Page 130 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“God is merciful, Papa. You taught me that. He will forgive us if we ask Him for His Son’s sake.”
His father nodded. “I will meet my Maker soon, I believe. If He will accept me.”
“He will, Papa. But please don’t be in a hurry to go.” Alex’s voice grew thick with emotion. How old his father looked, how frail, how dear. “We have just been reunited, and I have missed you.”
“And I you, my dear boy.”
The door creaked open, and Alexander turned. A small head appeared, with a pair of large dark eyes. Alan’s eyes.
“Grandpapa?”
A five-year-old boy hurried into the room, then stopped short at seeing another man there—a stranger for all intents and purposes, as Alex had not seen his nephew in years.
His father held out his hand to the little boy. “Don’t be afraid. This is your uncle.”
“Mon oncle?”
His father nodded.“Oui. OncleAlexandre.”
Alexander managed a tremulous smile. “Bonjour, Jean-Philippe.You have grown big since I saw you last.”
The door opened wider, and an elegant dark-haired woman appeared, framed in the threshold. His brother’s wife was even more beautiful than he remembered.
“I hope Jean-Philippe does not disturb y...” Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Bonjour, Léonie.” Alexander rose and bowed.
“Alexander!” She curtsied. “I am stunned to see you here. What a”—her voice cracked—“happy surprise.”
Her pretty face crumpled, and her dark eyes filled with tears, belying her words.
He saw then that she was dressed in black, and his heart squeezed with empathy. “I am sorry,ma sœur.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “Je t’en prie, pardonne-moi.It is only that you are so much like him.”
Her beautifully accented French was music in his ears, even though the words and her obvious grief pained him.
“That is a compliment, indeed.”
“Is it?” she asked, studying him as she walked closer.
“Yes. He was my brother, and I will always love him.”
She kissed his cheek. “Me too.”
The following day, on a chilly grey afternoon, Alexander and Léonie visited the churchyard together.
“Your father’s connections were not powerful enough to save Alan,” she said, “but at least they were able to return his body to our home parish.”
Alexander nodded, unable to speak over the lump in his throat.
“The headstone just arrived last week,” she added.
Alexander read the inscription, the carved words searing pain into his chest.
Ici Repose le Corps De
Alan Philippe Carnell
