Stepsister(77)

Tantine picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. Isabelle’s hands tightened on her napkin. Hope leapt inside her. What had Tantine done? Was she giving them some money, too? She’d mentioned the hayloft—had she found them something better? Isabelle was afraid to ask, lest she’d got her hopes too high, but she had to know. “You found us a new place to stay, Tantine?” she ventured. “A room somewhere? A tiny house?”

“Yes, child. A house and something more,” Tantine said, lowering her cup.

Isabelle glanced excitedly at Tavi and then Maman. “What is it?” she asked.

Tantine settled her cup into its saucer. Beaming at Isabelle, she said, “A husband!”





Eighty-Four


Isabelle’s blood froze in her veins. Her body went rigid in her chair; she was unable to move. “What do you mean a—a husband, Tantine?” she asked in a small voice.

“Why, just what I said, child—a man! A tall, strapping man in breeches and boots! Just what every girl wants.”

“Isabelle?” Hugo said, looking surprised. “But I thought … I thought Tavi would marry first. She’s the oldest.”

Tavi said nothing at all; she was shocked speechless.

Maman, however, was overjoyed. “This is wonderful news!” she exclaimed. “Who is he? A baron? A viscount?” She looked from Tantine to Avara and back again, but they gave her no answer. “No? Well, no matter. A squire is acceptable, too. After all, these are difficult times.”

“Will the wedding be soon?” Hugo asked.

“Within a matter of days,” Tantine replied.

“Yes!” Hugo crowed. “Tell us, Tantine,” he urged, rocking back in his chair again. “Who is it? Who will Isabelle marry?”

Tantine leaned across the table and covered one of Hugo’s hands with her own. “Why, dear boy, haven’t you guessed?” she asked. “It’s you!”





Eighty-Five


Everything happened at once.

Hugo fell over backward with an earth-shaking crash, hitting his head so hard he knocked himself out. Maman slumped into a faint. Tavi jumped up to revive her at the same that Madame jumped up to tend to Hugo. They smacked heads, then staggered back, dazed.

And Isabelle squeezed her coffee cup so hard it broke, splashing hot coffee all over her hands. She didn’t even feel it. She could hardly breathe. Her heart was pounding; it was beating out the name Hu-go, Hu-go, Hu-go over and over, like a funeral march.

Isabelle could not believe Tantine had done this. Moments ago, she’d been hopeful, believing that the old woman would help them find a new place to live. Now she felt like an animal in a trap. Why had she done this? Isabelle had never shown the slightest interest in Hugo, nor he in her.

“Tantine, I can’t … Hugo and I, we don’t … we never …” she said, struggling for the right words.

Tavi, who was chafing her mother’s wrists, came to her aid. “But Hugo and Isabelle can’t stand each other! It’s a terrible idea, Tantine. This is the eighteenth century, not the tenth. She doesn’t have to do it!”

“Girls, girls, calm down! Of course, Isabelle doesn’t have to marry Hugo. She doesn’t have to marry anyone,” Tantine soothed. “But how unfortunate it would be if she didn’t. You see, there are one or two things I may have neglected to mention. Hugo’s legacy? It only goes to him if he marries. How can he continue the family line without a wife? And really, what girl wouldn’t want to marry such a fine boy, especially one with a farm and fifty acres?” She paused. Her eyes caught Isabelle’s and held them. Isabelle felt as if she was being pulled helplessly, hopelessly, into a cold gray abyss. “Isabelle is certainly free to refuse the proposal,” Tantine continued. “She is also free to leave the farm and find herself, and her family, another place to live.”

Isabelle felt the gray depths close over her and pull her down. She fought her way back up. She had to find a way to navigate between the two impossibities Tantine had presented.

“Madame,” she said, turning to Hugo’s mother. “I am nowhere near good enough for your son.”

“True enough,” Madame allowed, through a mouthful of omelet. “But as your own mother said, these are difficult times and one cannot be choosy. You are not a pretty girl, but cows don’t care about looks and neither do cabbages. You’re a hard worker, I’ll give you that, and that’s what counts on a farm. Plus, you’re strong and sturdy, with a good pair of hips to carry sons and a fine bosom to suckle them. You’ll breed well, I think.”

Isabelle flushed a deep red, unaccustomed to hearing herself talked about as if she were a broodmare.

“There! We’re all settled, then, aren’t we?” Tantine said cheerfully, shoveling more omelet onto Isabelle’s plate. “Now, eat your breakfast, child,” she admonished. “You’ll need your strength. You have a wedding to prepare for. I’m thinking next Saturday. A week from today. That’s time enough to make the necessary preparations. What do you think, Avara?”

Isabelle didn’t care what anyone thought. She looked at the cold wobbly omelet on her plate. Nausea gripped her. She got to her feet. “Pardon me, please,” she said, hurrying towards the door.