“She was always a horse charmer, even when she was a slip of a girl.” Simon glanced at Monsieur Moreau. “Are you willing to let us hire two horses for three days? If so, we need to discuss the fees.”
It took only a few minutes to work out the details. By the time Suzanne came over leading the chestnut, the transaction was settled.
A larger dark bay followed her hopefully. He looked a likely mount, so Simon entered the paddock and made the beast’s acquaintance. After checking him out, Simon said, “You have fine horses, Monsieur Moreau. May we hire these two?”
“I think I’ll have to let you have ‘em,” the farmer said with a grin. “They obviously don’t want to leave your lady.”
Simon chuckled. He knew exactly how the horses felt.
* * *
Amazingly, Simon and Suzanne managed to ride out not long after noon. Maurice and Jackson had already left for Brussels with the carriage. Suzanne’s borrowed riding habit was plain dark blue and a little large, but she wore it with dash. Simon decided that she would look good in a potato sack. She waved at Marie and the servants who’d come out to bid them farewell.
As they rode through the village on the road east, Suzanne said, “It may be a little late to ask if you know where we’re going.”
He chuckled. “I was an exploring and intelligence officer. I always do my research before setting out. Our first destination is the Church of St. Agnes in a village about three hours’ ride from here. Frère Pascal said that church is one of the places where Frère Jude stays sometimes.”
It was a fine day for a ride. The road they traveled carried little traffic, but farmers were cultivating the fields, and cattle that had grown thin during the winter were grazing contentedly on the lush spring grass.
After a couple of hours, they stopped to enjoy Moreau cheese and bread and a good red wine. “This is very romantic,” Suzanne said as she shook crumbs out of the linen napkins the inn had provided. “Though probably I shouldn’t mention that my backside is a little sore.”
“I think that rubbing your lovely backside to make it feel better would be very romantic,” Simon said earnestly.
She laughed, and he felt the pleasure in their being able to have such a teasing conversation. When they rose to resume their trip, he patted her very lovely backside as he prepared to help her up into the saddle.
She grinned and did the same to him.
* * *
Their leisurely enjoyment of the journey ended when they reached the Church of St. Agnes. After they tethered their horses, they entered the small church. It wasn’t grand, but sunshine poured through the stained glass windows and the old stone walls radiated peace.
A cassocked priest knelt before the altar deep in prayer. By mutual consent, Simon and Suzanne sat in the last pew. When he saw her close her eyes, he realized this was a fine time to attempt prayer, though he’d never been very good at it.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the peace that was an essential part of this small church. When his mind was as still as it was likely to get, he thought about what he should pray for.
Peace for the nations of Europe so that no more men would die on the battlefields? He sent a fervent prayer heavenward, though peace seemed far too vast and unattainable for a sinner like him to pray for, not with Napoleon igniting flames in Paris.
But he could certainly send up a prayer of gratitude for Suzanne, who had brought joy undreamed of with her warmth and trust and honesty. So gratitude for her, and also a prayer that she would fully heal from the terrible scars of the spirit she had endured. She deserved peace and happiness.
Was it too arrogant to ask God to bring Lucas back to him? The best of his friends, the brother of his heart. But for all he knew, Lucas had been dead for years and Simon was chasing a phantom of hope. Better to pray for peace for Lucas’s soul, whether he was living or dead.
Peace . . .He realized he was holding Suzanne’s hand. He released it when he heard movements from the kneeling priest, but not before squeezing her fingers. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Peacefully.
The elderly priest used the railing to help himself rise, but he turned with a welcoming smile. “Good day. I’m Père Martin. May I help you?”
“I hope so,” Simon said as he pulled out the sketches of Lucas. “I’m looking for a long-lost cousin of mine who may now be a Franciscan friar and bonesetter. I was told he sometimes stays here when he does his work in this area. Do you know him?”
Père Martin gave a pleased smile as his gaze settled on the picture of Lucas as a friar. “Frère Jude! Of course, he is always most welcome here. He has been here for several days and left no more than two hours ago.”
The shock was like touching a red-hot poker. Simon swallowed hard. “Did he say where he was going next?”
The priest thought a moment. “He said he’d be heading east on the Liege road, I believe.”
“How was he traveling?” Suzanne asked. “Is he on foot?”
“No, he rides a mule.” Père Martin smiled tolerantly. “He worries that he is not honoring his vow of poverty by owning a mule, but I always assure him that riding allows him to travel farther and do more of God’s work.”
Could this friar be Lucas, who’d loved horses as much as Simon did? He’d know soon enough. “Thank you, Pére. We’ll take that road and hope to catch up with him.”
