Free The Oracle Glass by Judith Merkle Riley Page A

my dress remade in the new fashion, and it would go splendidly. The Chevalier de la Rivière admires me in lace. I’m sure Mother won’t mind letting me have Jean to carry my train.”
    â€œThen let Jean accompany you, Marie-Angélique. The sight of lace collars and silver buckles doesn’t cheer me up at all, these days.”
    Father’s room smelled of medicines and illness. The windows were closed and the curtains pulled shut, to keep out the harmful air. Even the walls, dark green, seemed to be the color of an old medicine bottle, and the great dark bed, its curtains pulled back, seemed like the skeleton of an ancient behemoth. He lay in his shirt and nightcap, too weak even for his dressing gown. On his dressing table, his formal and day wigs sat on a row of wooden stands, like so many disembodied, faceless heads, witnessing his painful struggle to leave the earth. The open door of his book-lined cabinet stood beside the bed. I tiptoed in and got Seneca, then sat in the straight-backed chair beside the bed to read. But after only a few words, Father seemed too weary to listen. He reached out and put his hand on mine. He could not lift his head from the pillows.
    â€œGeneviève, before we die, we must confess and make amends. I have done you a disservice.”
    â€œNever, Father. I can’t imagine how.”
    â€œI educated you to suit myself, Geneviève, and not the world’s ways. It was selfish, now, I see.”
    â€œFather, never so. You are the best, the kindest father in the world.”
    â€œBut a foolish one. Do you understand, Geneviève? I never imagined dying. I thought I might enjoy your company and conversation much longer. What a selfish man I was! But now—now I see all. I didn’t fit you for the cloister, my daughter. I had you taught the truth instead of superstition. Science, geometry, the new thought. Now what will become of you? You are fit neither to become a nun nor a wife. I beg your forgiveness, my daughter.”
    â€œFather,” I answered, trying to ignore the pricking feeling in my eyes, “there is nothing to forgive. You’ve given me a home, your regard, and my own mind, which is the greatest treasure of all.”
    â€œYes, the greatest treasure of all. Though notoriously hard to eat or wear or keep the rain off with, my daughter.” His old wry smile flickered and faded. “Yes, the greatest treasure of all, and rarer than you know.”
    â€œI must interrupt.” Mother had entered the room silently through the open door. She stood watching as Father fell into a fitful sleep, then turned to me impassively and said, “Geneviève, it is time to fetch the priest. He will not last the night.”
    ***
    Father sank rapidly in the next few hours. I showed in the priest, still brushing the first snowfall of winter off his biretta. The family stood at the head of the deathbed, with the servants weeping at the foot. I found that, for myself, not a tear would come. Father was gone. Outside, the white flakes fell silently through the gray sky; inside, they were droning prayers. I seemed to hear Father’s mocking laugh, a freethinker’s laugh, rolling through the room as he discovered the universe beyond the body. Did Mother hear it, too? Her eyes rolled suddenly toward the ceiling, she paled and clasped her hands, before she regained her composure. Oh, Monsieur Descartes, you do not have all the answers.
    â€œAn orderly mind can solve all problems,” I could hear my father’s voice repeating patiently in my head. My little book, you have another problem. When the priest had departed I wrote beneath M. de La Reynie :
    The body, the mind, the soul—how connected? Method of trial; to be discovered.
    ***
    â€œAnd now, Mademoiselle, you will tell us where it is.” It was midnight; Father’s corpse was still laid out on the bed in the room beyond, candles burning at its head and feet, as if