Page 36 of Wrong Train to Paris

The sound of horses’ hoovesand wagon wheels on the gravely road meant the return of the men. Julia resisted the impulse to jump up from her chair and run toward the road when she saw Luc. She waved instead.

Luc lifted a hand in return.

The man sitting beside him must be Monsieur Pierre Deschamps. Another horse followed the wagon, led with a rope. Julia assumed the men had used both animals to extricate the wagon.

“That is my papá,” Élise said as the men climbed down from the wagon and led the horses toward the barn. Julia wasn’t certain why Luc didn’t leave his own horse hitched to the wagon, but perhaps he thought it needed a rest and maybe something to eat before they undertook the remainder of the journey.

“Your papá was very nice to help unstick the wagon,” she said.

Élise nodded. “Papá helps me too.”

Julia smiled at the girl. “That’s what papás do, isn’t it?” She stood. “Shall we return to the house? I think I will be leaving soon.”

Élise’s brow furrowed as she looked at her notebook. She sighed. “I didn’t finish drawing Guignol.” She handed the pencil to Julia to return to the box.

Julia carried the chairs back to their place in the garden and took the girl’s hand to walk back to the house. They met the men coming from the barn, and Luc introduced her to Pierre Deschamps.

The man was shorter and wider than Luc, with a boyish face. He gave Julia a bright smile. “Ah, madame. So nice to meet you at last. Luc has told me such complimentary things about you.”

Julia blushed. She glanced at Luc, then looked away quickly, feeling silly for the giddy reaction to Pierre’s words. Naturally, Luc had attempted to maintain the charade of their marriage. And if Pierre was anything like his wife, he’d asked questions that had required personal answers, which Luc would have fabricated, of course.

Élise released Julia’s hand and took her papá’s. “I’ve been drawing goats with Julia,” she said.

“C’est merveilleux, chérie!” Pierre said. “More of your beautiful pictures to admire. Come, you must show me.”

Luc’s clothing was covered in mud, and splatters were on his face and hat. He looked weary. “Oh dear,” Julia said, grimacing as she looked him over.

“Eh, oui,” Pierre said. “Extracting the wagon was no easy feat. But do not worry, madame. Sylvie will have him clean and warm in no time.” He started toward the door with Élise. “I believe I smell vin chaud.”

Julia checked the time on both of her clocks. The hour was nearly four. She looked toward the wagon and then the barn. “We should probably be on our way.” Her clothes would be mostly dry by now. She could change while Luc loaded the animals and hitched the horse to the wagon.

“Oh, madame,” Pierre said, opening the door to the house. “It is much too late to leave now. You would not reach Riv until well after dark.”

Julia looked at Luc.

He scratched his jaw, his brow furrowed in an uncomfortable expression. “Pierre has invited us to remain here tonight.” Luc spoke in a voice that sounded... apprehensive.

“We couldn’t possibly impose,” Julia said, although staying with the Deschamps sounded a far superior option than riding for six more hours tonight. Her backside would appreciate the respite from the hard wagon bench. She wasn’t certain what was bothering Luc, but when she tried to catch his gaze, he became busy scraping mud from his boots with a stick.

“I insist,” Pierre said. “And Sylvie will insist as well.”

“And I insist too,” Élise said.

Sylvie came to the door as the others entered. She was holding the baby on her hip. She motioned Julia and Luc inside. “Oh yes, of course you must stay. Monsieur, leave your boots by the door. I will bring dry clothes and towels.”

Julia entered and thanked Sylvie for her hospitality. She was delighted for the chance to spend more time with the woman and her family.

Luc removed his boots. He didn’t look up when Julia tried again to catch his eye, and she wondered if he thought it was rude to accept the invitation. Or perhaps he worried about Gabi being left alone.

Pierre removed his boots and went directly to the vin chaud on the stove. Apparently, Sylvie had lit the stove to reheat the warm drink. He inhaled deeply, then stirred it and ladled a portion into mugs for himself and Luc.

Sylvie handed Luc a towel. “The barn loft isn’t fancy, but it’s warm and dry,” she said, motioning him toward the washroom.

Luc took the towel, rubbing it over his wet hair. He started toward the washroom without glancing toward Julia.

“And private,” Pierre said.

Luc’s neck went red.

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