Crossing The River

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We wade in the water. Cristophe St.Jacques and his wife Mireille excepted, of course. Any wading to be done is in the remit of their horses. We are crossing our own Jordan. Bound for church, as we should be on the Lord's Day. My own hands are gloved and the polish from my shoes stains the kid, which will cause the Curé to wipe his hands on his soutane after the service is over. We walk several miles, my family and I. Two daughters and two sons-in-law with soft hands and softer heads. We cross the river with the St.Jacques and they allow us to accompany them for the final few hundred yards to the Church of the Holy Virgin. We have done this since the day of their wedding, although we are not family.

I often wonder how many Gourdes they put in the collection. I think I saw Mireille take coins out once. None would dare upbraid her for this. Father Beauchamp wipes his hands before he shakes hands with the St.Jacques, after the mass is over. I will clean the five pairs of gloves and try to hide the stains with chalk before next Sunday comes and we must carry our shoes again.