When they reached the shop, Isabelle said, “Madame Gerard, the kittens are weaned, you can take your baby home if you like.”

Eagerly, she said, “Oui, I would love to. Jon Paul, get me down. I must hold this kitten at once.”

Peronelle asked, “May I come too?”

“Of course.”

Jon Paul leapt down to help them out of the wagon. First his mama, then Isabelle, next Peronelle. Lydia braced herself for his touch. It was feather light and so brief, and yet the instant he let her go, she still felt held. She looked up at him. His eyes smiled down into hers. They did not hold the hunger Jacob’s so often had, nor the charisma of Antone’s, the sensation they caused in her was a new one, she could not quite name, or explain to herself.

From the front door, Peronelle asked, “Mama, Papa will you not come too?”

Marguerite smiled and said, “No, go on. Be careful of the kitten’s claws. We cannot have your coming down with a fever.”

Tobias made a peculiar sound in his throat. Lydia was not sure if it was of agreement or dissent.

Peronelle asked Jon Paul, “Are you going to come with us, Uncle?”

He took her hand and said, “Of course my Sweet.”

Lydia followed them inside. In the dim light of the shop, they made their way to the living quarters. The instant they entered the kitchen Peronelle let go of her uncle’s hand and went to the cat box. Patch, whose eyes had taken on a golden hue, looked out over the edge of the box. The little girl exclaimed, “Is this one ours? It is beautiful.”

Fear clutched Lydia’s heart. Surely Isabelle would not give Patch away. She had promised.

Jon Paul responded, “No, that is not our cat. That is Mademoiselle Wade’s cat.”

Peronelle smiled at Lydia and said, “You get your own cat? I want a cat ever so badly, but Mama will not let me have one. So, Grandmama said I could share hers. Is that not right Grandmama?”

Madame Gerard nodded and said, “Indeed it is. Now, Isabelle, which one is ours?”

Isabelle leaned over the cat box and pulled out the seal gray kitten, whose eyes had yet to turn. “This one is yours.” She placed the cat in Peronelle’s extended hands.

The little girl trilled with delight. “Oh, its fur is so soft. Madame Beaux-champ, is it a girl or a boy?”

“I do not know.”

As Peronelle pressed the kitten’s cheek to her own, she asked, “Uncle, do you know how to tell if this is a girl or a boy?”

Jon Paul said, “Perhaps, let me have a look.” He took the kitten from his niece and gently pulled up its tail. The kitten was not amused with being handle in such a way. It let out a low growl and a hiss. Jon Paul cooed, “There, there little one.” After a quick peek, he said, “This is a boy.”

Light filled Peronelle’s eyes. “A boy. Then he will not have kittens, Mama does not like girl cats because they have too many kittens. Perhaps she will like him.”She reached up and Jon Paul handed the kitten back to her.

Isabelle asked, “Could you check the other two?”

Jon Paul took the other seal gray cat and performed the same speculative procedure. “This one is a girl.” He then took Patch. She did not growl or hiss when he lifted her tail. The kitten seemed to know he did not wish her harm. “This too, is a girl.” Lydia was so pleased. She really wanted Patch to be a girl.Jon Paul handed Lydia, Patch. His hand brushed against hers. The sensation was pleasant.

To her kitten she said, “Patch you are a Mademoiselle and may you always stay one.”

Madame Gerard told Lydia, “She is a fine cat and will make a good companion I wager.”

“I think so too,” said Lydia. “From the first time I saw her, I wanted her for my own.”

The eyes of the older woman grew a bit wide in response to this confession. She said, “My husband said as much of me when we met.”She cast a glance in Jon Paul’s direction. She turned to Isabelle and said, “It has been ever so long since you have been to the house. Please come home with us.”

There was panic in Isabelle’s expression. Had she spent a great deal of time with the Gerard’s when Henri was living? Had she been there since he had passed? Lydia wondered, not for the first time, what had been the cause of his death. Isabelle never spoke of it. She asked Lydia, “Would you come too?”

A bit too quickly, Jon Paul volunteered, “We have little stream that runs through our property. I think you would find its music lovely.”

A look passed between Isabelle and Madame Gerard. Lydia was not sure what the look meant, but it appeared that Isabelle wanted to go and she seldom went anywhere. Lydia said, “Oui, I would like that.”

The drive to the Gerard home was pleasant. A cool breeze was blowing and the across the feilds that lined the road. They turned onto a path that lead through towering oak trees in full leaf. Riding beneath the great trees was like passing thought a cathedral of lights and darks. Beside Lydia, Peronelle sat with a contented kitten asleep in her lap. She had become very attached instantaneously. Lydia did not envy her mama when it came time to separate the two.

Ahead there was a break in the trees. Lydia saw a dab and waddle barn. A weathered stone house with a thatched roof. There was a chicken coop, a pig sty and a large pen with of what looked to be three month old lambs jumping around butting one another with their heads. They were comical. Beyond the house, Lydia caught a glimpse of a smaller building. It did not look like an outbuilding, but like a dwelling. She wondered, if anyone lived there. Unlike the house which had greased parchment windows, the windows in the smaller building winked at the sun. Glass! A window from which a body could actually look out of. A glass window was a luxury and wonderful thing.

With a tinge of sadness Isabelle said, “I see you have completed your house Jon Paul. It looks lovely.”

“Thank you.” Though Lydia could not see his face, she knew he was smiling.

Tobias spoke, “He has yet to move into it though. He’s wanting a wife to take care of him.”

All Lydia could see was the back of Jon Paul’s neck and it turned very pink.

Isabelle tactfully changed the subject. “It looks like you have bern blessed with healthy lambs.”

Tobias replied, “Oui. We had a good portion born healthy and alive. I wish you could have seen them when they were newly born. Perhaps next year.”

There was a catch in Isabelle’s voice when she said, “Perhaps.”

Jon Paul stopped the wagon in front of the house. He leapt down, as did Tobias, to help the ladies down. Lydia braced herself to be lifted down by Jon Paul. There was no lingering in his touch as he swung her down. A question, of its own accord, flitted thought Lydia’s mind, What would it be like to be enclosed in those strong arms? Though no one heard he silent question, she felt herself go pink with embarrassment. The effect Jon Paul had on her would come to no good.

The door to the house opened. The great, gorgeous dog, Al, sauntered into the yard. Instinctively, Peronelle pulled the kitten close to her. Al gave the tiny thing, a good sniff then turned his attention to Lydia. His eyes danced with delight. He pressed his great head beneath her hand. She scratched his ears. “Good to see you handsome fellow.”

An old man with a long white beard came out of the house. He balanced himself on a stick. His face was puckered with a merry grin. He called out, “Good to see you Isabelle. It has been awhile.”

“Oui, it has. Too long.” With tears in her eyes, Isabelle rushed into the man’s arms.

He patted her shoulder and said, “There, there love.”

“Oh, I have missed you so.” Isabelle gave him a kiss and stood back and studied him. “You look ornery as ever.”

“That I am girl. I see you have sent a plague to visit our house.” He pointed his stick at the kitten in Peronelle’s arms.

The child protested. “He is not a plague, Grandpa. He is a cat. You will see, he will be a fine ratter.”

The word ‘ratter,’ echoed inside of Lydia. A peculiar sensation came over her. She got a pricking in her fingers. In memory she heard the voice of the little girl in Rabbi Rashbam’s barn on Purim. She had called her kitten Ratter. In age and stature she had resembled Peronelle. Another strange coincidence attached itself to the night she thought she had seen a unicorn.

Madam Gerard said, “Mademoiselle Wade, This is my fader. Being a Brit, he prefers to be called Mister Elliot.”

The merry old man turned his rheumy eyes upon Lydia. He squinted at her and then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. In a hoarse voice he asked, “Rebecca, have you come to me at last?”

Madame Gerard asked, “Fader, what ever are you talking about. This is Mademoiselle Wade.”

His eyes were still riveted on Lydia. He said, “Aye, I know. Tis’ Rebecca Wade.”

Rebecca?

“Oh Fader, you have her confused with someone else.”

The expression on his face changed. He looked as if he had just received a physical blow.