“Indeed she is your aunt, and I should know,” Mémère said. “I’ve brought nineteen souls into this world. Your father was the first when I was sixteen. Adrienne, the last.”
“The grande finale,” Adrienne said, performing a charming little curtsey.
An aunt in convent girl clothes? An aunt who was our age? Gabrielle and I seemed to have swallowed our tongues.
“Ah, girls, don’t look so confused,” Mémère said. “Adrienne is just like you. She goes to a convent school in Moulins. Before le quatorze juillet is over, you’ll all be more like sisters.”
Maybe it was the confusion of being in a new place, but for a strange moment Adrienne appeared to me to have an aura, a cloud of golden light emanating around her like a saint on a prayer card. I glanced at Gabrielle. She didn’t usually take to new people right away, but she was smiling. Adrienne looked like a girl we could learn from, and I found myself smiling too.
FOUR
Blessed Adrienne. Her first saintly act was getting us out of that dark, cramped house. “Because, Maman, I’m their aunt,” she said with authority, convincing Mémère that it was appropriate for her to take us to see the town. “Which means I can be their chaperone.”
Before Mémère could disagree, we followed Adrienne out the door. Julia-Berthe stayed behind, helping sort buttons.
In town, as we walked the cobblestone streets, everything came alive. Tricolor flags and bunting swung cheerfully from the buildings and the lampposts. Horses clopped along, pulling carriages. Delivery men with rolled-up shirtsleeves shouted and unloaded sacks of flour or jars of mustard from wagons. Sidewalk cafés were crowded with old men stopping for a cup of coffee, and markets bustled with women inspecting apples and melons. Closer to the center square, workers assembled stages and booths for the next day’s celebration, hammers pounding.
Adrienne led the way with confidence, and I tried to emulate her, half smile on my face, shoulders back. In the reflection of her light, the darkness inside me faded. I could feel it floating off in the breeze.
At the sight of a train car propelling itself along the street, I stopped suddenly. There were no horses at the front. There was no steam engine. Passengers sat calmly inside as if it were nothing. Cords poked out of the roof like antennae on a bug, running straight up to more cords that ran parallel to the street. On top a giant sign said La Bergère Liqueur in fancy lettering.
Adrienne noticed me staring. “Le tram électrique,” she said. “Don’t you have a tram in Aubazine? We do in Moulins.”
Gabrielle scoffed. “In Aubazine all we have are goats. And cows. Many, many cows. And pig breeders and plowmen the nuns think Ninette should marry. Nothing électrique.”
“Aubazine is so dull. What else do you have in Moulins?” I asked Adrienne.
Her eyes lit up. “The cavalry. There’s a barracks with soldiers. Handsome ones. They wear tall leather boots and jackets with brass buttons. And bright scarlet breeches. You should see them. They strut about like roosters in the henhouse. We admire them, but only from afar.”
I sighed. “I wish we had something to admire.”
“But you do,” Adrienne said with a mischievous smile. “I’ll show you.”
We followed her until we reached the end of the road. There Adrienne turned and waved us through a tall brick archway that opened up into a park.
“Voilà,” she said.
We paused inside the entrance to take in the sight. Curved gravel paths cut through lawns of emerald green. A pond glimmered, and two white swans glided idly near the shore. Trees rustled in the gentle wind. The busyness of the town dissolved, and men and women in fancy dress strolled along the paths. People who, unlike those outside the park, appeared to have nothing to do at all, as if they, like the swans, strove for nothing more than to be picturesque.
“They’re all so...so...” I wasn’t sure of the right word. Grand? Decorative? Exotic?
“Rich,” Adrienne said in a reverent tone. “They are all so rich.” She took a step forward, but Gabrielle and I hesitated. “Come on,” she said with a laugh, “they don’t bite. In fact, they won’t notice us at all.”
She took us to a shaded bench near the pond, where we watched these people who were even more fascinating than le tram électrique. The gentlemen wore elaborate suits despite the heat, with fine coats and striped trousers and straw boaters to top them off. They carried canes in one hand though they had no limp, and they strode with noble assurance alongside delicate-looking women swathed in layers of intricate white lace. Lace ruffles. Lace collars. Lace-trimmed skirts. Lace parasols. They wore wide-brimmed hats as large as the nuns’ headpieces, adorned with oversized flowers, enormous plumes and, in some cases, colorful stuffed birds. Despite the weight, they somehow managed to walk with a graceful sway, a careful sashaying from side to side.
“Who are they?” I asked.
“The élégantes,” Adrienne said with a flourish. “And their dashing gentilhommes.”
I couldn’t stop gawking, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t ever glance our way. Adrienne was right. In our convent clothes, we were as noticeable to them as blades of grass.
Only Gabrielle wasn’t watching them with wonder and admiration as Adrienne and I were. She had a look on her face that made my stomach drop.
“Giant cream puffs,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head. “Life-sized dust balls.”
“What?” Adrienne twisted around. “Where?”
Gabrielle nodded toward the ladies on the path. “Volcanic eruptions of lace. The Puy de Dôme has nothing on them,” she said, referring to the largest of the old volcanoes that encircled Aubazine.
“Gabrielle!” Adrienne said. She put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. I froze, worried Gabrielle had offended her, and she wouldn’t want any more to do with us. But beneath her hand, Adrienne was trying to contain laughter. She said in a put-on serious voice, “Archaeologists will find them someday preserved for posterity like the bodies in Pompeii. Buried not under ash but lace.”
Now we all laughed together. It felt good, poking fun at those who wouldn’t acknowledge our existence.
“They must get headaches, balancing all that on the tops of their heads,” Gabrielle said.
“How nice it must be to have nothing to do but dress up like bonbons and stroll through the park with no cares at all,” I said.
“But, Ninette,” Adrienne said, her expression turning solemn. “These are more than just strolls through the park. Don’t you see? Look at them, how they move and how they eye each other. See how the men push out their chests and the ladies bat their lashes at the men but glare at each other? This is business, the business of love and courtship.” She sighed and put a hand to her heart. “Isn’t it marvelous?”