XLII

"Lucien, please ignore it," Jean repeated for the tenth time. Every time she said it, he seemed to calm down, but the whole situation left them both agitated.

They were inside the rectory, packing all of his personal things—clothes, records, books, all the parts of his former life he'd kept as a priest—into boxes. It was the second day they'd been at it, and she was hoping they could finish up tonight. Neither of them wanted to come back again tomorrow if they could help it.

A year ago, Jean had assisted Lucien in going through all of his things and organizing them and tidying up the rectory. This task would have been much more difficult if not for that. But as it was, there were still plenty of things that Lucien needed to decide if he wanted to bring with him to their new life together or else toss out. He wasn't permitted to leave anything behind that was not property of the Church. Bishop Lascelles had been very clear that any and all trace of Lucien Blake was to be removed from St. Catherine's and from the rectory.

They'd spent the first day in the church office clearing out everything from Lucien's desk. Jean's knickers were nowhere to be found, but that didn't really surprise them; the bishop had probably put them in the bin as soon as Lucien had left. At least, they hoped that's what had happened. But the rest of Lucien's things were quick and easy to deal with. They'd finished that quickly and left the church as soon as they could.

"Adulterers!" came a shout from outside.

Lucien looked up with fire in his eyes again. "Leave it," Jean warned once again.

"We aren't even adulterers," Lucien grumbled. "Neither of us is married. If I were a nun, perhaps, since nuns are wedded to God, but priests aren't. The both of us are widowed. Though I suppose that doesn't matter to any of that lot."

"No, it doesn't. Rumor mongers aren't very concerned with details or nuance. Believe me, I know," Jean replied.

Lucien's face fell as he looked at her. "Oh Jean, I'm sorry, I'd forgotten…"

"Forgotten I was visibly pregnant when I got married? Yes. I like to forget when I can. But this is eerily familiar," she said tightly.

"I cannot imagine what that must have been like for you and for your Christopher. Though I suppose I'm experiencing a bit of that now," he said sadly.

"This is worse, actually. Christopher and I were so young. It was shameful to our neighbors and there were whispers and snide remarks, but I think everyone knew it was youthful indiscretion and overly enthusiastic romance that was our downfall. You and I…Lucien, we've sinned in a manner that's practically unheard of. It's inconceivable to most Catholics that their priest could leave them for a widow, particularly at our ages," she pointed out. "We should have known better, we should have had more control over ourselves, we should have had more respect for the Church and your position."

Lucien frowned. "That's not it at all!"

"I know that and you know that, but what do you think this looks like to everyone out there coming by to shout at us?"

He sighed, "I suppose you're right."

"Yes, I know I am. Now keep going through those records and hand me the ones I should put in the box," she chided.

Lucien and Jean went back to their task and she was momentarily able to return to her little escapist fantasy that they were just packing up his house so that he could move in with her and nothing more. It was only when the shouting from passersby occurred that she was rudely ripped back to reality.

All of a sudden, a loud shatter sounded in the front parlor, followed by several cracking thumps. Both Jean and Lucien gasped in shock and scrambled up from where they were sitting on the floor in his bedroom. They ran down the hall to see a rock and broken glass on the sofa from where the window had been shattered. Outside, they could see a small crowd throwing eggs at the front of the rectory.

Something inside Jean snapped. Her blood boiled and every ounce of self-control left her. And without any word, she stormed out the front door.

"How dare you!" she shrieked. "This is Church property!"

"We don't have to answer to you, whore," sneered a man whom Jean had never seen.

"Yell and scream and hurl any insult you want at me or at Lucien, but how dare you harm this property! It's the Church that'll pay for the repairs, not us, you small-minded, ignorant bullies!" Jean shouted.

Another of the men got very close to her and yelled every sort of insult imaginable, calling her nearly every filthy name ever conceived. But Jean did not care. She stood there with her head held high and her defiant expression. She had suffered enough in her life, suffered in silence all on her own in a way these people could never know, and she would take this, just as she'd taken everything else, with however much dignity she could muster, and never once would she let them see her flinch.

Lucien watched in horror at the terrible scene in front of him. While Jean had, surprisingly, been the one to leap into action, Lucien was practically frozen in shock. Jean had warned him time and again that things would be bad for them now that he'd left the Church. His hope of a quiet life where they were left alone was far too much to ask. He could see that now quite clearly. But it was Jean defending the building these people were attacking, Jean standing tall under their scrutiny. She was like an ancient heroine, defiant and brave and beautiful amidst the ugliness that threatened them.

But then one of those men got too close, too loud, too angry. Jean pushed him back and he shoved her to the ground. And that was when Lucien lost all reason.

"Jean!" he shouted, sprinting to her side and kneeling beside her.

"I'm fine," she insisted. She clutched her hand, bleeding from where she'd landed on the gravel path in front of the rectory.

He shielded her from the onlookers, trying to block them out. "You're sure?"

"Yes," she replied.

Lucien gave a curt nod. "Right." Satisfied that Jean was alright, he stood up and allowed his rage to build back up inside him. He looked to find the man that had dared harm Jean. "There you are, you filthy coward. You think you've got the moral high ground, pushing over a woman? Now that I'm not your priest, Mr. Rolland, I can tell you that your Confessions were some of the pettiest, self-serving dribble I ever had to listen to, and your wife is the most untalented member of the choir. Which, given how terrible they are, is certainly saying something."

Mr. Rolland turned red with fury. "Why you…!"

He never got a chance to finish that thought. Lucien drew back his fist and swung with all his might, connecting with the man's face with so much force, he spun around and landed hard on the ground. Lucien followed him, ready to beat him within an inch of reason, but before he could pursue, he was interrupted.

"LUCIEN!" Jean yelled sharply. "That's enough!"

Her voice brought him back to reality and instantly took the wind from his sails. Mr. Rolland and the other's weren't worth any more of their time. Lucien turned and helped Jean back inside the rectory. They could ignore the crowd now, though they seemed to have lost interest for the moment and dispersed.

"I do appreciate you defending my honor, but did you really have to hit him that hard?" Jean asked. Her voice was quiet now, having lost its former righteous energy.

Lucien took her straight into the kitchen. "I hit him as hard as I needed to," he replied stiffly. "Sit down, please, I'm going to get my medical bag."

Jean did as she was told, and Lucien fetched his things. He got some water and antiseptic and gauze and bandages. She flinched and hissed with pain as he carefully cleaned her wound and plucked all the tiny bits of rock from it. He then sterilized it and dressed it before leaving a lingering kiss on her bandaged hand. "Thank you," she murmured.

He sighed sadly. "I'm so sorry, Jean. For all of this. The whole mess I've brought upon you through my foolish acts."

She took her hand from him to gently caress his cheek. "I'm not sorry. Not at all. It's difficult, yes, but at least we have each other."

Lucien knew she was right, and for that he smiled, but his heart utterly ached. "I don't know that I can stay here. In this town, I mean. Even if we never step foot in St. Catherine's ever again, I just don't see how it does anyone any good my being here. My presence has ruined any peace we might have wished for our life together. These people hate us, and its disrupting everything in the whole town."

"Yes, I think you're right. I had hoped that maybe it would pass, and perhaps it would, but I'd not thought about what effect this might have on everyone else. We're taking focus from things that matter. They're vandalizing the church, Lucien, and it would be selfish for us to stay here in spite of all that," she agreed.

"But Jean, your house."

"What about my house?"

"You love that house. It's yours. You told me yourself it's the first home that was entirely yours that you decorated all yourself. And you just got here. I hate the idea that you've got to give it up and start all over again so soon."

Inexplicably, Jean smiled. "Lucien, I do love my house, that's true. But I will also love the house that we find somewhere else together, because that will be our house. And I did just start over a new life in a new place just last year. But all that means is that I'm capable of starting over. I know how to do that. We can start over again together and begin again somewhere new, somewhere we can just be Jean and Lucien, somewhere we can be happy. I just don't think we can do that here."

For not the first time, Lucien found himself utterly overwhelmed by his love for her. This smart, kind, unspeakably good woman. She loved him despite everything in the world telling her not to, including Lucien himself. She loved him in spite of it all. Or perhaps even a bit because of it all. And she was everything his heart and soul could have ever dreamed of and more.

A sudden thought crossed his mind. "Come with me," he said. He took her uninjured hand and led her outside and down the path.

"Where are we going?" she asked curiously.

The angry mob had thankfully gone, and there was no one around. And though the sun was shining high in the sky, there was a light breeze and a strange quiet that reminded him of exactly what he wanted to revisit now. Jean had to jog to keep up with his lengthy strides, but he slowed and stopped when he reached their destination. "Here," he said.

Jean stood in front of him and gazed at the beauty around them. The willow tree out in front of St. Catherine's. "I do love this tree," she said with a smile. "The first time I saw it, I loved it."

"This was where we first met," he reminded her.

She smiled up at him. "So it is."

"And though things were quite different then, I think now I can finally do what I'd had in my mind to do that first moment I saw you," he said softly.

"What's that?" she asked, though the sparkle in her eyes told him that she already knew.

Lucien leaned in and whispered, "This." His lips brushed hers, lightly at first. But soon her arms wrapped around his neck with her hand on the back of his head, and his hands wandered up and down the curve of her spine as their kiss grew more passionate.

He did not know how long they kept it up, but kissing Jean beneath the willow tree like that, Lucien finally felt free.