Give my love to Jesus
An extract from ‘Greet Suzon for me’
“I’m sure you miss your papa, Sophie.”
“Yes. Mummy’s taking me to him.”
“That’s right.” I looked at Antoinette. “How did you get separated? Can you tell me what happened?”
She hung her head, sniffing and nodding for some moments. Then she looked up, breathing in gasps. “Those dragoons…” She started to sob. “They were so cruel… Took all our food… smashed things…” Her head dropped into her hands and her breath came in gulps. “Two of them… molested me.”
Sophie peered at me, then at her mother. “What does that mean, Mummy?”
Her mother was too upset to reply. I tried. “They hurt your Mummy very badly.”
When her breathing calmed down a bit, Antoinette continued. “I got pregnant… sick every morning… Daniel had reached Geneva… Monsieur Giraud told me… He was taking another group… So we joined them.” Another long pause. “Coming over the pass… So hard… So cold… I lost the baby… and a lot of blood.” She collapsed among the fallen leaves. Sophie hugged her, weeping.
The mule had ventured into the field to find food and I was left with an unconscious woman and a sobbing, four-year-old girl. How could I cope? I did my best to wrap Antoinette in my cape and offered Sophie some bread and water. Then she lay down next to her mother. I caught the beast and tied it to a tree.
Morning
The chuck-chuck-chuck of an agitated blackbird woke me. It was full daylight, the sky a clear blue. Antoinette looked around, clearly baffled and still very weak. Somehow I heaved her onto the mule’s back, but she sagged forward, lying on its neck. Sophie took my hand, and I led the mule. We left the shelter of the wood and made our way across the field, heading for a little village not far away, with the spire of an old church marking its centre.
More important than secrecy was finding help for Antoinette. The first person I saw was a young woman hanging out her washing. She rushed out and asked if we needed help.
“Yes, please,” I replied. “This woman is very weak.”
“Come in, come right in,” she said, leaving the rest of the washing in the basket. She tied the mule to a post, while I helped Antoinette dismount. Sophie clung to her skirts and I supported her. As soon as we entered the simple living room, Antoinette collapsed on a threadbare couch.
“She needs a strong tisane,” the good lady announced, and placed a pot on the hearth. Soon she was supporting Antoinette in a sitting position and helping her sip the fragrant brew.
A boy came in and his mother said, “Oh, André, give this young man and the girl some fresh grape juice.” Then, as an afterthought, “And some of the brioches I made for the festival.” She smiled at her son’s shocked expression. “The priest doesn’t need to know.”
Madame Ducret
Madame Ducret, a Grey Sister, arrived with a bag of potions. She approached Antoinette, who was again lying on the couch, her eyes closed. With one hand on her forehead and the other feeling her pulse, she addressed her in a gentle tone, “Madame, can you hear me?”
Antoinette stirred and opened puzzled eyes. “What do you want?” She obviously had no idea where she was or what was happening.
“I’m here to help you,” Madame Ducret replied. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I need to go to Geneva… to my husband.” She rose on her elbows and looked around. “Where’s Sophie?”
“I’m here, Mummy. Don’t worry.” She came to the bedside and held her mother’s hand, trying to be brave; but she was near to tears.
Antoinette dropped back onto the couch, then whispered, “I feel so weak.” For a while, all was still. Suddenly, she sat up, her face beaming. “Jesus! O Jesus, I’m coming!” then fell back again in a faint.
Madame Ducret paused, then turned to me. “You’re on your way to Geneva?”
“That’s right. We were with a group… We got separated.”
“Huguenots, fleeing the country?” Her tone was more severe.
What should I say? “That’s right.” How would she react? “I only met this woman two days ago. I just know her as Antoinette. She said she was raped… and lost the baby a few days ago. And a lot of blood.”
“André, please ask the priest to come.” Madame Ducret then turned to me. “I must ask you… and Sophie… to leave the room while I examine her.”
The boy hid the brioches and we went outside.
“Come here, my dear.” I put my arm around the little girl’s shoulders. “This is very hard for you, I know. Your Mummy is very sick.”
Questions
“I know.” There were tears in her eyes. “Is she going to heaven?”
“Madame Ducret is seeing what she can do to help her. But, whatever happens, she is safe in Jesus’ care.” Had I said that? Did I believe it?
“Yes, Jesus loves us.”
By then the sun was high. “I need to ask you some questions, Sophie.”
“All right.”
“Do you know your papa’s name?”
“I just call him Papa.”
“What do other people call him, do you know?”
“Some say Daniel. Or Pastor Dumarché. Is that what you mean?”
“Very good. So they call your Mummy Madame Dumarché?”
“Yes, some do. Or, just Antoinette.”
“Where is your home, do you know?”
“Far away. In the mountains.” She looks worried. “But don’t take me back there. I want to go to Daddy.”
The Priest
André arrived, accompanied by a burly, round-faced man with a bald head. His cassock identified him as a priest. He smiled at me. “I understand your mother isn’t well. Is that so?”
“No… Well, yes. Sophie’s mother, sir, but not mine.” He looked puzzled. “We’re just travelling together.”
“I see. And she’s in the house?” He strode to the door and knocked firmly.
A voice called, “Wait, please.”
“Come with me for a little walk while we wait.” Could I trust this strange man – a Catholic priest? What did he want? “I’d like to show you something. It will interest you, I’m sure.”
He took Sophie’s hand and we walked a little way up the hill above the village. From there we could see far into the distance. He pointed to our right. “See that hill there?”
“With the steep cliff? Looks like a mountain to me.”
“It’s called the Salève,” he said. “But if you look carefully to the left of it, you can see a bit of a lake. And a town.”
I screwed up my eyes. “Yes, I see that,” I answered.
“That’s Geneva. Isn’t that where you’re heading?”
“Geneva?” Sophie chipped in. “That’s where Daddy is. Let’s go!”
So, he’s guessed what we’re up to!
He turned to me. “You aren’t the first Huguenots I’ve met trying to escape to Geneva. In fact, I don’t blame you. I know that the King of France – and the Church – have been making your life very difficult in recent years.” I nodded. “But it’s not right. It’s just not right.”
Dragoons
I waited for the children to be out of earshot. “I’ve heard how the dragoons try to force us to change our faith. Horrible stories of torture … and rape. They got Antoinette pregnant.”
“Antoinette?”
“Who’s now in there… dying.” I dropped my eyes as I pondered what I had just admitted.
“That’s terrible.” He shook his head. “Terrible. And in the name of God. What is this world coming to?” He paused. “We all worship the same God… the God who loves us so much that he sent his Son to save us.” He raised his arms in the air. “What does it matter if some like to pray in Latin… in a fancy church with an organ and golden statues of the Saints… and revere Our Lady, the Mother of God… or others prefer to sing Psalms in a simple temple, where everything is measured by the Holy Scriptures? I see no need to fight one another.”
“Nor do I.”
The priest put his arm around my shoulder, and his face brightened. “Take Sophie to her father as fast as you can. We’ll do what we can for her mother.” He paused. “Do you know her full name?… And her husband’s?… In case we need to fill out a certificate.”
I passed on the information I had gleaned from Sophie.
“Officially, I’m not allowed to administer the Holy Sacraments to Huguenots.” His chin dropped; then he looked up again. “But I will light a candle… and pray for her soul.”
I nodded. The priest’s kindness calmed the growing panic in my chest.
“And the least I can do is make sure she’s decently buried.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Say bye-bye
At that moment, the door opened. “You can come in now.” The woman looked around. “Where’s the little one?”
Sophie answered, “Coming!”
Antoinette was still unconscious, and the expression on Madame Ducret’s face suggested there was not much chance of saving her.
I put my arm around Sophie and ushered her to the bedside. “Say bye-bye to your Mummy. These good people will look after her.” I tried to sound cheerful. “And we’ll find your papa.”
She bent over the limp form. As she kissed her forehead, her mother’s eyes opened. In a weak whisper, she said, “You’ve been so good, dear Sophie. I love you very much.”
“I love you, too, Mummy.”
“Be a brave girl now.” She started ruffling through her hair, which was tied up in a bun. I couldn’t make out what she was doing. She pulled out a tiny book, her chignon Bible. “Take this, chérie. And give my love to Papa.”
“I will. Bye-bye, Mummy. Give my love to Jesus when you meet him.”
I started. Had Sophie understood more than we thought?
She dropped to her knees, fell across her mother’s chest and sobbed.
