“We’ve talked about this.” Desirée’s voice was icy. “Let’s not do it again here.”
The muscles in Raoul’s face worked, but he acquiesced with a nod, his respect obviously overruling his desire to be right. He squeezed his wife’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. The love in his eyes was apparent, as was also the beginning of a lesion that would not soon heal. Desirée smiled at him and took his hand possessively in hers. Her lips puckered slightly, as though sending him a private kiss.
Rebekka felt transported back in time, and it was as though she were watching her parents trying to resolve their religious differences. Through the years they had managed to hold on to their marriage and to continue to love each other. But it hadn’t been easy, and despite their deep love, she knew her mother still longed for her father to take her to the temple.
Suddenly Rebekka felt like crying. She held onto Marc’s hand—her lifeline in the face of her brother’s bleak future. She knew Raoul had understood when he made the decision to marry Desirée outside of the temple that it wouldn’t be easy. Feeling as lonely as she had without Marc—almost lonely enough to fall into a nonmember’s arms herself—Rebekka didn’t blame him for his decision. Even so, she wished it could be otherwise, and that he could avoid the pain which was likely to follow. She planned to give him all the support he would need, and every night she prayed for him and Desirée. More than anything she wanted her brother to be happy.
“I’m glad to hear you’re not moving,” André said lightly. “My sisters love the wards they’ve moved into, but there’s nothing like your home ward. Still, if you have to move, you have to move. Sometimes there’s no getting out of it.”
The rest of the evening went smoothly, although Rebekka was irritated to soon find Desirée flirting openly with André and Marc—or trying to. They were polite to her, while at the same time refusing to be pulled into her games. Or maybe they simply didn’t notice. Claire didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, and Rebekka wondered if it was all in her imagination.
Desirée also seemed preoccupied with the value of the furniture and other items in the house, asking questions about prices—something Rebekka would never have dreamed of doing with anyone but a close friend— if at all. Claire became noticeably uncomfortable when Desirée asked about the china.
“Ariana, my mother-in-law, bought these for us as a wedding gift.” Claire touched the side of her plate with the tip of her finger. “I don’t know how much they cost. I went with her to pick them out, but I . . .” She trailed off, looking at her husband for support.
Desirée spoke quickly. “They are very costly. I know because I was looking at some just like them. Your mother-in-law must be rich to buy you these.”
“My mother has always been quite generous,” André said in an attempt to cover Desirée’s apparent lack of social graces.
Claire’s chin lifted. “Ariana has been a second mother to me. I couldn’t ask for a better mother-in-law.”
“I wonder what my mother-in-law will give us,” Desirée mused.
Rebekka felt repulsed, but she forced herself to be kind. “I’m sure my mother will give you an appropriate gift—eventually. But I think it’s only fair to tell you that she’s feeling a little disappointed right now at not being able to attend your wedding. Perhaps it’s best to let things follow their own course.”
“It doesn’t matter, really. Raoul will buy me whatever I want,” Desirée said, dismissing the conversation altogether. “But tell me, Claire, where did you find that lamp? It’s simply gorgeous. It reminds me of the time I met this lady at a store and she . . .”
Deep in thought, Rebekka missed the humorous climax of Desirée’s story, but she laughed with the others all the same. She had to hand it to the woman—she definitely had charm and knew how to use it when she wanted. But was the charming Desirée the real woman? Or was she the pushy, obsessed person they had glimpsed before? Or was the real woman someone else entirely? No one is all bad or good, Rebekka told herself. And she is very young. There will be time to get to know her, to find her good qualities.
Not until dinner was over and it was time to leave did Rebekka have a moment alone with her brother. “Are you happy?” she asked as she hugged him good-bye.
“Yes, very.” His voice was low but vehement. “I know it’s going to be hard, but I have faith she’ll come around.”
“I hope so.”
“I love her very much.”
“I can see that.”
“There’s so much people don’t see in her,” Raoul whispered. “I mean, I know she comes across as a little flighty and . . . well, selfish sometimes. That’s because her parents didn’t have any money when she was young. She’s had to look out for herself. But Rebekka, she’s great fun—keeps me laughing all the time. Just as she had us doing here tonight. I could just look at her for hours. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Ever. I want to give her the world. I want to make up for the life she didn’t have as a child. I know it’s not going to be easy, but I’m willing to make it work. She’s worth it—I believe it with my whole heart.”
“I’m glad, Raoul. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am,” he said with confidence. “I’m glad for you, too. Marc’s been a blind, stubborn fool, but I couldn’t wish for a better man to marry my sister.”
Rebekka wanted to say the same thing about Desirée but couldn’t force the words. In fact, she felt an increasing dislike for her new sister-in-law. Only for Raoul’s sake, would she continue to try to get along with her.
On the way from the apartment Rebekka continued to ponder Raoul’s relationship with Desirée.
“Why so quiet?” Marc asked, taking her into his arms as they reached the car.
“I don’t know.” She paused, debating whether she should share her reservations about Desirée. “No, that’s not true. I’m worried about Raoul and Desirée. When I look at them, I see my parents all over again. Desirée obviously has no desire to share in the gospel.”
“She may in the future,” Marc said. “At least she didn’t lie to him. Raoul knew what he was getting into.”
“It would be different if I felt she really loved him.” Rebekka continued earnestly. “Like my dad loves my mom.”
“You don’t get that feeling?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes I did but then . . . didn’t you see her flirting with you and André?”
He laughed and drew a dramatic hand across his brow. “Whew, I’m glad you noticed. I was wondering if I was imagining things.”
“You weren’t. Not that either of you encouraged her at all, thank heaven.”
He grinned. “Of course we didn’t encourage her. Why would we when we have you and Claire? Really though, I think it was rather harmless. I mean, we have to realize they’re new to marriage and that they’ve been in flirting mode for a while. Maybe she needs some adjustment time.”
Rebekka sighed. “You could be right. And maybe I just don’t want to share my brother.”
“Or me?” he added teasingly. “Weren’t you just a bit jealous?”
“Maybe. My new sister-in-law certainly is attractive. Raoul is completely smitten.”
“So would you fight her for me?” He was still teasing, and his brown eyes gleamed in the lamplight.
“Heck no! She’s got ten kilos on me, even if it is in all the right places.” She punched him playfully on the chest. “Besides, she’s not willing to give you her kidney.”
The smile deserted Marc’s face. “No one will let me forget that,” he said softly.
She lifted her chin. “And I won’t apologize for it. I love you. We all love you.”
“I know.” He leaned down and nuzzled her face gently. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Even as she said it, Rebekka felt it was true. Couldn’t he? The risk of her life wasn’t really an issue here. His was.
“I’ve prayed about it,” he said, “and I didn’t get a bad feeling,
as though you shouldn’t be the donor or anything. Maybe it’s just been my reluctance holding me back all along.”
Her hands gripped his arms. “So you’ll let me?”
“Yes.” He paused, searching her eyes deeply. “And thank you.”
She kissed him lightly on the lips. “I was hoping you’d say that because our surgery is scheduled for next Friday.”
Chapter Eight
Early Saturday morning after breakfast, Claire went to the couch where André was reading the paper in his robe. She read with him, and they occasionally discussed an article. In front of them Ana and Marée were sprawled out on the floor coloring, their dark heads nearly touching as they bent to their important task.
Abruptly André shut the paper and set it to the side. “What is it, Claire?”
She didn’t know what tipped him off. “Nothing . . . really.” She suddenly felt unsure, and wished she had on one of her “Madame” disguises and that they were at their favorite restaurant.
He put his arms around her and she felt safe and protected. “Well?” he prompted. When she didn’t reply, he nibbled her ear.
“You’re tickling me!”
“I know.”
She turned slightly and hugged him. “You’re the most wonderful husband in the world.”
“You’re going to bring up the baby again, aren’t you?” His voice was calm, but she detected a note of underlying distress.
“I’m feeling better now. I am.” She looked at the girls. “I know two children are considered more than plenty here in France, but I can’t help but think you need a son to carry on your name.”
“My name’s not important,” he said gently. “You are.” He caressed her face with his fingertips. “Claire, just earlier this week you were so sick I was afraid to leave you to go to the airport to see my brother off. I know you’re better now, but remember what the doctors said about another pregnancy. Please don’t ask me to risk your health. If something happened, I don’t know how I’d live without you.”
His brown eyes shimmered with the strength of his emotion, and Claire felt the tangibility of his love.
“I need you.” He motioned to the girls. “They need you.”
She knew he was right, but told herself she could go through another pregnancy because she knew how much he wanted a son. “I just thought . . . I mean, we’re not getting any younger . . . Now might be the best time.”
“Is this because of me? Or do you want to have a baby for you? Because those are two very different things.” His gaze bore into her, seeming to penetrate her very soul.
She looked at the carpet, knowing she couldn’t lie. For her, the girls were enough.
“That’s what I thought.” His voice wasn’t harsh but understanding. “I know you think I want a son, but I don’t feel that way, not enough to risk you. The girls and you are all I need.”
Claire wanted to believe him, but she wondered if he only said what he did to protect her. All her life she’d longed for a daughter and had been blessed with two. What if she’d had two sons instead? Would she have simply given up the dream of a little girl? Was this the type of sacrifice André was making for her?
“What if I said I didn’t feel our family was complete?” she asked, rubbing her hand along the satin length of her dressing gown.
They had been talking quietly, but now and then the girls glanced at them, apparently keeping track of their words. Claire wondered how much they understood.
André was silent for a long moment, not with an isolating quiet, but one of deep and careful thought. Finally, he spoke, “If you feel that way, I think we should pray about it very hard.” He hesitated. “If we come to the conclusion that we should have another child, maybe we should consider adoption like Marie-Thérèse and Mathieu. How do you feel about that?”
Claire blinked twice, amazed. Maybe André was telling her the truth, that he really didn’t feel some eternal loss because she was unable to give him a blood-related son.
“Well?” He looked at her earnestly.
She smiled. “I guess I want to think about it. And pray.” She snuggled closer to him. “I still mean what I said, you are the best husband.” He sighed almost imperceptibly, and she knew he was relieved. His lips found hers, and she sighed happily.
“Daddy, can you help me color this boat?” Marée asked.
He drew away from Claire. “A boat?”
“Yeah. And the guy on it. And a lady with a long dress.” She arose and walked over to his knee, holding out a jumble of broken crayons on her small, open hand.
André took two and handed one to Claire. “Sure, Mommy and I’ll both help. But let’s go color by Ana, okay?”
Claire lay on her stomach with the rest of her family, thinking that her life couldn’t get any better.
* * *
Marie-Thérèse sat in her kitchen reading through her adoption paperwork for what seemed like the millionth time. A gentle breeze moved the thin curtains above her sink, and fingers of sunlight danced on the papers like a promise. The months and years of waiting were almost over! Soon the baby would be in her arms. She would touch the soft skin and smell the sweet baby smells. Should she choose a little boy or a little girl? Girls were so fun to dress up, but a boy might grow to be as solid and agreeable as Brandon.
She gave a drawn-out sigh and sipped the hot chocolate she was having with her breakfast toast. Why was Larissa being so difficult? Josette’s children always welcomed the idea of a new baby, but Larissa’s opposition seemed to grow with each passing day.
As though in answer to her mother’s silent thoughts, Larissa shuffled into the kitchen. Her short hair was so dark it was almost black like her father’s, though the shape of her pale face resembled Marie-Thérèse’s. She was also thin like her mother, but her temperament was volatile and often rebellious. Marie-Thérèse hoped her daughter wouldn’t have to endure much pain and many trials before she awakened to what was truly important in life. But there was only so much a mother could teach a daughter, only so much time in a day that she could pray for her to find her way.
Marie-Thérèse slipped the adoption papers into a drawer but not soon enough. Larissa tossed her dark head and wrinkled her slightly upturned nose. “Are you sure you want to do this, Mom? I mean, you don’t know what kind of a medical heritage this kid’ll have. What if he has some kind of inherited disease that doesn’t show up until later? Or what if his father is a murderer or something and he grows up with a mean streak? Can’t you just wait until Brandon gets married and has kids?”
“It’s hardly the same thing,” Marie-Thérèse returned dryly. “A child is always a blessing, and I hope you’ll give your attitude more consideration. This is something your father and I have prayed about and we feel it’s right.”
Larissa grimaced and rolled her eyes. “Well, I can’t say anything to that now, can I?”
“No, you can’t, so don’t even try.”
Larissa sighed dramatically and stalked to the breadbox on the counter, where she began making herself some toast.
Brandon came into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. His brown hair was tousled as though he had gone to bed with it wet. He kissed Marie-Thérèse on each cheek. “Good morning, Mom.”
She hugged him. “Good morning. How’re you feeling?”
Larissa slammed a cupboard door shut. Marie-Thérèse stared at her hard but didn’t reprimand her aloud, figuring the child already had enough challenges to deal with.
“I’m fine.” Brandon pulled up the leg of his pajama. “See? Rash is almost gone.”
Marie-Thérèse examined the skin to be sure. “Well, so it has—mostly. Better keep using that cream until it’s completely gone.”
“I think the rash might leave a scar.” Brandon’s voice held a hint of pride.
Larissa coughed rudely. “I still say that even if it’s a girl, she can’t stay in my room. I think we need to move to a bigger house.”
“What?” asked Br
andon, momentarily confused. “Oh, the baby.”
“We’re not moving,” Marie-Thérèse said. “And your room is plenty big for two. Maybe it’ll be a good thing for you to learn to share. When I was a kid—”
“I know—you and Aunt Josette shared a room. You’ve told me all week.”
“And we were close,” Marie-Thérèse stressed. “You could really learn to love a little sister.”
Larissa muttered something that vaguely resembled “pest,” but Marie-Thérèse chose to ignore it. Larissa turned on her brother. “You don’t want to share your room, do you?”
He shrugged and gave her an I-don’t-care expression. “The baby can stay with me. There’s room.”
“That figures,” sneered Larissa. “Perfect little momma’s boy.”
“Larissa!” Marie-Thérèse was shocked. “We don’t speak to members of our family that way. You’re inviting a bad spirit here and I won’t have it.”
“Fine!” Larissa threw the rest of her toast into the garbage. After glaring in her brother’s direction, she stomped from the room.
Marie-Thérèse felt like crying. Where had she gone wrong? Wasn’t it only yesterday she had cradled her tiny daughter in her arms and sung her a lullaby? How she longed to hold her now! But someone had taken away her sweet little girl and given her this emotional stranger instead.
Brandon calmly buttered Larissa’s remaining toast and began to eat it. “Don’t worry, she’s just going through a phase.”
Unbidden, a smile came to Marie-Thérèse’s lips. “A phase?”
“Yeah.” His face was serious. “Pretty soon she’ll have pimples, start wearing high heels, and begin dying her hair.” He paused and she could see a grin coming. “We’d best leave her here and move to America to stay with Uncle Zack’s parents until it’s all over.”
Marie-Thérèse laughed aloud, her heart lightening. “Yeah, right. We’re not going anywhere.” But his observations brought her a few ideas. Larissa was growing up, and doing so in an increasingly confusing world. So how can I help her make sense of it all? Marie-Thérèse put it at the top of her mental list of things to pray about, followed by Marc and the new baby. Or babies, she corrected herself.
Ties That Bind Page 8
