Chapter 5: Léonie - Crushing His Mountain Flower

Exhausted and shattered, I slept.

And I dreamed.

I dreamed about my wedding night.

My cousin Margot had so frightened me with dire-sounding warnings.

That men were hard. Men were cruel. That I must hold my tongue and let him do what he wanted to me. It was the way of things.

Nothing or no one on earth could have talked me out of marrying Étienne, but I was still very nervous when he brought me into the Bastide home, so high and so far from anyone else.

But he hadn’t been terrifying at all.

He had been gentle, so gentle, stroking my hair and touching my body so carefully with his big, rough hands.

And then there had been a pinch of pain, sharp and bright, powerful enough to bring big plump tears to my eyes.

But he was there, his low, gravelly voice rumbling in my ear. And then it was only a dull ache. And then the ache had turned into a pleasurable throbbing. And then it didn’t hurt at all.

No wife in the world could have spread her legs for her husband as eagerly as I did.

I knew he was a hard man. But he had always been gentle with me.

How had it all gone so wrong?

How had he gone from a man laughingly crooning old French folk songs and lullabies to my belly to this man who wouldn’t even acknowledge our baby as his?

When I woke up, waddling as fast as I could to the bathroom because I had slept a long time, the pain of his rejection threatened to swamp me, but somehow I had to figure out what had happened and how it could be untangled.

The main question I had to figure out was who did this? Who had turned Étienne against me?

It could not just be an innocent mistake. Mano hadn’t ended up half-naked in my room on accident. Someone had set me up on purpose.

My restless energy had to go somewhere, and I babbled it all to Hugo as he listened quietly, a book beside his plate.

I had never known someone who was interested in things like reading and study, who was a scholar, and I told him everything. All my longing and my fears.

Hugo was patient, listening, then gently trying to redirect my energy, showing me around the lodge and out on the porch, asking how far along I was and what the doctor had said about how my baby was growing.

But I was feverishly obsessed with one thing only.

What evidence would convince Étienne?

That first day began and ended with only Hugo and I, and no word from anyone else. Would Étienne change his mind? Would my brother reject how he had spoken to me and demand Étienne let me go?

The next day my heart leaped to see a big SUV at the gates.

It was my husband! He had found evidence that the test was wrong! He was here to bring me home!

But as I clutched the windowsill with anxious, feverish hands, wondering whether to run and beg him to believe me, or stay inside and wait, I saw it was only Placidie and Mano.

Mano.

Why had she brought him with her? And how could I get him to tell the truth?

“Interesting that my mother would come here with this particular son,” Hugo said as soon as they entered.

Placidie only shrugged. “He is not to blame for the conduct of a loose woman.”

My face burned with the injustice of her comment.

“I am not a loose woman! You should know I only love my husband!”

“I’m here to talk to Hugo.”

“What were you doing in my bedroom?” I demanded to Mano. Why haven’t you told Étienne the truth?”

Mano looked unconcerned. “I told him you came onto me. I only went there to see if you really would whore yourself out.”

Hugo got up from the table, wincing in pain.

“Why were you in her room?”

“Pussy, big brother. Sweet, pretty pussy.”

“Well, you weren’t ever going to get that from me!” I flared angrily.

I felt angrier than I ever had been in my life, but I couldn’t make myself tamp it down.

Placidie stepped in between the three of us, lines tightening around her lips.

“Hugo, has she been crying to you about this nonsense? Léonie here was caught trying to whore herself out to her own brother-in-law and the paternity test showed her baby isn’t even Étienne’s. She’s just lucky she isn’t cast off into the mountains like she should have been. So if she tries to whine about that, tell her she should’ve kept her legs shut.”

Hugo raised an eyebrow.

“I believe her.”

Placidie’s hands tightened like claws around the pad of paper she was carrying.

“What is it with Bastide men and this Pinoteaux witch?” she bit out. “It’s like she has you all under a spell.”

“The Bastides are full of bullshit,” Hugo said bluntly, making his mother stiffen angrily. “Did you see the results yourself? You’re going to take Mano’s word for what happened?”

Placidie shot an irritated look at me.

“If you are asking if I saw the cells under a microscope, no I did not. Why would I disbelieve the doctor?”

“Maybe he was paid off,” Hugo said. “By you, perhaps?”

She scoffed. “You’re dealing in conspiracy theories. Why won’t you believe the obvious conclusion—the paternity tests showed Étienne isn’t the father, therefore, he isn’t the father.”

“Because mother, I know what you’re capable of.”

Placidie’s tightened skin went white.

“What has she done?” I asked eagerly. “What happened before?”

“Nothing. Sit down, stupid girl. That is old news and Hugo’s situation was not the same.”

“But did you oppose our marriage?” I pressed, amazed at my own audacity. “Did you try to keep Étienne from marrying me?”

Before, I never would have dared to talk back to my mother-in-law. This wasn’t before.

“My son was brought up to hate the Pinoteaux dogs. I course I opposed your marriage. A man like Étienne, with all his power and intelligence, to throw himself away on a weak woman like you? The idea was repulsive to me. He was thinking with his prick as men always do.”

My cheeks flamed at how she talked about my family. Was that why Étienne had been so ready to believe the worst of me?

“Mme, all that shit between our families is ancient history,” Hugo put in.

“Is it?”

What shit was ancient history? There was so much I didn’t know, so much I was ignorant of. Étienne never talked to me about work, only the plants and flowers he had seen in the mountains.

But what else went on in the mountains?

“I don’t buy it because I know you, Mme, are as fluent in bullshit as any of them.”

“Are you accusing me of faking her paternity test? I don’t deny there are other women I preferred him to marry. Other women who would have been much better for him. You have no evidence, Hugo. I’m surprised at you, indulging in a whore’s lies.”

She looked amused instead of angry, supremely self-confident about herself and her place in the world.

“If it’s a lie, why hasn’t Étienne killed him yet? On some level I think he has doubts about this story that’s been concocted to sell to him.”

“What story?” Mano countered, circling his brother. “You forget I was there, with her in my arms.”

“You always were Mother’s little lapdog.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore,” Placidie rapped out sharply. “Sit down, Hugo. I need your advice on these accounts. Does it look like we are getting the proper percentage or is our man down in the valley taking some off the top?”

Hugo stared at her. “If you want me to help with the business, let me out of this prison.”

“If you want to eat, you’ll help me out.”

Hugo flicked his eyes over to me, then sat down heavily at the table.

“What do you have for me?”

Frustrated and achy, I began to make a cup of tea, my belly bumping into the counter. Their business talk washed uncomprehendingly over me as I took the steaming cup out to the porch.

How much did Étienne know? Did he know how much his mother hated me?

There was a noise beside me, and I saw Mano had come out, too.

“Get the hell away from me!”

“I’ll bring you some clothes,” he said abruptly. “So you have something else to wear besides Hugo’s old shirts.”

“Tell my husband there is nothing between us! I have never in my life flirted with you. I never encouraged you to come into my room. And we have never slept together.”

Mano lit up a cigarette. “You should know how stubborn Étienne is. He can’t be convinced of anything he doesn’t want to be. But me? I can be convinced of anything. Tell me, sweet girl, how much do you want your clothes?”

I hesitated. I desperately wanted my clothes. But I even more desperately wanted to clear up this mystery. And I did not want to be beholden to Mano.

I was becoming very convinced that Placidie had set this up to split Étienne and I apart.

Would Mano do what his mother said?

And could he be convinced to admit everything to my husband, so he’d let me out of this prison?

So I swallowed my anger and confusion.

“Yes, I would like my own clothes.”

Of course Étienne would be upset about hearing those lies, I told myself. Of course he would believe the paternity test, it was only normal to be angry about such things. Once I was able to show him evidence of the plot against me—he’d change his mind.

“How soon is your next doctor’s appointment?” Mano asked. “I can take you to it, if you like.”

Surprised, I blinked and looked fully at him. He was still leaning against the railing, lighting a cigarette as his eyes slid down my chest to where my breasts swelled against Hugo’s soft button-up shirt.

I wriggled my feet, uncomfortably aware suddenly that the bottom of the shirt only reached to the top of my thighs as Mano pushed off the railing and took a step toward me.

“N-no,” I said. “I’m hoping to be back at home soon. So Étienne can take me.”

Mano paused, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Up close, those Bastide eyes unnerved me, his dark stubble not hiding the silver scarmarks on his cheeks.

“My brother rejected you. Yet you still talk about him with that tone in your voice.”

“Only b-because he believes lies about me,” I said, my boldness growing. “When he knows the truth, he’ll change his mind.”

Mano frowned, and took another step toward me, forcing me to slide backward.

“And what is the truth?”

“You and someone else set this up, didn’t you? I whispered.

I took another step back. Mano was close, way too close.

“Do you know where I got these scars?”

There was something he found amusing, something to twist his lips up, but I couldn’t share his humor.

“Tell me the truth!” I insisted, staring at his face, trying to discern the truth of it in those dark eyes, the hard, scarred expression.

“Do you know where I got these scars?” he repeated.

Mano reached out and took one of my long, copper-red curls, rubbing it back and forth between his fingers in a way that made me want to vomit.

His fingers curved around my throat.

“One summer, before he had asked your Da for your hand, you were gathering ginseng and some of it fell out of your hands. I picked it up and handed it back to you, and when I did, our hands brushed together.”

“I don’t remember that⁠—”

“And Étienne thrashed me for it. Forced me to get my knife out and defend myself. And, of course, against him I could not. Told me in no uncertain terms that you were his and if I ever touched you, I would get the same. So no, beautiful Léonie, I do not want to facilitate your reconciliation.”

But before I could say anything else, Placidie called for him, and he followed her back out to the SUV.

My hair, my whole body, felt dirty at his touch.

Hugo and I stood on the porch, watching them go.

“What would happen if you tried to get out at the same time one of their SUVs does?” I asked.

“Don’t bother,” Hugo said. “The guards have been instructed to keep us in by force. You are not to put yourself at unnecessary risk.”

By force?

“When I leave, I’m taking you with me,” I said decidedly. “It is cruel and unjust to keep you here, and Étienne will agree with me once I explain it.”

“Perhaps,” Hugo smiled. “Let’s take a walk and then play a little mancala or belote.”

I didn’t want to bring my suspicions about Mano to him, so I let him distract me from my pain. Perhaps I was just overreacting. Later I wished I had told him everything I suspected. . .

Mano was back the next day, knocking on my door as I looked in Hugo’s bookshelves for something that would keep me from remembering, over and over again, how Étienne had looked when he wrote that horrible word on my forehead and what he had said to me.

“Come in,” I called, assuming it was Hugo.

“Here,” Mano said, stepping inside and holding out a brown grocery bag.

“Are those my clothes?” I asked, reaching eagerly for them.

“Say please,” he taunted, and suddenly I found I could not, could not beg the man who had set me up.

“Never mind,” I said. “I don’t want them.”

I turned away bitterly. There had been no word from Étienne. What if I didn’t get a chance to convince him I was innocent before the baby was born. . .

“All right, all right,” Mano said.

When I still didn’t respond, he put a hand on my arm and spun me around.

“Look at me when I talk to you, woman. I just did you a favor.”

“Who are you to order me around?” I retorted, feeling temper spark inside me. “You’re the one responsible for me being imprisoned here!”

“Oh, always so proud,” he snapped. “Proud Léonie Pinoteaux with her nose in the air and her legs snapped shut, always glued tight."

I stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Pretending to be such a good girl, and all the time you were a conniving little wide-eyed gold-digger. Nothing would do for you but the best.”

“What do you know about anything?” I cried, trying to shove him away because he had crowded me against the bookshelves, so close I could smell the sweat off him, his belt buckle brushing against my bump. “What do you know about how I was back then?”

“I know plenty,” Mano said, “But you only had eyes for Étienne.”

“Don’t touch me!” I shrieked as his lips descended on mine, hard and demanding.

I slapped him as hard as I could on the cheek, and then Hugo was there, leaning heavily on his cane but looking angrily at his brother.

“You need to leave,” he said.

“What are you gonna do about it, poule mouillée?”

Weakling.

Hugo took his cane and swung it at Mano, stumbling heavily against the doorway, but the blow landed hard enough on Mano’s ribs that the other man was forced to drop his fistful of my hair.

“I bet you couldn’t do that again without falling,” he taunted, but in desperation I grabbed the fireplace poker and jabbed it into his back.

“Go away and never touch me again!”

“I’ll be back,” Mano snorted, dumping the grocery bag all over the floor. “Maybe you’ll be a little more grateful then. Maybe you’ll play nice with me. Or maybe I’ll tell my brother more about what we’ve been doing.”

“Liar!” I cried, watching him scatter maternity clothes all over the floor, kicking them towards me with his boot.

Étienne had to be told about this!

As soon as Mano left, I poured out most of what had happened to Hugo.

I had to tell Étienne. The motive was right there in front of me!

Mano was jealous of Étienne.

We discussed ways we could get in touch with Étienne, make sure he would listen to me. . .

There was a home phone here, programmed for only a few numbers and Hugo dialed one of the handful of people he was permitted to call.

“Yes?”

My knees went weak to hear my husband’s voice on the other end.

“It’s Léonie!” Hugo said, and I only prayed Étienne would believe him.

“Her water’s just broken and she’s gone in to labor! You need to get down here.”

“Her water broke?” he asked sharply, and inside I gloried to hear something in his voice that wasn’t cold indifference or anger.

There was still something there. Something like concern for me.

“The contractions—” Hugo began, but Étienne had already hung up the phone.

“Did it sound like he was coming?” I asked.

“Yes,” Hugo said, frowning a bit. “I only hope we can convince him to take a second look at the paternity test before he gets angry at the deception.”

Every moment was an eternity of pacing the kitchen floors until I saw that dark SUV at the gates. At last, it was him!

My heart leaped to see my husband’s tall, strong body, the way the bright sun hit on his tanned skin, making him gleam with health and vigor. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the way the tight shirt fit against his flat belly and muscular arms.

He had come! He had come!

I looked horrible, pale and wan, with big dark circles under my eyes and my red curls lank around my face. But I couldn’t worry about that.

Straightening Hugo’s hand-me-down T-shirt over my belly and tightening the rolled-up sweatpants, I hurried out to the porch.

But instead of rushing over to check on me, Étienne went around to the passenger door, opening it like a gentleman.

Out emerged Faustine, her hair falling down in shining waves, wearing a tight navy dress, a perfect line of lipstick across her upturned lips.

And on her finger was something shiny. . .