Free La Flamme (Historical Romance) by Constance O'Banyon

old Ysabel Agostino to conjure up something to help. Pity she didn't leave with the others."
    Jacques was not deceived by his wife's shrewishness, because in spite of her complaints, she had a kind heart. Marie was a handsome woman of thirty with regular features and a stout body—just the way he liked her. He knew he would have given up long ago if she had not prodded him—she believed he was a master artiste , and her faith in him made him believe it also.
    "Leave me in peace. I'm trying to think, Marie."
    She turned her head toward her husband, her chin trembling with emotion. "I will say no more."
    Two hours later they managed to free the wagon and made camp in the woods near a stream, where Jacques decided that they would remain until the road dried.
    By mid-morning, the rain stopped and the sky cleared, giving them hope. But later, Marie's spirits plummeted when it started to rain harder than before. The campfires sizzled and went out, forcing them to seek the shelter of their wagon.
    Marie, dressed in a dry gown, was feeling miserable and a long way from home. Tying a scarf around her head, she glared at her husband. "We have nothing to eat but dried meat and stale cheese. I suppose you gave most of our supplies to the Broglies when they deserted us."
    "You would not have wanted them go hungry, wife, admit it."
    "Just how do you expect we shall live after our food is gone?"
    Jacques, as usual, suffered his wife's criticism with good grace, for she was the sensible one of the family. "I will ask Ysabel to go into the village tomorrow and tell fortunes. She will earn enough to buy fresh bread and cheese."
    "That old woman thinks she's a better actress than all of us, dressing up like a Gypsy and making folks believe she can see into the future. Must we turn to her once more to put food in our bellies? She makes me shiver when she stares at me with those strange blue eyes."
    Jacques sighed. "She earns her way, and we can be grateful that she stayed when the others left. You must admit that she creates magnificent costumes."
    "She stays with us only because she has nowhere to go and we allow her to use one of our wagons as her home," Marie snapped.
    Jacques knew that Marie was superstitious, no matter how she tried to hide it, and she somehow feared Ysabel Agostino, who claimed to be the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Marie believed that gave Ysabel "the sight."
    "If you want her to leave, you tell her." Jacques smiled to himself. "I do not want her to cast her evil eye on me."
    Marie shuddered. "I will not be the one to tell her she must leave."
    "Are you afraid?" he asked slyly.
    Marie looked furtively over her shoulder, fearing that Ysabel might have overheard their conversation. "She remains with us only until we return to France. I care not how masterful a seamstress she is, I want her gone." Marie looked out the door of their wagon. "Look, that crazed old woman doesn't even come in from the rain."
    Ysabel tucked the hem of her heavy black skirt into her waistband and bent to dip her water jug in the stream. She did not like England with its rain and dampness. It was nothing like the land of her birth—warm, golden Italy. As the years passed, she dreamed less and less of her homeland. She could never return there, although the incident that had caused her to flee had long since ceased to be important. For many years she had wandered aimlessly, finding work wherever she could, but never finding a home until she met Jacques and Marie.
    She stood up slowly, watching the swift current. There had been a fierce storm last night that had ripped trees up by their roots. Debris was floating by, and Ysabel stared intently at a log—someone appeared to be clinging to it. Now that it was closer, she could see two people, and one was a small child!
    Ysabel reacted quickly, calling loudly to Jacques, all the while running along the bank and keeping the log in sight. "Come at once! Quickly, Jacques. Someone needs our