For reasons unknown and unexplained to Lydia, Isabelle had an aversion to Sainte-Benigne and Mass in general, but one evening she said, “Madame Gerard has invited us to share Whitsun with her family. Would you like to go?"

The question was would Isabelle like to go? No only did she have a aversion to Sainte-Benigne and Mass, she also still had an aversion to Jon Paul Gerard. Lydia took a quick study of Isabelle's face unsure of how to answer. There was tension in her face, but she did not look as if she was against going. "If you wish to."

Isabelle sighed, "It is not a wish I have, but Madame has been so good to me since Henri's passing, it would be rude to turn down another invitation. So we will go, but we will not be attending Sainte-Benige, The Gerard's attend The Chapel of Our Lady."

This chapel was small and poor. Every week Lydia took Isabelle’s candle tithe to the chapel. It was shepherded by a barefoot Franciscan named, Friar Judas. Rumor had it that he was being watched by the crown. The wealthy did not approve of the Franciscan vow of poverty. In the nobles sacred belief, God wanted his entitled children to be wealthy, the wealthier the better. Each week, Friar Judas accepted the candle tithe with grace and gratitude. He was a scarecrow of a man, kept alive by the food tithes of his congregation. So, the Gerards were part of that congregation. Would Jon Paul be with his Mama? At times he so reminded her of James, she thought he might regard faith with the same kind of distance James did. Tomorrow she would find out.

After Isabelle bade her good night, Lydia remained in the kitchen with the cats to finish the dress she had been sewing. It was made of russet wool with dark green embellishments. It was the first dress she had ever made entirely on her own. Though she would never admit it to herself, she worked hard to finish the dress for a purpose. Buried deep inside of her was the hope that Jon Paul would see her in it, and she would see the amber light in his eyes when he did.

The candle burned low. Ashes and the kittens slept soundly in their box. From where she sat, she could see Patch. Isabelle thought the kitten might be a girl. If so, Lydia would have to be very vigilant. She did not want her baby to ever have to endure the dark business of birthing.

Finally the last stitch was done. Lydia stood and held the dress up to her. Her stitches were not so fine as Moder's had been, but they were improving. She twirled. It fanned out around her. It was so pretty. Tomorrow she would look pretty in it, and perhaps someone would notice. A smile spread across her face. She tossed the dress over her shoulder and grabbed the stub of a candle. Now to go and maneuver the ladder. How she hated the ladder. Making an ascent or a descent was always a hazard. Every time a hem caught or her legs got tangle she feared for her life. At those times, she longed for the days when her legs walked freely in Luke’s clothing.

*

Outside, the sky was cloudless and a fresh breeze was blowing. Lydia breathed in deeply trying to calm herself. The wagon was coming. Two mules pulled it. On wagon seat sat Jon Paul and his Mama. Behind them on a plank was a man a woman and and a little girl. The wagon stopped. Jon Paul smiled down at her and she felt her heart pick up a beat. He held her eyes just a second and then in a twinkling, he swung Lydia into the back of the cart. His touch was so light, and the movement so swift Lydia felt a bit dizzy. With a slower motion, he gently helped Isabelle into the cart. Isabelle sat on the plank beside Lydia. Her face had a determined smile pasted it.

Madame Gerard turned to them. A snowy white cap covered her faded auburn hair. Her eyes were quick and bright blue. They swiftly surveyed Lydia, before they turned to Isabelle. Madame Gerard said, "Isabelle it will be so nice to have you with us this morning." To Lydia she said, "It is good to meet the chandler who has been supplying our home with light." She glanced at her son, and added, "you do very fine work."

"Thank you, Madame Gerard."

She waved a hand at the young man, woman and child seated across from Lydia and Isabelle. "Mademoiselle Wade, this is my son, Tobias Gerard and his wife, Marguarite." Her eyes became tender when she introduced the little girl, "And this is my beloved, Peronelle."

The child was about five. Her eyes were the same color as her grandmama's. They were shy, curious eyes. Her parents nodded their greetings.

The wagon swayed as Jon Paul took his seat. With a flick of the reigns the mules pulled forward. Isabelle and Marguarite quietly chatted, while Peronelle and Lydia listened. Tobias was a quiet man. He listened without comment. There was something about him that made Lydia think of a shepherd. She did not know why. The wagon pitched and rattled as it rolled down the rutted road. A head was the Chapel of Our Lady. The small church was not without elegance. It had finely carved wooden doors and imps of frightening detail on the cornices. The wagon stopped. Jon Paul and Tobias were quickly down to help the ladies out. Tobias swung his wife and child down. Peronelle laughed as he twirled her. As for Jon Paul, first he helped his Mama, then Isabelle and last Lydia. She braced herself. Again his hands held her lightly. He did not squeeze, but still she felt the strength of him in his touch. Too soon, she was on earth and out of his grasp.

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Madame Gerard entered first, followed by the rest. Lydia had never been inside this sanctuary during a service. Inside the only art was a wooden Madonna. Time had faded her paint. The tallow candles flickered on the altar. Thanks to Lydia's expertise, they did not burn foul. The seats where the Gerard's sat was in front. They must be the wealthiest congregants. The more money one had, the nearer one was to God. At least that was common belief and practice. Unlike his brother, Jon Paul, stood to the side as the ladies entered. Was he to sit beside her? Lydia's heart seem to stumble within her. When she took her seat, he did indeed take the seat beside her. A mixture of joy and worry spun around in her head and stomach. He was so close she could smell him. He smelled of strong soap, leather and wool. It was a pleasing combination.

The procession began. Two small boys with candle holders preceded Friar Judas up the aisle. As they walked the flames danced. Lydia followed the light. It was then that she noticed that chapel was not dressed in white as was the tradition of Father Peter’s church back home. It was festooned in red. Red signified fire, holy fire. Lydia wondered what this service would hold. She was not in Southampton and did not expect any stories of King Arthur. This was Dijon. Would the service be any different than those she knew in her own land?

Dotted among the congregation a few people wore white garments. These were souls that had been baptized on Easter Sunday. The sound of babes crying, snuffling and some shrieking filled the chapel. This noisy little lot of humanity had been born during the Great Fifty Days that separated Easter from Whitsun. There were many villeins present this morning as well. They were tenements of the wealthy. For them, this week held respite and revelry. There would be a festival, and the Brewers of Dijon would peddle their wares and fill the cups of all who were thirsty. One of them was Brewer Arlette. He too was in the congregation this morning. He cast a glance at Isabelle. His heart was in his eyes. If Isabelle saw, she ignored him.

Up front, Friar Judas did not wear a red vestment. He was adorned in the simple robe of a Franciscan brother. The red tendrils of fabric that slashed through the church did not please Lydia. For her fire was not some red thing, it was white yellow with tinges of orange and a heart of blue. She preferred white for Whitsun, but she was no longer in her home country.These differences must be accepted. A twinge of homesickness twisted inside of her. She closed her eyes. The past filled her mind, Old Kate and Moder were on either side of her. Father Peter’s voice tried to rise in her memory, but it was dim and no longer so clear. Would she forget his voice entirely? Frantically, her mind raced to the voices of Moder, Aunt Rachel and Old Kate. Relief filled her as she found them still wholly intact in her mind. She must not forget the way they sounded. She must not.

Friar Judas’ voice pulled her from the past. He was retelling the story of Pentecost. The story of that mystical day when the Holy Spirit descended upon humanity. The Friar's voice was not rich, like Father Thomas, but it had the same ring of sincerity. "et factus est repente de caelo sonus tamquam advenientis spiritus vehementis et replevit totam domum ubi erant sedentes” * The congregation began to shuffle their feet. So many feet moving together sounded like a mighty wind. The babes hushed. Near the ceiling of the church was a large empty hole. From this hole a dove flew. It was the symbol of the Spirit descending upon Christ at his baptism. The beautiful bird glided over the congregation. It’s iridescent wings caught the flickering light from the candle flames. It landed on of the sculpted head of the Virgin. It’s bright eyes looked down at the babe in her arms. Lydia stared in wonder at this bird. When the dove had descended at Christ’s baptism, God had said, “This is my beloved son in who I am well pleased.” What was it like to hear the voice of God?

Brother Judas proclaimed, “et apparuerunt illis dispertitae linguae tamquam ignis seditque supra singulos eorum”** From the hole where the dove had descended, flame licked straw cascaded down. This symbolized the cloven tongues of fire that danced over the heads of the people, both male and female, slave and free man on the day of Pentecost. In Lydia’s mind the fire of Pentecost gleamed like candle flames not like sliced infernal tongues. The fire she believed in was warm and good, not terrifying. God had given the light of the Spirit to humanity to share. Those who called themselves Christians and used brute force to coerce people into faith, defiled Love. Those who openly practiced fear and bigotry, did not understand or know the kind of Love Christ had exemplified. The smoke of the burning straw mixed with the aroma of tallow and humanity. A haze settled over the crowd. Several people began to cough.

A stray spark landed on a man’s tunic. It burst into flames. Jon Paul was swiftly up, he grabbed a bucket by the hole and doused the man. The flames went out. Applause broke out. Jon Paul bowed. Was it possible he had sat on the aisle seat for this purpose? Lydia felt herself grow pink because of her presumption.

-----------------------

*Acts 2:2

And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting.

**Acts 2:3

And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them.