Despite the Angels - By Madeline A Stringer Page 0,53

the shawls and breathed in Marie-Claire’s baby smell, sweet and soft. “Look, Monsieur, she is smiling!”

“Of course she is not smiling, she is too young, she is hungry. What could she have to smile about, at her age?”

“The joy of being alive” said Mohmi, as they all moved out of the chapel into the sunshine.

Chapter 20.

As she handed her daughter back up into the cart, Eloise turned to Daniel.

“Would you mind if we do not go to the beach? We could have a good picnic in the meadow.” She indicated the area behind the chapel with her other hand.

“Why?” Daniel was perplexed. Eloise had been so enthusiastic when he suggested the outing. In fact, it had brought some life back into her. “I thought we were going to walk at the edge of the water?”

“Yes, we were. I do not know. I just had a feeling that The Blessed Virgin does not want us to go to the sea.”

“Why would she object? Her Son’s friends were fishermen. You are having fancies. Come on, we will breathe good salty air and dance on the sand. Anyway, we have to go on, to see this pilgrim shrine.” He swung himself back up onto his horse and, standing up in the stirrups, pointed forward dramatically with his crop.

“Onward! We will vanquish all foes and take the sea before the day is out!”

Eloise giggled and settled down again in the cart, as it started to lurch back toward the road towards old Soulac.

The sand became more plentiful, drifting between the tufts of rough grass and moving a little in the breeze. They crossed the brow of the hill and thought they could see a distant horizon, but there on their right they could just make out the ruins of the old church of Notre Dame, which had been engulfed by sand more than sixty years before. There was no roof, but they could see walls here and there, poking out of the sand. There was a small tent at one side, made of rough canvas and a table outside it, with a candlestick on it. A man with wild hair and a beard was sitting in the shade of the tent, but he stood up to greet the party. He was tall and gangly, but imposing, and wore a monk’s habit, with a large crucifix at his belt. He approached, his arms open.

“Welcome, pilgrims! You make the long journey to God’s house in Spain! He will reward you well for your determination. Come, I will say prayers for you and you will make an offering to the Glory of God. Or I can say a Mass?” His hand pushed forwards in the age old gesture of the beggar. Daniel stepped forward.

“No, we are not pilgrims, we live to the south of here. We are here to see the sea and have a good day on the beach. But some prayers would be welcome, thank you.” He put his hand in his pocket to find some coins. His mother started to rummage in one of the baskets and at last pulled out a purse.

“No,” she said with dignity and for the benefit of her audience in the carriages, “we will have a mass. For the health of my daughter-in-law and grand-daughter and that the crops this year will be successful. This should ensure both, I think?” She pressed a gold piece into the priest’s grimy hand. The priest bobbed his thanks and the coin disappeared inside his robes. He bustled away into the tent and came out with a book and a small flask, which he laid on the table with exaggerated reverence. He indicated for them all to stand in front of his makeshift altar.

“No, Father,” said Daniel, “we will allow you to say the mass after we leave. We have come out to give my wife a good day at the sea, to bring some colour back to her cheeks. We will not spend it in church,” He lifted Eloise up onto the cart and told its driver to move on. Madame deVrac’s eyes flashed.

“How dare you speak to a man of God like that! And in front of our neighbours too,” she hissed. “It is my cheeks that will have colour, I’m so embarrassed. To walk away like that is shameful. You should be more mindful and remember we have a position to keep up, it is too easy to lose it. You read too many books and are getting heretical notions.”