“He keeps staring at Rebekka,” Marée added with a giggle.
“Well, why not?” André stood, picking them both up in his arms. “Rebekka’s pretty easy on the eyes, don’t you think? Not as good as you guys, but close.” The girls giggled and squirmed to get down.
Ana’s large blue-green eyes stared up at him. “Is Mommy awake?”
“Yes, you can go see her, but don’t be too loud.”
“Can she read us a book?”
“Hmm.” André pretended to think. “Mommy’s kind of feeling achy and sick, so Ana, why don’t you read to her? You know, one of those books your teacher gave you from school. That way, Mommy can close her eyes while you read.”
“I want to read too,” declared Marée.
“You don’t know how as well as I do,” Ana said. “I’m in the first grade.”
“Take turns,” André told them. Marée couldn’t read well, but she was very good at describing pictures. Most of the time her make-believe stories were more inventive and interesting than the real ones.
The girls ran down the hall and André turned to Ariana, who’d arrived more slowly behind the girls. “Thanks, Mom.”
She smiled and inclined her head gracefully, causing her short dark locks to fall forward, softly framing her face. “We enjoyed having them. Are you sure you won’t let them come home with me until Claire is feeling better?”
“She likes having them around—even when she’s sick. She worries too much when she can’t check on them. But once she’s well I’m planning on taking her away for a weekend, just like we did in the summer. We’d be glad if you’d take the girls then.”
“I’d love to.” Ariana stooped to pick up a few bits of paper, her body limber and supple despite her advancing years. She straightened, and her brown eyes regarded him soberly. “Are you getting any sleep?”
He grimaced. “Not much. But Claire looks better today. I really think this is a passing cold bug—not like before.”
“That’s good.” Ariana sighed before adding, “I know it was really difficult those first years, but I was so proud of the way you took care of her.”
He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. His mother had told him this before, and his answer was always the same. “I love her.”
“I know. We all do. Claire’s a wonderful woman. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter-in-law.”
“Now you’ll have two.”
Ariana’s dark eyes came alive with playfulness. “Finally! I thought I was going to have to hit Marc over the head. He’s been so stubborn that he hasn’t been able to see how much Rebekka loves him.” She gave a low laugh. “Do you remember how he just about went crazy when she went to serve as a missionary?”
André grinned. “Wasn’t that when he started dating that voodoo woman from Haiti? Thought he could convert her to Christianity or something.”
“She did come to church for a while. Of course, it didn’t take her long to realize that Marc was in love with someone else—even if he didn’t realize it himself.”
“Rebekka’s a fine lady,” André said. “I have to admit that I once had a pretty serious crush on her myself, but she never glanced my way. It was always Marc, Marc, Marc.” André laughed, joined by Ariana.
She shook her head in reminiscence. “Marc was always a bit oblivious to a lot of things. He was lucky to have Josette and you to steady him.” A faint smile played on her lips, and her eyes were far away.
“Now he has Rebekka,” André said.
Ariana’s smile dimmed. “You know, I’m worried about those two. Philippe and Danielle are putting a lot of pressure on them to wait and plan an elaborate wedding and reception. They don’t seem to remember the urgency of youth.”
“Marc and Rebekka will be all right.” He was so sure of this that even as he spoke, he was no longer thinking of his brother and Rebekka, but about Claire. She’d been so healthy these past two years and life had been good to them. But what if her health declined again? Those previous years of recurring illness had been so difficult for them both. No, it couldn’t happen, not when they’d come so far.
“What’s wrong, André?” His mother gazed anxiously at him.
“Nothing . . . I’d better check on Claire.” He nearly ran into the bedroom but stopped when he found her cuddled up with the girls, listening to their stories. Her smile was bright, but not unnaturally so.
“I’m fine,” she said, reading the worry in his eyes. “My headache is gone.”
André’s knees felt weak with relief. Of course she was fine. Just because she had been ill for so many years at the beginning of their marriage didn’t mean one minor sickness would cause her to regress to that point.
“I am a little hungry though,” Claire added apologetically.
“I’ll bring you something.”
As André returned to the kitchen where Ariana waited, the cordless phone began ringing. He grabbed it on his way to the cupboard. “Hello?”
“André, thank heaven! It’s me, Rebekka. Something terrible’s happened. With Marc. I’ve tried to call your parents, but no one’s home there or at Marie-Thérèse’s, and Josette’s line is busy.”
André didn’t have time to be offended that she’d tried his number last. “My mom’s here. I think my dad must have gone back to work. What happened?”
“I don’t know. Marc sort of collapsed. We’re going to the hospital now. I’m calling from my cell.” Her voice lowered. “His blood pressure’s way too high. They’re afraid he’s going to have a stroke.” Her voice was calm but held a thinly veiled undercurrent of terror. André could easily read the thoughts beneath the words: now that Marc had finally come around, Rebekka was afraid she’d lose him after all.
“What hospital are you going to?”
There was a pause while Rebekka asked the ambulance workers. André took the opportunity to explain the situation to his mother.
“We’ll meet you there,” André said when Rebekka returned with the information. “Don’t worry about calling anyone else. We’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you.” There were tears in Rebekka’s voice. “I’m hanging up now. The ambulance is going to leave, and I need to go with them.”
André pushed the off button and turned to his mother, who stared at him anxiously. “Better call Dad,” he said. “We’ll need to give Marc a blessing.”
Chapter Three
After leaving the family brunch Marie-Thérèse and her two children went to Josette’s house. Since the cousins weren’t attending school that day, they wanted to play, and Marie-Thérèse and Josette took the opportunity to get started on the invitations for Marc’s wedding.
“Since I’ve been so miserable with this pregnancy,” Josette said, “I wouldn’t have volunteered to design them, but Danielle was looking very stressed.”
“She’s enjoying herself, though, I think.” Marie-Thérèse sat on a padded wooden chair in Josette’s kitchen. “After Raoul ran off like that, she’s glad to have Rebekka doing it right.”
“Too bad Philippe doesn’t see it that way.” Josette put a stack of papers and a phone book on the table. “Marc told me he’s been pressuring them to have a huge, showy civil ceremony.”
Marie-Thérèse nodded sympathetically. “That’s tough. You know, that guy was always too persuasive.” Marie-Thérèse had never liked Philippe, but out of respect for his family, she generally tried to keep her opinion of him to herself. Feeling guilty at her words, she added, “But he really seems to care for Danielle.”
“Thank heavens for that.”
There was a loud thump in the playroom where the faint voices of the children could be heard. Marie-Thérèse listened for a moment to see if there were any tears.
“Emery, Preston, Anton, Stephen—stop that right now!” Josette yelled. There was no answer. She shrugged and began sketching on a white sheet of paper. “Doesn’t sound serious.”
“Brandon would tell us if it were.” As the oldest and the only gi
rl, Larissa should have been the responsible one, but Marie-Thérèse had long ago perceived that her son, almost eleven years old, was a much better baby-sitter. In fact, the energetic Larissa was likely responsible for the disturbance. Fortunately, Josette and Zack had bought their apartment on the bottom floor so they could have a little yard and garden space out the back, and that meant there were no neighbors underneath them to complain of the noise.
“There’s nothing they can hurt in there, or that can hurt them.” Josette started in on a new piece of paper. “And Emery knows how to keep the little boys in line.” She paused a moment before adding, “Does Rebekka seem different to you?”
Marie-Thérèse shrugged. “She’s in love, I can tell that. But you know, she’s always been so collected, so together. Even as a child. Sometimes she intimidates me.”
“I know what you mean.” Josette stopped drawing. “Two degrees and being able to play the piano as well as she does. She must be some sort of genius.”
Marie-Thérèse scratched the top of her slightly upturned nose. “I envy her hair—not really red but that beautiful dark brown with the exact amount of red highlights, and—”
“And she’s young.” Josette interrupted with a giggle. “Gee, we sound downright jealous.”
“Not really. I actually admire her. She hasn’t let her looks go to her head.”
“It’s not easy being good-looking. Either men only want you for your looks, or they’re too scared to ask you out—and those are usually the ones that are worth dating, if you know what I mean.”
Marie-Thérèse knew Josette spoke from firsthand experience. Her sister still garnered stares from complete strangers—even when pregnant.
“If you think about it,” Josette went on, “for all her poise and looks, Rebekka hasn’t gone out all that much. I think she stays away from men purposefully.”
“Why’s that, do you suppose?” Marie-Thérèse peered at Josette’s drawings. “Here, let me write the words on another paper and then you can copy them onto your design.” She’d always been better at grammar than Josette.
“Maybe Rebekka didn’t go out because she preferred to be with Marc,” Josette said thoughtfully. “They were always doing something together.”
The two women looked at each other in sudden understanding. “Do you think that all this time . . .” Marie-Thérèse left the sentence hanging.
“I thought she was over him a long time ago.” Josette bit one side of her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Maybe she wasn’t after all.”
“If that’s the case, I wonder why she didn’t confide in us? We could have helped.”
Josette nodded and her straight, waist-length hair tumbled forward. “Marc always was a little dense at seeing what was right before his eyes. I never thought, though, that we were just as dense.” She sighed and rubbed her swollen stomach. “I guess we’ve been a bit preoccupied.”
“Could that be why she went to Utah?”
“I’ll bet it is.”
Marie-Thérèse thought the idea of the cool Rebekka pining away for Marc more than a little incongruous—calm, poised Rebekka, who always seemed so sure of herself and had always pursued exactly what she wanted. “Well, let’s not say anything, just in case. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”
Josette grinned. “I just can’t believe Marc is finally getting married—and he looks so happy.” She brushed a sudden tear under her eye. “Darn hormones. They always make me so emotional.” With her knuckles she again gently kneaded her large stomach, and Marie-Thérèse wondered if the baby was kicking.
“They’re going to have beautiful children,” Marie-Thérèse said, tucking her hair behind her ear. She normally kept her hair shoulder length, but her hairdresser had layered the sides more than normal, so it constantly felt disarrayed. Her husband loved the new look, but Marie-Thérèse wasn’t sure if the softening effect it had on her narrow face was worth the annoyance.
Josette threw back her head and laughed. “Oh yeah, beautiful kids. Give her a few years and she’ll be hauling a brood around like the rest of us. It’s hard to look poised with a ton of kids hanging onto your leg.”
Marie-Thérèse’s breath caught in her throat. A ton of kids, her sister had said, but Marie-Thérèse didn’t have a ton of kids. Just two, Larissa and Brandon. Both had come quickly enough, but she had been through ten years of reproductive therapy since with no further pregnancies.
Clenching her jaw, she tried to will the emotions away, but they rippled through her with a dogged thoroughness she couldn’t deny. She’d always wanted more children. Oh, not six or seven—she didn’t fool herself that she, with her obsession for organization, could handle that many, but certainly three or four. She’d discovered early that Mathieu was good with children, much more patient than she was, and he more than filled up any gaps she might leave in her mothering. She tended to be too rigid and organized, but under his tutelage she’d learned to allow the occasional mess in the name of fun. Marie-Thérèse had given her best efforts and then some to raising her children, and Larissa and Brandon appeared to be emotionally healthy individuals, despite Larissa’s rebellious attitude of late. Why hadn’t she been allowed to have more?
“Oh, Marie-Thérèse, I’m sorry.” Josette left her drawing and scooted her chair closer. “I spoke without thinking. I didn’t mean to . . .”
Marie-Thérèse struggled not to cry. It was a hard thing not to be given a child when every day babies were abandoned or abused by those who should be their protectors, when unwed mothers visited abortion clinics or dumped their unwanted offspring onto aging parents.
“It’s okay,” she said, knowing it soon would be. Her emotions ran high on the subject, but daily prayer prevented the bitterness from consuming her every moment. Prayer—and her plan for adoption.
She arose suddenly and seized her oversized purse, which she’d laid near the telephone, taking out a thin manila folder. Silently she handed it to Josette.
Her sister studied the documents, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Is this what I think it is?”
Marie-Thérèse pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of all the needles, exams, and disappointments. Mathieu and I’ve decided to adopt. And not here since there’s too long a wait for young children. Instead we’re going to Ukraine. It’s going to cost a small fortune, but we’re approved for two.”
Josette leapt to her feet and hugged Marie-Thérèse. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Well, at first I wanted to be sure, and then I just wanted it to be closer so I wouldn’t go crazy with everybody asking me when it was going to happen. But we’ll be going next month to choose children from one of several orphanages. The youngest babies they’ll let go are six months old, the oldest three years, but that’s fine with me. We might even adopt siblings—that’s why we got approved for two. I didn’t want to separate siblings if we found any that were supposed to belong to us.”
Having been adopted along with her blood sister Pauline by her aunt and uncle, Ariana and Jean-Marc, Marie-Thérèse knew what it meant to a child to preserve a blood-sibling tie. Since Pauline had been born with HIV and later died from AIDS, Marie-Thérèse suspected the decision to take on the girls full time hadn’t been an easy one for the couple she now called Mom and Dad. But it had meant everything in the world to her to have both Pauline and her adopted family. She knew Pauline had shared the feeling.
Josette was dancing around the kitchen with excitement over the pending adoption, and Marie-Thérèse felt her own joy bubble up inside, replacing the previous hurt. Over the past months while making this decision, she’d tried to maintain a calm reserve in the event of possible disappointment, but now it seemed as though nothing could prevent it from happening. She would have another child after all.
“So when are you going to tell the family?”
Marie-Thérèse suddenly felt self-conscious. “I did talk to Mom and Dad a few weeks ago, and they’ve been very supportive. We told
the children last night. That’s why I’m telling you now. I’m sure Larissa will talk to your boys, and I wanted you to hear it from me. André and Claire also know because I’ve asked André if he’ll consider going with me for part of the time in Ukraine, in case it goes over the time Mathieu can take from work.”
Josette hugged her again awkwardly, maneuvering the weight of the growing baby inside her. “I’m so glad we’ll be having babies together again.” She grimaced. “Although you won’t have to get rid of the fat afterwards. Of course you never did anyway, not really. You’ve always been so thin.” She clapped her hands. “Hey, maybe one of the children will be Stephen’s age! You know he goes crazy with no one his age to play with.”
“I’ve thought of that,” Marie-Thérèse admitted. “But we’ll have to see what happens. I’d like them as young as possible, but if it’s a sibling pair . . . we’ll see.”
“And Ukraine—Louis-Géralde’s mission. When he gets home he’ll be able to talk to them in their native tongue!”
“Well, at least he can help them understand their culture. I don’t know how much Ukrainian or Russian such a young child—or children—will speak, or remember after two years of being here in France.”
“That’s right. I didn’t think of that. But still, it’s neat.” Josette began to pace. “Oh, this is driving me crazy already! I don’t know what clothes to buy for them or anything!”
Marie-Thérèse laughed. “It’s driving you crazy? What about me? I’m the one who’s going nuts.”
“Oh yeah,” Josette replied dramatically, winking a brown eye. “You’re the one who plans a whole month of meals at a time, the one who organizes her cans alphabetically—”
“I can find them better that—”
“—the one who would rather have a clean refrigerator than a new outfit—”
“—way, and remember I don’t have someone who comes in to clean like you.”
Josette grinned. “You’re going need it.”
“We might not be able to afford it after the adoption.”
Ties That Bind Page 3
