Free The Maid by Kimberly Cutter

half-timber house with painted red beams down at the end of a lane near the Porte de France. It delighted her at first, with its smells of wood shavings and bubbling stew, Henri and Thérèse smiling and waving from the doorway as Durand helped Jehanne down out of the wagon. Their faces fascinated and slightly terrified—as if she were a unicorn they'd spotted in the forest.
    Henri was a wheelwright, and there were dozens of wheels propped up neatly against the house like a thicket of wooden suns. As she made her way across the frozen yard toward the door, it comforted Jehanne to think of herself staying in a house surrounded by suns.
A good sign,
she thought, for her heart was still trembling from the terrible audience with Sir Robert. As they'd passed through the shadows of a covered bridge on the way to the Le Royers' house, she'd been seized by the desire to run away, run back to Domrémy forever and throw herself at her father's feet, crying
Forgive me! I'm a fool!
I'm not special at all! Take me back! I'll do whatever you like, only let me stay!
    But she knew it was impossible.
He'd kill me before the snow melts,
she thought.
He'd laugh as they put me in the ground.
    Thérèse came forward first. Smiling and exclaiming. A plump, snub-nosed brunette with meaty brown cheeks and a deep, freckled bosom. "Welcome!" she cried, embracing Jehanne, looking her over with her sharp green eyes as Durand and Henri looked on. "We are so happy to have you with us."
    Thérèse's voice was high and stagey, her eyes so bright and hard with excitement they made Jehanne nervous, left her with the vague feeling that Thérèse had not seen her at all, but was instead seeing some idea of Jehanne that she'd created in her own mind. But just as quickly, Jehanne forgot about it, for she was tired and grateful for the welcome, the outpouring of cheerfulness and warmth. She did not want to question it.
    Inside the main room of the house, near the hearth, stood a thin, yellow-skinned young woman with dark straight hair, a narrow, slot-like mouth, and a sharp, quivering chin. She was sweeping furiously. "My sister-in-law, Letice," Henri said to Jehanne as she stamped her slush-caked boots by the door. The young woman sent a swirling cloud of gray dust into the air and nodded without looking at Jehanne.
    "A pleasure," said Jehanne.
    The woman regarded her with cold eyes. Said nothing. Then she turned back to her furious sweeping. Thérèse glanced at Jehanne and rolled her eyes.
    Henri coughed into his fist. "I'll just show you the room, then," he said.
    Jehanne followed Henri up a narrow stone staircase, its banister worn smooth as soap. The stairs were very steep, and Jehanne had to pull hard on the banister to get herself up them. She was panting when she reached the top.
    "We thought you girls could sleep together in here," he said in a nervous voice, ushering her into a clean, low-ceilinged room at the top of the stairs. "You're right above the fireplace, so it's the warmest room in the house." Inside the little room stood a big wooden four-poster bed with a straw mattress and a thick stack of gray woolen blankets laid neatly on top. There were long boughs of pine strewn across the floor, which made the room smell fresh and clean, and a pitcher of steaming water stood on a table by the window, beside a bowl. "In case you want to wash up," said Henri, blushing. He had a shy, warm smile and a habit of pressing his hands together as he spoke. "I hope this will be all right."
    Jehanne nodded. "It's very nice."
    Henri was staring at her with a strange, pent-up look on his face, as if he longed to ask her something. Jehanne waited politely, but he did not speak. After several moments he shook his head, as if coming out of a trance, and said, "Now don't mind Letice, you hear? Her nose is just a bit out of joint." He smiled and winked as he pulled the door closed behind him. "She's used to being the holy one in the house."
    Thérèse was more direct. As