Nine
Generations of successful French merchants and shipbuilders had built row houses along the main avenues of Ile Feydeau. With the glory of Nantes as a great seaport fading, however, the waterside houses now canted like drunken sailors as foundations settled into the watery soil. Scrolled facades, brick patterns, and ironwork balconies maintained the illusion of splendor.
“Third floor,” Nemo said, pointing up at a set of shutters high on the whitewashed bricks. “Second window over.”
“Are you sure?” Verne said, then rounded on his friend. “How do you know?”
“I listen to her play the piano sometimes,” he said casually, not admitting how often he came to talk with Caroline. “Trust me.” Nemo bent over to choose a small pebble and tossed it up at the window. Verne did the same, but his stone missed, clinking against the stone walls.
With a flurry at the curtains, Caroline opened the sash and leaned out, dressed in her nightgown. Seeing the two furtive young men waving at her from the street below, she signaled back and closed the double windows.
Verne hovered next to Nemo, away from the streetlamp’s blue-yellow gaslight. He was afraid someone might see them, afraid Caroline’s father would chase them away. He didn’t want to lose his chance of saying farewell to her.
When the tall, gold-inlaid door creaked open, Caroline stood there, her honey-on-fire hair tied back with a few colorful ribbons, a hastily donned robe of pink cashmere cinched at her waist. A forced smile covered her sad expression.
And in the shadows behind her, Marie fussed about, trying to make the young lady look presentable while scolding her for unacceptable nocturnal activities, especially with two young men far beneath her station. She thought her mistress should have been looking ahead to a good marriage and fine prospects. With the significant dowry Monsieur Aronnax could provide, Caroline would have her pick of all the suitable young men in Nantes.
Caroline shushed her maidservant, though, and stepped out onto the tiled porch, pulling the door shut behind her and leaving Marie inside. She looked searchingly at Nemo, then over at Verne in outright surprise. “So you are really going, Jules? I hope you are not just doing this as a lark.”
“We might not be back for three years.” Verne’s voice was raw, as if he could barely believe it himself. He squared his shoulders.
She sighed and looked at Nemo. “André, I wish there was some other way to help you. I just could not think of—” Her voice broke as, leaning toward him, she whispered, “You must come back home.”
He took one step closer. “Caroline, you have saved my life. You’ve given me a chance—and I promise I will come back to you.”
“So will I!” Verne said.
“I will remember you,” Caroline said, fighting back tears. “Both of you. That is a promise.” She embraced Verne and then Nemo—perhaps for just a little longer—and stepped back to take a long look at them, as if she were making a daguerreotype in her mind. On impulse, she snatched two ribbons from her hair. “Take these and think of me.” She handed a red one to Nemo, a green one to Verne. “I wish I had thought of something else to give you.”
Nemo accepted his and kissed her on the cheek, feeling his lips burn; she moved, wanting more, but then Verne also tried to be gallant, taking her hand like a fancy lord and kissing it as he blushed.
“Be safe, both of you, and watch over each other.” As if it required the last of her composure, she forced a smile. “Remember, you promised me a coral necklace.” Caroline hurried back inside her house before sorrow overwhelmed her, murmuring, “Oh, why did I not plan for this better?”
Nemo and Verne stood disconcerted for several minutes before they walked together toward the docks. Each tied the precious hair ribbon around his wrist, where he could see it every day. Verne sniffed it, trying to catch a scent of Caroline’s perfume.
Passing the dock guard and stating their business, they crossed a creaking gangplank onto the deck of the ship that would be their world for the next several years.
At dawn the Coralie weighed anchor, cast off her mooring ropes, and sailed down the Loire toward the ocean.