CHAPTER 2; TO SPREAD ONE'S WINGS.

Saturday; June, 17, 1826; near the
seashore, by Arromanches-les-Bains,
Normandy.

The gathering clouds overhead that early afternoon were bringing with them the threat of rain; Jean-Philippe was grateful that he and his two sons had departed Bayeux early that morning because of it. The flimsy-looking horse-drawn wagon that he was driving rattled uncomfortably over the cobblestone road as it's journey that day drew to a close,
with the destination coming into view.
He and his two older sons, Charles and Henri could now see the "guest- house", still under construction, located within easy walking distance of the Channel surf.
"There it is, Papa!" excitedly exclaimed his 14-year-old son, Henri.
"Sit down, boy!" Jean demanded,
"I don't want you to fall off the wagon and injure yourself!"
Sea gulls screeched overhead as Jean pulled up to the nearly completed two-story building; a pair of bricklayers still working on its exterior, taking time from their work to look down from the scaffolding to politely wave to the visitors.
'Bonjour!" One of them called out to Jean-Philippe.
"Bonjour!" came the three replies, almost in unison.
"Are you the ones bringing
the furniture from Bayeux to Madame Archambault?"
Jean smiled and nodded, gesturing to a sheet of canvas behind him draped over two sets of disassembled oak-table parts; his two sons sitting
on them.
"Yes," he sighed loudly in relief, "Is the lady of the house in?"
"As a matter of fact, she is. She's been expecting you. Knock on the south-side door;
she'll greet you there."
Jean appreciatively tugged at his large floppy hat.
"Merci." he replied while carefully lowering himself to the ground. His two sons had already speedily alighted off the wagon
onto the coarse sandy ground.
As he made his way to the guest-house entrance, that same bricklayer called out once more.
"Monsieur! I understand that you have brought two oak table tops with you.
If you need help to carry them in to the house, please let us know. We'll be glad to help."
Jean looked up at him and grinned somewhat smugly.
"I appreciate the offer. Merci. Normally it would take four strong men to carry each tabletop - - - however! These tabletops are made in such a way that I and my two sons here, Charles and Henri can carry each of them a reasonable distance. For now, I think, me and my sons can manage."
The chief bricklayer paused, looking somewhat skeptical, shrugging,
"As you wish! Call us if you do need us."
The three Valcour family members were warmly greeted by Madame Archambault.
She even went as far as to prepare a sumptuous meal for them and for her two teenage offspring, Gregoire and Sylvie.
The wearied, hungry and thirsty trio from
Bayeux gratefully partook of the fare and
the conversation. The dining room was still rather Spartan and barren.
For an ad hoc dining table, some upturned & clustered wooden boxes and cut planks were arranged for that temporary purpose.
"I do appreciate you delivering us those tables today" Madame Archambault explained,
"as you can see we have a lot of work yet to be done inside this guest-house. The reputation of your furniture work precedes you, Monsieur Valcour."
Jean paused between bites, cautiously
weighing his words.
"Merci. I sincerely appreciate the complement, Madame. However, I would ask that you wait until we bring the parts in and reassemble them before you pass judgement on - - my handiwork."
She smiled. "If you require the services of my nineteen-year-old son, Gregoire, he is available. He's very fit."
As she offered Jean the services of her restless teenage son, her 15-year-old daughter, Sylvie couldn't take her eyes off of Henri. He had his eyes on her as well. Henri, only a year younger than her, found Sylvie to be quite attractive. "Merci, Madame," Jean respectfully responded, "I am grateful for your offer. Your bricklayers have also offered to help. However - - - I and my two boys here are quite capable of doing everything that will be required." he gently affirmed, "But if we do need additional help, we will let you know."
Sylvie's mother nodded in slight disappointment, wiped her mouth as she finished eating.
"As you wish, Monsieur Valcour.
Jean and his boys polished off their lunch portions soon after.
"Your husband, Raymond. I understand that
he's a physician. Is he seeing a patient? Is that the reason he's away this early afternoon?" he inquired,
keeping the conversation flowing as he and the others began to rise from around the crudely improvised table.
"Yes, quite correct. He is presently seeing a patient in Arromanches. He will be in before three
this afternoon. hopefully the rain will hold off until then." she explained, quickly adding,
"but in the meantime, let me show you and your boys around the property. I'll show you the rooms where you and your two sons can sleep tonight. Have you seen the patio we have built on the north-side of this guest-house?"
Jean shook his head.
"It will have a canopy installed to keep our guests dry on rainy days; and to keep them from getting too much sun when the summer days get too warm." she explained, smiling at the the thought, "It will also offer them an unobstructed view of the sea while sitting drinking their wine, coffee or mineral water; especially in the summertime."
Jean motioned to his two sons to follow him through the doorway as he respectfully let the woman-of-the-house lead the way.
The three Valcours found themselves quite impressed with the north-side view.
"Magnificent!" Jean's son, Charles was heard to exclaim.
"I'm glad you appreciate it..." she responded, immediately adding, "...of course when strong winds blow, we will roll up the canopy."
She paused once more, noticing that Charles-Philippe was gazing westward
towards the distant cliffs quite a few kilometers away.
"Well? Young man?" she asked, getting his attention, "You show an interest in those distant cliffs. Beyond them is the more prominent Pointe du Hoc.
You can't see Pointe du Hoc from here., it's on
the other side of those cliffs - - - about twenty-five kilometers away from here."
Jean stepped up to his firstborn and proudly grasped one of his shoulders. Charles faced Madame Archambault. He looked rather inquisitive, yearning to ask questions of the guest-house mistress.
'My son Charles has a wide variety of interests and is curious about everything it seems. He's definitely smarter than his father,"
Jean flippantly boasted, "In fact he's moving to Caen after August, " he sighed ruefully, "where he will attend a preparatory school for two years, after which he plans to go on to study science at the Ecole Polytechnique."
She looked impressed.
"Well, good for you, young man, I do wish you the best. My son Gregoire plans to be a
physician like his father. By the way, may I ask you your age, Charles?"
"I will be seventeen this August."
Bemused, Madame Archambault, silently digested the information, then asked, "What interests you about those distant cliffs to the west, young man?"
Charles looked to his father, then to his annoyed and impatient brother, before responding affirmatively, "I think those cliffs must have been formed during a brief violent episode, thousands of years ago, possibly as a result of the earth quaking greatly in this region. Otherwise, rain water, waves and winds would have worn down
those cliffs into gentle slopes since then."
She smiled nervously, not knowing how to respond at that moment.
Turning to look at the stretch of coarse sandy
beach nearby, she changed subjects,
"Monsieur Valcour? I would like your opinion. I have plans to see visitors coming to Arromanches
in the summertime either spreading blankets on
the beach before us to enjoy the sea breezes
while partaking of a light picnic, or have them seated in chairs out there, perhaps under parasols to shade them from the sun,
while me and my children would serve them snacks and beverages. What do you think?"
Jean chuckled in comprehension.
"You're asking me to voice my opinion as a furniture maker; someone who makes wooden chairs for a living." he explained, "I do know
that wooden chairs tend to sink into soft or wet sand. Also, wooden chairs, each weighing perhaps twenty, maybe thirty kilograms, would
have to be carried and dispersed hundreds of meters out there on the beach - - - You and your children would wear yourselves out taking them out there in the mornings, and then bringing them back for storage in the evenings."
She bit her lip; grudgingly agreeing with him.
"What do you think I should do?" she asked Jean.
Charles intervened at that awkward moment
"Father? I have a suggestion."
Startled, Jean turned and realized almost immediately that his eldest son had some practical idea worth considering; he could tell by the look on Charles' face.
"Well, Charles? What is this suggestion of yours?"
"Father? You know my sister Alexandrie
makes wonderful wicker baskets out of white willow stems...."
Jean immediately turned to Madame Archambault, explaining,
"My daughter Alexandrie is very gifted when it comes to making hand-crafted items; she's
thirteen-years-old and has been such a great help to me and my wife."
"Sounds like a wonderful brood you have, Monsieur."
Ignoring the distraction, Charles added,
"Father? We can wick willow stems, or even
thin branches from poplar trees, and bond the wicked bundles with either horse glue or resin to make remarkably lightweight and strong portable chairs for use on the beaches here."
Impatient and irritated, It was Henri's turn to interrupt and offer a suggestion,
"My brother's idea has a problem. If someone heavy should sit on one of those chairs, the chair legs might sink into the sand...."
Charles tried to interrupt his brother in protest but Henri continued uninterrupted,
"...But my idea would be to fit two lengths of
lightweight planks of wood to the legs of the type of chair my brother proposes, each wide enough to spread the weight on the sand, keeping the chair from sinking. Pine wood would be my suggestion because it is light and easy to work with."
The trio's host started to softly laugh approvingly as she gave the Valcour patriarch
an appreciative nod.
"You have two very intelligent sons,
Monsieur Valcour. Do any of you appreciate poetry? she asked.
Taken aback by the question, Jean-Philippe
stammered, turning to his sons for support,
"I suppose." he explained insincerely, "What
poem or poet do you have in mind?"
She silently turned her attention inward
for a moment, then explained, 'My husband likes to write poetry in his spare time. One line from a poem of his that I like in particular mentions the fact that those who are successful in life are like birds that spread their wings and soar above the vanity and
the common drudgery in life."
In response, Jean firmly took hold of both of his son's and said, "But I think it is time for me and my sons to engage in a little drudgery
and work that we came to do. The day is wearing on and we need to bring in and assemble those tables that you and your husband ordered; and put a two-hundred franc deposit on."