Whitney gritted her teeth and tried again. “Yes, Father, but we have an interest in the Lebruns. A historical interest,” she decided, thinking it wasn’t actually a lie.
“You’ve come a long way. You need refreshment. Madame Dubrock will fix tea.” He put his hand on Whitney’s arm as if to lead her down the path. She started to refuse, then felt his arm tremble.
“That would be lovely, Father.” She braced herself against his weight.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re having tea,” Whitney told Doug and smiled at the priest. “Try to remember where you are.”
“Jesus.”
“Exactly.” She helped the aging priest up the narrow path to the tiny rectory. Before she could reach for the door it was opened by a woman in a cotton housedress whose face sagged with wrinkles. The smell of age was like old paper, thin and dusty.
“Father.” Madame Dubrock took his other arm and helped him inside. “Did you have a pleasant walk?”
“I brought travelers. They must have tea.”
“Of course, of course.” The old woman led the priest down a dim little hall and into a cramped parlor. A black-bound Bible with yellowed pages was opened to the Book of David. Candles burned low were set on each table and on an old upright piano that looked as though it had been dropped more than once. There was a statue of the Virgin, chipped and faded and somehow lovely in its place by the window. Madame Dubrock murmured and fussed with the priest as she settled him in a chair.
Doug looked at the crucifix on the wall, pitted with age, stained with the blood of redemption. He dragged a hand through his hair. He always felt a bit uneasy in church, and this was worse. “Whitney, we haven’t got time for this.”
“Ssh! Madame Dubrock,” she began.
“Please sit, I will bring tea.”
Compassion and impatience warred as Whitney looked back at the priest. “Father—”
“You’re young.” He sighed and worried his rosary. “I have said Mass in the Church of Our Lord for more years than you have lived. But so few come.”
Again, Whitney was drawn to the pale eyes, the pale voice. “Numbers don’t matter, do they, Father?” She sat in the chair beside him. “One is enough.”
He smiled, closed his eyes, and dozed.
“Poor old man,” she murmured.
“And I’d like to live just as long,” Doug put in. “Sugar, while we’re waiting to have tea, Remo’s making his merry way into town. He’s probably a little annoyed that we stole his jeep.”
“What was I supposed to do? Tell him to back off, we have a hired gun at our backs?” He saw the look in her eyes when she flared at him, the look that meant her heart was attached.
“Okay, okay.” Twinges of pity had been working on him as well and he didn’t care for it. “We did our good deed and now he’s having a nap. Let’s do what we came for.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and felt like a ghoul. “Listen, maybe there are records, ledgers we could look through rather than…” She broke off and glanced toward the cemetery. “You know.”
He rubbed his knuckles over her cheek. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll have a look?”
Wanting to agree made her feel like a coward. “No, we’re in this together. If Magdaline or Gerald Lebrun are out there, we’ll find them together.”
“There was a Magdaline Lebrun who died in childbirth, and her daughter, Danielle, who succumbed to fever.” Madame Dubrock shuffled back into the room with a tray of tea and hard biscuits.
“Yes.” Whitney turned to Doug and took his hand. “Yes.”
The old woman smiled as she saw Doug watch her suspiciously. “I have many hours in the evening to myself. It’s my hobby to read and study church records. The church itself is three centuries old. It’s withstood war and hurricane.”
“You remember reading of the Lebruns?”
“I’m old.” When Doug took the tray from her she gave a little sigh of relief. “But my memory is good.” She cast a look at the slumbering priest. “That too will go.” But she said it with a kind of pride. Or perhaps, Whitney thought, a kind of faith. “Many came here to escape the Revolution, many died. I remember reading of the Lebruns.”
“Thank you, Madame.” Whitney dug in her wallet and pulled out half of the bills she had left. “For your church.” She looked over at the priest and added more bills. “For his church, in the name of the Lebrun family.”