Jon Paul came out fo the house with a worried expression. Quickly he walked to where the ladies were seated. He said, “Marguerite tells me you are ready to go home.”

Without a word, Isabelle nodded.

“I will fetch the wagon.”

Lydia watched him head to the barn. By his gait, it was obvious he was angry. Within minutes, he had the mule and wagon out of the barn.

Madame Gerard rose and hugged Isabelle. “Do come again,” she said.

With effort, Isabelle managed to reply, “Of course.”

As Jon Paul lifted Isabelle onto the wagon seat, a look passed between them. He said something to her that Lydia could not hear. Isabelle responded with a quick nod of her head. Her eyes traveled to the house. Standing in the door frame was Marguerite. There was a look on her face of thinly veiled triumph. Her comment about the Brewer had been premeditated and had received the response she wanted. Why? Why would she purposely torment Isabelle?

Very preoccupied, Jon Paul swung Lydia up onto the plank in the back of the wagon. He cast an eye in his sister-in-laws direction. There was fire in his eyes. Angry fire. Obvious dislike shown own his face. He climbed onto the wagon seat beside Isabelle. He called out, “On with you now Jeremiah.” The mule obeyed. Jon Paul was in complete control. The face of Moses Aaron arose in Lydia's memory. The beast driving this wagon wais nothing like the magnificent Moses Aaron. Was her favorite mule in his to his own stall this day? She prayed so.

On the way to town, Jon Paul kept up a leisurely conversation with Lydia about local flora and fauna. Lydia knew this conversation was not really directed at her, it was meant to distract Isabelle, but it was not working. With a slight turn of his head, Jon Paul gave Lydia backward glance. The fire in his eyes was now banked. They held a look of genuine concern.

In the streets of Dijon drunken villeins staggered. Music and dancing was to be seen. Booths were set up selling various foods and plenty of free beer and wine flowed. Suddenly very tense, Isabelle looked at her feet. Was she avoiding eye contact with a certain brewer. All Lydia could do was pray he did not see them as they passed. Her prayer was not answered. Lydia heard him, before she saw him. He called out a greeting, “Well, hello friends. I have wondered where you were."

I bet you did, thought Lydia. There on the street side he stood by the shop Brewer Arlette. He did not seem to be inebriated. His face was lit up with unveiled adoration.

The instant, Jon Paul stopped, the brewer whisked to the Isabelle’s side of the wagon and offered her his hand.

Ever so slowly, Isabelle turned her head and looked down him. Faintly, she smiled at him. He held out his arms to her and she went into them. He swung her down. A bit dizzy, she grabbed his arm and he steadied her. None of this boded well as far as Lydia was concerned.

She couldn’t help but notice his eager expression, though it was not vulgar. Dazed, Isabelle held onto his arm. He guided her to the front door of the shop an opened it.

Jon Paul turned to Lydia, he gave her a hand and helped her down. Under his breath he said, “Arlette is not a bad man. He has a genuine affection for Isabelle. People, like the witch my brother is tethered to, would have Isabelle drive him off.”

Surprised and dismayed, Lydia asked, “So you approve of a match?”

An amused smile played on his lips, but did not burst forth. “Not every woman is as self sufficient as you, Mademoiselle Wade. A good man can be a gift from God.”

Aware that he still had her hand, Lydia said, “Perhaps. I best get inside.”

He released her hand and said, “Send Arlette on his way. I know Isabelle and she will be wanting the comfort of her bed.”

How would he know this?

With a tip of his hat, Jon Paul gave a slight bow and said, “Until next time.” He climbed back into the wagon and drove away.

Inside the shop, Lydia found a very pale Isabelle displaying candles for the brewer. Did the man not notice how pale and reserved she was? Lydia said, “Ah Isabelle, I will take care of Brewer Arlette. You go on now.”

Isabelle nodded. To Brewer Arlette, she said, “I have a bit of a head ache. Mademoiselle Wade will tend to you.”

Anxiously, Brewer Arlette asked, “You are not feeling well? I am such an oaf, I should notice such things. My Sylvia used to say, I had eyes but could not see. I am so sorry for keeping you.” He bowed to her and she took her leave.

Lydia slipped behind the counter and asked, “What would you be looking for today?”

“Common tallow candles for the kitchen. When did this trouble with Isabelle start?”

“At the Gerard’s.”

He said, “Ah,” but that was all.

Lydia wrapped up the candles and gave them to him. Absently, he paid her. His eyes strayed to the door that Isabelle had passed through. Lydia wondered what had become of his Sylvia. Did he have children?

As he took the candles he said, “Thank you Mademoiselle. If Madame Beauxchampe had need of anything, do not hesitate to contact me.”

Lydia said, “That is very generous.”

With a wistful voice he said, “Nothing is too generous for Isabelle.” Unaware that he had just spoken her first name and revealed the depth of his care, Brewer Arlette left the shop.

Lydia sat down on the stool with a sigh. It was hard to detest a man when he so obviously cared. And, Jon Paul was not wrong. Isabelle was not cut out to traverse life alone.

*

The following day, Jon Paul stopped by to check on Isabelle. She was not in the shop, but in the work kitchen tying knots. Jon Paul asked, “How is Isabelle this morning?”

“Better,” said Lydia.

“A certain brewer did not over stay his welcome did he?”

“No. He was quite kind.” Though she tried to hide it, Lydia knew her expression had just revealed her worry.

Jon Paul asked, “And how are you this morning?”

“I am fit enough.”

“Indeed you are.” His smile was one of appraisal. He said, “Papa and I will be going to the Hot Fair in Troyes. I was wondering if you would like to send some of your wares with us to sell?”

The word Troyes reverberated inside of Lydia. Memory conjured that horrible nun who had accused her of committing vile acts with men. If not for Madame Coeur’s letter, Lydia may have ended up shamed or even dead. Troyes, was not a place she ever wanted to go. Besides all that, Fader attended the Hot Fair. He would most likely be there. If he saw her work, would he recognize it?

Jon Paul asked, “Mademoiselle Wade are you all right?”

Suddenly aware of him, she said, “I am fine.” It was not the truth, but she could not speak the truth. What would he think of her if he knew she had traveled in the company of three men, slept with three men, traveled as a male herself. Would he be smiling at her the way he was now if he knew the sins of deception she had committed? Probably not. She said, “Let me go fetch Isabelle.”

“All right.”

In the kitchen, Isabelle was frowning over her knots. The wicks were tangled and she was crying. Lydia wrapped her arm around her shoulder and said, “There, there. I will set them right.”

“I cannot seem to focus this morning,” Isabelle said. She wiped her nose. “Did I hear a customer?”

“No, it is Jon Paul. He has come to ask you about the Hot Fair.”

“Oh, goodness. I had forgotten all about that. When Henri passed I had to sell all the candles he had made for the Hot Fair. The night you arrived I was down to my last candles.” She rose from the table, patted her cheek fondly. “You were and remain a Godsend.”

“Thank you.” Lydia followed her into the shop. Isabelle said, “Thank you for the offer, Jon Paul, but we are just keeping up with our orders and I do not have any extra.”

“I bet if I helped we could get a lot together. Just enough for you to have a financial cushion, so to speak.”

Lydia did not know Jon Paul knew how to make candles. Isabelle said, “You are too generous. Where would you find the time?”

He smiled and said, “I will make the time.”

With a glance at Lydia, Isabelle said, “I bet you will. All right then, but I must warn you Mademoiselle Wade is a force when it comes to candle making. You will be amazed.”

“I bet I will. I will come back this evening and we can get to it. Deal?”

Isabelle smiled a genuine smile, “Deal. Bring supper unless you want the charcoal I serve up.”

He threw his head back and laughed. His laughter tore through Lydia like a sheet of light. He seemed to possess such joy. She had no idea what that was like. With a grin he said, “I will bring supper. See you two then.”

Lydia watched him leave. Her heart beat a bit faster. In a few hours he would return. How skilled an artisan was he? She would find out soon enough. Soon, she would work beside him. Impatience for him to return hammered inside of her.