Ariane found Father Claireborne seated in the kitchen with a glass and a pitcher of cool water, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. John was right, humid as it was getting now, rain would pour soon, hopefully very soon. All tracks would run cold then. Ariane still felt that would be a good thing. Sitting down across of the Father, she asked all the same.
‘Father?’
‘Yes, Ariane, is something the matter?’ he asked, drinking more water.
‘When I came back from the market with Katie just now, we met Officer Turlington.’
‘Mr. Turlington?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked behind her. ‘What was he doing on the Hunting Trail?’
‘He was with a search party,’ Ariane said, still looking at the Father who now listened with interest. ‘He said that there is a convict on the loose, and that he is dangerous.’
‘And you think he has come here?’ Father Turlington asked, frowning.
‘What?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now sitting down next to her daughter. ‘Would such a man dare?’
‘Those who once defy the laws of man rarely find self-restraint when necessitated to break them again.’
‘What do you mean, Father?’ Ariane asked, suddenly feeling she had betrayed more than she wanted. She could already see that feral body hanging from the gallows, grunting and growling until it was still.
‘I have a hard time believing our mischievous neighbours would go so far as to break into this house, especially if they know it so well,’ Father Claireborne said, smiling a little. ‘It made little sense to me, you see, why they should break the window. Theft of pastries and boiled sweets, I can understand, but this now seemed too crafty. If you say there is a criminal on the loose, hounded by Officer Turlington and his men, it could very well be the man found this house peaceful enough to break in and take what nourishment he needed.’
‘Are you certain, Father?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now visibly concerned.
‘I am sure he cannot stop at a market-booth for victuals,’ Father answered, drinking from his glass once more.
‘So there could be a dangerous criminal in the house and we do not know it?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned, now clearly anxious. ‘Ariane, I do not want you to leave this room, no, even leave my side until we know that he is captured.’
‘Ah, Mrs. Bellamy, I would not go that far to detain the young for a sinner’s sake,’ Father Clariborne smiled. ‘I am certain the man has already disappeared, escaped to a safer hiding place where he would not be so soon detected.’
‘But if he’s dangerous, Father,’ Mrs Bellamy said gravely. ‘I would not want my daughter wandering down the Hunting Trail with some fiend escaped from the gallows at her heel.’
‘Mrs. Bellamy, you sound quite gothic,’ Father Claireborne smiled, but it did not last long. ‘It may not be so wrong to notify the Commission, however. We could go together and report as one. They will quite likely return and search the house, and I am sure the moment the convict sees the red jackets, he will run as fast as his life is dear to him.’
 *
In less than fifteen minutes, Father Claireborne, Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane were all three walking towards the officer’s station, the chaplain nodding benevolently at every face he knew and saw. In the station, sand-stoned and cool compared to the humid heat of the empty court before it, the report was made, and a small troop of guards dispatched to search the chaplain’s house, all seven men armed with pistols and rifles and looking very grim.
Ariane said nothing and watched, feeling she had signed the death sentence for the man-thing. It had not looked dangerous. Ferocious yes, and very obviously starved, but not something one would hang by a rope and wait till it twitched and turned to death. And yet she had to wait until the inspection was done, furthered by Officer Turlington, who by some form of communication had found out that Father Claireborne’s house was to be searched, and thus came with his dangerous dogs and rifled men. Officer Turlington had them search the house again, from the rafters to the cellars, but nothing was found, though the dogs barked as if they had seen the very devil.
*
An hour had passed by the time Officer Turlington emerged from the house. Half the neighbourhood had come to see, but it was all for naught. Officer Turlington looked furious, as if not finding this man was a personal insult, though he was civil to Father Claireborne as always.
‘And who is this man?’ the Father asked after Officer Turlington had given his negative report.
‘Someone we have been wanting to capture for some time. Finally, by the help of a deserter, we could secure him, but alas –’ Officer Turlington pressed his lips together and tried not to get redder than he already was.
 ‘A deserter you say? Is the man a soldier?’
‘Pah!’ the Officer barked bitterly. ‘He’s as much a soldier as a devil is a saint, Father.’
‘What is he then?’
‘A pirate, sir, and one of the worst these waters have seen for the past twenty years.’
‘A pirate?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned. ‘Why not say a murderer and be done with it?’
‘That is the point, Mrs. Bellamy,’ Officer Turlington said grimly, ‘as far as we know, the man has never murdered with his own hand, but his men have done much destruction in the same vein. We cannot stop them from scavenging and torching ships, but since we captured him, all these devilish enterprises have stopped at sea. It is heavenly quiet, but God forbid the man be joined with his men. Then the cobra’s head would be rejoined with the body, and the snake will bite again, slithering out of sight after poisoning half the country!’
Officer Turlington looked ready to burst with rage. Father Claireborne layed a quiet hand on his shoulder and asked him to join him in the house for some fresh cider. Father Claireborne could not affront Mrs. Bellamy with ale yet, she did not approve of drinking alcohol before sundown if it had to be drunk at all. Officer Turlington agreed and the two men proceeded, closely followed by Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane, who did not like to stay in the small court, surrounded by all those wild-looking men of the search party. Some were giving her looks she didn’t like, and so was glad to know herself on the other side of the closed house door.
*
Not long after, Tenny walked into the kitchen asking if it was all right now to hang the linens, there was still a good deal of sun before the weather broke. Ariane was sent out to help the washing woman, which she did in silence, listening to Tenny talk about what it meant to have a criminal in these parts, and how dangerous such men were, and now it was said it was a pirate, scavenging fiends that would burn in hell for all eternity, murderers and oath-breakers in whose presence no living soul was safe.
Ariane listened and helped spread the white sheets across the lines, thinking of how the man-thing had eaten out of her hand like a starved animal. She tried to think how that could command men to an extent that made Officer Turlington look as if he would explode. She could not see it. He was still hardly human to her, more a thing and beast than anything with reason, even though he stood upright and had the build of a grown man. He maybe had the look and the limbs, but definitely not the smell nor the articulation, she had never seen anything so dirty.
With Mrs. Bellamy’s Christian ways of cleanliness and the fact that Father Claireborne adhered to them without question, Ariane had no patience with dirt either, and could not tolerate anything that would smudge her dress or linens, which made her monthly indisposition quite a trial where a catastrophe always seemed close at hand.
That she should think of such things now, but with the white sheets, wide as sails before her, billowing in the usual sea-breeze coming up from the near coast, she could only think of those bright red stains she abhorred, as they betrayed not only carelessness, but something about her Ariane could as yet not fully accept, though it was a part of her these six years. She did not know why it happened, and saw it as due punishment after the Fall, for it was Eve who ate the first fruit and thus her descendants would be constantly reminded of her trespassing, for why else would God allow such a thing to take place at such pagan times, always when the moon waxed and her mood plummeted… no, she should rather think of something else.
Right then Ariane’s eyes fell on her own dress, where she saw those stains made by the tomato juice that had spilled and sprayed onto the white skirts, which she had tried her best to clean out, but it would not do without some soap and she would not change again, her mother never liked that. They were mere shadows now, and only visible to the eye who knew they were there, but she knew, and so saw them clearly. They were further reminders of what was out there, running away from Officer Turlington and his search party with their rifles and horrible dogs. How long would he survive? She could not imagine that so many men would not finally succeed in finding one who had to ambush innocent girls for tomatoes.
Well, she would see. Officer Turlington would hardly curtail his triumph once the man, if he was one, was recaptured. And then he would be hanged at the gallows, the dead body swaying in the ocean breeze. Ariane picked up the next linen and spread it across the line, hardly hearing what else Tenny was saying. Looking at the pure white of the cloth, she thought of those faded eyes that seemed to have no colour and wondered for a moment if the man-thing was maybe blind. But for something blind he moved very fast, and she did not think blind eyes could issue commands to be silent. It was a command, there was nothing pleading, nothing soft in that first look, his dirty finger pressed against grimy lips. How dirty he was, the complete opposite to this dream of white. Ariane traced a hand across the white plane, her hand and arm starkly dark against it, every finger clearly seen. He did not curl from her hand as sometimes happened on market days, he did not hesitate to touch, but feral as he was, he probably hardly saw her, just grabbed what held the food he wanted and ate as an animal for he was hungry like one.
Stepping away, Ariane picked up the next linen and continued her work, trying her best to listen to Tenny, but hardly finding patience for what the washing woman was saying, it was all about terrible deeds, murderous pirates, and other horrors Ariane didn’t want to think of. She looked to the sky, saw the silver in the white clouds tumbling to mountains above, and thought of the few hours that were left before the heavens opened and let out all the rain. With the sun so hot, and the air so sticky, the sheets would have dried to an untainted white until then. Everyone would rush inside once the rain poured, everyone except the man-thing running away from Officer Turlington and his awful men and dogs. Hopefully, when the rain finally fell, it would not only sweep away the tracks, but cover the feral creature and wash away all its dirt as well.
 © 2014 threegoodwords
They all meandered from table to table, listened in to wild stories about the Santa Cruz’ life in New Jersey, laughing with everyone, and generally had a really good time. Every now and then Timothy would pull Lana close and kiss her lips, always gently with a hint of more, making Inez’ mother wink at Lana and then give her daughter a telling look that made Inez sigh and roll her eyes.
Madeleine catches a glimpse of herself in a shop window. The red of her coat is shockingly bright, like Red Riding Hood walking through the forest. All she needs is a basket with pastries, but her grandmére lives in Lyon.
She will not be cowed. So he says, ‘It’s just three more weeks.’ Madeleine nods, sadly. Luc can see she is trying not to cry.
Madeleine only runs to him because she is afraid he will stand too long and be hit, drivers are crazy in this city. She would rather be hit with him than be left in this cold world, alone.
He wants them to have the perfect weekend, far away from everything, especially the snow. Luc knows winter is inevitable in this city, but he could really live without the cold.
Madeleine often wonders how it is to work with people who know they have to make you like them. She often wishes Etienne would come and inspect everyone at her internship, but this is not the time to think of that. They’re dressed and ready to go, and walk down the stairs. Outside, Luc opens his umbrella, it is large enough for two. Snow falls on the black, a soft susurrus filling the dark street. Madeleine smiles when she sees the snow, joins Luc under the umbrella. They talk quietly to each other, anticipating a pleasant evening as they walk quickly through the snow, holding hands happily in the cold.
three good words 