Catching On; A Storm

an Auré excerpt

The situation was atrocious. Poor Mlle. Maçon’s dress was in absolute danger, and there was nothing to be done but to wait inside the greenhouse. She in no way expected such a sudden storm that evening, and she did not have the mind to realize that perhaps Jacques knew; perhaps that is why he remained indoors when they called for him. Though she felt to be in utter distress, Auré was audacious enough to laugh. She turned her head to see him sitting on the bench, and quite merrily! His shoes had been discarded, and his coat, being drenched, was hung on one of the chairs.

	“I don’t see much to find amusing,” Agathe scoffed, but Auré noticed her hidden smile.

	“It was the way you ran,” he informed her. “I’ve never seen a lady run.”

	“Well, there are lots of things you’ve never seen,” she said, her face colored. 

	“That’s true.” 

	Agathe felt remorseful for her words, but he didn’t appear hurt. His laughter had calmed and he then seemed together and content; it was by his eyes. He watched her as she kicked the wet from her shoes, as she grimaced at the grass and mud that clung. He stood and instructed her to remove them.

	“My shoes?” 

	“Yes, just for a moment. I’ll clean them.”

	Agathe hadn’t the intuition to figure what he could do so with. She was entirely distracted by that grass and mud, and she was one to take an offered solution. (Elodie thought her impulsive, she’d said so many times.) When Auré took her two shoes over to that chair, she started towards him in a display of horror—but it was too late.

	“Auré, what a—Oh, your coat!”

	“It can be washed,” he said, chuckling the words, and Agathe could have sworn he rolled his eyes, just a bit. She stood stupefied and watched him continue. Something Elodie told her came to mind: “He can’t be trusted in social settings by himself, you know. He wasn’t raised proper, not entirely.” 

	Of course, Agathe knew that, but it was in the moment when Auré was wiping her shoes clean that her own truth began to surface. She tried to find it cohesively, that his lacking heed towards decorum was exactly what fascinated her so deeply. He was always a subject of interest as he was ever surprising and new. He was not horrified to be alone with her in the slightest! The storm was of no bother to him at all! His beautiful coat was of no importance against her silly shoes! Oh, and how impressive his temperament was for his state, that kindness and sharp wit. His disinterest in etiquette only made his attentions towards her all the more enchanting. 

	Auré discerned that she’d entered her mind, and he was thankful for being able to finish his task in silence. His own was quite taken, for as it was true he’d never seen a lady run, he’d also never seen a lady’s wet hair. He knew that Agathe’s hair in the manner was breathtaking; he knew because he could barely breathe. Just as the second shoe was finally clean, Agathe inquired, “How long have we known each other now?”
 
	“Since January, I believe. We met in the snow,” Auré nodded, extending to her the shoes. She took them and kneeled to return them to her feet.

	“It’s been nine months.”

	“It doesn’t feel so long.”

	“I’m going to ask you something, and you must respond honestly.”

	“I will,” Auré murmured. They were standing directly in front of one another now. He wasn’t sure which of them stepped forward first. He did not have the capacity to care. His heart was thunderous. 

	“Why have you been stealing away?”

	“What?” 

	“You disappear, often with Monsieur Fillières. Elodie is concerned. I’m not so much concerned as I am…confused. What calls for the secrecy?”

	Auré felt struck. He creased his brow and looked away towards the window. Nothing could be seen past the rainfall.

	“Please,” Agathe whispered, “If it’s nothing, then tell me. I know it’s nothing.”

	“It’s everything.”

	“You mean to—everything!” Agathe’s cheeks grew hot. An image of Etienne overtook her. She saw him there, sitting on that bench behind Auré; always behind him.

	“You are so accustomed to life that you have failed to notice mine," Auré said, his tone changed, his words slow. "Failed to notice how—,”

	“You’ve become insensible,” Agathe said, stepping back. “How could you say that? It is all I can do to think of you! To be near you!”

	“Why is that?” Auré asked. He closed the space Agathe had created. His gaze narrowed as he noticed her tears.

	“Because you will be gone!” she cried.

	“Because I will be gone!” he exclaimed, clenching his fists. “Exactly that, isn’t it! It is my death that hangs over you all! It is my death that motivates you! What of my life, Agathe?”

	Agathe nearly fell to her knees. Before that day, she’d never heard such volume from a man, nor such intensity. She hurried to the wall and leaned upon it, choking on her sudden sob. She was completely overwhelmed by the rage and the heat and the moisture and the thunder. Auré kept still, but his glare followed her. There was silence, and then he spoke again. 

	“Agathe,” he said.

	Her face was buried in her palms and so she shook her head. 

	“Agathe,” he repeated.

	She looked up slowly, meekly. 

	“How did we get here?”

	She was evidently at a loss.

	“In here, how did we get here?” 

	She watched as his arms expanded, motioning towards all their surroundings. Her misery was adjourned as she understood. She lowered her hands without thinking to wipe her cheeks.

	“We ran,” she said. Auré smiled.