Javert said, a faint frown creasing his fine forehead.

"On what facts do you base this theory?" the Dupre asked.

Javert grinned ruefully saying. "While I am quite able to defend myself, I hold no illusions that I could take down two men such as these so quickly. Also, they did not protest their arrests, nor offer any kind of explanation or defense when we brought them in. I did of course interrogate Gautier, but he denied any knowledge of the attack. He is crafty, cunning. I feel he orchestrated the attack to throw me off guard."

"You are giving him far too much credit Javert, and yourself too little," the Chief Inspector said. "He may be cunning as you say, but able to plan and execute a ruse such as this? I do not think him capable. Take my advice, and do not worry anymore about him. He will be transported to Toulon in a few weeks and there he will be of no worry to anyone." Standing, Dupre continued. "The main reason I came in here was to accept the invitation to your wedding. I would be most honored to attend, as will Madame Dupre. Thank you for inviting us." Javert rose from his chair and walked around his desk, extending his hand to the Chief Inspector.

"Thank you sir," he said. "Perhaps you are right. I will certainly try and follow your advice."

***

"Goodnight. I'll see you all in the morning!" With the goodbyes of Adele and Simone still ringing in his ears, Javert reached for Richelleen. The last five weeks had passed by in a flurry of activity, giving them no time to be alone. Knowing this would be their last night before their Wedding Eve, Javert felt he needed her more than usual. He slid his arms around her from behind, loving her pregnant shape, his broad hands instinctively searching for movement in her swollen stomach.

"Um," she whispered, turning to face him and nestling closer. "Alone at last. Well, almost!" she laughed, as the baby kicked inside her, thrilling them both. "Just think in a few more weeks you'll have a son or daughter who will follow you everywhere, gaze up at you with sheer adoration and believe you're the best daddy in the whole world. Which of course will be true."

Swallowing with difficulty, he murmured, "If it had not been for you, if I had succeeded that night on the bridge....." He couldn't go on and simply held her tighter in his arms.

She could feel him trembling against her. 'He's afraid of something..' "Hey," she whispered, her lips against his cheek. "Everything is going to be allright. All that is in the past and none of it matters now that we're together. You'll see. Come, let's get some rest. We have a long two days ahead of us and this may be the last chance we'll get to be alone until after the wedding."

Taking his hand, she drew him to the bed. Laying in each other's arms they talked well into the night, finally falling asleep with her back nestled against his chest, his arm stretched protectively around her and the baby.

***

"Be still," Gaspar warned as he struggled to pin the boutonniere neatly on Javert's lapel. "I'll wind up drawing blood if you don't."

Andre chuckled behind them as he peeked out the door at the gathering crowd. "He's nervous Gaspar, as well he should be. Just wait until it is your turn."

"Ow!" Gaspar cried, sticking his pricked finger in his mouth. "See what you made me do? Now both of us are nervous wrecks!"

"Well, time to put aside your nerves gentlemen," Andre said removing his hat and slicking back his hair. "It's time to go."

Javert had refused to let Father Verchese completely flout church rules and avoid disciplinary sanctions by requesting he not perform a Nuptial Mass. Partial Church blessings more than pleased him and Richelleen's family, who had not been entirely happy with the Christian wedding they had planned. But, it was finally underway.

Adele and Simone had done their best to make the church as beautiful as possible, adorning the alter with beautiful bouquets of flowers and great brass candlesticks fitted with hand dipped candles made by the women of Andre's camp. Then the moment came when Javert got his first glimpse of his bride. He could not help but stare at her, she was so beautiful. He felt himself flush and start to sway, then Gaspar's strong hand as he clutched his arm to steady him.

A murmur swept through the gathering of friends and family as Richelleen walked down the aisle on Andre's arm, radiant in a stunning empire cut gown of ivory linen. Adele had done a masterful job of tailoring the ankle length gown. The lace covered bodice with it's hand sewn beading, drew attention away from Richelleen's thickened waistline to her lovely face and shoulders. Her dark hair had been swept up in matching ribbons and tiny white flowers, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. In her hands she held a small nosegay of wildflowers and an ivory carved rosary given to her by the sisters. Never had he seen her looking more beautiful, yet he could not see her clearly for the tears swimming in his eyes nor hear the words being spoken for the roaring in his ears.

"Do you Giles Edouard Javert take Richelleen Horvath Buscon to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to cherish, forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?" Father Verchese said.

Javert felt as though his heart would burst as the true significance of what he would say next finally sank in.

"Yes...I do." he said looking into the shining dark eyes of his...wife.

"Then, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the..."

"NO! STOP!" came a cry from the side of the church vestibule.

A gasp escaped the crowd as Antoine shouted, "Look, it's Roland!"

Andre shouted as he rushed forward to stop him, "Roland, what are you doing here? Do not do this!"

"No, Andre!" Roland cried, "You don't understand, he's got a pistol!" A tall scarred man stood at the end of the pew, brandishing a pistol, two others rose from their seats and moved up beside him, one drawing a knife from inside his boot. Javert pushed Richelleen behind him, shielding her with his body. Chief Inspector Dupre shouted out an order as his men rushed forward, then all hell broke loose.

Two policemen were wrestling the tall man to the floor, but not before a shot rang out. Javert felt the heat of the bullet burn it's way through the fabric of his jacket, grazing his arm, before he too started for the thrashing figures. The scream that sounded behind him chilled him to the bone, stopping him in his tracks. He turned quickly to see Adele kneeling, blood somehow on her hands as they pressed against the scarlet flower blooming on the bodice of Richelleen's ivory dress. Javert was at her side, on his knees, his face grim and set, his eyes wild.

"Someone get a doctor!" he yelled. "Someone get us some help!"

to be continued. . .

© 1997 Rose Carr

Contact the author:Rosematuse@aol.com

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