Back Paris: The Novel
Chapters (34)
  1. Title Page
  2. Dedication
  3. Family Tree
  4. Chapter One
  5. Chapter Two
  6. Chapter Three
  7. Chapter Four
  8. Chapter Five
  9. Chapter Six
  10. Chapter Seven
  11. Chapter Eight
  12. Chapter Nine
  13. Chapter Ten
  14. Chapter Eleven
  15. Chapter Twelve
  16. Chapter Thirteen
  17. Chapter Fourteen
  18. Chapter Fifteen
  19. Chapter Sixteen
  20. Chapter Seventeen
  21. Chapter Eighteen
  22. Chapter nineteen
  23. Chapter Twenty
  24. Chapter Twenty-one
  25. Chapter Twenty-two
  26. Chapter Twenty-three
  27. Chapter Twenty-four
  28. Chapter Twenty-five
  29. Chapter Twenty-six
  30. Epilogue
  31. Acknowledgments
  32. About the Author
  33. Other Books by This Author
  34. Copyright

Sarah didn’t find her. Within the hour, Jacob was on his way. He crossed the river to the Left Bank and took the rue Saint-Jacques, the pilgrims’ path, that led toward the south. If they had started for Savoy, they would probably have gone that way.

And now, two days later, he knew he had lost her. Naomi’s cunning letter made that quite clear. For a long time, he stared at the shining carpet of mist over Paris. The rising sun was starting to strike the towers of Notre Dame, making them gleam.

He started to read the letter again.

It wasn’t long. After some expressions of affection, she announced that she had news that she knew must cause them sorrow. She thanked her father for offering her such a fine collection of worthy suitors, and allowing her to choose a husband from among them. But now she must make a confession. She loved another.

I love another. He is a good young man, but I know he would not be acceptable to you, for he has no fortune. He comes from Aquitaine, where his father is a miller. He came to Paris as a servant in a nobleman’s household. But now he is returning to Aquitaine. And I go with him.

I am his woman. We shall marry when we reach his home. He has promised it.

Do not try to follow us. It is too late for that. But you shall hear from me again, once we are married. Until then, I beg your forgiveness, my dear parents.

He could not fault the letter’s cleverness. There was not a word about Aaron, the Jewish boy. The miller’s son was obviously Christian. Of course, he didn’t believe in the existence of this boy from Aquitaine for a moment. But any outsider to whom the letter was shown would see no reason to doubt it. All they’d see was that she’d run off with a poor boy. She was already living with him in sin. She’d disgraced herself and her family. Such things happened.

Nor was there any hint that she might have gone to Savoy. Just a false trail to Aquitaine.

Once or twice, he still asked himself if there mightn’t be a chance of recovering her. What if he brought her back and married her to one of the eligible young men he’d chosen for her? But he knew it was useless. If Naomi was determined to run away with Aaron, then she was never going to settle down with a Christian boy, even if he led her to the altar in chains.

To make it believable, he’d probably tell a few friends what had happened, and set out for Aquitaine where, of course, he would not find her. Nor would any letter come from her. People would suppose that something had happened to her and her lover on the way, or that the young man had jilted her, and she was too ashamed to return to her parents.