Beautiful Beasts

5. Herbes

LEFOU

I had hardly seen him since the day we faced the invaders.

My mother went into a state of shock upon learning about Father, and I'm not sure what I would have done without Agathe's help. She tended to those wounded in the conflict, and spent the rest of her time with maman, who had been wounded by a hard life and suffered from nerves. I couldn't stay by her side this time. I couldn't comfort her. I had to plan the funeral.

Gaston had been invited to lunch and dine with every household in the village. For three days, he left his room in the late morning and was gone until evening, calling on people. Only two individuals called on him at the inn: one, a servant from the Duke's household, who came and went in the span of five minutes early one morning--and the other, the young widow of Baptiste, who requested a private word with the hero and whose cries of grief, or perhaps hysteria, could be heard through Gaston's door one evening.

Not that I stood there long.

She was rather composed when she left for her own village that night, at any rate.

Gaston stood next to me as my father was laid to rest. He shed no tears, but his eyes glistened with moisture as he looked around him. "So many people here," he said hoarsely as he hugged me afterward.

"Everyone knew him. Our family has run the tavern and inn for generations now."

"So many people in attendance," he repeated, clapping me on the back.

"Yes. I'm glad maman got to see how many came. Herbal remedies do work wonders on her."

"Is she stable now? Do you need to attend to her tomorrow?"

"Not all day. I will look in on her, but I am reopening the tavern tomorrow."

"Must you? Why don't you take a day of rest, and let others feed you for one day. Henri's family is receiving me tomorrow. They would love to thank you as well."

"I could wait until evening to open the tavern, I suppose."

"No, take the whole day. From there, I am going to Maurice de Beaumont's home to dine with him and his daughter."

I grimaced. "Belle."

"Yes, I think that's her name. Will you come?"

I chewed my lower lip as I weighed probable irritation against certain pleasure at spending the day with Gaston.

Maurice didn't frequent the tavern, so I didn't know him well. He was eccentric. And his daughter made me uncomfortable. She was at once dreamy-eyed and outspoken, a bizarre combination. She would be off in the clouds one moment, and saying something too forward the next. Worst of all, she sang in the village square. By herself. I had seen her break into song without the slightest embarrassment on many occasions and it made me cringe. We sang in the tavern, of course, but as a group, the way one should. The only other place for it was church and that too, in a group.

The arch of Gaston's black eyebrows as he awaited my answer won out. "I will come," I said, admiring the brow. "I'll open the tavern the day after tomorrow."

"I still need to pay you for room and board."

"Let's not speak of it today, Gaston. It can wait."

As I walked away, I wondered how I could feel excited about the day ahead given the somber task I had just completed. Didn't I love my father?

I did, I did. He was a serious, unsmiling sort of man, and our relationship had been somewhat formal. He sometimes complained of maman spoiling and indulging me, but he had never been cruel. There was simply something about funerals that kept depth of emotion at bay for me. I can't cry, or laugh, or love on command.