Rebecca Wade had been Lydia’s grandmoder’s name. She had a vague recollection of her. Warm arms held her and a soft voice crooned a lullaby to her. She said, “My grandmoder’s name was Rebecca Wade.”

A transcendent light came into the old man’s eyes. With a catch in his voice he said, “What a beauty she was. I can see her still, wavin’ at the ship as it carried me away. I had every intention of comin’ back for her, but I was too late. She was married to Thaddeus when I returned. I was a foolish young man.” His studied her face and said, “You got her eyes and the tilt of her chin. Strange how features pass from one generation to the next. Stranger still, that we should meet like this. What are the chances?”

Lydia had no idea what the chances were, but she was very aware that Madame Gerard had gone strangely quiet. Had she not known about her fader’s love for Rebecca Wade?

Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, Mr. Elliot said, “Pardon me for starin’. I just canna get over the resemblance.” He bowed in apology as best as he could.

Lydia said, “No one ever told me I resembled her. I dunna know much about her.”

Madame Gerard broke her silence and said, “Fader, take Mademoiselle Wade for a walk. I am sure you have some things to discuss. I will call you when the food it ready.”

“That be a grand idea.” He said to Lydia, “Will you join me Miss Wade?”

Lydia glanced in Isabelle’s direction. She nodded her approval. “Why thank you. I would like that.” She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. As he guided her down the dirt path, they passed the bee hives. There were so many. Lydia could hear the hum of them. So this was where the fine wax was made and the fine honey. When they reached the stream, as Jon Paul had said, it was singing. There was a hewn log by the water. Mister Elliot guided her to it and sat down. Lydia was a bit concerned the wood might muss her new dress, but she did not want to be rude. She shrugged her shawl down, so it would touch the wood and not the skirt of her dress.

Once they were settled he said, “It is good to cross paths with someone from home. I visit Southampton in my dreams some nights.”

“I do as well,” said Lydia.

Kindness filled his eyes. He said, “I detect a bit of homesickness. Been away from home long?”

“Aye, sir, I have.” It had been over a year since she had lived in her own home. It had been five months since that dreadful ferry ride took her from the country of her birth.

For a moment, Mr. Elliot focused on the flowing waters and then he looked at her and said, “Your Grandmoder were a fine strong girl. Smart too. I should never have left like I did. Never. But, I were a fool, no family for me. I longed for a life, and I had it, left me empty it did. When I returned, Rebecca had been wed for nearly two years to Thaddeus. I would like to say I would have been better to her than he was, but I canna. I was a selfish brute in my day.”

Lydia could not help but wonder if her grandmoder might have known some happiness with this man. Lydia’s only memory of Grandfader was of him roaring about his burned supper. Aunt Rachel had boxed his ears and told him to shut his cursed mouth. He had been very old and feeble then. It was not long before he rested beneath the ground and according to Fader, burning in hell.

Mr. Elliot said, “I hear tell that your fader took over his fader’s shop and that is where you learned to make candles. Jon Paul had brought a number of them home and they are fine indeed.”

“Thank you Sir. Where did you live in Southampton?”

“I grew up in Bolton Castle. My fader were a groom and my Moder were a maid. I dunna have the taste for servitude, so as soon as I were able I headed for the sea. And after many a misadventure I ended up here. I hate being land locked something terrible, as I am sure you do too.”

Lydia could only nod. Her throat had grown tight with unshed tears. The warmth of this day’s sun seemed to reach down and remind her of its continuous presence. It was here, on this water and it could make it shine. Lydia and Mr. Elliot slipped into a companionable silence. Time ceased to exist. She felt an abiding peace. Lydia closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun. Her thoughts traveled backward and forward in time.

A step on the path and a snort of a large animal, startled Lydia from her reverie. She opened her eyes. It was Jon Paul and Al. He said, “Mama sent me to tell you dinner is ready.”

Al came to where Mister Elliot sat and nudged his hand with his nose. Mr. Elliot said, “Aye, thank ya, boy, I be needin’ a boost.” He placed his old hands on Al’s back, and hoisted himself up. Once on his feet, he held onto Al’s ruff and said, “Lead the way.” To Jon Paul, he said, “Be takin’ Miss Wade’s arm. The path be a might uneven and we canna have her twistin’ an ankle.

Dutifully, Jon Paul extended his arm to her. The delight she felt at the prospect of being escorted by him, surprised Lydia. Her hand wrapped around the crook of his arm. She could feel the strength of his muscles. He smiled down at her. Those curling lips...what would it be like to be kissed by them? Quickly, she banished the thought.

In the yard, they were met by a man, who Jon Paul introduced to Lydia. “This is my papa, Monsieur Josiah Gerard. Papa this is Mademoiselle Wade.”

The man tipped his hat to her. He was a little taller than Jon Paul and but his eyes held the same amber lights that Jon Paul’s held. “It is good to meet your Mademoiselle.”

“Like wise, Monsieur Gerard,” said Lydia.

Madame Gerard came out of the house and said, “It is too lovely a day to eat inside. Josiah, Jon Paul, set up the tables.” She turned and called out, “Tobias, bring the benches out.”

Quickly, the tables and benches were arranged beneath an ancient oak tree behind the house. The tree’s branches provided a perfect patchwork of spangled light. The breeze was fresh and Lydia was hungry. There was mutton, boiled eggs, fresh bread, honey, potatoes baked in their jackets, fennel salad, mead and goat’s milk. It had been a long while since Lydia had enjoyed such a meal. Neither she, nor Isabelle were skilled cooks. As she ate, she snuck glances at Jon Paul. He was a hearty eater, but he was not sloppy. Beside him, Peronelle sat. Jon Paul was good with children, or at least an attentive uncle. As soon as Peronelle finished her meal, she begged, “Please, I want to be with Edmond.”

Her mama asked, “Who is Edmond?”

“My kitten, I named him.”

Marguerite said, “He is not your kitten, remember.”

Peronelle did not respond to this comment. With clearly strained patience, she waited for permission to be excused. Marguerite gave her daughter a weary smile. To Jon Paul, she said, “Could you take her?”

“Of course.” Mister Elliot followed them inside. Tobias and his papa went to the barn. Left to themselves the ladies began to talk about more feminine things like remedies and recipes. After a bit Marguerite asked, “Isabelle do you have any interest in the intentions of a certain Brewer?”

Blankly, Isabelle asked, “Who ever do you mean?”

Marguerite gave Lydia a knowing smile. The smile spoke much and Lydia divined information from it that she prayed was false. Was Marguerite about to play matchmaker? In Lydia’s mind Brewer Arlette was elevated from a nuisance to a threat. She had not cared for him before, but now she loathed him. And what of Isabelle? Currently she was immersed in her grief. What would happen when she emerged? Would she be swayed to abandon her Henri’s life dream?

Marguerite said, “I have heard tell that a certain brewer has become quite devout of late and is seen frequenting your shop to purchase prayer candles. I wonder what he is praying for?”

This teasing did not please Lydia. There was something almost catty about it. Madame Gerard said, “That is enough.”

Marguerite shrugged and said, “I was just curious.”

Isabelle’s face had turned ashen. In a small voice she asked Madame Gerard, “Have there been rumors about me. I have no wish for any man except for the one I had, and he is now beyond my reach.” She paused for a moment and then said, “I think, I am ready to go home now.”

Marguerite protested, “Please do not go. I am sorry. I did not mean to upset you.”

Really? It did not seem so to Lydia.

Perturbed, Madame Gerard said, “Go fetch Jon Paul so he can take these ladies home.”

With the faintest of smirks, Marguerite rose and went into the house. What was that about?

Gently, Madame Gerard put her hand over Isabelle’s and said, “Do no mind her. You know how she is?”

Isabelle nodded. Lydia thought, then she should not be as she is!