The Virgin Blue

7 – THE DRESS

She was never alone. Someone always remained with her, Etienne or Hannah or Petit Jean. Usually it was Hannah, which Isabelle preferred: Hannah could not or would not speak to her, and was too old and small to hurt her. Etienne's arms were now loose with rage, and Petit Jean she no longer trusted, with his knife and the smile in his eyes.

How has this happened? she thought, linking her hands behind her neck and pressing her elbows to her chest. That I can't even trust my own little son? She stood in the devanthuis and looked out across the dull white fields to the dark mountains and the grey sky.

Hannah hovered in the door behind her. Etienne always knew what Isabelle had been doing, yet she had not been able to catch Hannah speaking to him.

– Mémé, close the door! Petit Jean called from within.

Isabelle looked over her shoulder into the dim, smoky room and shivered. They had covered the windows and were keeping the door shut; the smoke had built up into a thick, choking cloud. Her eyes and throat stung and she had begun to walk around the room ponderously, slowed down as if she were moving through water. Only in the devant-huis could she breathe normally, despite the cold.

Hannah touched Isabelle's arm, jerked her head towards the fire and stood aside to usher her back in.

There was spinning all day during the winter, endless piles of hemp waiting in the barn. As she worked, Isabelle thought of the softness of the blue cloth, pretending she was holding it rather than the coarse fibre that raked at her skin and left a web of tiny cuts on her fingers. She could never spin the hemp as fine as she had wool in the Cévennes.

She knew Jacob must have hidden the cloth somewhere, in the woods or the barn, but she never asked. She never had a chance to; yet even if they had been left alone for a moment she would have let him keep the secret. Otherwise Etienne might have beaten it out of her.

She found it hard to think in the smoke, faced with the endless hemp, the dark, the muffled silence of the room. Etienne often stared at her and did not look away when she stared back. His eyes were harder without eyelashes and she could not meet his gaze without feeling threatened and guilty.

She began to speak less, silent now by the fire at night, no longer telling the children stories or singing or laughing. She felt she was shrinking, that if she kept quiet she might become less visible, and be able to escape the suspicion entrapping her, the nameless threat hanging in the air.

First she dreamed of the shepherd in a field of broom. He was pulling off the yellow flowers and squeezing them between his fingers. Put these in hot water and drink it, he said. Then you will be well. His scar was gone, and when she asked him where it was, he said it had moved to another part of his body.

Next she dreamed that her father was poking through the ashes of a broken chimney, the ruins of a house smoking around him. She called out to him; intent on his search, he did not look up.

Then a woman appeared. Isabelle was never able to look directly at her. She stood in doorways, next to trees and once by a river that looked like the Tarn. Her presence was a comfort, though she never said anything or came near enough for Isabelle to see her clearly.

After Christmas these dreams stopped.

Christmas morning the family dressed in the customary black, their own clothes this time that they had made from their hemp crop. The cloth was hard and coarse but it would last a long time. The children complained that it scratched and itched. Isabelle silently agreed but said nothing.

Outside the Eglise Saint Pierre they saw Gaspard among the crowd gathered in front of the church and went over to greet him.

– Ecoute, Etienne, Gaspard said, I saw a man at the inn who can get you granite for your chimney. Back in France, a day's ride, there is a granite quarry, near Montbéliard. He can bring you a big slab for the hearth in the spring. You tell me the size and I will give a message to the next person going that way.

Etienne nodded.

– You told him I would pay in hemp?

– Bien sûr.

Etienne turned to the women.

– We will build a chimney in the spring, he said softly so that their Swiss neighbours would not hear and take offence.

– God be thanked, Isabelle replied automatically.

He glanced at her, tightened his lips, and turned away as Pascale joined them. She nodded at Hannah, smiled uncertainly at Isabelle. They had seen each other at church several times but had never been able to talk.

The minister, Abraham Rougemont, approached. As he was greeting Hannah, Isabelle took the opportunity to speak softly to Pascale.

– I'm sorry I have not come to see you. It is – difficult now.

– Do they know about – about -

– No. Don't worry.

– Isabelle, I have the -

She stopped, flustered, for Hannah had appeared at Isabelle's side, her mouth set, eyes fixed on Pascale's face.

Pascale struggled for a moment, then said simply: – May God watch over you this winter.

Isabelle smiled wanly.

– And you as well.

– You will come to our house between the services?

– Bien sûr.

– Good. Now, Jacob, what do you have for me this time, chéri?

He pulled from his pocket a dull green stone shaped like a pyramid and handed it to her.

Isabelle turned to go in. When she glanced back she saw Jacob whispering to Pascale.

After the morning service Etienne turned to her.

– You and Maman will go home now, he muttered.

– But the service at Chalières -

– You're not going to it, La Rousse.

Isabelle opened her mouth but stopped when she saw the set of his shoulders and the look in his eyes. Now I won't see Pascale, she thought. Now I won't see the Virgin in the chapel. She closed her eyes and pressed her arms against the sides of her head, as if expecting a blow.

Etienne grabbed her elbow and pulled her roughly from the crowd.

– Go, he said, pushing her in the direction of home. Hannah stepped to her side.

Isabelle held out her hand stiffly.

– Marie, she called. Her daughter jumped to her side.

– Maman, she said, taking the outstretched hand.

– No. Marie will go to church with us. Come here, Marie.

Marie looked up at her mother, then over to her father. She let go of Isabelle's hand and went to stand halfway between them.

– Here. Etienne pointed to a spot next to him.

Marie looked at him with wide blue eyes.

– Papa, she said in a loud voice, if you hit me the way you do Maman, I'll bleed!

Etienne's anger made him taller. He took a step towards her but stopped when Hannah put a warning hand out and shook her head. He glanced at the crowd: it had gone quiet. Glaring at Marie, he turned and strode away in the direction of Gaspard's house.

Hannah turned down the path that led towards their farm. Isabelle didn't move.

– Marie, she said, come with us.

Marie remained standing in the same spot until Jacob came up to her and took her hand.

– Let's go to the river, he said. Marie let him lead her away. Neither looked back.

Jacob played with Marie while the cold trapped them indoors, inventing new games with his pebbles. He taught her to count, and to sort them in various ways: by colour, size, origin. They began outlining objects with the pebbles. They laid a scythe on the floor and placed pebbles all the way round it, then picked up the tool and left behind its outline in stone. They did this with rakes, spades, pots, the bench, smocks, breeches, their hands.

– Let me outline you, he suggested one evening.

Marie clapped her hands and laughed. She lay on her back on the floor and he carefully pulled at her dress so that the pebbles would outline its full shape. He chose the pebbles carefully: Cevenol granite around her head and neck, white around the dress, dark green for her legs, feet and hands. He was meticulous, following the lines of the dress, even marking the cut of the waist, the tapering of the arms. When he was done he helped Marie up without disturbing the pebbles. They all admired the outline of the girl, arms and legs spread on the dirt floor. Isabelle glanced up and noticed that both Jacob and Etienne were looking at it intently. Etienne's lips were moving slightly.

He's counting, she thought. Why is he counting? A wave of fear swept over her.

– Stop it! she shouted, rushing into the outline and kicking at the stones.

The dark months after Christmas were the hardest. It was so cold that they opened the door only once a day, to get wood and hemp. Often the sky was grey, full of snow, and it was almost as dark outside as in the house. Isabelle would look out, hoping to escape for a moment, but found no comfort in the heavy sky, the smooth surface of the snow broken here and there in the distance by the black tops of firs or scabs of rock. When the cold touched her it felt like a metal bar pressed into her skin.

She began to taste metal as well, in the hard rye bread Hannah baked once a week in the communal oven, in the mushy vegetable stew they ate day after day. She had to force herself to eat, try to ignore the taste of blood, hide her gagging. Often she let Marie finish her food for her.

Then her arms and legs began to itch, in the creases on the inside of the elbow and behind the knee. At first she scratched at her skin through the layers of cloth: it was too cold to undress and pick off the lice. But one day she discovered blood seeping through the cloth, pulled up her sleeves and studied the sores: dry, silvery skin flaking away, rough patches of red, no trace of lice. She hid the rusty stains, fearful of what Etienne would accuse her of if he saw the blood.

She lay in bed at night, staring up at the dark and scratching with as little movement as possible so that Etienne would not notice. She listened to his even breathing, fearful of his waking, preferring to stay awake so that she would be ready – she did not know what for, but she waited in the dark for something, scarcely breathing.

She thought she was being careful, but one night he grabbed her hand and discovered the blood. He beat her and afterwards took her violently from behind. It was a relief not to have to look at his face.

One evening Gaspard came to sit at their fire.

– The granite is ordered, he told Etienne, pulling his pipe from his pocket and taking up his flint. The price is agreed and he has the measurements you gave me. He will bring it before Easter. Now, do you want more? For the chimney itself?

Etienne shook his head.

– I cannot pay for it. And anyway, the limestone here will be good enough for the chimney itself. It is the hearth that gets the hottest and needs the hardest stone.

Gaspard chuckled.

– They think you are crazy, down at the inn. Why does he want a chimney? they ask. He lives in a fine house as it is!

There was a silence; Isabelle knew what they were all thinking: they were remembering the Tournier chimney.

Marie hung at Gaspard's elbow, waiting for him to tickle her. He reached out, chucked her under the chin, pulled her ears.

– Eh, you want a chimney, mon petit souris, is that what you want? You don't like this smoke?

– It's Maman who hates it the most, Marie replied, giggling.

– Ah, Isabelle. Gaspard turned to her. You don't look well. Are you eating enough?

Hannah frowned. Etienne spoke for her.

– There is plenty to eat in this house for those who want it, he said gruffly.

– Bien sûr. Gaspard swept his hands in front of him as if smoothing ruffled cloth. You have had a good hemp crop, you have goats, all is well. Except you lack a chimney for Madame. He nodded at Isabelle. And Madame gets what she wants.

Isabelle blinked and peered at him through the smoke. Again there was silence until Gaspard laughed uncertainly.

– I joke! he cried. I'm teasing you, that's all.

After he left Etienne paced around the room, looking at the fire from every angle.

– The hearth will go here, against this wall, he explained to Petit Jean, patting the wall furthest from the door. We can build through the roof there. You see? There will be four pillars here – he pointed – holding up a stone roof that will lead the smoke up and out the hole we cut at the top.

How big will the hearth be, Papa? Petit Jean asked. As big as the one at the old farm?

Etienne glanced around before his eyes rested on Marie.

– Yes, he said, it will be a big hearth. You think so, Marie?

He rarely spoke her name. Isabelle knew he hated it. She had threatened to put a curse on their crops if he didn't let her name the baby Marie. In all the years she had been with the Tourniers it had been the only time she dared use their fear of her. Now that fear was gone; instead there was anger.

Marie frowned at Etienne. When he continued to look at her with his cold wide eyes she burst into tears. Isabelle put her arm round her daughter.

– It's nothing, chérie, don't cry, she whispered, stroking her hair. You'll make it worse. Don't cry.

Over Marie's head she saw Hannah perched in the far corner of the room. For a moment she thought something was wrong with her. Her face looked different, the web of wrinkles more pronounced. Then she realized it was because the old woman was smiling.

Isabelle began to keep Marie close to her, teaching her to spin, having her roll up balls of thread, knitting little dresses for her doll. Isabelle touched her often, gripping her arm, stroking her hair, as if to reassure herself that the girl was still there. She kept Marie's face clean, scrubbing it with a cloth every day so that it shone through the gloom of the smoke.

– I need to be able to see you, ma petite, she explained, though Marie never asked for an explanation.

Isabelle kept Hannah away from the girl as much as she could, placing herself physically between them.

She did not always succeed. One day Marie came to Isabelle with shiny lips.

– Mémé spread pig fat on my bread! she cried.

Isabelle frowned.

– Maybe she will give you some tomorrow, her daughter continued, to fatten you too. You are becoming so thin, Maman. And so tired.

– Why does Mémé want you to be fat?

– Perhaps I'm special.

– No one is special in the eyes of God, Isabelle said sternly.

– But the pig fat was good, Maman. So good that I want more.

One morning she woke up to the sound of water and knew it was finally over.

Etienne opened the door to let in sunlight and a warmth that lifted her body. Everywhere the snow was melting and forming rivulets that ran down to the stream. The children burst outside as if they had been tied up, running and laughing, dragging clods of mud around on their shoes.

Isabelle knelt in the kitchen garden and let the mud soak her knees. She was alone for the first time in months, all of them so busy with spring's arrival that they left her unguarded. She bowed her head and began to pray out loud.

– Holy Mother, I cannot live through another winter here, she murmured. One winter like this is all I can survive. Please, dear Virgin, do not let this happen again. She pressed her arms across her stomach. Keep me and this baby safe. You are the only one who knows.

Isabelle had not been to Moutier since Christmas. All winter Hannah had taken the bread to be baked. When the weather was fair Etienne had taken the children to church, but Isabelle was always left behind with Hannah. When they heard the pedlar's whistle for his spring visit, Isabelle expected to be told she could not go, to be beaten even for asking. She remained in the garden, planting herbs.

Marie came to find her.

– Maman, she said. Are you coming?

– No, ma petite. You see I am busy here.

– But Papa sent me to find you, to say you can come.

– Your father wants me to come to town?

– Yes. Marie lowered her voice. Please come, Maman. Don't say anything. Just come.

Isabelle looked at her face, blue eyes bright and level, blond hair light on top and dark underneath as her father's had once been. The red hairs had begun to appear again, one per day that Hannah herself now pulled out.

– You are too young to be so wise.

Marie twirled round, plucked at the new lavender bush and ran away laughing.

– We are going to town, all of us! she shouted.

Isabelle tried to smile when they reached the crowd gathered at the pedlar's cart. She could feel people staring at her. She had no idea what the town thought of her, whether or not Etienne had encouraged or stifled the rumours about her, or if people talked of her at all.

Monsieur Rougemont approached.

– It is a pleasure to see you again, Isabelle, he said stiffly, taking her hand. We will see you on Sunday as well, I hope?

– Yes, she replied. He would not treat a witch like this, she thought uncertainly.

Pascale came up to her, face tight with concern.

– Isabelle, have you been ill?

Isabelle glanced at Hannah, standing next to her, uncomfortable.

– Yes, she said. Ill with the winter. But better now, I think. 194

– Bella! she heard behind her and turned to see the pedlar hanging over her on his cart. He reached over, took her hand and kissed it. Ah, a joy to see you, Madame! A joy. He held on to her hand and, scrambling among his things, led her round the cart, away from Etienne and Hannah and the children, who watched them but did not follow. It was as if the pedlar had placed a spell on them that froze them in place.

He let go of her hand, squatted on the edge of his cart and looked at her closely.

– But you are so sad, Bella, he said softly. What has happened to you? How can you be so sad with such beautiful blue cloth to look at?

Isabelle shook her head, unable to explain. She closed her eyes to hide her tears.

– Listen, Bella, he said, still quietly. Listen. I must ask you something.

She opened her eyes.

– You trust me, yes?

She looked deep into his dark eyes.

– Yes, I trust you, she whispered.

– You must tell me what colour is your hair.

Isabelle's hand moved automatically to her headcloth.

– Why?

– I have a message maybe for you but I know only for sure when you tell me the colour.

Isabelle shook her head slowly.

– The last news you gave me was that my sister-in-law is dead. Why would I want to hear more from you?

The pedlar leaned closer.

– Because you are sad now and this message may make you happy, no more sad. I promise you, Bella. No bad news. Besides – he paused, looking at her face. It has been bad, this winter for you, yes? You hear no worse than what you have lived.

Isabelle looked down at the mud outlining her shoes. She took a deep breath.

– Red, she said. It's red.

He smiled.

– But that is beautiful, no? The colour of the Virgin's hair, may we bless her. Why to be ashamed? And it is the good answer too! Now you can have the message. It is from a shepherd I meet in Alès in the winter. He describes you and asks me to watch for you. He has black hair and a scar on his cheek. You know?

Isabelle froze. Out of the smoke, the exhaustion, the fear clogging her thoughts, came a glimmer.

– Paul, she whispered.

– Si, si, that is his name! He says to tell you – the pedlar closed his eyes and thought – he still looks for you in summer near the source of the Tarn. He looks for you always.

Isabelle began to weep. Luckily it was Marie rather than Etienne or Hannah who came to her side and took her hand.

– What's wrong, Maman? What did that bad man say to you? She scowled at the pedlar.

– He is not a bad man, Isabelle said through her tears. The pedlar laughed and tousled Marie's hair.

– You, bambina, are like a little boat, a gondola. You rock up and down and hold to the water and you are brave but very small.

He continued to run his fingers through her hair until he found a red strand that Hannah had missed.

– You see, he said to Isabelle, not shameful. Is beautiful.

– Tell him I am there always in my mind, Isabelle said.

Marie looked between them.

– Tell who?

– It is nothing, Marie. We were just talking. Thank you, she said to the pedlar.

– Be happy, Bella.

– I will try.

The day before Good Friday the hearth arrived.

Etienne and the boys were ploughing while Isabelle and Hannah cleaned the house, ridding it of the winter smoke and darkness. They scrubbed the floors and walls, scalded the pots, washed the clothes, changed the straw in the bedding, mucked out the barn. They did not whitewash the walls yet. All the houses in the valley whitewashed their rooms once a year in the spring, but the Tourniers were waiting until after the chimney was built.

Isabelle was stirring a vat full of steaming clothes when she saw the cart approaching, the horse straining against the load.

– Marie, go tell Papa the granite has arrived, she said. Marie dropped the stick she had been pushing among the sodden cloth and ran towards the fields.

By the time Etienne and the boys arrived the man was sitting over a bowl of stew at the newly scrubbed table. He ate quickly, mouth close to the bowl. When he finished he raised his head.

– We will need two more men to lift it.

Etienne nodded at Petit Jean.

– Go and find Gaspard, he said.

While they waited Etienne explained how he would build the chimney.

– First I will dig a bed for it to lie in so it will be even with the floor, he said.

Hannah, who had been standing behind Etienne, took the man's bowl and refilled it, then set it in front of him with a bang.

– Why don't you dig it now? he asked. Then we can set the stone right away.

– It would take too long, Etienne replied uneasily. The ground is still frozen, you see. I don't want to make you wait.

The man kicked at the floor.

– It doesn't feel frozen to me.

– It's still very hard. I have been in the fields and not had the time to dig. Besides, I thought you were coming later. After Easter.

That's not true, Isabelle thought, staring hard at Etienne, who kept his eyes on the floor where the man had kicked a small hole with his toe. Gaspard had told them to expect it before Easter. It was rare to hear him lie so blatantly.

The granite man finished the second bowl. – Your women have no problem cooking on this fire here, he said, jerking his head at the flames in the corner. Why change it?

Etienne shrugged.

– We are accustomed to having a chimney.

– But you are in a new country now. With new customs. They should become yours too.

– Some old ways stay with us always, wherever we go, Isabelle said. They are a part of us. Nothing can replace them completely.

They all stared at her, an ugly look crossing Etienne's face.

Why did I speak? she thought. I know keeping silent is the best way. Why did I say such a thing? Now he will beat me, just like during the winter. And he may hurt the baby. She touched her belly.

When the men arrived Etienne became too busy to act on his anger. It took four of them, all strong men, to lift the slab from the cart and stagger inside with it, where they leaned it against the wall just inside the door. Jacob ran his hands up and down it. Marie spread herself against it as if it were a bed.

– It's warm, Maman, she said. Like home.

Easter was a time of redemption, when the hardship of the winter was explained. Isabelle got out their black clothes for the church service and changed with an easiness she thought she had lost.

This is called hope, she thought. This is what I had forgotten.

She had wondered if Etienne would forbid her to go to church for saying what she had to the granite man, but he did not mention it. Her boldness in speaking was balanced by his lie.

She helped Marie into her dress. Her daughter was fidgety, jumping around the room, laughing to herself. When it was time to go she took Isabelle's hand, Jacob the other, and the three walked down the narrow path side by side, following Etienne and Hannah, Petit Jean running ahead.

Isabella dared not think about the Virgin at Chalières. It is enough that I go to the first service and see others, that I walk in the sunshine, she thought. I will not expect more.’

At the end of the morning service at Saint Pierre Etienne simply turned toward Gaspard's house without speaking to Isabelle; the rest of the family fell in behind him. Pascale came up and walked beside her, smiling.

– I am glad you are coming to the second service, she whispered. It is good that you are here today.

At the house Isabelle sat next to Pascale by the fire and listened to gossip from the winter that she had known nothing about.

– But surely you know all this! Gaspard cried each time he told a new story. Hannah must have heard about this when she came to bake bread – surely she told you! Oh! He put a hand to his mouth, too late to stop the words, and glanced at Hannah, who was sitting next to Etienne on the other bench, her eyes closed. She opened them and looked at Gaspard, who laughed nervously.

– Eh, Hannah, he said quickly, you know all the gossip, n'est-ce pas? You can hear, even if you can't talk.

Hannah shrugged and closed her eyes again.

She is getting old, Isabelle thought. Old and tired. But she can still speak, I am sure of it.

Petit Jean soon disappeared with a neighbour's sons, but Jacob and Marie hung around restlessly, both with shiny, expectant eyes. At last Pascale said in a high voice: – Come, I'll show you the new kids. Not you, Isabelle. Just these two. She led the two children to the barn.

When they reappeared they were giggling, Marie in particular. She walked around the room, head held high as if she were wearing a crown.

– What were the kids like? Isabelle asked.

– Soft, Jacob replied, and he and Marie burst into laughter.

– Come here, petit souris, Gaspard said, or I'll throw you in the river!

Marie shrieked as he chased her around the room and, catching her, began to tickle her.

– She'll never keep quiet during the service if you do that, Etienne said stiffly.

Gaspard abruptly let Marie go.

Pascale returned to sit next to Isabelle. She had a smile on her face that Isabelle did not understand. She did not ask. She had learned not to ask.

– So you will have a chimney soon, Pascale said.

– Yes. Etienne will set the hearth after planting, with Gaspard's help, of course. The granite is so heavy. Then he will build the chimney.

– No more smoke. Pascale sounded envious and Isabelle smiled.

– No, no more smoke.

Pascale lowered her voice.

– You look better than when I saw you last.

Isabelle glanced around. Etienne and Gaspard were deep in conversation; Hannah appeared to be asleep.

– Yes, I've been outside more, she replied cautiously. I've had fresh air.

– It's not just that. You look happier. As if someone has told you a secret.

Isabelle thought of the shepherd.

– Maybe someone has.

Pascale widened her eyes and Isabelle laughed.

– It's nothing, she said. Just the spring and a chimney.

– So the children have said nothing to you.

Isabelle sat up straight.

– What would they say?

– Nothing. We should eat now. It will be time to go to Chalières soon. Pascale got up before Isabelle could say anything.

After eating they walked in an informal procession to the chapel: Etienne and Gaspard leading with Hannah at Etienne's elbow, then the women with Marie holding Isa-belle's hand, and Petit Jean and his friends following in a rough pack, pushing and shouting. Behind them all Jacob followed alone, hands in his pockets, smiling.

They arrived early; the chapel was only half full and they were able to stand close enough to see the minister without difficulty. Isabelle kept her eyes lowered but positioned herself so that she could see the Virgin when she dared to look up. Marie stayed at her side, hugging herself and giggling.

– Maman, she whispered. Do you like my dress?

Isabelle glanced down at her.

– Your dress is the proper thing to wear, ma fille. Black for the Holy Days.

Marie giggled, then bit her lip when Jacob frowned at her.

– You are playing a game, you two, Isabelle declared.

– Yes, Maman, Jacob replied.

– No games here – this is the house of God.

During the service Isabelle was able to glance several times at the Virgin. She felt Etienne's eyes on her occasionally, but kept her face solemn, her joy hidden.

Monsieur Rougemont spoke for a long time about Christ's sacrifice and the need to live a pure life.

– God has already chosen who among you will follow His son to heaven, he stated baldly. Your behaviour here indicates His decision. If you choose to sin, to persist in old habits when you have been shown the Truth, to worship false idols – Isabelle dropped her eyes to the ground – to carry evil thoughts, you will have no chance of gaining God's forgiveness. But if you lead lives of purity, of hard work and simple worship, you may yet prove to be one of God's chosen and be worthy of His son's sacrifice. Let us pray.

Isabelle's cheeks burned. He is speaking to me, she thought. Without moving her head she glanced nervously at Etienne and Hannah; to her surprise she saw on their faces looks of fear. She looked the other way and, except for the serene faces of the children, saw the same expression all around her.

Perhaps none of us is chosen, she thought. And we know it.

She looked up at the Virgin.

– Help me, she prayed. Help me to be forgiven.

Monsieur Rougemont ended the service by bringing out the cup of wine and thin wafers for Communion.

– The children first, he said. Blessed are the innocent.

– Go. Isabelle gave Marie a push and she, Jacob and Petit Jean joined the other children kneeling before the minister.

While they waited, Isabelle rested her eyes on the Virgin again. Look at me, she pleaded silently. Show me my sins have been forgiven.

The Virgin's eyes were cast down, focused on something below her. Isabelle followed her gaze to Marie. Her daughter was kneeling patiently, waiting her turn, her black dress pushed up around her legs where she knelt. Underneath, though, there was no white undercloth. It was blue. Marie was wearing the cloth.

Isabelle gasped, turning the heads of her neighbours and of Etienne and Hannah. She tried but couldn't take her eyes off the blue.

Others began to see it too. Nudges and whispers spread quickly through the chapel. Jacob, kneeling next to Marie, glanced back, then down at Marie's legs. He made a move as if to tug Marie's black dress back down, then stopped himself.

When Etienne finally saw it his face went white, then red. He pushed his way through the crowd to the front and pulled Marie to her feet. She looked up at him and her smile disappeared. She seemed to crawl inside herself. Etienne dragged her through the congregation to the door, where they disappeared outside.

Jacob had gotten off his knees and stood motionless in front of the kneeling children, his eyes fixed on the church door. As Isabelle turned to follow she caught sight of Pascale: she had begun to weep.

She pushed her way to the door. Outside Etienne had lifted Marie's black skirt high to reveal the blue one underneath.

– Who gave this to you? Who dressed you? he demanded. Marie said nothing. Etienne pushed her to her knees.

– Who gave it to you? Who?

When Marie still didn't tell him he hit her hard on the back of her head. She fell forward onto her face.

– I gave it to her, Isabelle lied.

Etienne turned.

– I should have guessed you would trick us, La Rousse. But not anymore. You won't be able to hurt us. Get up, he said to Marie.

She sat up slowly. Blood had run from her nose to her chin.

– Maman, she whispered.

Etienne stepped between them.

– Don't touch her, he hissed at Isabelle. He yanked Marie up and looked around. Petit Jean, viens, he said as their son appeared at the door.

Petit Jean walked over to him.

– Pascale, he announced to Etienne. It was Pascale, Papa. He took Marie's other arm. They began to march her away between them. She turned her head and looked back at Isabelle.

– Please, Maman, she said. She stumbled; Etienne and Petit Jean grabbed her arms more tightly. 204

Hannah and Jacob had appeared in the doorway. Jacob came now to stand next to Isabelle.

– The pebbles on the ground, she said without looking at him. They were the outline for the dress.

– Yes, he answered quietly. It was meant to protect her. Like the pedlar said. From drowning.

– Why was your father counting those pebbles too? Why would he want to know how big Marie is?

Jacob stared at her with wide eyes.

– I don't know.