Days of Winter

by Cynthia Freeman

  She had heard, and now she said his name with the feelings she’d up to now struggled to hold back. “Oh, Jean-Paul, please, I do believe you … and I can tell you now, ashamed as I was for so long to even admit it to myself, that I love you too … from the moment, I think, that you first came to see the children. …”

  He took her in his arms, kissing her passionately, and without resistance unbuttoned her blouse and slowly removed her skirt and underclothing, and then he was beside her, holding her, caressing her, fondling and exploring her body unhurriedly, and then, slowly, as gently as possible, he entered her. …And lying beneath him, feeling him, knowing him inside her, the pain became a joy, the reality of the dream making it all worthwhile. She was in a place she’d never been before, and she never wanted to come back from. …And for him, it was a moment of surprising sweetness, different from any other he’d known. …

  Afterward, when they were lying in each other’s arms, he said, “Now do you see, my dearest, why I couldn’t possibly let you leave?”

  “Yes,” she answered sleepily, “yes, Jean-Paul,” and saying his name seemed as natural now as breathing.

  “And there will be no more talk about leaving, or talk about us to anyone, which would make things too difficult until I can figure out the rest of our plan. …” They fell asleep then.

  When he woke up it was dawn. As he slipped out of bed he saw the blood-stained sheet, which doubly excited him … not only because he’d been her first, but also, the delicious bonus that now Etienne never could be. And she would stay, because he wanted her to be there, living in Etienne’s house, a constant reminder of his impossible love for her. Jean-Paul wondered how long Etienne would be able to stand it. He was, after all, still a man … as his mother had pointed out … a man with feelings to satisfy, or be destroyed by.

  What a perfect situation. Small wonder that in the pleasure of it Jean-Paul was not inclined to remember the injunction of his father against precisely what he was doing.

  A week passed. When Jeanette’s time of the month came round and she showed no sign, she became alarmed and frightened. …She couldn’t eat or sleep … she’d never missed, not even by a day. In desperation, she told Jean-Paul.

  This was something he hadn’t bargained on, but strangely he was excited. If she was pregnant, then what should the next step be? He asked her to wait another few days, which he needed to think on it.

  Four more days passed and still there was no sign. When he met her in the garden that night she was beside herself with fear. …She knew she’d be disgraced by bearing an illegitimate child. Her cousin Julian had been right: she’d end up in the gutter. …Like mother, like daughter …

  “What can we do, Jean-Paul? I’ll have to leave now—”

  He took her hand in his. “Are you sure …? Can you be sure you’re pregnant?”

  “Yes. I know I am.”

  “All right, then … listen carefully. There’s only one way I can completely protect you and the child.”

  “How?”

  “By having you marry Etienne—”

  “No, I can’t do that, not ever, feeling the way I do about you—”

  “Yes, you can. Because now so much more is involved. There’s going to be a child, my child and yours. Everyone will believe it’s Etienne’s, but we’ll know it’s ours. And the child will be a Dupré. That’s very important to me. Nothing need change between us. Do you think that just because you’re married to Etienne I would give you up? Never! You’ll be Madame Etienne Dupré. Our child will be born in the same bed I was born in. Etienne will be only a convenience.”

  It seemed a wicked deception to perpetrate on Etienne, and yet, if she failed to agree she would surely lose Jean-Paul—the mere thought of which terrified her.

  “…You’ll go to my mother and tell her you’ve thought it over carefully, that if Etienne will come to you and propose, you’ll devote the rest of your life to making him happy—”

  “No, Jean-Paul, please.”

  He held her very close. “Yes, my dearest, you must do it.”

  “I’m not even good at pretending—”

  “Then learn, darling. Diplomacy can open many doors. …”

  He had thought it over carefully and knew exactly what the strategy should be. This marriage had to take place for two compelling reasons. First, Jeanette was expecting his child … the fulfillment for him of a long-standing obsession. He’d see to it that the child would love him more by alienating its affection from Etienne. It would be so simple. He could do so much more with a son than Etienne could. He’d take the child on excursions … skiing, hunting, riding, boating. He’d be the completely devoted uncle … and godfather, to his one and only son. From now on his behavior with Etienne would be carefully adjusted to be more brotherly.

  Secondly, he wanted to ensure that his brother’s new wife would be his mistress. That would be a joy he could almost taste, had already tasted. By the very act of marriage Etienne would become a cuckold. Perfect. Damned ingenious, in fact. No wonder that someday he’d be Premier. …

  His thoughts were interrupted by Jeanette, saying, “Jean-Paul, I still feel it’s so wrong. There must be some other way—”

  “My darling, if there were, would I even think of subjecting you to this? But what else is there …? I am, after all, married, and we both know my wife would never allow me a divorce … not to mention that it would destroy my mother. …So how else can I protect both you and our child? This is the only way. …”

  He took her in his arms, held her, kissed her, and carefully explained what she was to say to his mother. Later, he would suggest to his mother how she should approach Etienne.

  Still protesting, but knowing she could not resist him, she finally said, “When do you want me to speak to Madame?”

  “Tomorrow, I think, when everyone is resting. You’ll go to Mother’s room and I’ll stay at the cottage while the children are asleep. …”

  Jeanette knocked softly at Madame’s door. Renée opened it. When Madame saw Jeanette, she sat up in bed and promptly asked Jeanette to sit beside her, wondering what the decision would be and steeling herself for an expected turn-down.

  Jeanette’s hands were trembling. There was no choice, as Jean-Paul had said. And beside her love for him and wanting to please him, she owed him so much. …After all, he could have abandoned her, agreed that she leave—pregnant, unmarried, disgraced. …It was his love that fortified her, and, hopefully, her undeniable respect and affection for Etienne that would make it … somehow … tolerable, she told herself. Now she squared her shoulders and, forcing herself not to turn back, said, “Madame, as we agreed, I’ve thought seriously about marriage to your son.”

  “And …?”

  “I’ve searched deeply within myself, and find that I care very much for Monsieur Etienne. …”

  Madame’s face relaxed somewhat, then tightened again. Jeanette still hadn’t said she would marry him. “And what conclusion have you come to?”

  “… I’ve come to realize that … love can happen in many ways, that through respect, a bond of love can grow … as you said. I respect Monsieur Etienne more than any other man I’ve ever known, except my father. When I came into your home, it was he who was my friend and champion from the first. We have a great deal in common. And in my heart I believe from all this a deep understanding of each other can grow … and perhaps that is the best kind of love. …”

  Madame sank back into the pillows as Jeanette finally said what she’d been waiting to hear.

  “So I’ve made my decision. If Monsieur Etienne wishes to marry me, my answer is yes.”

  Tears came to Madame’s eyes. She had been genuinely touched—as well as relieved—by what Jeanette had said and the eloquence with which she said it. She reached out her arms to embrace Jeanette. “Oh, my dear, you can’t know what this means to me, how happy you’ve made me. I only regret that I didn’t appreciate you as quickly as Etienne. The loss is mine. But at least now I c
an understand why he loves you so much.”

  And as she talked, Jeanette thought of what else she was withholding besides her relationship with Jean-Paul … that inside her womb lay his unborn child. Until this moment she hadn’t really considered the responsibilities of motherhood. But now the reality of it became frightening … and she wondered if she would be capable of Madame Dupré’s kind of fierce, self-sacrificing protectiveness of her child, and avoid the selfish behavior of her own mother. …

  That night Jean-Paul went to his mother’s room to act out his self-appointed role.

  “Mother,” he said, “I need to talk to you.”

  “About what, Jean-Paul?”

  “Well, although I realize you don’t consider it overworked, my conscience bothers me. About Etienne.”

  Madame looked carefully at Jean-Paul. “I confess such sentiments do surprise me somewhat. You’ve never been, to my memory, especially concerned with Etienne—”

  “That’s true, but I can grow too, Mother, and I too can be wrong. Etienne deserves some happiness in his life, as you have so often told me, and, frankly, while I probably will never truly like him—to pretend so would, after all, be hypocrisy—I realize the pain I have caused you by my attitude, not to mention him.”

  “Truly, Jean-Paul?”

  “Yes, Mother. It’s very sad to see a grown man so lonely. Etienne deserves better. …Now, I’ve thought a great deal about what you told me, I mean about Etienne’s feelings for this girl, which I must admit I didn’t take seriously at first, and I honestly think you should urge him to court her. After all, Mother, many men with physical handicaps marry and live happy, fulfilled lives. Why not Etienne?”

  Delighted and grateful for his support despite her nagging skepticism, she said, “I’ve told him exactly the same thing but he refuses to listen.”

  “Then you must make him listen, and stop feeling that his life is over. At twenty-five, it should just be beginning. …Of course, we don’t know how the girl will feel about him—”

  “But we do,” said Madame. “She is devoted to him.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “She told me, Jean-Paul. I had a talk with her. …”

  Jean-Paul pretended appropriate surprise. “Ah … well, then, that should make things easier. …All you need do is to tell Etienne that the girl can’t stay here any longer. …”

  “For what reason?”

  “Your reason is her confession to you when you questioned her about her reason for saying she wanted to leave … her confession that she loved him, that it had begun with his defense of her when she first came, and now after a summer had grown to such proportions that it simply wasn’t fitting that she continue to live under the same roof with him … and so, unfortunately, she would simply have to go. …”

  “And you believe Etienne would be convinced, especially so soon after telling me his own feelings for her, which he felt could hardly be returned—just as he has felt about other women?”

  “Mother, I believe it, regardless of the perhaps seeming coincidence. And the reason is, Etienne so badly needs and wants to believe it.”

  “Oh, Jean-Paul, if only it could be …”

  “Trust me, Mother, and trust yourself. I know it will be.”

  “Dearest Jean-Paul, it seems I have been blessed by both my sons. …Now come here and let me kiss you.”

  Jean-Paul, smiling, did so.

  The next morning Madame asked Etienne to come to her room. She hadn’t slept well, worrying, despite Jean-Paul’s assurances, over Etienne’s reaction to what she would say to him. She reminded herself, though, that what she had to say was, after all, the truth, regardless of how startling it might be to Etienne, and this, together with, as Jean-Paul had wisely said, Etienne’s desire to believe, would work in her favor. Still …

  When Etienne was seated in front of her, she told him simply and directly everything that Jean-Paul had said, adding—also the truth—that while at first she hadn’t liked Mademoiselle, she had learned to admire her for her way with the children, and that she herself had had intimations of Mademoiselle’s feelings toward him on more than one occasion … seeing her on returning from the birthday picnic with him was one in particular that she recalled … and only his own long-standing misguided conviction that no woman could love him because of his infirmity had kept his eyes shut to what was developing right in front of them. Rushing along, not allowing him to interrupt despite the look of growing amazement on his face, she said that it truly was a pity that Jeanette could never reveal her true feelings toward him. …she’d only confessed them to her after she’d pressed her about her statement that she was leaving despite her well-known devotion to the children. …

  When Etienne finally found his voice, and his mother allowed him to respond, he shook his head, still incredulous. “Mother, you are telling me that Jeanette actually said she felt toward me in a way … that she could find it at all possible to love me—”

  “That, Etienne, is exactly what I am saying, and it is the truth. All I can pray, for the sake of your happiness, is that you are able to accept it.”

  “Oh, Mother, you know how much I want to accept it. And, of course, she must stay, especially now. …Forgive me, Mother, I still can’t quite believe it, but if it is true, if it can be true, then all I can say is that I thank God …”

  Deeply moved, and relieved, Madame embraced him as he thought about the impossible that seemed to have happened, and told himself that if it was really true … and he was increasingly willing to believe it … then this evening, after dinner, he would ask Jeanette to become his wife. …

  During the day he watched her with a new intensity, hoping at the same time it wasn’t as obvious to her and others as it seemed to him, feeling weak with hope, and fear, at the same time. She did talk to him often, and, yes, she did indeed seem unusually warm … and responsive … to him. All through dinner he could hardly restrain himself as she met his glances … no question of it, why hadn’t he noticed more earlier …? and even smiled diffidently. If anyone had asked him what he was eating, or even who was there besides Jeanette, he’d have been hard put to answer.

  Nonetheless, the meal was especially festive, since Madame had instructed Clothilde to spare no effort or attention. It had been a very long time, indeed, since Madame had felt such true happiness. And with this happiness, she had another surprise in store for Etienne. She had thought all day about which ring he should present to his beloved. She had looked over carefully the gems in her jewel box, her eyes wandering back and forth. At last she made her decision. The large emerald surrounded by diamonds would be perfect. This would make the engagement binding. She had already begun to make arrangements for the wedding … at least in her mind. …She wanted the nuptials to take place as quickly as possible in case Mademoiselle should have second thoughts, which she quickly dismissed as unthinkable. Still, she would see that it took place soon after their arrival in Paris.

  After dinner the family went as usual to the sitting room for coffee and brandy. Soon Jeanette, with the children, took her leave on cue from Jean-Paul. Then Madame invited Etienne to her room, where she gave him the ring.

  “Mother,” he said, “I still can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  “Believe it, my son. God has a way of rewarding those who deserve it, and He has singled you out. He hasn’t forgotten you. Now, my dear, stop wasting your time with me … there is somebody far more important waiting, I would guess, to hear a very important proposal. …” And saying it, she hugged him, and then watched him leave, tears clouding her eyes.

  Etienne waited outside until the lights in the children’s bedrooms were turned off, then impossibly nervous, knocked at Jeanette’s door.

  Her face lighted up when she saw him. “Good evening, monsieur, won’t you come in?”

  “Thank you … but would you mind if we went outside for a bit …?” And offered his hand, which she took with some hesitation, not wanting him to
feel that she was being too forward.

  The leafy patterns of the willow tree danced around them on the lawn. The evening was balmy and cool. When they reached the willow, Jeanette sat down.

  Etienne was determined not to wait any longer. “Jeanette,” he said, “as is hardly a secret, I don’t have Jean-Paul’s gift with words so I’ll say this the only way I know how. …Until today I had no idea that you … that you cared for me. God knows, I still find it difficult to believe. …”

  Her heart was pounding as she began the charade. …“Your mother has told you …? But she promised—”

  He reached for her hand, remembering the special quality of Clair de Lune the night she’d played it. “Dearest Jeanette, she didn’t really betray your … confidence. I’d never have known, you’ve never stepped out of your role of governess … but she felt she had to tell me when you said you were going away … and why. After all, she knew how I felt about you too and—”

  “Monsieur Etienne, what can I say—?”

  “Only what you said to my mother … that you do care for me—”

  “Oh, but I do, I truly do,” and she started to cry, not, as he assumed, out of relief, but because she really did care for him—even if not as he thought … and as she wished. Yes, if only she did love him, if only this deception she despised weren’t necessary. …

  “Jeanette, I love you. If you can accept me for what I am, and am not”—he half-smiled—“I give you my word … no, I give you my love, and my life—”

  “I’m not really worthy of—”

  “Don’t say that, please … not when I’ve finally gotten up the nerve to ask you to … to marry me. Will you …?”