Chapter 11 #2
“That’s good. I’d not leave if I didn’t know he was in good hands, and if my company didn’t make him push himself.”
“I think that he thinks he’s being considerate.”
“He’s always been like that.” Clotilde smiled and looked down.
Her bottom lip soon curled, and she bit down on it while an air of sorrow made heavy her brown eyes.
“I was so scared when I had him, and he was… just like me. I fear how things might have gone if he didn’t have a good heart. He’s always had to work twice as hard.”
“He’s proud to look like you, Madame Lézin,” Dorotèa uttered. “He loves you.”
“I don’t mean to…” Clotilde began, but pulled out a kerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so glad he found Saint-Mitre and made friends. So, so glad. Even with his father and what we’ve always said and claimed, he’s been spit on and worse. I never thought people would follow him.”
“We met the man first.” Dorotèa quirked a smile. “And besides, I don’t think as many people dwell on it as it seems. The bad ones are always the loudest. People may find him controversial, but also helpful, and still a Catholic, too. They respect him in here, anyway.”
“He almost couldn’t be a city doctor. Martin had to call in favors to get him considered.”
“I’m glad he did. Aix is better for having him.”
“I just regret how much he has to hide.” Clotilde’s eyes darted back to Dorotèa. “But you have some experience in that, don’t you?”
She reeled back and felt her blood turn to ice, then crack. Dorotèa didn’t find so much as an ounce of composure to mask her surprise and ensuing fear; she felt as though Oste’s mother was looking right into her.
“I was glad you stepped up to help,” Clotilde continued. “I think you’ve helped him a lot for a long time already. He’s always spoken highly of his rival.”
Dorotèa swallowed. Her throat was dry. “How…?”
“I suppose it must take a woman to know a woman. The few looks I managed to get told me as much. I asked myself what Aixois woman would be able to find him so easily, have hair like that red curl I thought I saw hanging loose, and fight so well. The swordsmith’s daughter made perfect sense.”
“I didn’t—I really—I—”
“Hush, love. You’ll get no judgement from me.”
“I just wanted to fight him myself,” Dorotèa stammered. “My father taught me. But Oste’s style was so unique. I… I wanted to experience it, and I did, and it was nice, so I couldn’t stop.”
Clotilde laughed into her hand. “I’d think so. He sought out my cousins against our wishes and trained with them. They used sabres, so he got creative, or so he says. When they travelled, he just kept moving on from one voyageur man to the next.”
Dorotèa clapped her hands together and held them in front of her mouth. “My word, he’s been adapting his attacks from—I mean, God, it wouldn’t inherently make sense to do, but—I mean, when he’s gotten me, he’s really, really gotten me. With a little refinement I think he’d be unbeatable.”
“Does he know?”
Dorotèa’s joy faded. She reluctantly shook her head. “I’m considering changing that, though I fear he’d hate me for it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“I only feel reluctant to risk tainting a good thing, especially when I should like to make it even worse. I wish to teach other women how to protect themselves, as my father did with me.”
Clotilde stretched up her brows. “With swords?”
“Those… wouldn’t be very plausible. Their hands, daggers.
Plenty of ladies will keep them on their person.
I know it’s far from acceptable standards, I do, but I feel better knowing that when I walk down the street, I can have a say in what could happen.
I’d have been better off, I think, if my father hadn’t raised me as though I was a son, but not in this regard. ”
“It’s a lot to wrap my head around.” Clotilde angled her head to resume watching Oste’s resting form.
A lock of hair had tumbled over his cheek.
“I can’t say it’s anything I’d wish to do myself.
It never crossed my mind. Oste—well, since he was just a boy, Oste said he’d protect us.
Me and the girls. The way he says things—I believe every word, sometimes. ”
Dorotèa’s throat caught. It made perfect sense to her, really.
A young man who rode into the middle of a mess that was only ever going to end up in blood was the same sort as someone who’d learn to wield a blade to defend his family.
He fought for them, she realized, and wondered what that was like. She’d only ever fought for herself.
“I know it’s… well, I mean, I don’t mean to suggest that women ought to, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t have the choice. It’s mad, I know, and not at all proper, so if you would prefer I didn’t say any—”
“No, no, Mademoiselle,” Clotilde interrupted her. “I understand that. The choice.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “That’s good. It’s a recent thing. I only just started to think about it. I don’t wish for trouble, so I know I need to be very careful about it, and I will.”
“Let me know if I can help,” Clotilde said, and she reached out to gingerly touch Dorotèa’s wrist. “Woman to woman. I heard about that poor girl. I get it.”
Dorotèa’s eyes stung. “He was very good to her.”
“He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.”
“You raised a good one, Madame Lézin,” she uttered in response, and was taken aback by what her mind added in great rapidity: and I think I’m a little bit in love with him.
“He made it easy.” Clotilde’s smile when she delivered it was the only thing that stopped Dorotèa from throwing herself into the wall or turning completely red.
What was the matter with her? Where did that come from?
“I’ll stay out of his hair now for his sake, but if anything changes, even the smallest bit… ”
“I’ll send for you immediately. You have my word.”
“Thank you. And before I…”
Clotilde’s voice trailed off. She patted the sides of her dress, then slipped a narrow hand down to her belt where she opened her knapsack again. She lifted another pair of socks from the inside, then placed them into Dorotèa’s hand with intent.
“People forget to help the helpers.” Clotilde kissed Dorotèa’s cheek. “Bless you.”
“Thank you.”
Oste’s mother left, and Dorotèa felt drunk off the exchange.
She swayed in the hallway, almost dizzy, and had to tell herself to move and go back inside.
She did eventually, a pair of socks richer, and sat down at Oste’s bedside, where she filled the silence by telling him that she liked his family very, very much.