THE ALTERED COURSE

BY: ROSE CARR

CHAPTER TWELVE

Confusion and havoc swirled around Javert as he sought to shield Richelleen from the worst of the fighting that had broken out. Angry howls and hostile epitaphs filled the air as members of the wedding party and police clashed with the marauders. The brutal fighting spilled out into the street as Gautier and his men scattered in all directions, fleeing the hot pursuit of the angry men.

Above the cacophony Javert heard Richelleen call his name. Bending closer to her said, "I'm here Richelleen, I'm here." A large lump formed in his throat as he brushed back a wing of dark hair from her forehead and saw the drops of scarlet staining the delicate white flowers she had so carefully arranged in the raven tresses a short while ago. How could this have happened he thought, what could he have done to prevent it?

"I'm cold Javert, so cold..." Richelleen said, breaking into his thoughts, her bottom lip trembling. Quickly he removed his jacket and laid it across her, then slipped his arm under her to draw her closer. Richelleen struggled to raise herself on her elbows, only to fall back into his arms, grimacing in pain. Her fingers, icy cold to the touch, brushed against his lips and for a terrible moment he was a little boy again, trying to comfort the woman he loved as she lay dying on the floor. The terror he had felt then hit him like a physical blow, and he sagged against the railing. This couldn't be happening again a voice screamed in his head. Richelleen moved against him, and he tried to quiet her.

"Please, try not to move," he said. "Try and save your strength. Look! Adele is here. She's coming to help you."

"I'm here baby, I'm here," Adele said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "He's right Richelleen, save your strength, don't try to move. Let us do it all." Her breath caught as she moved the jacket down to examine her. There was so much blood! Tearing off her shawl she bunched it up, and pressed down on the wound as hard as she could. She turned her head and shouted at Simone.

"Go get my bag from the wagon! Quickly girl, don't dawdle!" Adele looked at Javert, frowning as she studied his bloody sleeve. "I didn't realize you were wounded too, Javert. I can have Simone tie it off until someone can treat you."

"No," Javert said vehemently. "It's nothing."

"The baby . . . ?" Richelleen said, her hand covering her stomach protectively, "how's the baby?"

"The baby's fine, and so are you" Adele said, looking up at Javert, her eyes daring him to contradict her. "I've seen worse gunshot wounds than this." Adele kept up a steady stream of banter, saying anything to keep Richelleen quite and still the fear that filled her as blood continued to well up through the shawl and around her fingers. Simone arrived with Adele's bag, yanked out strips of cloth they used for bandages and handed wads of it to Adele who quickly layered them in place upon the stained shawl. "We've got to get her away from this, Javert," Adele said. "Somewhere where we can treat her."

"You always were a bad liar," Richelleen said, a faint smile crinkling the corners of her eyes before they closed and her head rolled to the side.

Javert uttered a curse, catching sight of Father Verchese milling about as through in a daze. His sharp bark halted him. "Father, is there some place safe we can take Richelleen and can we get a doctor?"

"Priest!" Adele yelled, impatient with his lack of a quick response, "is there somewhere we can take her?"

Father Verchese shook his head as if coming out a trance. "Of . . . of course, we can take her to my quarters, they are the closest. Follow me." He took the arm of an old nun standing near the altar, "Sister Agatha," he said, "get water, cloths . . . whatever you need and take them to my quarters. And send Sister Clarice for my personal physician. Quickly now! We don't have a moment to spare!"

Javert gathered Richelleen into his arms and with Gaspar and Andre clearing a path, followed the priest to his room. Adele ran along side him, still holding the stained shawl in place.

"Here we are," Father Verchese said holding the door open. Javert crossed the room in three strides, placing her gently on the white linen coverlet. Abruptly he found himself being pulled away as Sister Agatha, Adele and two more black clad nuns converged around the bed, towels and basins in hand.

"Please Monsieur," Sister Agatha said, her hands laid flat against his chest, gently but firmly steering him towards the door, "you must leave the room, you can be of no help to her now and will only get in the way."

"If her condition worsens," he said, "you will call me?"

"Oui Monsieur Javert, in a second, but please you must step outside now. Father Verchese's personal physician has been called and is on his way. Rest assured we'll do all we can for her until he arrives. Please, let us do our work." Looking over her head he saw Adele, who nodded at him that it would be all right. His face grim, he took one last look and left the room. Andre, his old weathered face pinched white with worry, saw Javert leave the room and hurried over to him.

"How is she, will she be all right? What about the baby?"

Javert rubbed his eyes wearily, searching his mind for the right words but found none. "I...I don't know Andre. Adele did tell me the injury was not as bad as it first appeared, but we will not know anymore until the doctor arrives and examines her."

As if on cue, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the stone tiled hallways. Sister Clarice, her black skirts flying, burst around the corner, followed by a portly man in a rumpled suit. Sweating profusely, he wiped his brow with a large handkerchief as he huffed and puffed to keep pace with the determined nun in front of him. Drawing even with the waiting men, he cast a cursory nod of acknowledgment and disappeared into the bed chamber.

A half hour passed and a young novice appeared with a tray loaded down with steaming mugs of strong tea and plates piled high with wedges of cakes and biscuits. She urged those waiting to follow her into the waiting room and make themselves more comfortable while they waited for news of Richelleen's condition. Despite the urging of several of those present, Javert remained sitting on the hardbacked chair in the hall. He kept his eyes fixed on the door of the room where the fate of his wife lay in the hands of others. He would not leave, could not leave until he knew her fate.

***

Gautier blinked, wiped the sweat from his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness of the damp sewer.

"I knew you'd come here," said a voice behind him, "just like any other sewer rat would."

"Show yourself," Gautier growled. Roland stepped out of the shadows, but was not ready for the ferocity of Gautier's head on attack and had no time to sidestep it. They tumbled backward and he hit his head on the cold stone floor of the sewer, stars exploding in his head. The last sound he heard was a police whistle and the pounding of running feet.

***

Andre stood, arms folded, gazing out the window of the waiting room, amazed that the world outside still looked the same, while his daughter lay within these walls struggling for her life and that of his grandchild's. He only half heard Father Verchese telling the story of how Roland came to him after he had ran away from the camp. A few months ago, a few days ago, he would have been interested in hearing this tale..but it all seemed so unimportant now.

Muffled voices filtered through the closed door of the study being used as a waiting room. Roland stood poised in front of the door and shivered, feeling chilled despite the sweat that covered his chest and arms. Get a grip on yourself he thought, you knew the day would come when you would have to face them again. He just wished it could have been under different circumstances. He flinched as he took a deep breath, trying to relax himself and was rewarded by a sharp stab in his ribs. Another painful reminder of his failure to bring down Gautier. Slowly he pushed the door open. Gaspar who had been in close conversation with Father Verchese looked up when he heard the door open. Instantly he rose from his chair and hurried to his brother's side, excitedly thumping him on the back in an enthusiastic greeting that elicited a grunt of pain from Roland.

"Oh, sorry," Gaspar said flinching, "Here, sit down, have a drink. Are you okay? You look terrible?"

"Thanks," he said, smiling thinly, "it's good to see you too." He sat down but waved away the offered drink asking, "How is Richelleen, is there any news on her condition?"

"No, no news yet," said Gaspar. " We're waiting for the doctor to come and tell us how she's doing."

Andre advanced toward them, his eyes glittering darkly. "Did you get him? Did you get the animal who did this to my daughter?"

Roland shook his head grimly, "No, he was within our grasp but got away. The police are still out looking, but he's gone to ground."

Andre snorted his disgust. " So, you failed again to do your duty once again. Why does this not surprise me?" and stalked away.

Roland's face turned white, his mouth worked as if to speak but no words would come. He knew it had been wrong to come here. Gaspar's retort died in his throat. Andre was angry and hurt and understandably so, nothing would be gained by hateful words now. He laid a comforting hand on his brother's shoulders and felt him trembling, whether from frustration or remorse he could not tell.

Almost three hours later, the doctor emerged, wiping his hands on a towel. Javert jumped up immediately, his handsome face haggard, blue smudges beneath eyes no longer clear but dark and clouded with worry. "How . . . how is she?" he asked.

The doctor slumped down heavily in the vacated chair, closed his eyes and twisted his aching neck back and forth. Gratefully he accepted the steaming cup of coffee from the young nun who had silently appeared at his side. "Madame lost a lot of blood before we got it stopped Monsieur, she is very weak. Fortunately the bullet struck her just below the shoulder and no vital organs were damaged, but . . . "

"Please tell me everything. I must know what she's facing." He said, the fine brow creased with worry.

"Madame Richelleen," he said sitting down his cup, "is in labor. And in her weakened condition . . . "

Javert's heart leaped from his chest. "How is that possible?" he exclaimed. "Richelleen told me she had three or four more weeks left before the child was due."

"It would seem that the shock of your wife's injury has started her labor, and I fear she is not strong enough to deliver the child at this time."

He felt staggered, rolled his eyes in disbelief, "Surely there is something you can do to stop this, at least until she is stronger."

The doctor could only shake his head. "Medicine has come a long way since I first became a doctor Monsieur, but when a child decides to be born, we have no way of stopping it. I have administered a dose of laudanum to ease her pain and hopefully delay her labor for a few hours if possible. It is the only thing I know to do in these cases. I am afraid that all we can do now is wait and see what happens."

"May I see her?" he asked.

"For a few minutes." The doctor frowned, as Javert passed him, pointed a finger at his blood stained sleeve. "I'll need to look at that arm of yours Monsieur, and soon. It's already gone too long without care as it is."

Javert nodded, "After I've seen my wife."

She looked so small and still in the big white double bed. As he drew closer, she looked to him like a doll carved from alabaster were it not for the slight rise and fall of her chest beneath the quilted coverlet. Her left shoulder was swathed in bandages, and her arm rested on a pillow laid beside her.

Adele heard him come in and rose from her chair beside the bed.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Is she is pain?"

"No, not so much right now," Adele said, flashing him a guarded smile. "Come, sit down. It's all right." He sat down in the offered chair, his eyes locked on Richelleen. He was dimly aware of Adele shooing people out of the room, everyone except Sister Agatha that is. The old nun insisted she stay just in case she was needed. As he sat down, he glanced reflexively across the room and saw that the sister had turned her back to them, kneeling at the small altar in the corner. In the silence of the room, he could hear the faint clicking of her rosary beads as she prayed.

Carefully he picked up Richelleen's hand, trembling as he kissed it passionately, then lay it against his cheek. How warm and soft it felt. How cruel it was to see her this way. He could not bear to see her so, could not bear to think of losing her. He leaned forward, his lips close to her ear. "You must fight," he whispered fiercely. "You once promised me that you would never leave me. I now hold you to that promise." He took in a shuddering breath and sat upright in the chair, still holding her small limp hand in his. He closed his eyes and concentrated, as if by sheer will he could transfer his strength to her and make her well.

Richelleen floated between darkness and light. She struggled to open her eyes . . . but they were so heavy. She felt a presence. Someone was near. Javert . . . it was Javert. A rush of warmth for him flooded through her and she tried again to drag herself from the darkness that beckoned her. Oh, but it was so hard, the darkness held so much peace and she was so tired . . . Oh there, the pain was coming again. It gripped her body like a great hand before the cloud of medicine she'd been give dulled it and pulled her back into the fog.

"Javert?" Adele said startling him for a moment. Had he dozed off? "She's resting comfortably now and this would be a good time for you to see the doctor about your arm. Please, you won't be of any help to Richelleen if you fall ill with infection. She'll be fine, I'll stay with her and call you the second there is any change."

The doctor finished his ministrations and from somewhere a clean shirt had been found for Javert. He was shrugging into it when Chief Inspector Dupree entered the room, his face pinched and grim. He removed his hat but did not waste time on pleasantries, launching into the events of the past few hours.

When Dupree finished his account, Javert shook his head, grimly, his eyes hard as he held the Inspector's gaze. "If I understand you correctly sir, what you're telling me is that he's vanished without a trace, and could return at any time to harm my family."

The Inspector drew a deep breath. "No! He would not dare show his face here again. I've posted guards at every entrance."

"Posted guards?" Andre snorted, as he turned to face the Inspector from his spot at the window. "Don't you think it's a little late for that? Not that you care, it's not your daughter lying hurt in the next room!"

Dupree flinched, stung by his accusation. "Monsieur Andre, I assure you . . . "

"Sir, you assure me of nothing!" Andre barked angrily.

"Gentlemen, please!" came a voice from the open doorway that silenced the angry men. It was Sister Clarice who stood in the doorway, her face flushed with anger. "We have a sick woman in the next room. Doctor, Sister Agatha has sent me to fetch you, she said the labor is progressing and she needs your assistance immediately."

Richelleen moaned, the pain was so intense! After all the children she had helped deliver she had no idea of the real pain the mother's suffered. She would have new respect for them in the future. By God it hurt! She felt as if a demon was pounding on her spine and squeezing her belly into a wedge at the same time! Where was Javert? He should be here. She struggled to get his name out.

The door to the bed chamber opened and Javert stopped his pacing. It was Sister Clarice. "Monsieur Javert," she said, "please come in, Madame Richelleen is calling for you."

Javert marveled at her strength. Occasionally during his duties as a patrolman he had seen women deliver in alleyways and sewers but had always detached himself from the act, telling himself their pain was of their own choosing. Now as he sat at his wife's side, holding her hand, he witnessed first hand the agonizing pain it took to bring a child into the world. All the months he had watched her belly grow and the times he felt delighted to trace the movements beneath her skin he never fully realized the reality of it all. Suddenly Richelleen's grasp on his hand tightened beyond anything he believed her capable of. She was bathed in sweat, her neck arched back as a cry tore from her throat. Just as quickly her body lost it's stiffness. Her eyes flickered open, then closed again and her hand relaxed it's grip.

"Adele!" Javert cried out, "Richelleen . . . she . . . she's not . ."

"Oh no, Javert," Adele said gently, "she passed out and she'll sleep now. It's the laudanum, it will take awhile to wear off, but that's good. She can use the rest."

He dared a look at the doctor and saw him beaming. A lusty wail came from beyond Richeleen's sheet draped legs. "It's a boy!" he said. He saw Adele bend forward for a moment then stand up, a small blanket wrapped bundle in her arms.

A boy, he thought. They had a boy? He watched anxiously as Adele crossed the room and laid her tiny burden on top of the oak dresser. Frustrated, he stretched his neck trying to catch a glimpse of the infant as he watched Adele deftly and expertly clean the wailing squirming body laying in front of her. After what seemed an eternity, she stood before him holding a snugly wrapped bundle in her arms.

He stared dumbly as she held the infant out to him, not knowing what to do. He had never held a baby before! What if he dropped it? Stiff and rigid, he reacted like a puppet to Adele's instructions as she settled the infant in his arms, making sure the baby's head and back were properly supported. His mouth dry and heart pounding he stared helplessly at Richelleen, praying she would wake up, but her eyes stayed closed. Slowly he dared to look down at the small creature laying next to him. Amazingly it had quieted down, seemingly content to rest in the warm cradle of his arms. The red puffiness of the newborn was fading from the small face and Javert now studied him, the fear and confusion he felt at first now pushed aside by awe and a growing pride. He could see faint sooty traces of eyebrows beneath a fuzz of black hair. The pink rosebud mouth opened, yawned, made a squeaking sound then closed, making small suckling motions.

He's so tiny, he thought. Why the little body could almost rest in one of his hands! The infant's eyes opened, unfocused at first, then wondered aimlessly for a few seconds until they fastened on the face above him. In that moment the bond was made between them. Looking into his son's face he saw his future and his past forever linked together by this small scrap of humanity, so helpless, so very real. Someday he would . . .

"Would you like me to take him?" Adele said, breaking into his thoughts.

"No," Javert said quickly. "My son and I will wait here, together, until his Mother wakes."

to be continued. . .

© 1997 Rose Carr

Contact the author:Rosematuse@aol.com

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