Written on Silk (6 page)

“Pasteur Bertrand, every window-shutter is nailed fast.”

“I know, I know, my son. What is your relationship with the only Savior?”

“It is well, sir.”

“Bon!”

“I have found a pick and a few pitchforks. I am going to try and break through that window in the back. Be prepared to escape with Mademoiselles Idelette and Avril.”

“Do what you can with His strength!”

“Pasteur Bertrand,” another shouted. “We are trapped!”

“God knows, mon ami.”

“Why does He not help us then?”

“Like Elisha the prophet, I ask you to remember, ‘They that be with us are more than they that be with them.’ Come, now, quit yourselves like men and be strong. Let us comfort the little children.”

Bertrand again commanded everyone’s attention and called loudly to the parents to gather closely in a circle to kneel, hold hands, and pray. Although his heart ached to see the children and women, he kept his voice and manner calm.

“Women and children, over here by me. Come! The old, to your knees in supplication! Younger men and brothers, continue to labor to break open that far window, be quick! The strength of Samson flow through you.”

“It is too late, Monsieur Bertrand! There is smoke.”

“Work! Let our faithful God decide when it is too late.”

“Should we not pray with the old instead?” another cried.

“Pray and work!” Bertrand called. “Even now angels surround this place. If God wished to stop these merely deceived men, He can.”

“Then why does He not?” came another shuddering cry.

“We are appointed as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things — tribulation, sickness, nakedness, famine, or sword — we are more than conquerors through Him that loved us. Nothing can separate us from His love, least of all suffering and death.”

“Yes,” Monsieur Lemoine called. “Weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning. Our morning will come. We will join the martyrs for Jesus under the altar near His throne.”

Bertrand stuffed his French Bible into his frock coat, and using his walking stick, made for the crying children huddled together with the older women who were trying to comfort them. Two young women with babes in their arms knelt beside the group of children and tried to sing to them. One of the babes awoke and began to cry pitifully.

Bertrand came up and gathered them around him, pulling the smallest into his arms like a mother hen. He laid his hand on the baby and prayed. He tried to soothe their fears and ease their confusion, patting the young mothers on the heads. “Be strong,
mes petits
; His grace will be sufficient for even this. He is never so close as when His own are suffering. Let us pray, little ones, let us talk to our Savior Jesus.”

AVRIL
MACQUINET
LOST SIGHT
of her older sister Idelette in the smoke and din. Nor could she find Cousin Bertrand. Drawn by singing, she came upon him.

“Oh, Cousin Bertrand. I am so thankful ma mère is not here, nor is Rachelle.” She huddled close beside him, trying to sustain her courage.

The shouts from soldiers outside sent fear thundering in her heart. Even now the smoke was spreading and she began to cough.

She gripped his arm. “Will it hurt very much?”

“His promised grace will strengthen you, ma petite. The many who have gone before us would bear witness if they could. What hymn do you know? Sing, ma chère, sing, and do not look about you. Remember Peter and the waves? Do not look, keep your eyes closed and sing and pray. Imagine Jesus in your mind. Think of Him in His glorious white robes, comforting arms outstretched, welcoming you to our everlasting home.”

Avril tried to sing, but coughing overcame her and the smoke made her eyes sting and water. She had memorized the new words, recently placed into the 1556 Geneva Psalter, and whispered them:

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow, praise him all creatures here below. Praise him on high you heavenly host, praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Amen.”

AT THE REAR OF THE BARN
, Idelette searched desperately for Avril.
Where
is she, Lord? Oh thanks be to You, Father, that Rachelle and ma mère are
not here! Your providential hand detained them both! Do not let them be
ruined by grief over Avril, Bertrand, and me. Help them to carry on with
new courage in the knowledge that all things work together for good to those
who love You.

She came upon a group of younger men who were breaking through a window shutter with a pick and shovel and saw the Englishman, James Hudson. He should have stayed another night at the inn. He would have escaped this moment. But if she believed that circumstances in the lives of His own are governed by God, then, was he here by providence?

“You are making progress,
Messieurs
. Have courage, Monsieur Hudson!” she called. “Do not tremble because of them. Be strong in His grace.”

The young Englishman looked over at her. “Ho! Do not stray afar, Mademoiselle, we may get out yet!”

Would they? Idelette prayed as she moved on.
Give us peace in the
midst of suffering.

Flames were spreading from the front of the barn. The smoke troubled her breathing. She clasped a handkerchief over her mouth and knelt, crawling forward on her hands and knees. Even if some did escape through the window, how could she leave without Avril? What good to escape and remember all the rest of her years that she had left behind her baby sister?

Keeping close to the floor helped, but her eyes teared and she could not see. The smoke silenced her, though her words continued to the Lord of Hosts.
I am going to die . . . This is my time.

The heat was terrible now. The old were gasping, sinking to the floor, coughing — she tried to encourage them and was surprised when they tried to encourage her to remain strong and trust.

The aged Monsieur Fontaine and his wife, married for fifty years, held hands like young sweethearts as they knelt low, praying together, their silver heads reminding Idelette of halos. The last she saw of them before the smoke thickened was a strangely sweet smile on Madame Fontaine’s wrinkled face.

The shutters on one window burst open. “This way, through the window, quick!” sounded a voice of new hope.

“Children to the window!” Hudson shouted.

Idelette followed his voice, believing that if Avril was to be saved, she would find her way to the window and Hudson’s voice.

Idelette crept along the floor to where the children were being hoisted through the window; a breath of fresh air came against her like the touch of an angel’s wing. With renewed strength she called, “Avril? Avril!”

There was no answering call from her sister, but she recognized Cousin Bertrand’s voice: “This way! To the window! Form a line, send the children first!”

There was singing now. “The prince of darkness grim — we tremble not for him — ”

The men below the window, James Hudson one of them, were hauling children and women through the opening as fast as they could lift them. “Run!” they were charged as soon as they got their footing. “Run toward the road and the mulberry orchard!”

“We will attempt to open the barn door,” one of the young Huguenot men called from outside the window.

“Guise’s soldiers will cut you down. Run for help!” James Hudson called back.

“Idelette!”

It was Avril’s voice. Idelette turned toward the voice.
Merci, Father.

Avril stumbled forward, and Idelette grasped her small, trembling sister into her arms. Clinging together, they moved in faltering steps toward the window.

James Hudson saw them. “Both of you! Come quickly, that’s it, up and out!”

He lifted Avril and thrust her through the window, then grabbed Idelette before she could protest to let others go before her. “Out with you, lass! And run for your life!”

“Bertrand — and you, Monsieur — ” Idelette cried.

“I’ll look for him.”

Idelette sank to the ground, sucking in clean air, gasping and coughing to clear her lungs, as well as her sluggish mind. She caught hold of Avril’s arm and pointed toward the road and the mulberry trees lining the Macquinet estate. “Run to the trees and hide. I — I will catch up.”

“But Cousin Bertrand and Monsieur Hudson?”

“They rest in the hand of God. Go sister — run.”

Avril was crying now, the tears smudging the traces of smoke on her tender young face. She tugged at Idelette’s arm, her eyes pleading.

“Come sister, come with me — ”

Idelette looked back. Flames were spreading. All the others unable to get through this one unguarded window would soon be overwhelmed by heat and smoke.

Avril was yanking on her arm. “We will hide in the bushes. There are not as many soldiers in that direction.”

Idelette relented.
God be with you, Bertrand and James
—
au revoir
.

Idelette and Avril ran together toward the trees and bushes. Idelette glanced back again.

Guise’s men-at-arms were everywhere like swarming hornets. Some on horseback and others on foot, running in every direction, as though driven by madness. Those on horseback rode down those who were able to flee like helpless sheep. Without mercy the soldiers slashed their swords, whacking them down, trampling them under their horses’ hooves as they fell to their knees.

Avril tripped on a clump. Idelette struggled to get her back on her feet.

They ran on, the clods of dirt slowing their pace. “Hurry, sister — ”

Horse hooves pounded in the distance. Idelette turned, still gripping Avril.
Perhaps one of us can get away.

As the soldier on horseback neared, Idelette gave Avril a push toward the trees. “Run, do not look back.”

AVRIL
FLED FOR THE DARK SHADE OF THE MULBERRY TREES
. Tears filled her eyes.
I think Bertrand will die in the smoke and fire — and James.
Poor James. He was so beau-looking —

Avril heard another horse galloping up beside her. She turned her head to look. She uttered a cry as a sharp blow whacked against her head.

She fell, blood running down her face. She could not think; she could not move. Then, turning her face from the dirt, she saw the broad chest of a horse. Its raised hoofs coming down upon her.