“What?” Rachel almost shouted. “How do you know?”

“A friend of mine was his research assistant in Toronto.”

“That explains it,” Rachel said.

“Explains what?”

“Gabriel sold his condo. He sent Dad an email saying that he

was moving and that he has been staying in hotels while he looks

for a house.”

Julia leaned her back up against the old, gnarled oak tree that

stood in front of Peet’s.

“Did he mention where he was looking?”

“No. Just that he’d hired a company to pack up his things and

put them in storage. But if he quit his job — ”

“He’s in the process of quitting.”

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“Then you should call him! Julia, it’s the perfect time. You have

to call him.”

Julia gritted her teeth. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He broke up with me, remember? I’m not going to be the one to fix this — assuming it can be fixed.”

Rachel grew very quiet for a moment. “I’m not suggesting you

sweep whatever happened under the carpet. But I hope that you

two could talk about what happened. He needs to hear how you feel

about all of this and what happened to you after he left. And frankly, he needs to offer some kind of explanation. He owes you that. Then you can tell him to get lost, if that’s what you really want.”

Julia squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of pain washed over her. The thought of seeing Gabriel — and listening to his explanation — physically hurt.

“I’m not sure my heart can survive his explanation.”

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Chapter 42

Julia buried herself in busyness for the next few days, studying in preparation for her introduction to Professor Marinelli. Since the Professor was the guest of honor at the lavish reception where they met, their conversation was short, but a success. Professor Marinelli was still settling into her new home, but recognized Julia’s name

thanks to Professor Picton’s recommendation and suggested that

they meet for coffee in July.

Julia wafted home on a breeze of optimism. She was so happy,

she decided it was finally time to begin the project she’d been avoiding — unpacking her books and arranging them on shelves in her

small apartment. Until that evening, she’d availed herself of Harvard’s libraries. But every day the collection of boxes nagged at her, and so she finally decided it was time to organize them. The process took longer than she anticipated. She finished about a third of the boxes that evening before walking to the Thai restaurant and ordering take out.

Two days later, Julia was down to the final box. After a very

enjoyable evening with Zsuzsa and a few other graduate students

at Grendel’s Den on June thirtieth, Julia came home determined to

finish unpacking.

As had been her practice, she shelved the volumes in alphabeti-

cal order almost mindlessly. Until she came to the last book in the bottom of the last cardboard box, Marriage in the Middle Ages: Love, Sex, and the Sacred, published by Oxford University Press. Frowning, she turned the volume over in her hands. It took a few minutes for a distant memory to creep back to her — Paul, standing in her studio apartment, saying that he’d retrieved her mail from the department.

“A medieval history textbook,” he’d said.

Gabriel’s Rapture

Out of curiosity, Julia leafed through the volume and found a

business card wedged in the Table of Contents. The card was for Alan Mackenzie, the Oxford University Press textbook representative in

Toronto. On the back of his card was a handwritten note that stated he’d be happy to help her with her textbook needs.

Julia was about to close the book and shelve it when her eyes

alighted on one of the readings.

The Letters of Abelard and Héloise, Letter Six.

It only took an instant for Julia to recall her last conversation

with Gabriel.

Gabriel turned away from Jeremy, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Read my sixth letter. Paragraph four.”

Her heart racing, she turned the pages, shocked to find an il-

lustration and a photograph marking the place where Abelard’s sixth letter was found:

But whither does my vain imagination carry me! Ah, Héloise,

how far are we from such a happy temper? Your heart still

burns with that fatal fire you cannot extinguish, and mine

is full of trouble and unrest. Think not, Héloise, that I here enjoy a perfect peace; I will for the last time open my heart

to you; — I am not yet disengaged from you, and though I

fight against my excessive tenderness for you, in spite of all my endeavours I remain but too sensible of your sorrows and long

to share in them. Your letters have indeed moved me; I could

not read with indifference characters written by that dear hand!

I sigh and weep, and all my reason is scarce sufficient to conceal my weakness from my pupils. This, unhappy Héloise, is the

miserable condition of Abelard. The world, which is generally

wrong in its notions, thinks I am at peace, and imagining that I loved you only for the gratification of the senses, have now forgot you. What a mistake is this!

She must have read the passage five times before its message

began to sink into her agitated mind.

Julia looked at the illustration closely. The title read The Conten-tion for Guido de Montefeltro. The name was familiar, but she couldn’t quite remember its significance. She grabbed her latptop, intent on 307

Sylvain Reynard

looking the image up on the internet but quickly remembered that

she didn’t have internet access in her apartment.

She located her phone, but the battery was dead and she had no

idea where the cord was to recharge it. Undeterred, she returned to the book and picked up the photograph that had been placed next

to the illustration. It was a picture of the apple orchard behind the Clarks’ house. Gabriel’s handwriting was on the back:

To my Beloved,

My heart is yours and my body.

My soul, likewise.

I will be true to you, Beatrice.

I want to be your last.

Wait for me…

When she’d overcome her shock, she was desperate to speak to

him. She didn’t care that it was close to midnight and Mount Au-

burn Street was dark. She didn’t care that Peet’s had closed hours ago.

She grabbed her laptop and fled her apartment, knowing that if she could stand just outside the door to Peet’s, she’d be able to pick up a wireless signal and email Gabriel. Julia had no idea what she would say. All she could do was run.

The neighborhood was almost silent. Despite the gentle drizzle

and mist of warm vespertine rain, a small group of what looked like frat boys were about a half a block away, talking and laughing. Julia stepped from the curb and began to cross the street, her flip-flops squishing against the wet asphalt. She ignored the droplets that fell from the sky, soaking through her T-shirt. She ignored the thunder that began to roll and the flash of lightning that illuminated the eastern sky.

In the very center of the road, she stopped because straight ahead of her, she glimpsed a shadowy figure lurking in the darkness behind the oak tree in front of Peet’s. Another flash of lightning revealed that the figure was a man.

He was half-hidden by the tree and in the absence of light, she

couldn’t make out his features. She knew better than to approach

a stranger in the shadows, so she stayed where she was, craning her neck to see him.

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As if in response to her movements, he came around the edge

of the tree and slowly walked into the pool of light that cascaded onto the sidewalk from the street lamp. Another bolt of lightning

shimmered overhead, and for one brief instant Julia thought he

looked like an angel.

Gabriel.

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Chapter 43

Gabriel saw the pain in her eyes. That was the first thing he no-

ticed. Somehow, she looked older. But her beauty, her goodness

made visible, was even more breathtaking than it had been before.

Standing in front of her, he was overwhelmed by how much he

loved her. All his trials fell away. He’d been working up the nerve to go to her, to ring the doorbell and beg entrance. When he thought

he couldn’t wait a minute more, the door to her apartment building opened and she scampered like a deer into the road.

He’d fantasized about their reunion. On some days, it was the

only thought that sustained him. But the longer she stood, statue

still, making no move to come to him, the more a feeling of despair grew. Several different scenarios coursed through his consciousness, few of them ending happily.

Don’t send me away, he begged her silently. Running an uneasy hand through his hair, he tried to smooth the rain dampened strands.

“Julianne.” He couldn’t disguise the tremor in his voice. She was

staring through him as if he were a ghost.

Before Gabriel could give voice to that idea, he heard something

approach. He turned in the direction of an approaching vehicle. Julia was still standing in the road.