Joey’s mind skipped over his explanation and put several things together. “Val Cache Cousins. This is the village you told me about last night—the place where your mother grew up!”
“Yes.” For a long while he said nothing further, and Joey considered everything he had told her of his background and the hidden village where a wild young woman had been born and had come back, in the end, to die. “As I said before,” he added at last, interrupting her thoughts, “few of the villagers speak much English, but that won’t be a problem, I’ll translate anything you need to know.”
Casting him a dubious look, Joey reflected that not knowing what was being said around you couldn’t be considered an ideal situation. But the prospect of a bed—and actually seeing the place where Luke had grown up—outweighed her doubts. Anticipation rose in her again, a fresh burst of energy carried her through the forest as they traveled the remaining distance to the village.
When they arrived at last, Joey stopped in her tracks and stared. She could not have imagined a more picturesque place if she’d tried. From the edge of the clearing where they stood, neat one- and two-story log and wood-frame houses clustered to either side of an unpaved area that served as a main road. Beyond the village proper was an open field, and distant moving shapes that might have been horses or cattle. The whole of it could have been transported intact from the previous century. There were no electric power cables, no cars, and no satellite dishes, even Lovell looked like the heart of civilization compared to Val Cache.
She was still absorbing this when Luke led her over the small footbridge that crossed a swift running stream and into the village. It was only then that Joey realized there were people waiting for them—people who had materialized seemingly out of nowhere to wait, still and silent, in their path. Like the village itself, the people were dressed as if they’d come from another, simpler time—but the faces that turned to Luke and Joey were anything but simple.
It was almost a relief when little Claire burst out from among the solemn adults and danced up to them, she even spared a quick smile for Joey before grabbing Luke’s hand and chattering away. Joey had almost gotten the hang of separating out the lilting words she spoke, even though most of the meaning eluded her. The girl made a dramatic announcement and pointed at Joey triumphantly.
Joey found herself edging closer to Luke almost unwillingly when the villagers turned as one to look directly at her.
Several sets of penetrating eyes stared at her unblinkingly. She returned their scrutiny with a tilt of her chin, straightening under the weight of the pack. Luke’s presence at her back, though he did not touch her, was very welcome.
“Hello.” Joey heard her voice crack and cleared her throat impatiently “Hello, my name is Joey Randall.”
If she had expected an effusive welcome or any reply at all, she was doomed to disappointment. The faces that gazed at her were impassive, though not overtly hostile, even now she could begin to see similarity in the features—to each other and to Luk.e There was much black hair, some of it shot with gray that seemed to have little to do with age, planes and angles of jaw and cheekbone were reminiscent of Luke’s. But it was the eyes that were most like his, in their intensity and strangeness—even though none matched the subtle power of his.
Joey shifted uneasily, wondering how to break the stalemate, when Luke intervened. “Est-ce ainsi que vous souhaitez la bienvenue a une invitee?” Joey heard the challenge and question in his tone “Is this how you welcome guests?”
The villagers shuffled, one or two of them muttered, and an elderly woman, her face a webwork of deeply engraved lines, stepped forward. Luke turned immediately to her. His words were clipped and defiant.
Grasping one clear word among the others—”Grand-maman”—Joey watched with tense fascination as the elderly woman and Luke exchanged a long, steady look. She could just see the resemblance there, though the woman’s hair had long ago whitened, and the sharp angles of her face were soft and careworn with age and long experience. Joey sensed a kind of contest of wills between them, neither one broke the stare for an endless moment.