Madame Bovary's Daughter by Linda Urbach Read Free Book Online

hard to love?
    Outside, she plunged the sheet and gown into the water trough and then suddenly brought her hand down hard on the edge of the iron container. The pain caused her to cry out.
Damn. Damn. Damn
. She studied her palm. It was already bruised and bleeding. She brought the injured hand to her mouth as if kissing it would make the pain go away.
    â€œCareful, mademoiselle, farmwork can be a dangerous thing.” She glanced up. Renard had seemingly come out of nowhere. He leaned over the trough studying the contents. She felt her face turn red as she plunged the wet laundry farther down into the water.
    â€œGo away,” she said. “Can’t you see I’m busy? You must have better things to do than hang over my shoulder all day.”
    â€œActually, no. I can’t think of anything better.” He gave her a broad grin before turning and walking toward the fields. He must have known she was watching him because just as he got to the edge of the field where the hay had already been mowed, he turned and gave her a smart salute. She quickly bent her head so that he wouldn’t see her smile.
    The next evening after the milking she was washing herself outside by the pump. She had taken off her heavy muslin shirt and was wearing only a thin cotton camisole underneath. She looked down at herself. Water had soaked through the thin material and she could see pink nubs poking through. It was as if her breasts had begun to form almost overnight. Just at that moment Renard came around the corner of the barn. He smiled broadly as she quickly picked up her shirt to cover herself.
    She had the beginnings of a woman’s body and now the strange feelings that went along with it. Her grand-mère seemed to be all too aware of the change.
    When she went inside for supper, the old woman grabbed her by her braid and pulled her around to face her.
    â€œDon’t think I’m not watching you, young lady. And I am warning you right now, stay away from that boy. He’s up to nogood—and if you’re anything like your mother, neither, I believe, are you.”
    Renard seemed to linger in the mornings so that Berthe always saw him on her way out to milk Céleste. They never spoke, only exchanged glances. But for her part she looked forward to that glimpse of him. His smile was the single bright spot of her day.
    One morning while she was rinsing the milk jug at the pump he came up behind her and pulled at the string of her straw hat.
    â€œAnd how goes it with you and your cow?” he asked, his blue eyes bright in the early sun.
    â€œIt’s fine. She gives her milk without an argument.”
    â€œI told you. All you have to do is be gentle.” He pulled the string of her hat again and this time it came tumbling off.
    â€œStop that,” she said, snatching the hat from the ground and smashing it down on her head. He laughed and made another lunge for her hat but she jumped out of the way. She wanted to keep the conversation going—to keep his blue eyes on her. At the same time, she felt shy. “Is your house far from here?”
    â€œOver there,” he said with a slight nod of his head. She looked in the direction he indicated and saw nothing but fields of hay stacked in towering hills. “My house is beyond that grove of trees. But it’s nothing to see even if you could see it. My sister Marie says we should burn the place down and start over from scratch. My mother says it would only take our family a week to ruin a new place.”
    â€œDo you have many brothers and sisters?”
    â€œI am the oldest of seven. Four boys, three girls,” he said, kicking dirt at one of the geese who had ventured a little too close.
    â€œHow lucky you are,” she said, remembering the Homaisesand the comfort and laughter of a large family. She thought back to how, as a little girl, she’d hovered around them as though they were a good fire that provided her only