II
My Dear Friend,
I wonder if you can understand the joy it gives me to write that salutation, Constance. Growing up shifted from pillar to post by the winds of war, friendships were short-lived and often rare, never being in one place long enough to establish roots. Most folk in the refugee camps had lost all hope and shied away from those who preached revolution as my father did. So the gift of your friendship is very precious to me.
I must tell you, this stolen bit of time out of time, to get to know one another better, and to watch Athos discover new whispers of happiness each day of our journey, has been to hold a much coveted joy as if literally between my hands. Each time he lets me frame his face, smooth back that unruly hair, or even hold his hand, I feel as though I could burst with gladness. I know we have trespassed upon your good graces, but this has been a gift to think of no one but ourselves these past six months. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive us our long silence, for I am sure you and d'Artagnan have been worried about us.
Our wedding trip was enlightening; delving beneath that untroubled façade Athos presents to the world has been a journey all its own, but slowly, he is coming along in the belief that he is worthy of love and allowed a measure of happiness not on loan or lived vicariously through one of his brothers.
We headed south when we left Paris, Athos intent on making for the interior of France, I believe to remove us as far as possible from the war that rages on our borders. It was a surprise to see how much the countryside changed just within a day's ride from Paris. The lands were less ravaged, the farmers prosperous enough that we easily found food and lodging wherever we went. Real money is as scarce, though, as it is in the capitol and folk willingly exchanged bed and board for the coin Athos spent rather freely.
He is such a contained man, so close with his feelings and thoughts, he reminds of a clam that must be pried open to reach the soft meat inside. You did not tell me, when you assayed that he gave up his title and lands, that he is still a wealthy man. I had to pry this from him as with a crow bar. Did you know he owns a shipping venture that travels to such faraway places as India and China, occasionally even to Africa? I could not understand why he chose soldiering over traveling to those exotic places, until - after much poking and prodding - he admitted he does not like voyages, travel upon water makes him very sick. For Athos to append an adjective like 'very' must mean it makes him deathly ill. Which is sad, for I would love to visit such places, but I would not ask him to make that kind of sacrifice.
Speaking of traveling, we had gone only as far as Étampes when I had my first occurrence of bleeding. Athos scoured the surrounding villages for an experienced midwife, finding one with an extensive knowledge of herb lore. As soon as I was feeling well enough to journey again, he wished to turn west and head for Aramis' home, and his mother, whom Athos claims can bring the dead back to life, but with a little negotiation, he was convinced to carry on with our plans. We tarried in Étampes for a month though, just to be safe, then wandered on, stopping here and there along the way in this or that village that caught our fancy, though we found no place that called to us as home.
We eventually made our way to Chambord, to the Lorie Valley, where we thought we might like to stay. We camped for a few nights near the royal Château de Chambord that d'Orléans was in the process of restoring. Since his death, it has been abandoned again, so we wandered through at will. I have never seen Athos so taken by anything in our acquaintance as he was by the architecture of the twin spiral staircases rising two hundred and seventy-four steps (we counted) to the third floor. He says an Italian by the name of da Vinci is likely responsible for the design, the symmetry appears reminiscent of the man's work on hydraulic turbines. I did not understand a word he said, but that did not matter, the freedom of his articulation and the abandon with which he expressed himself enthralled me as much as the building fascinated him.
We might have made our permanent abode there, the region is beautiful as well as fruitful, but I had a second spell of bleeding that woke some homing instinct in Athos, had I but known it. Madame Cloutier had given me a supply of the herbs against just such an emergency and that, plus some lazy days lying about by the river, put me quickly to rights again.
I woke one morn, though, to find the horses saddled and ready. We broke our fast with fish Athos had caught in the stream and turned our steeds toward the north. We would have stopped to see you, but once on the road, my man turned his head neither right nor left, steering us as the birds fly, straight to Pinon.
Spymaster that he is, he timed our arrival so dusk's shadows were just beginning to shade into night. We slipped in through the back door of an enormous mansion with no one the wiser, me thinking it was the home of someone he knew. The dratted man did not tell me where we were until we had fallen in exhaustion upon our blankets, and that only after he'd found an old broom and swept the cobwebs and spiders from a bed in what was clearly the servants quarters.
I understand I owe our now cozy quarters - after much washing and cleaning and polishing - to Athos' former fiancé, Catherine. Milady ... Catherine ... were there others I do not yet know about? I have not winkled it out of him, yet, if there were. But it does not matter, for he is mine and I will make him happy as none before have managed.
But what I really wish to tell you about is the day after we arrived here. I must confess that I was a little jealous of your relationship with your handsome, romantic Musketeer. It is not that Athos is inconsiderate or unfeeling, he has been the soul of kindness and consideration since we abandoned you to make this journey, but he is not given to romantic gestures or much public display of affection. Much to my surprise, however, he must have taken some lessons from d'Artagnan.
That first morning, I woke to an empty bed, which has not been unusual in and of itself. He does not sleep much, though I will change this as time progresses, but it does mean he is always up and about before me, especially these days when just getting out of bed is beginning to be such a chore. That first morning, though, after his revelation of the night before, I did not expect to wake and find him gone from our dusty resting place so early.
I lumbered to my feet and wandered out to the kitchen where I found bread and honey to break my fast and a lovely pot of warm water to wash away the road dirt. I was only part way through my ablutions when the back door opened and Athos appeared, booted, cloaked and wearing that hat I generally find quite dashing. He was little more than a silhouetted cutout of darkness with the brilliant sunshine pouring in behind him. He stood for a moment, in the doorway, insubstantial as darkness and yet as solid as a rock, then said, "We're getting married."
You have probably already guessed my response. I said, "It would have been nice to be asked." Rather tartly I'm afraid.
Oh, Constance, not in all my girlhood imaginings did I once envisage what came next. The door slammed behind him as he crossed the kitchen with a firm stride and dropped to one knee before me. "I thought you might say that," he said, and drew from his cloak a rather squashed looking bouquet of wildflowers still spangled with dew bright as diamonds. He handed me the sweetest scented bunch of flowers I have ever smelled, then took my other hand in both of his, and Constance, he gave me the words too.
I knew I had his heart, he tells me that without voice every time his eyes stray in my direction, but the words, my dear friend, eloquent and totally unrehearsed, were straight from his heart. They are engraved upon my own heart. And then, in front of the priest, he promised to love, honor and cherish me and our offspring, for the rest of our lives. To know without doubt or question, that I am loved, to be cherished in such fashion ... it is a gift beyond measure, as I am sure you already know.
We did not announce our presence here and kept to ourselves except for our venture to the little ivy-covered chapel where we met the priest to say our vows. But within days we began to find gifts on our back doorstep, heads of cabbage and lettuce, carrots and potatoes, a bushel of peas, loaves of bread and even pies. Once Athos brought inside two baskets of wool, more, I think, than I can possibly use, though he unearthed a spinning wheel and a loom and I am discovering, buried deep within the revolutionary, a homemaker I did not know lived within me.
It has been a deeply satisfying experience to learn to card and comb and spin. To turn wool into yarn and yarn into tiny infant clothing.
While I have cleaned and cooked and learned to spin and make clothing, Athos has begun working on restoring the house, though most days he is out among the tenants scything and harvesting. You will not believe it, but he is nearly as brown as I am!
This next fortnight, they are washing the sheep in preparation for shearing, a job he does not enjoy but - he says - he is no longer the worst at. I went to watch one day and found the process vastly amusing as they try to catch and then wrestle the sheep into the water. The animals' docility deserts them the moment their feet leave the river bank and they kick like mules. Athos comes home bruised from shins to thighs. He has, however, won back the respect of the entire village with his willingness to plunge into even the messiest jobs and carry on like a common laborer.
A seven-day ago, we entertained a visitor in our cozy kitchen, Monsieur Bertrand Collier, Mayor of Pinon. As usual, my husband did little of the talking, leaving the burden of the visit to the mayor, but it was soon apparent that Monsieur Collier had come on a mission. It was to him Athos ceded control of the lands and gave the ring bearing the de la Fere seal. Monsieur Collier believes if we are to live here, that Athos must resume his title and stewardship of the lands.
The mayor has kept the estate in good heart, but tradition is a weighty thing here. If we decide we are to stay indefinitely, I believe Athos will eventually resume the title and shoulder the responsibilities once again, though he has demurred for the present. I do not look forward to becoming the comtesse.
And now I have a favor to ask, my friend. Would you consider coming to Pinon for the lying in? While I have never been overly sentimental, there is that about carrying that makes one far more susceptible to sudden, inexplicable changes of mood. I have seen this among my compatriots, but thought it this or that woman's temperament, never imagining it would happen to me. Though I never imagined being with child either. My poor husband is bewildered by the strange humors that beset me.
I have made friends here among the wives, but there exists already a deferential demarcation from the women of Pinon. I know I will be in need of a cherished female face when my time comes, if d'Artagnan will part with you for long enough to attend the birth.
Athos intends to write d'Artagnan this evening. I will ask him to enclose this with his missive. Did you know this house has thirteen bedchambers? When it is done, we will be able to accommodate the entire host of the Musketeers and their spouses and children easily. It is the one good thing about having a house this size.
Perhaps you can plant a seed in d'Artagnan's mind as well so a visit from all of you may come to fruition before too long passes. We miss you all. Terribly.
With love,
Sylvie
TBC