(Do not fear being displaced, though, sister mine. No one could ever take your place in my heart. And besides, Alice lacks your élan—she has terrible taste in hats.)
With great affection,
Mireille
February 3, 1940
Dearest Mireille,
I had no concerns over being replaced, for I feel confident in the deep regard we hold for each other.
I cannot say if your letter has been received, I’m afraid. I can say that Papa is in poor health again. Gilles has been here more often, helping on the farm. I do not believe our parents have shared your news with him, and I suspect it’s for the best. They do benefit from his aid, and would be loath to part with it.
I visited the village today, partly for errands and partly for the fresh air. Curiously enough—do you know who said hello and tipped his hat? M. Caron!
I’m sure he was merely being solicitous, but it did seem amusing after writing about him so recently.
Please tell—have you and Gabriel begun to discuss names for your baby yet?
Cécile
(which would sound lovely on a tiny baby, don’t you think?)
February 17, 1940
Dearest Cécile,
Names! No, we haven’t discussed names, but I will have more time in the weeks to come to consider them, since I had to quit the pastry program yesterday.
The director of the program, who knows Gabriel and knows that we married, figured out that a recently married woman with an uncertain stomach was likely pregnant. He and Gabriel had a meeting to discuss my “situation,” and while it was stated that there was nothing wrong with a young married woman being with child, the director made it clear that the pastry school was not the place for me.
As much as I’m glad to be ill in the privacy of our home, I’m heartbroken about classes. I feel as though I’ll never be able to finish my training, that my life will be ordinary.
I’ve watched enough friends have babies and be wrapped up in that life—at least, wrapped up in telling the nanny what to do—and they seem to enjoy it. I just never imagined myself a mother. I’m trying not to resent this tiny baby we’ve made for taking away a future that perhaps ought never to have been mine to begin with. Gabriel knows I’m saddened from the loss of pastry school and is quite happy to teach me himself—he is more than proficient, of course. But it’s not how I’d imagined it. I’d so looked forward to seeing my name on that certificate.
Enough about me. I’m sorry to hear that Papa is ill again. Give him my best; he doesn’t have to know it’s from me. And as difficult as things were with Gilles, I’m grateful for his help.
And you and your M. Caron—what luck! Though I’m not surprised you’ve caught his eye. You really are very pretty, dearest. He’d be foolish (or blind) not to notice your many feminine attributes.
Mireille
March 7, 1940
Dear Cécile,
I’m afraid I have some very sad news. Mireille lost the baby yesterday.
I dislike the term “lost” because I don’t want it to sound as though it’s in any way her fault. The doctor has seen her and believes she will be well, in time, and we have no reason to believe she won’t be able to have another child.
Mireille is despondent and has not left her bed. She wanted to write but has not yet been able, thus my letter.
You must be busy, and I hate to impose (especially in light of how difficult my father-in-law is being), but if it would be possible for you to visit Mireille here in Paris, it might help. While I don’t believe much but time will lift her spirits, I do know that having you near would be beneficial for her.
Kind regards,
Gabriel Roussard
RÉPUBLIQUE FRANÇAISE
POSTES ET TÉLÉCOMMUNICATIONS
TÉLÉGRAMME
M. GABRIEL ROUSSARD
WILL ARRIVE ON 2 PM TRAIN.
CÉCILE
When I walk into my kitchen today, I am not alone. Whether we know it or not, none of us is. We bring fathers and mothers and kitchen tables, and every meal we have ever eaten.
—MOLLY WIZENBERG
My heart ached with the news of Mireille’s miscarriage. I paused, not knowing whether to continue with the letters.
But I also knew that once my plane landed, my time would be spoken for more often than not. I braced myself and read on.
April 2, 1940
Dearest Cécile,
Thank you again for your visit. Anouk and I took a walk to the park today. I saw nannies and mothers with children and went home in tears, but at least I had a little fresh air beforehand.
Poor Gabriel. He has a wife who cries over the smallest things, in bed, over breakfast, while cooking.
What I haven’t told him is that I worry that my doubts about leaving my studies somehow caused the baby to fade away. I know it’s not reasonable, but there it is. Now that the baby is gone, it’s all I want in the world.
Mme. Brisbois at church heard, I don’t know how, and patted my hand and told me that it was the Lord’s will.
Cécile, I nearly slapped her.
I have read the Scriptures, likely not as much as I should, but enough that I do not believe such a thing is the doing of the Lord. Gabriel led me away in time that I did not cause Mme. Brisbois harm, which is likely for the best.
This is a terrible letter. I apologize. I only wished to thank you for your visit.
Much love,
Mireille
April 15, 1940
My very dearest sister,
Of course it’s not your fault. And I’m very sorry about Mme. Brisbois and her unkind words. I am praying for joy in your life, not that it will make up for this sadness, but perhaps lessen it just the tiniest bit.
And as always, I enjoyed seeing you, even though the circumstances were unhappy. Again I was reminded of what a wonderful man you married. And I’m not just saying that because he makes amazing pain au chocolate (truly, though, it is the best I’ve ever tasted).
I’m sorry I don’t have better words of comfort. At times like these, I feel so very young and naive. I cannot fathom the road that you walk, but my love is with you always.
Cécile
April 23, 1940
Dearest Cécile,
Please know that I treasure your words of comfort. Thank you, thank you, so many times thank you for your kindness and patience with me.
Gabriel has been very kind, and we are planning to take a holiday soon, perhaps to the sea.
I cannot return to the pastry school, so I remain at home. I bake, but all food tastes like ash in my mouth. Perhaps it is time I tried my hand at being a proper housewife.
Everyone (no, not everyone. But it feels very much like everyone) is telling me that there will be other babies, not to be discouraged.
To be merely discouraged feels like a very distant country. I must be doing this all wrong. I must be doing everything wrong.
Mireille
May 4, 1940
Dearest Mireille,
Sending you imaginary hugs. Also, you’ll find enclosed in the parcel some cunning lace handkerchiefs, which I found in the shop in the village and thought were quite pretty, along with cuttings of our latest crop of lavender and a jar of new honey.
Rather than tell you all over again how sorry I am about your sadness, instead I shall tell you about the goings-on at the chateau. Papa is better, though still not at his best. I fear he is growing old and will be unable to carry on with his work in the fields the way he would prefer.
Maman has given up redecorating the chateau in favor of redecorating me. To be fair, she does have good taste. At her insistence, my hair is a bit shorter, curled, and set, and I admit I look very chic.
I wore one of my new dresses into town—and I saw M. Caron again! And this time he not only tipped his hat, but asked how I was, and after everyone at the chateau.
He smiled at me; I feel so foolish, but he really is so handsome. I must steel myself. You married p
urely for love; I doubt I will be lucky enough to do the same.
Holding tea at the chateau in two weeks. If you or Gabriel have any new recipes to send my way, please do—I could use a novelty pastry to give someone something to talk about that’s not politics or my marriage prospects.
I love you, dearest sister. And my heart breaks for your sadness. I hope that in time, your heart might find joy in life again.
À bientôt,
Cécile
May 17, 1940
Dearest Cécile—
You are too good to me. I still feel as though there is a stone in my chest where my heart should be, but I am eating more, and Gabriel made me laugh yesterday. You should have seen him celebrate after, he was so proud of himself.
Tante Joséphine and I took tea yesterday. It was the first time we’ve spent time together since the miscarriage.
She was very kind. Very kind, but also firm in a way that, I believe, was necessary. She insisted that I take time to heal, but advised me to start classes again the next term.
“You come from Guérin stock, on your mother’s side,” she said. “Guérins never give up.”
We took a short walk with Anouk (who has been quite concerned through all of this, seldom leaving my side) and didn’t speak much, but the breeze and the sunshine felt restorative, in the smallest way.
The world moves on, no matter how I feel about it. Gabriel’s older brother has arrived in the city with his wife and their four children. From the sound of it, they had a narrow escape from Warsaw.
When we visited for dinner last, his wife put the children to bed after the meal and the adults retired to the library, where Nathan told us about the conditions and persecution of Polish Jews. While their parents feel that their status as French citizens protects them from such harsh treatment, Nathan is uncertain. He feels deeply that if France is invaded by Germany, no amount of French citizenship will stop the social and political campaign against Jews.
He, along with fellow professors at the university, has been studying the propaganda distributed against Jews throughout much of Europe, focusing on Central and Eastern Europe. He feels certain that if Germany marched on France, Paris would fall.
Again, M. Roussard and Benjamin disagreed with him, citing trade agreements and France’s value as, if not an ally, at least a country with a border worth respecting.
Gabriel did not speak, but I could tell even then that he was listening to each word, measuring its value. He hasn’t spoken of it since, but I know his mind has continued to dwell on the subject.
So you see, the world really is much larger than my sorrows. Do not fear, dearest. I’ll be myself again soon. I am anxious to hear more about M. Caron. I have every hope and prayer that you will love your husband the way I love Gabriel.
Mireille
June 3, 1940
Dear Mireille,
Maman has officially scheduled our tour. She has a calendar, and has confirmed with each friend we shall be staying with.
I tried your advice about the laughter, but I keep startling the horses. It’s not funny, Mireille—the groom suggested I stop visiting the stables, because the horses seem agitated after I leave. I’m so embarrassed.
I’m glad your visit with Tante Joséphine was so beneficial. Give her my love when you see her next. Concerned to hear about your brother-in-law’s news. What do you think it means for Gabriel’s family in Paris, and you and Gabriel by extension?
Life is quiet here, save the hum of the honeybees in the lavender. Awaiting your letters. Our little corner of the world can feel very small sometimes.
Cécile
Pray for peace and grace and spiritual food, for wisdom and guidance, for all these are good, but don’t forget the potatoes.
—JOHN TYLER PETTEE
Reading the letters between the sisters made me miss Caterina and Sophie, Cat most acutely. I hadn’t seen her for months now, and while that wasn’t unusual, with all that had happened I felt it more deeply.
When the plane landed, I found a text from Neil, hoping for my safe travels. I told him I’d landed safely, and shifted to send a text to Clementine, letting her know I’d be out shortly.
After the long journey home last time, I skipped past my siblings and asked if Clementine would mind picking me up in my car.
“See you soon,” Clementine texted back.
I picked up my luggage from the baggage claim and strode outside, looking for my car with Clementine behind the wheel.
Sure enough, just ahead I spotted it—not hard, since an old red Alfa Romeo tends to stand out. I jogged toward it, dragging my suitcase behind. I waved hello, threw my suitcase into the trunk, and jumped into the passenger seat. “Hey,” I said, to the back of Clementine’s head, “thanks for—”
I shrieked in surprise. It wasn’t Clementine in the driver’s seat at all.
“Hello, stranger,” said my sister Cat, grinning cheekily. “Good flight?”
I threw my arms around her. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think you were flying in until Thursday!”
“I missed you, Mom’s got an appointment on Wednesday, and I meant to buy tickets a long time ago and forgot. Damian was game for an early trip—it worked out.”
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
“Back atcha.” She checked the mirrors pulled out into the through-lane. “So—flight go okay?”
“Just fine. I’m over planes, though. If I visit you in Chicago, I’m taking the train.”
“That’s so retro of you.”
“How are the boys?”
“Jet-lagged and cranky, but enjoying an afternoon with Dad and Damian.”
I leaned my head back. “You guys staying with Mom and Dad?”
“For now. I’m keeping an eye on the boys. Any cold symptoms and we’ll decamp to a hotel, but for now, yes. I expect them to come home with five new French words each and a sense of pastry entitlement.”
“Once Mom gets ahold of them? Five conversational words and two songs. The pastry thing you’ll just have to live with.”
Caterina patted my leg. “I know. Tell me about the last of your time with Neil.”
I told her about our one-week time frame, zoo trip, and movie night with Callan and Tarissa.
“So let me get this straight. You basically gave him an ultimatum, you’re both thinking things over, he’s flying out for the opening, and then you’ll figure out where your relationship goes from there?”
I propped my elbow against the car door and rested my head in my hand. “I’m worried I killed it, Cat. I’m worried I said too much, that he’ll think it over and be gone forever.”
“But you’re not loving the long-distance thing. Are you thinking of moving out there anytime soon?”
“I can’t leave Mom. And with the restaurant just about to open—leaving Portland isn’t an option.”
“And you’ve explained this to Neil, right?”
“Right. I was completely honest with him. Probably too honest.”
“And you’ve been up-front with him that long-distance is no good, and that moving right now isn’t an option. So there’s really nothing for you to think about—it’s on him to decide if he’s willing to consider relocation, if he wants your relationship to continue.”
I winced. “That sounds selfish.”
“Eh,” Cat said with a Gallic shrug, “at this point in the relationship, there’s little room for altruism. Hanging on to a relationship that’s not going to work for you in an effort to be unselfish is a terrible idea.”
“But breaking up would be…awful.”
“Yeah,” Cat said softly. “So basically you’re spending your week waiting to find out if Neil will move to Portland.”
I thought it over and nodded. “Pretty much.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It is.”
“Does he seem like he might be willing to move? And if you’re done talking about it, that’s okay.”
“N
o, it’s fine. The thing is, he’s pretty settled. He’s got a job he likes and good friends in Callan and Tarissa. His work is important, and he’s passionate about it. He doesn’t see the need for things to change the way I do. I don’t think he makes friends easily, but when he does they’re long term. Romantically, I think he’s that guy who’s happy to date for two or three years before any conversations happen about the future.”
Caterina snorted. “I’ve heard about those guys. I didn’t marry one, but rumor has it they exist.”
“Basically,” I said. Caterina and Damian had met and married within a year—no grass had grown beneath their feet. “And he’s a scientist. He runs tests over long periods of time. I don’t know that he’d ever move that fast.”
“Hard to say,” she answered.
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“What do you mean, what?”
“You’re thinking something you’re not saying.”
“I just…I get lots of couples in my classes, I hear lots of stories. You can tell the couples who are into each other. Most of the time, if they’re the marrying kind, there’s not a lot of indecision on the guy’s behalf. I think something clicks in a guy’s brain and he wants to get a lady off the market before anybody else snatches her up. But everybody’s different. So I don’t want to generalize.”
I rolled my eyes. “You do too want to generalize.”
“I’m worried you want different things, that he’s just not ready.” she said softly. “But I don’t know him, I’ve never met him. I can’t say.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I asked. He says he loves me. I believe him—I do. I just don’t know if it’s enough.”
“Hope you didn’t mind the subterfuge,” Clementine said when we got back to the apartment. “Caterina couldn’t wait to surprise you.”
“Ciao, Gigi,” Caterina said, bending down to greet the dog. Gigi, in turn, couldn’t figure out who to greet first, and ultimately decided to roll over on her belly, and allow her admirers to come to her.
Reservations for Two Page 24
