Sign of the Cross
By JeanTre16
Chapter 11
Rendezvous Points
A good portion of the early morning hours it had poured, easing up at times only to a steady rain. Being Musketeers, the pair was used to being in even the most adverse of elements, and to their favor, the present downpour was at least a warm early summer watering.
Feeling danger behind them, they picked up in conversation to pass their long trek through the dense rain-soaked woods. D'Artagnan led the way and was still pondering over his wife's apparent belief that their nothing-short-of-miraculous escape had been orchestrated as a direct result of her prayer. "How do you do things like that?" he asked. "How do you know God is the one who caused it to rain when you asked him for a way out?" He glanced back at her inquisitively as they made their way along the trail. "I mean, how do you know it just didn't happen?"
Preoccupied with brushing a clump of overgrown branches aside that her husband had kept from snapping back at her, she answered, "If you mean, 'how do I know it's not a coincidence,' I suppose it's because I don't believe in coincidences." Continuing her dual absorption with the encumbering new spring growth and their casual talk about a serious matter, she explained, "I think we miss a lot of things because most of the time we're not paying attention to God's intervention." The female hiker stopped abruptly to keep from walking into her paused guide. Looking up from concentrating on the wet matted carpet of leaves, she noticed he was contemplating which fork in the trail to take next.
He turned to study his wife's tired face, and then thoughtfully removed a stray leaf lodged in her hair. Assessing her appearance, he pursed his lips and stated, more than questioned, "Then why are we in this mess?" Not waiting for an answer, he returned his attention to their positioning and pointed out the direction to take.
Resuming their unpleasant trail through the moisture-laden underbrush, she scornfully offered an answer, "Because people like Cardinal Mazarin choose to fly-in-the-face of God instead of choosing to live for him, like they're supposed to. And that makes everyone's life miserable."
D'Artagnan played the antagonist and nonchalantly voiced over his shoulder what he had heard so many other people say when it came to the difficult things of God. "Then why doesn't God just take him out? Why do so many innocent people have to suffer and die?" His tone ended on a note of irritation. He had wrestled with the meaning of these questions himself to no avail; for the most part, that was why he habitually left them alone.
Jacqueline halted in her steps to look at him, and profoundly stated, "If I were God, I could answer that, but I'm not. So, we'll just have to trust there's a reason. Besides, who's to say God won't take the Cardinal out? We can always hope Siroc and the others will uncover his heretic secrets in our absence." When he realized she was no longer following him, he turned and poised himself to listen. In his doing so, she raised a speculative brow at a growing thought. "You have to admit, if Mazarin and people like him weren't around, you might not be asking these kinds of questions about God. Hmm?" The soaked-to-the-skin woman produced a challenging smile. "I mean, why believe in God when everything's going fine and you see no need for him?"
D'Artagnan looked off to gather his thoughts, and then returned his gaze to matter-of-factly surmise, "I have to admit, you're right about one thing. Without an outright act of God, things look pretty hopeless—Mazarin is in power, Louis is in love with the Cardinal's niece and we're fugitives…" His brow knit as he brought up a change of subject and his voice became stern, "And speaking of hopeless, you have to let go of your fear of me dying because of your actions. I saw that look in your eyes back there when those guards were close to finding us." The back-tracking hiker stepped closer to her, bridging the gap between them. He wanted to deal with this right here and now.
Jacqueline became obviously agitated at his hitting upon a sore spot. Looking everywhere but at him, she stuttered, "D'Artagnan, it's just that…that I couldn't bear the loss of another person I love." Finally facing him, her eyes showed the haunting truth of his remark. In a moment of reliving the past, she revealed her heart. "My father was killed because I didn't obey him and stay in the barn when he told me to. And it was my brother who became a wanted man because he defended me…all due to my irresponsible actions," she answered, clearly angered at herself.
D'Artagnan wasn't about to let her follow through to her conclusion that she was responsible for all their fates. His face showed his adamant reproof. "No, Jacqueline, I won't let you think like that. Your father and brother chose to do the noble thing. To stand by and do nothing would have been the crime. You said so yourself in the past. And you can't stop me from doing what's right either. I chose to love you, marry you, pledge my heart and life to you…along with everything that comes with that. You can not, and I won't permit you to be responsible for my choices." In his firmness, his eyes betrayed the deep love he felt for her. Reaching out to her, he took hold of her hands and softened his voice, "Sweetheart, if I die in that choice, then I have lived my life to its fullest. Don't deny me of that."
Jacqueline breathed in sharply with the release of emotion that came in hearing his appeal. She had been so afraid and had buried it so well that she had not realized how much of a hurt she carried. The feeling had been oppressive, of bearing the responsibility for the deaths of those closest to her—her father, brother and the ever-present fear of losing d'Artagnan, too. But the man before her defied that logic. He had lovingly reminded her of each one's choice in the matter. And like them, she too had chosen. In this moment, the tormented woman stood there convinced that she had married the noblest man in all of France…perhaps on the entire earth. Throwing her arms around him, she felt the vibrancy and life in the man within her hold, and she wanted him to remain there forever. "I love you, d'Artagnan," she choked out, releasing her pent up fears in his shoulder.
"I love you too, Jacqueline," her husband relayed back in equaled feeling. He held her tightly in his grip, reassuring her of the passion in his statement. Sharing his life with this woman meant more to him than the life he could lay down for her; it came with accepting what was important to her as well. And he knew her faith in God anchored the core of her strength that kept her moving forward. Tenderly, after the moment of release had passed, he placed their foreheads together and shared a smile with her. In a lightened mood he relayed, "I guess we'll have to trust God has a plan for us then. What do you say?"
Jacqueline looked up at him in surprise at his mention of trusting God, but nodded her head in full agreement. She was sure God would never cease to amaze her through this man. He had just reminded her of what was important. Once again, she thanked their maker for putting them together.
D'Artagnan considered that he too had learned something about the nature of God in caring for another—love was a powerful motivator. As much as he loved Jacqueline, he thought he understood of little of what it must be like for God to love the people he made, and to want to take care of them. And at that moment an idea crossed his mind. It only made sense to d'Artagnan that if God had a plan for them, maybe he would be willing to let them in on it. With the suddenness of the thought, he drew back his head and his eyes connected with hers in question. "Would it be out of line to ask him to give us some clue of what he's up to?"
When Jacqueline said she didn't think so, the couple spent the next few quiet moments sorting through their thoughts before God.
oooooooo
Captain Duval entered the common dining room like he was on a mission from God that morning. His Musketeers were busily downing their light breakfasts before replacing their night-patrol counterparts. Finding Siroc in the crowd, he approached him with several sealed letters. Grimly, the business-like mentor extended the small collection of notes to the young soldier. "You'll be accompanying Ramon and the Spanish women to La Havre. See to it that they board their ship safely." He exchanged a solemn look and nodded his head curtly upon the completed transfer.
"Understood, Captain," was Siroc's short reply before Duval turned on his heel and recessed into his office. His captain's words were brief and spoken publicly; thus, having relayed more than what was merely stated to the observant recipient. Siroc understood his boss was under the scrutinizing watch of Cardinal Mazarin, who held him in suspicion for harboring and aiding fugitives. The scientist deducted that the suspect man wanted to build reliable alibis for his interactions until he could appeal to the king. Believing his analysis to be correct, the soldier perceived his captain's inability to speak freely meant he had put more than traveling orders in his entrusted hands. Quickly, the assignee slipped the papers securely into the breast of his jacket for later viewing and left the dining room to find his comrade.
The mission-minded Musketeer found Ramon outside the stable, preparing the carriage for the ride to the coast. The Spaniard had been up early and through his morning routine before the others. The poet had done so in order to allow more time with his Spanish rose before she left. As Siroc approached his comrade, he informed him, "I'll be coming with you." He looked around before taking the contents of his breast jacket out, and held the letters so his friend could also see what was written on them. The secretive man wanted the writing to be for their eyes only, and did not want to read anything aloud or have anyone around to see them reading. Being sure they were alone, he leafed through the letters. And as he suspected, he stopped and held up one that read: For expedient delivery to d'Artagnan.
The brothers-in-arms looked up at one another with a sense of urgency. If there had been any doubt their captain knew all matters concerning his men, this note removed any question. Captain Duval had perceived Ramon and Siroc knew the whereabouts of their fugitive comrades and trusted them to deliver his important message.
Without delay, the two men made haste to pick up their cargo of women, along with some unnoted incidentals, and leave Paris. When the carriage had cleared the outskirts of town, Rosa dared to peek from the window and ask, "Ramon, what's going on?" The Spanish woman was no fool at seeing the heavy air that hung around these men and notice their extra cargo and spare horses. But she had prudently waited until they were out of sight from prying eyes to ask her question. After their late night visit by the Cardinal's guards, she had correctly surmised that Jacqueline and d'Artagnan were in serious trouble. Seeing Ramon and Siroc's preoccupation that morning when their carriage arrived had removed all doubt.
From atop the carriage, the handsome Spaniard leaned over in the driver's seat to answer her inquiry in a hushed whisper. He covered-up his explanation of their duel mission from potential listening ears by speaking in their native tongue. Ramon finished by informing her to be ready for a small diversion to aid their comrades. Then all fell silent between the travelers as each kept to their own thoughts toward their friends they were on their way to meet.
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It was mid-morning by the time the fleeing couple neared their rendezvous point pre-designated by d'Artagnan to their comrades. In their haste to leave the garrison, the only secretive place the young fugitive could think to meet at was the hot springs he had once taken Jacqueline to. Besides it being close enough to town to reach by foot, he was sure his wife knew where it was, in case something happened to him along the way. Of course, he had not told her that, but in the blur of the moment, he had instinctively covered the possibility of him having to sacrifice himself for her safety. As the agreement had been laid out, the married couple would wait for their friends at the springs, where they would be brought fresh clothing and fresh horses for whatever escape they had arranged.
"So, what made you think of this place?" Jacqueline finally broke the long silence since their last conversation. Recollecting, she had been to the springs only once, shortly after they had met, when her noble-minded d'Artagnan had saved an infant in a run-away horse cart. In handing the baby over to its mother, the rescuer had received a healthy 'christening' in his face from the male child. Eager to clean up, he took her to the nearby spring, not only to wash his face, but to entice her into bathing. In regards to the later objective, he only partially succeeded; she bathed, but without consenting to his company.
"Oh, it just happened to be close. And I doubt Mazarin's men would have little reason to know about this place. I'm sure they don't bathe, and I doubt a woman would want…" Looking uncomfortably back at his wife, he decided not to finish that statement. D'Artagnan was almost embarrassed to think back to his intentions at the time he brought his new patrol partner there. He had no idea the caliber of woman Jacqueline was then, and had grossly underestimated her and the kind of relationship he would eventually have with her. No woman had ever challenged his advances the way she had. Being the son of a legend, he had grown up thinking he was God's gift to women. It took the resistance of the woman trailing behind him to make him realize he wanted to be only one woman's gift.
Sensing his awkward pause, the tired hiker flatly replied, "Never mind, I'm sorry I asked." She had no intention of punishing him for his earlier behavior toward her, especially not now. She knew he saw her differently back then, and they had more important matters on their minds at present. And the thought of being washed and wearing clean clothing overruled any adverse memories she had for the hot springs. Besides, they would draw less attention to themselves if they didn't look like they spent all night out in the elements. Mazarin's men knew they were looking for fugitives who had escaped on foot in the middle of a storm.
D'Artagnan began to give serious thought to where they would go from there. He did not like admitting that he was not sure, even though he knew he would figure it out. Jacqueline would be dependant upon his knowledge of unknown territory. She had never traveled like he had in his younger years.
The venturous man considered that one advantage of being the son of a legend was that his father knew a lot of people who would be willing to help him. It had been some time since he had seen any of them and he had hoped to visit again on better terms. Yes, on one hand, he was bringing his bride for them to meet, but, on the other hand, he would also be bringing trouble. The thought of him returning, bearing such paradoxes, made him sigh. He could almost feel them now, brazenly slapping him on the back with laughter, saying, they would expect nothing less from a d'Artagnan.
The legend's son had hoped for a better name for himself, but, he considered, if it couldn't be helped, then so be it, he was a d'Artagnan, and so was Jacqueline now. Trouble or not, it was good to know there were people willing to help them for who they were, instead of who Cardinal Mazarin said they were. Fortifying his resolve, he knew that where ever they went, a friend of his father's would be a friend of theirs. At least in this case, his inherited reputation would serve in their favor.
Reaching their destination, they stood side by side and looked longingly at the hot water before them. "Well, there's no reason for us to take turns," d'Artagnan stated the obvious. "Last one in…" But he never finished saying what the last one in was going be, because Jacqueline had deviously shoved him in, clothes and all, before he had a chance to say it.
A submerged and shocked d'Artagnan resurfaced to look up at his laughing wife standing near the pool. "What was that for?" he questioned in befuddlement as he spat water out of his mouth.
Jacqueline attempted to answer between peals of laughter when a voice came from behind her, "I hate to interrupt your fun, but you know we heard you all the way from the road. You really should keep it down." The surprised female abruptly stopped her laughter as d'Artagnan and she turned to see Siroc standing there with a parcel in his hands.
Jacqueline's attempted words to her newly arrived friend were cut short when d'Artagnan reached up and tugged the back of her dress to pull her off her feet. She squelched a scream as she splashed, fully clothed, alongside her retributive husband. Stifling their laughter, the couple forgot Siroc's presence and continued their water fight by splashing and dunking one another.
The dry man standing with the parcel shook his head, and may as well have spoken to the trees. "Don't mind me. I'll just set these down right over here. You two join us when you're ready." Surrendering any hope of being heard, he awkwardly set the bundle down on a bed of ferns. He took one last look at the playful couple, amazed that he was witnessing two people with a price on their heads, and turned to leave them alone.