Rogue's Salute

New Orleans, Louisiana January 1842 "Send a husband for me, I pray, most Holy Mother. Intercede in this matter, if it be thy will, for I have desperate need." Juliette Armant gripped her fingers tightly together as she stared up at the benign carved face of the statue of Our Lady before her. The prayer bench's hand rail, polished by countless hands over endless years, felt cold under her wrists, and the chill of the knee rest penetrated her thick skirts of gray cord du roi. The emptiness of the cathedral echoed around her while the scents of ancient dust, incense and smoke from the prayer candles burning on their wrought-iron stand nearby wafted about her face. The fluttering of the flames on their wicks was loud in the stillness. She had knelt here a thousand times before, yet everything seemed strange this morning. "I don't ask this boon for myself," she went on with a brief but decided shake of her head. "You know well that I never expected to marry. To be dedicated to the church at birth was my fate and I accepted it in all humility, truly I did. But now all is changed. I lack the beauty or skill at flirtation to attract a husband and there is no one to arrange a match for me. My mother has not the will--but you know her trials. I must wed without delay or all will be lost." Was she doing the right thing? Juliette wondered. She had tried diligently to find another way out of her peculiar dilemma, but nothing that sprang to mind seemed likely to be of use. How had it come down to this when everything should have been so different? "Oh, Holy Mother, make this husband you will send kind, if it pleases you, yet not too gentle of spirit. He must have strength and a will of steel for he will surely need them. Intelligence would be useful, and diplomacy as well. I don't ask that he be attractive, still it would not upset me if he were pleasant to look upon for the sake of our future children." She closed her eyes with a small moan and went on hurriedly, "No, no, forget I said that. You who know all things must surely understand what is required. Only send a man to me soon, I beg, as quickly as may be possible." Juliette crossed herself, touched her fist to her lips and heart in quick succession, then pushed to her feet. She could not linger here in the sacred quiet. They would miss her at home, and she had no desire to explain where she had been or why she had left the house without even a maid as chaperone. She might perhaps fob off her mother and twin sister with some tale, but prevarication was not something that came easily after all her years with the nuns. To leave the cathedral, she had to pass the bank of prayer candles glimmering on their stand near the heavy front doors. The draft of her passage seemed to make them flare up, for she caught a sudden light from the corner of her eye. As she turned her head in that direction, her gaze caught the bright flame from the taper she had set burning just before she knelt to pray. It sprang tall and strong on its wick, many times more brilliant than the rest. Dazzling in its intensity, it bloomed and danced before her like a stalwart golden star. Juliette came to a halt with her breath trapped in her throat. She was not so superstitious as her mother, who had a thousand beliefs, prohibitions and proverbs that ruled her life--still she could not prevent the frisson that moved over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Was this an omen? Could it mean her prayer would be answered? She closed her eyes tightly, crossing herself again. Then she moved on. As she quitted the church her steps were lighter and hope burned as bright in her heart as the candle set aflame for her prayer. Pausing on the stone paving outside, Juliette took out the gloves from where she had tucked them away inside her sleeve before searching out a coin for her candle. She had almost forgotten them. How aBlake, Jennifer is the author of 'Rogue's Salute ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780778324058 and ISBN 0778324052.