Simon spun and headed for the door at a swift pace, almost unbearably excited. He was almost at the door when Suzanne caught his arm and whispered, “Put something in the collection box!”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” He always donated to a church’s poor box, and today he’d almost forgotten when he had the most reason to be grateful. He dropped in a large handful of coins before going outside.
He did remember to stride to Suzanne’s horse first so he could help her mount. While she settled on the chestnut’s back and adjusted the fall of her skirts, he said in a constricted voice, “I don’t actually believe this will be him. I’ve been letting myself hope too much.”
“At least you will have certainty,” she said softly as her gloved left hand gently brushed his cheek. “If Frère Jude isn’t Lucas, there will be no other places to search.”
Her words gave him a measure of calm. Certainty would be welcome. He swung onto his horse. “Thank you for your sanity.”
“You’ve often been sane for me. Come, let us finish our journey.” She set her horse off at a swift trot, which was saner than the gallop he wanted to use. But they covered ground swiftly. The road was almost empty except for a couple of farm wagons and one annoying flock of geese that reduced them to a slow walk to avoid damage to the squawking birds.
After a brisk hour of riding, he saw the figure of a man on a mule in the distance. Abandoning sanity, he kicked his mount into a gallop. As he closed in on the healthy, well-groomed white mule, he identified the brown Franciscan robe. The friar had fair, tonsured hair, tanned skin, familiar shoulders, but he seemed to have little curiosity, because he didn’t turn to see who was thundering up behind him.
“Frère Jude!” Simon called as he slowed his gallop. “Frère Jude?”
He guided his horse to the mule’s right side and leaned over to grab the other beast’s bridle. As he forced both mounts to a stop, he asked urgently, “Lucas?”
The friar turned his head, and Simon found himself looking into the startled blue eyes of his cousin Lucas.
Chapter 24
Shocked, Lucas whispered, “Simon?” He instinctively reached out and for an instant his hand clasped Simon’s with fierce recognition.
An instant later his expression shuttered and he yanked his hand back. Clutching his reins with knotted fingers, he said, “You shouldn’t be here.”
Still barely believing, Simon retorted, “Why not? I only wish I’d found you sooner, Lucas!”
His cousin was shaking his head. He was too thin, and in his brown friar’s robes and sandals, he looked like a stranger. And yet at the same time, he was achingly familiar—Simon’s companion of countless races and wrestling matches and late-night conversations. “Lucas Mandeville is dead. I am Frère Jude now.”
Suzanne galloped up and pulled her horse to a halt. A little breathlessly, she said, “Good day. I’m Suzanne Duval, and pleased to meet the cousin my husband loves so much.”
Lucas stared, appearing jolted by her arrival and on the verge of flight.
Voice soothing, Suzanne said, “A family reunion after so many years calls for food, drink, and discussion. The logs under that flowering apple tree will be a good place.” She rode to the logs, which looked as if they were destined for future fires, but in the meantime could act as an informal picnic area.
Dismounting, she dug into her saddlebags. “And you thought I’d brought too much food, Simon!”
Simon was amused and grateful for her intercession, since he found that he didn’t quite know what to say to his long-lost cousin. He also dismounted and tethered both horses before he collected the jug of wine and a pair of pewter drinking vessels from his saddlebags. “That’s a fine-looking mule, Lucas.”
Jarred from his bemusement, Lucas said, “Yes, the Magdalene has carried me for many miles.”
The Magdalene? An interesting name for a mule. When Lucas still looked wary, Simon said, “Do sit down so we can break bread together, Lucas. There are many years to catch up on. I’m not going to abduct you and take you back to England against your will, you know.”
Still looking uncertain, Lucas dismounted, tethered the Magdalene, and seated himself on a stump opposite Suzanne’s log. Gracious as a duchess in her own drawing room, she sliced several pieces of cheese and a couple of rounds of bread from a baguette, then wrapped the food in one of the two cloth napkins Madame Moreau had packed.
She handed Lucas the bundle, then poured wine into one of the pewter drinking vessels. That also was given to Lucas. “Breaking bread together is a primal form of connecting with others, isn’t it? Plus, it tastes good.”
Lucas actually smiled. “Very true, Madame Duval.”
“Please, call me Suzanne. We are family, after all.”
Lucas politely waited for her to lay out bread and cheese for two on the other linen napkin. After she poured wine into the other vessel, he bit hungrily into his food.
Simon had taken a seat a couple of feet down the log from her, leaving space for her to set the napkin of food between them. After sipping the wine, she offered it to Simon. The sharing was quietly intimate.
He was glad they had enough food and wine for Lucas. Simon was wondering how to start a conversation about why his cousin had vanished when Lucas said, “Belated congratulations on your marriage, Simon. How long have you two been wed?”
Simon and Suzanne looked at each other. “It’s only been a few weeks,” he said, mildly surprised. “It feels much longer.” She had been a part of him since they’d first met, he realized.
