Gift of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  But there was an inheritance of his own to consider. One that Joanna knew nothing about. If he sold it—or part of it—he’d have enough money to match Joanna’s contributions. Then they would truly be equal partners.

  It’s only stuff! he told himself whenever he felt a stab of remorse at the thought of selling it. A literal ton of stuff I have no practical use for. It belongs in a museum, anyway. So the rest of the world can enjoy it. I should let it go.

  Joanna was quiet during the ride, and stayed that way after they got home. As soon as they walked through the door, Sammy was all over them, and Joanna let him out into the chilly night air to make his usual rat patrol.

  Silently, they each got ready for bed. Luc watched his beautiful wife slip out of her pretty lingerie and into a nightdress. She brushed her long, thick hair and tied it up into a twist for the night. Then she disappeared to brush her teeth.

  The evenings were still chilly, so he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, and then he slid between the cold sheets to wait for her.

  He listened to her light tread as she went downstairs to let the dog in. Then he heard her footsteps return and the light click off. He felt her climb into bed beside him, shivering as she turned to him and crept under his arm, resting her cheek against his chest. He could smell her face cream. And her hair. His heart swelled with love.

  Neither spoke for a moment. Then Luc felt the time was right.

  “You really want that house, don’t you?”

  He felt her head nodding into his chest.

  “And you think my pride is the only thing standing between you and getting it.”

  “I suppose,” she said in a little voice.

  “And you think that our disagreement will drive a wedge between us.”

  He felt her body stiffen.

  “No. No, that’s the last thing I’m worried about. I wouldn’t let that happen. I’ll accept whatever you think is best.”

  She raised herself on one elbow and looked down at him. He could just make out the shine in her eyes.

  “Really?”

  “Really. I will.”

  He smiled at what he was about to say next, putting up a hand to caress her face.

  “I think I have a solution to our little problem.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. You see, you’re not the only one with an inheritance.”

  “What?”

  “Have you ever wondered why I became an archaeologist?”

  “You told me it was because you didn’t want to follow in your father and brother’s footstep. Medicine didn’t interest you. And you wanted a career that would let you work outdoors.”

  “Right. But the real reason goes back even further.”

  “To when?”

  He had her full attention now, he knew.

  “It was my mother, actually.”

  “Your mother? How?”

  “She was always interested in history and culture. Architecture and design. She was particularly interested in the history of the Roman Empire.”

  “Did she study Roman history at school?”

  “Not for long. She met my father when she was an undergraduate in Paris, and they got married right away—she was eight years younger than him. Only nineteen. Then my brother and I arrived. She never did go back to finish her degree.

  “But the reason she was so fascinated by the Romans had to do with her inheritance.”

  “Which was?”

  “Her grandfather left her a collection of Roman artifacts worthy of an entire museum. Bronzes, pottery, marble, mosaics, jewelry, and some fabulous weaponry. Shields, helmets, a few daggers and swords.”

  Joanna said nothing so he continued.

  “I essentially grew up in a house with this stuff all around me. I just took it for granted that other families had things like that too. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized that the mothers of my friends didn’t grow oleander bushes in Roman sarcophagi. No one else had legionnaires’ swords hanging above the fireplaces. My brother and I used to play with them when we were kids. I think he still has a scar on his arm from one of my many miscalculations.”

  Luc laughed softly at the memory.

  “That must have been amazing. So what happened to all the pieces? Does your father have them?”

  “No. He never liked the stuff. After my mother died, about ten years ago, he relocated to Lyon. All he took were the swords and daggers to add to his collection of weaponry. The rest of the collection was divided equally between us.”

  “I get it now,” Joanna said, awe in her voice. “The green glass bottles in the china cabinet. The terracotta bowls on the windowsill. Daniel’s coin collection. And, of course, the oil lamps. They’re all Roman. Where are the other pieces?”

  “Well, Anna has some of the smaller toiletry items, and some beads, but the rest of my half is in a very expensive storage facility. It’s really too valuable to be sitting around in a house without a security system. And a lot of the bits are too big, anyway. I have one of the sarcophagi. Can you imagine?”

  “Not really.” Joanna’s voice sounded far away. He hugged her closer and kissed her forehead.

  “Joanna, the collection is worth a lot of money. I always thought that I would keep it forever, pass it down to my children, you know?”

  He felt her stiffen again. Then he could just make out her nod in the darkness.

  “But it seems wrong, somehow, to have it hidden away. It belongs in the world. I have no right to hoard it. So I’ve decided that I want to sell it and put the money towards the house that we both know is just right for us.”

  “Luc!” She rolled into him and put both hands on his cheeks. “Are you serious?”

  He could hear the disbelief in her voice.

  “Yeah. I am. I’ve often thought about how I shouldn’t even have it. I mean I have no right to it. My mother didn’t have any right to it. Her grandfather looted it from some cache somewhere in North Africa. It’s essentially stolen. And it should be returned to wherever it came from. But we don’t really know where that was.”

  “But what about Daniel! It’s meant to go to him, one day.”

  “And our other children, too,” Luc said with another kiss to her forehead. “But if I sell it and invest the money, as you put it, in the family home, they will still have their inheritance. It will just take another form, that’s all.”

  Jo was silent, thinking, he assumed, of the ramifications of this new turn of events.

  He said, “Let’s talk about it some more tomorrow. And if we agree, I’ll call to book an inspection of the property. Then we can get this ball rolling.”

  “But we still have seven months left on our lease.”

  “To hell with the lease. We’ll figure it out.”

  She giggled. “But did you see the bathtub? It’s too small.”

  “To hell with the bathtub. We’ll get a bigger one. Now, why don’t you let me get you out of this nightgown.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jo helped Luc pull her nightgown over her head and then nestled back down alongside the man she was just getting to know. Her husband was still an enigma to her.

  At first she was shocked when he confessed to harboring a valuable collection of looted Roman antiquities. Then she softened as she considered his offer.

  He’s willing to sell it so I can have my house. So we can have our house, she corrected herself.

  Tears wet her eyes as she realized for about the thousandth time how lucky she was. She put her arms around his big chest and rubbed the length of her body along his. He was naked now, too, and hard and smooth and already aroused. He kissed her deeply and the taste of his mouth sent a jolt of exquisite pleasure directly to her belly. Although her limbs felt heavy and weak with her desire for passivity, she managed to wriggle on top of him, maneuvering the head of his penis so that it rested between her slick labia.

  She rubbed her mouth along his stubbled jaw line, loving the rasp of his day-old beard. His skin
held the lingering scent of his shaving soap, and she breathed in deeply.

  “You smell so good to me. Do you know how wonderful you are?”

  “Mm hm.”

  “And do you know that I love you more every day?”

  “Mm hm.”

  “And now I’m going to show you how much I love you.”

  “You go right ahead.”

  She slipped her body up and over his cock so that it slid into her as surely as a finger into a glove. Then she leaned back, picked up his hands, placed them on her breasts and started to move.

  She rotated her hips slowly, sensuously, satisfied when she heard him begin to make that low guttural sound that told her he was well on his way.

  Then she sat up straighter and lifted her knees so that her feet were alongside his hips where she had more control. From that position she began to add some upward movement to her gyrations, making a kind of spiral motion.

  “Joanna…” he said, as if he was helpless. A trapped man.

  Recognizing the signs, she instantly pulled up and off his body, letting his swollen cock slap down onto his belly. Then she scooted down between his legs and buried her face in his scrotum. Breathing in his musky scent, she kissed and licked his balls, causing another round of low moans to escape from his throat. She worked her way up to the base of his cock. Cupping his scrotum with one hand, she peppered his wide shaft with little kisses, moving up to the ridged cap. She licked away the drops of pre-cum from the big, round head, making him shudder.

  Then she opened her mouth and sucked him in as deeply as she could.

  “Joanna,” he said again. “Don’t stop.”

  But she did. Quick as a cat she climbed back onto his body and slipped him back inside her. Then she started the rolling, spiral motions all over again.

  “Fuck!” He said as he grabbed her hips to slow her. “Hold on. That feels so fucking good.”

  As soon as he re established a slower rhythm, she lifted herself off him again, quickly, before he could pull her back. Again, she made love to his cock, this time using both hands to caress the base and her tongue to torment the head. When she took as much of him as she could into her mouth, he gasped, back arching upwards. That was when she released him.

  “Not without me, you don’t, sweetheart,” she said as she turned herself around on top of him and straddled his face. He grabbed her hips and pulled her down so that her pussy was over his face, and he kissed her.

  She used her hands and mouth to tease and torment his cock, wanting to prolong his pleasure. But she was too aroused to control her own, and his expert tongue drove her into rolling, sucking waves of orgasms that made her forget all about making love to him.

  “Damn that Patrice,” she said breathlessly, rolling off him and turning herself around so she could get back to work. “You’re so good at that. I just lose it.”

  She felt his hands grab her hair as she took him deep into her throat. Roughly, he pulled her head back up, thrusting upwards with his hips. She heard the familiar low growl beginning from deep inside his chest as he strained against his pleasure, moving her head exactly the way he wanted.

  “Yes—yes—now!” He called out as his come pumped down her throat in hot waves.

  When his breathing calmed, he said, “Never mind Patrice. Where did you learn to give a blow job like that?”

  Jo laughed, and snuggled into his damp chest. “I don’t know. No one in particular. It’s just the way you make me feel. I want to do whatever gives you the most pleasure. Always.”

  He pulled up her chin and kissed her then, a long, gentle loving kiss that made her want to never break away.

  “You do give me the most exquisite pleasure. Always. And I want you to be as happy as I am. Always.”

  “I think I am, sweetheart,” she said as she pulled the blankets up over them and prepared to drift off in her lover’s arms.

  But the truth was, despite getting the house of her dreams, Jo wasn’t as happy as Luc. And they both knew it. Whereas he was relaxed and in no big hurry to have another child—accepting that things happen when they happen—Jo grew more desperate to conceive with each passing month. In the middle of each cycle she would almost attack him for sex. Three, four times a day while she was at her most fertile. He obliged, of course, but they both admitted that her planned seductions left a little to be desired in the spontaneity department.

  Twice, during her fertile days, they managed to make the trip down to Nice, to the big bed in their beautiful bedroom overlooking the sea. If that was where Luc and his father were conceived, maybe the room was charmed, Jo thought.

  But, every twenty-eight days she experienced a crushing defeat when she felt the first menstrual cramps begin.

  Another wasted month. Another barren month. What am I doing wrong?

  She read everything she could about conception. Discussed the problem at length with her doctors and every mother she knew. But no amount of straight information helped. She was told the same thing over and over again. Just relax. You’re trying too hard. It will happen when you least expect it…

  Chapter Ten

  Six months later.

  With the help of some creative financing and a loan from Luc’s father, the LaPlantes moved into their new house in June. Breaking their rental lease cost them dearly but they considered it simply the price of doing business. Jo’s Seattle condo sold for a good price, and she used some of the money to buy a few pieces of the furniture that were original to the house. She thought it was more suitable than anything else they could find. When her inheritance money came through, she planned to do some more re-furnishing.

  Luc listed his Roman treasures with a broker, and expected to have everything sold within a few months. They decided to keep a few of the larger pieces, including an impressive slab of mosaic flooring, which he planned to turn into a table top, and a beautiful marble torso of a naked young man.

  And they kept the sarcophagus. They had it installed under the covered part of the patio, and Jo filled it with begonias.

  Once they were all moved in, Jo began to relax. Their first summer in the new house was filled with joy. Daniel loved his new room, and he happily spent every chance he could with his father and step-mother. He invited his friends and cousins over to ramble in the woods and swim in the pool. Jo enjoyed having children around, although watching them grow up fuelled her impatience to have her own. But she gradually came to accept that everyone she consulted in the matter was right—she would get pregnant when the time was ripe, and not a moment before. So she kept busy, reminding herself to appreciate everything she already had.

  She’d stopped scowling at the portrait of the Black Virgin on the wall above their bed. The Virgin had already led her into a life full of such blessings, she realized. She should be thanking her for everything she had, not blaming her for what she didn’t have. After this revelation Jo took to decorating the frame around the picture with little garlands of wildflowers she picked from the meadows near the house. It was a sort of peace offering, she thought. A gift of thanks.

  As summer turned into a beautiful autumn, Jo found herself lapsing into wistfulness as she pondered her life’s riches. She was beginning to feel she belonged, she realized one morning when she woke up thinking in French. Not only had her language skills improved, she discovered she had a genuine flair for cuisine. Her repertoire in the kitchen had expanded from single one-pot creations to very good soups, perfectly grilled meats and fish, and the staple sauces of any decent French cook. And she learned to bake, too. Angel food cake, quiches, choux pastry—she mastered one after the other. With a little help from Rose, and Julia Child.

  And it was just then, one afternoon as she was counting her blessings—standing in her kitchen, looking out the window at her beautiful husband, half naked as he pruned his tomato plants—that Jo remembered something.

  It’s my time of the month. Or at least it should be.

  Hesitantly, so as not to jinx it, she allowed he
rself to realize that she hadn’t experienced her usual monthly feeling of fullness. No bloating. No cramps, either. She walked over to the calendar and stared at the date—September the twenty-fourth. Then she looked back two weeks and saw the red letter “F’s” she’d placed on the sixth through the ninth—her most fertile days.

  Her mouth went dry and she felt her heart racing. She sprinted up to the bathroom and unwrapped the pregnancy test stick with shaking hands. Then, although she’d already read the directions on the package a dozen times, she read them again, blinking back the tears that blurred her vision.

  Over the next few weeks Luc picked his beloved grapes, lovingly pressed them, and then began the fermentation process. He was cautiously optimistic about the results, he told Jo. It had been a good summer, and he’d carefully thinned the vines to maximize quality. His tomato plants had also done well, and Jo found herself elbow-deep in tomato sauce for the freezer while she bided her time, almost dizzy with anticipation. When she was sure, she went to see her doctor, who confirmed her pregnancy.

  All she could think about as she drove home from the clinic was how to tell Luc. Part of her wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out for himself.

  She couldn’t help herself from stopping at a baby-wear shop and browsing through all of the paraphernalia. The selection was overwhelming—and she had to stop at buying three tiny outfits with matching hats.

  When she got home she surreptitiously smuggled them into the bedroom and buried them under a pile of sweaters. Then she got an idea.

  It was nearing mid-October now, and she hadn’t marked any days on October’s calendar with big red “F’s.” It would have been about the right time of the month for her to start waylaying Luc as often as she could for three or four days straight. And suggest they take an overnight trip to Nice.