Chapter 9 Friendship

That Friday, vendors and buyers crowded the large, open-air courtyard where goods and money were rapidly changing hands. Big hipped women who balanced heavy baskets on their sides were jostled by rough clothed men pushing heavy hand carts through the throng. It was early morning and the busiest time of the day.

Pierre was headed towards his market stall when he spied Madame F. lingering next to his produce baskets. Hoisted on his shoulder was the wheel of cheese he'd promised her, the one he'd asked one of his merchant friends to set aside.

When she saw him, Madame F. smiled brightly. He gave her a broad smile as he placed the cheese in her cart.

"Pierre, you are a godsend," she said with a contented sigh.

"It's nothing."

"Well, I am very grateful. You found the last one for me. It's a very good cheese, and I would have sorely missed it. I left you a meat pie inside your stall as a token of my gratitude. I hope you enjoy it."

He pressed her hand warmly. "It is very kind of you to think of me."

Blushing deeply, the slender, violet-eyed woman looked up at him shyly, and then bid him farewell.

Later as the noon hour approached, Pierre stood in his stall, and gazed across the courtyard. He enjoyed these moments when he could pay attention to what was happening around him. There was a visual rhythm in the market. It was embedded in the movements of shoppers and merchants as goods passed from vendor to buyer—the hurried and casual exchanges punctuated by gestures of hands and bodies. These were accompanied by voices talking in unison or clashing with each other. He relished the rhythms and harmonies that people created as they went about their daily lives.

Pierre glanced at the large pie left by Madame F, and smiled. He was grateful for her appreciation. She owned a pastry shop and was a very good cook.

He had a number of friends in Paris who were women. In fact, he was the favorite of many of the local widows who had had their eye on him for years. His amiable nature, easy charm, and genuine appreciation of female companionship had repeatedly won him their esteem. Also, his good looks put him in their pantheon of eligible bachelors. Since many of the women knew each other personally, he was a popular topic among them. The question that was often discussed was: why had he never married and what sort of woman would be ideal for him? It was a fierce topic as everyone had an opinion as to what he precisely needed.

That day, there was only one woman on Pierre's mind. He was hoping he would be seeing Jade this evening. Would she be willing to make time for her new friend?

During the past week, he'd often wondered how she was faring. Had she adjusted to her new home and job? Was she happy?

Last Sunday, after mass, he'd dined with friends. During their conversation, he'd taken out the leather pouch that held Jade's gift, and had casually studied the silver charm. Marie had asked if she could look at it.

Balancing it on her palm she exclaimed, "How lovely Pierre! Where did you get this?"

"It's a gift from a friend of mine in Paris," he said lightly.

Joseph, who was Marie's husband, stared at the tiny silver horse. "Your friend has good taste. It looks old. I bet it's worth more than a few francs."

Yes, Pierre thought, it probably is. He looked at it again, and a realization came to him. Jade had been in a terrible state when he met her, and she still possessed this asset. Instead of selling it for food that was badly needed, she had saved it, and then later given it to him as a token of her gratitude.

He held the charm a little longer before returning it to its pouch. It felt heavier, and seemed shinier than before.

As Pierre looked out across the market place, he absently touched his shirt pocket where the charm rested. Glancing at the ground, he noticed a bruised piece of fruit. Bending over to pick it up, he straightened and found Jade standing quietly in front of him, looking into his eyes.

"Good day, Jade", he said and gave her a small bow. A twinkle entered his eyes. He was recalling that this was the way they had first met a week ago. Am I to have a fairy woman for a friend who appears out of thin air whenever I want her near? he joked to himself.

Jade steadily gazed at him for a few moments longer before she spoke. They haven't changed, she thought. His eyes are the same as when I saw him last.

Something about that generated trust. She felt a change, a softening inside, as the hard distance that she'd laid down between herself and others began to buckle.

"Good day Pierre. You are looking well."

"And you, Jade, look very well indeed. How are things going for you at the Opéra Populaire?"

"I will be glad to discuss that with you this evening. Would you care to join me for dinner?" she asked casually. I don't remember the last time I asked a man to dine with me. Oh yes... Jean-Luc.

"I would enjoy that. May I suggest a pleasant place that is perfect for a tête-à-tête? It's an easy walk from here. We could meet at the opera house, and go from there. Or we could dine at another place if you have something else in mind."

Pierre saw her eyes soften, and felt a warm rush of excitement as the barrier between them began to yield. She was beginning to trust him.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

That evening, Jade enjoyed a much-needed soak after working with the horses. Stepping out of the bath, she sat naked before the huge wall mirror, and combed out her wet mass of hair. She had meant what she'd said to the child about women's excessive regard for their hair. Women were too concerned about looking physically appealing. She had never cared for that all consuming interest of her gender.

Leaving the room, she locked the door, and turned towards the management offices where she was to meet Pierre. As Jade walked down the hall, a door suddenly opened, and Pierre stepped out in front of her. Surprised, she halted and stared at him.

He was wearing a white shirt and form fitting, dark pants. A dark cloak was tossed over his arm. His curly brown, shoulder length hair was tied back with a ribbon, and gave his six foot plus frame a dashing air.

She hadn't really noticed his good looks until now.

With an easy, disarming smile, he glanced at his room and then towards hers.

"DuChant put me here at my request. I liked the size of your room and its large mirror. I hope you don't mind my proximity. If you do, please tell me, and I'll make other arrangements." He looked concerned as he spoke the last words. His smile was gone, and he gazed at her expectantly.

Shrugging, she looked away. If there were more to his story, she'd find out soon enough. At the moment, it wasn't important enough for further scrutiny.

"No Pierre. I don't mind."

The sun had already set by the time they left the opera house. The street traffic was still thick, and the sidewalks crowded with workers who were returning to their homes. In addition there were others strolling along the pavement such as groups of young men who were out for dinner and entertainment.

Both Pierre and Jade were hungry so they walked moved towards the restaurant. Neither of them spoke.

As they walked, Pierre looked down at her dark hair and lithe form. How well she moves! He was thinking about the fact that he'd lied to her about the room, and was feeling somewhat guilty. But, until he knew that everything was fine at the opera house, he was planning on staying close to his little friend. Once he knew for certain that his concerns were unfounded, he would gladly move to other quarters.

Jade was thinking of how much she owed this man. DuChant had given her an advance on her wages this week, which had allowed her to buy clothes and extras. The money had enabled her to entertain Gillian, and provided for her supper tonight. She suspected that Pierre was behind it. And if not, he was definitely one of the reasons DuChant was generous to her.

She wondered about the silver charm she'd given him. Did he still have it on him? It was very important to her. The charm was one of the last things that her mother had given her before she had died. It had been given with the intent to mend a bridge between them, a bridge that had been in need of repair for many years. She had often wondered what would have happened if her mother had lived a few more years. Would they have become close again?

When Pierre pointed to the café that was just ahead, Jade suddenly stopped. Signaling for him to follow, she stepped into a side alley. Curious, he walked behind her until she turned and faced him. Her eyes were bright, and firmly held his as she stood perfectly still. Looking down at her, he felt as if time was drifting away from them, leaving them suspended in that frozen moment.

"Pierre, fortunate events have happened to me this week, and I believe you are responsible for some of them. I feel that you have been helping me, even when you weren't here. DuChant has given me a fine job, and an advance on my salary. Things have been going very well since I came to the opera house. I am deeply grateful for your generous assistance."

There. It's done, she thought, as she let out the breath that she'd partially held during her speech. She had wanted to tell him her feelings in a private place. Suddenly, there had been a compelling urge to do so.

Pierre nodded gently. Once again he could see that this was new territory for her, this act of thanking. As he watched her struggle, he thought, She pays her debts no matter what the cost.

Slowly, he reached out his hand, and offered it to her. She looked down at it with hesitation, and then finally met it with her own. His fingers closed around hers as he smiled warmly, admiring her courage.

Jade looked up into his eyes, and allowed her hand to stay within his a few moments longer before she slowly took it back.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Later that night, Pierre was lying on his bed, and watching the candlelight flicker in the large wall mirror. It was huge, out of proportion to his needs. Like the rest of this place, it was much larger than anything he would ever need. Whoever had designed and built the opera house had had grander ideas than he. The architect would have been an ambitious man who was passionate about his vision.

Over the years, Jacques had asked him several times to come to Paris to live. It would have been a mistake. What he appreciated were the simple things in life such as his friends, his orchards, and his work.

He looked at his image in the mirror: a tall man lying on his side, his features softened by the candlelight. He rolled onto his back and stared at the high ceiling, and thought of Jade.

She was fascinating, a mystery—an adventurer moving through an uncharted life.

When she had set aside her fierce independence and allowed him to help her, it had been satisfying in a way that he couldn't fully describe. As he dealt with her, he was strongly aware that she was different from anyone he'd known before. There was wildness about her. If you drew near to her, it was because she allowed it. And if you touched her, well… how often did one get the chance to touch a wild hawk? To be able to do so was a privilege.

He sensed that she had feelings bottled up inside of her that she struggled with.

Pierre was comfortable with feelings. That was his gift: knowing and understanding the people around him. He felt that she needed a friend, and someone whom she could learn to trust.

Getting up, he blew out the candle.

She has beautiful eyes. He imagined that if he stared into them long enough he would see an undiscovered part of himself.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Thank you to all the readers who have stayed with my story. And welcome to the new reviewers who've recently checked in.