Chapter 5 – Sour Stew
Louisa Sophia and The Last Chance Tour
Louisa hurried down the refectory’s center aisle, carrying her tray past Napoleon’s huge portrait and his ever-watchful eyes. Even with the rulebook-mandated whispering, the lunchtime conversations of five hundred students bounced around the dining room’s enormous medieval-style hall and its tall, rounded ceiling.
The Clan’s table sat in the far corner, to the right of the painting of the school’s first headmistress, Madame du Bouzet.
After placing her tray on the table’s brown and white speckled marble surface Louisa sat facing the wall with the school’s matron and thought for the thousandth time, She really should have smiled. Virginie–– a slim, pale-skinned brunette whose lips hinted at a mischievous grin ––passed a torn-in-half baguette to Louisa, who glanced down the table.
The other six students sitting with them kept their eyes away from Louisa and her friends. The first-year students abided by Louisa’s demands with a fear-driven purpose.
What was said at the Clan of the Dissipated’s table stayed at the table.
As Louisa tore the crusty bread in two, Eugénie, who sat beside Marie, leaned over the table. The tall, boyish-figured young woman used a finger to tuck some of her thin brown hair behind her ear. “Mère Sainte Adeline said we should pack a ball gown. My aunt’s bringing my new one over before we leave.” Eugénie smiled at Lousia as she continued. “Daring, you can have the one I wore last year to the Légion d’honneur Ball. I was only two or three centimeters taller than you back then.”
“No thanks.” Louisa wrinkled her nose as she stared down at the bowl of matelote. She dodged a chunk of potato and a piece of white, flaky carp to dip the bread into the fish stew’s broth. Bile rose in her throat as she took a bite of the softened bread. She couldn’t wait until she no longer had to eat fish stew for lunch on Tuesdays. For the past five years, the damn rulebook had dictated every part of her life, even codifying the school’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner menus.
Fifty-three weeks to go.
“You must take a dress.” Eugénie’s voice rose a smidge above the appropriate level. A young nun, standing nearby as a dame surveillante, raised an eyebrow toward the table while tapping a long stick against her palm.
Marie nudged Eugénie with her elbow. Eugénie nodded but turned a stern face back to Louisa. In a whisper, she said, “What do you plan to wear?”
Between chews, Louisa said, “My uniform.”
Gasps came from Eugénie and Virginie.
Louisa lowered her bread to the table and sighed. “I won’t be groomed like a prized sow and auctioned off to a bunch of slobbering gluttons.”
“The Mères may not like that,” Virginie said.
Louisa batted her eyelids at Virginie. “Mère de la Nativité, I’m scared. I want to wear my uniform in front of all the gentlemen. Please let me preserve my modesty.” She tried to pout, but try as she might, Louisa could not.
Virginie laughed. “Needs work.”
Eugénie said, “You may not want to be there, but this is a fantastic opportunity for some of us. We’re going to Portugal, where the men won’t be poisoned against us.”
“I told you that going to the ball was a waste of time.” Louisa pushed her bowl to the middle of the table.
Marie, almost as short as Louisa but more curvaceous, half-stood to reach over her tray and take Louisa’s bowl. She scraped the remnants of her bowl into the new one.
Eugénie pointed her spoon at Louisa. “You do this every Tuesday. You should be grateful for that fish soup.”
Not again. Louisa blew out a long breath.
“During the siege, you would have sold everything you had for that soup. Instead, we had to eat…”
“Gaiety, stop. I would like to forget about eating cat stew.” Virginie looked down at her bowl with disgust.
“We ate a lot worse things than that. But back to more important matters. How could I know Gabrielle had spread rumors about us before we went to the ball?” Eugénie sucked air between her teeth. “It shouldn’t matter that my family’s in Algeria. Am I not enough as I am? Is love not enough?”
“Of course, you’re enough. Any man would be lucky to have you beside him. You’re smart, and you’re beautiful.” Virginie nudged Louisa’s elbow.
Louisa swallowed the bread she was chewing and said, with as much sincerity as she could put into her voice, “They should be so lucky to find a woman like you.”
Conversations about boys tested Louisa’s patience as much as the refectory’s stale menu, but she endured because she loved her clan. She had no intention of ever tying herself to a man. In her experience, they were either simpletons without ambition or just wanted to use her. Maybe Louisa would think like her friends if she didn’t have the ability to support herself, but since she did, she had no intention of wasting time on the lesser sex.
Since Louisa was inducted into the clan, several times a week, the other three girls engaged in a kind of ritualistic discussion about boys. When Marie smuggled one of those inane romance books into the dorm, the topic dominated every conversation for a month. Out of boredom, Louisa tried to read it but couldn’t stomach such a spineless, helpless woman as the lead.
Until the last two months, the topic seemed like some faraway fantasy. Other than the summer breaks when the girls spent time with their families, none of them had a chance to speak to boys. There were no men at St. Denis, and, without romantic distractions, the students focused on their studies. Not that the rulebook or the faculty gave the students more than a couple hours a day to think about anything else.
With their terminale year staring them in the face, fantasies about boys had become real-world discussions of men and plans for the future. Virginie had it all figured, while Marie worried she’d never overcome her family stigma, and Eugénie worried that she wasn’t good enough.
“This trip is a Godsend. What are you doing?” Eugénie pivoted her spoon toward Marie. “You should watch your figure. The Portuguese won’t care who your father is. This might be your last chance to find a man.”
With a large lump of fish balanced on the spoon that was halfway to her mouth, Marie frowned. She turned the spoon upside down, and the carp plopped back into her bowl. The auburn-haired girl’s cherubic face, with its freckled cheekbones, turned toward her heckling friend. “At least I have a figure.” Her green eyes narrowed as she shoved the bowl of stew in front of Eugénie, whose eyes went wide. “You eat it. Add a few more kilos, and you might develop some curves.”
While a wave of red worked its way up her neck to her face, Eugénie’s mouth moved up and down without sound.
“Besides, think of the siege. We wouldn’t want to waste it.” Sarcasm dripped with Marie’s every word.
Louisa started laughing as Virginie said, “That’s enough. Both of you are being rude.”
Marie took a deep breath as if steeling herself. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Gaiety.”
“I didn’t mean to say that you’re––,” Eugénie shook her head, “I’m sorry, Joy.”
“Forgiven.” A melancholic smile touched Marie’s lips. “I’ve been wanting to talk to all of you about a decision I’ve come to.”
An ominous chill ran through Louisa as Marie made eye contact with each Clan member. “I’m going to become a bride of Christ.”
Louisa covered her mouth in shock. Mother of God, she thought as she crossed herself.
“A nun!” escaped Virginie’s lips in a normal voice.
A long stick slapped the marble between their trays. All heads twisted to the dame surveillante, who jabbed the end of her switch toward Virginie and shook her head.
Virginie lowered her gaze and whispered. “Yes, Mère.”
Louisa took a drink of water to think. Marie had never said anything like this. She dreamed of being a mother more than anything. Louisa waited until the dame surveillante returned to her post to speak. “Your father’s not a coward. He was the best general in the war. Why should you sacrifice yourself because of a lie.”
Marie shook her head. “My brother and sister are each married with children. I’m the only one who can pay the penance the mob’s demanding.” She nodded. “You had a good idea. I’ll wear my uniform to the dances as well.”
“The mob be damned,” Louisa hissed as she squished the bread in her hand until she formed a fist. “Fight.”
Marie’s freckles turned up as wrinkles formed near her eyes. She reached over and patted Louisa’s curled fist. “Thank you, but I’ll fight my battles my way.”
“Not to change this depressing subject, but I’m bringing my gown,” Virginie said as a dreamy expression on her face. “Even if I don’t need to find a husband, I’m going to enjoy dancing,”
The other three girls grinned at each other. Louisa added a heavy dose of sarcasm when she joined Marie and Eugénie in saying, “Oh, Simon.”
“You’re the only man for me, Simon Jupin.” Eugénie poured it on thick. “I’ve loved you since we were children.”
Louisa was grateful that Virginie had doused the shock of Marie’s news with some levity, because Louisa could not accept Marie’s decision. She thanked God that she was going on the trip. It would take a collective effort from the clan to save Marie from herself.
Virginie chuckled back at them and said, “It’s not my fault I have a plan. I’m getting my teacher’s certificate, and then I’ll marry Simon.”
“Does he know that?” Marie asked as she picked up a piece of bread.
“We made a promise.”
“As ten-year-olds.” Eugénie snickered. “You need to keep your options open during The Tour.” She laughed. “No one knows the will of God. Some man might even win Daring’s heart.”
“My destiny is my own.” Lousia’s eyes narrowed at Eugénie. “Don’t worry about me. You need to watch your backs on this trip.” Even Marie stopped chewing as Louisa paused to ensure she had their attention. “Gabrielle and both Jetons are coming with us.”
Eugénie’s face twisted with fear, and Virginie went from pale to ashen.
Marie laid the bread on the table. “Good thing I’d already lost my appetite.”