The Ariana Trilogy

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Don’t I? Well, according to my sources, I do know what I’m talking about. Where is the money, Madame Perrault?”

  I hung up immediately.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” André was at my side in an instant.

  “You’re completely white,” my mother said.

  “Was it a crank call?” André asked.

  Pauline wiggled past her brother and put her arms around me. “I love you, Mom.” She was young enough to have faith that her love could cure anything. There was a lot of love in our house, and while it could ease this situation, it couldn’t fix it completely—or shield us from every bit of cruelty people might throw our way. I had just seen the first inkling of what the next few months might hold.

  I sent the children to the TV room before explaining to my mother what had happened. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Unfortunately, things are bound to get worse before they get better.”

  “It’ll be hard, I’m sure,” I replied. “But nothing compared to what we’ve already faced.”

  “Oh, but it will be.” Her face was earnest. “Work is a man’s life. I mean, it’s tied up with who he is—the way a woman’s life is tied up with her children.” She shook her head. “I can’t explain it exactly, but such a crushing failure is like a kind of death to Jean-Marc. He is much like your own father in that way.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. She couldn’t know what she was talking about. This was my husband. He loved me, and come what may, we would get through this problem.

  I excused myself and went to the sitting room. Through the thin wood partition that separated it from the entryway, I could hear my father’s voice. “How many times did I teach you to diversify your assets?” he was saying.

  “I know,” Jean-Marc agonized. “But I thought that having all my funds controlled by our bank would make them safer somehow.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to any savings I have from my accounts at other banks,” my father said. “Though that’s precious little when you see how many we are.”

  “I don’t want your money, Géralde. I’m just relieved you’ll still have enough to support yourself and Josephine.”

  “We’ll have enough to scrape by, but we won’t be going on another mission soon.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Enough. It happened; it’s over. Now you have to go on from here.” My father’s voice was gruff, and I winced inwardly. He, of all people, should be sympathetic to Jean-Marc’s position.

  I pushed back the folding room divider. Jean-Marc glanced up at me from the long blue couch, my father from the chair by the corner table lamp. They waited expectantly in silence, and I could hear the pendulum of our grandfather clock ticking softly as it swung back and forth.

  “Someone from one of the newspapers called,” I announced. “They know the bank has failed and are trying to place the blame on you.” Jean-Marc’s face paled, and I almost kicked myself. My father wasn’t the only one who could be insensitive.

  My father nodded his white head, trimmed by gray traces of once-black hair. His upper lip still looked odd without the moustache he had worn for forty years. That distinguishing feature had been the first thing to go after receiving his mission call. “That is to be expected,” he said. “A lot of people will be angry.” He glanced at Jean-Marc. “You had better call and give them a statement. At least they’ll have some of the truth.”

  “And we have to tell the children tonight,” I added. “We can’t have them hearing about it somewhere else.”

  Jean-Marc nodded slowly. “Yes. Gather them together, if you will, while I make the call.” There was a deep sadness in his eyes, one I wished I could wipe away. He turned abruptly and picked up the phone on the table near the window.

  “We’ll be waiting in the TV room,” I said.

  Jean-Marc nodded again. As I retreated from the room, the grandfather clock in the corner chimed nine times. The sound followed in my wake, echoing hollowly, almost menacingly, off the walls in the room.

  We were waiting when Jean-Marc and my father came into the TV room. I had turned the television off, and silence reigned. Marc was sprawled on his stomach on the light blue carpet. Josette lay next to him, using his back as a prop for her elbow. They talked in playful undertones about their adventure in roller blading that afternoon. I sat on the worn sofa that I’d had since before my marriage to Jean-Marc, with Pauline snuggled close by. On her other side sat my mother, with André resting on the floor near her feet, his arms circling his knees, his dark eyes filled with worry. Marie-Thérèse sat in an armchair across from us, her light brown eyes calm.

  We began our family council with a prayer, and then the children listened intently as their father explained the circumstances. I watched their expressions anxiously. Shock, disbelief, and anger were their first emotions, but these were quickly replaced by courage and determination.

  “So you’ll get a new job,” Marc said, a bright smile returning to his face. “We’re behind you, Dad.”

  “We could all do something,” Josette suggested.

  Jean-Marc sighed. “Perhaps. But for now, let’s see how it goes.”

  I knew he was determined to support his family as he had always done. No matter that he had worked in his own family grocery store from a very young age; he wanted his family to have all the advantages he’d never had.

  “Your father’s a smart man,” my mother told the kids. “He’ll figure it out.”

  “Until then, we’ll need to tighten our belts, so to speak,” Jean-Marc said. “No more movies or eating out for a while. Or buying clothes. We’re lucky we’ve followed the prophet’s counsel to stay out of debt. We worked very hard to pay off the apartment early, but we still have food and utilities.” He paused before adding, “And medical expenses.”

  “Will we change schools?” Pauline asked. All the children attended a private school, as I had as a child. It had become even more important to us since Pauline joined our family; she had special needs that might be overlooked in a public environment. She loved both her school and her teachers. We were rather overprotective of our youngest family member, and though it was for good cause, she sometimes longed for freedom—which, to some extent, school allowed her.

  Jean-Marc shook his head. “No. We’re paid up through the year.” I knew that was only a month away, but I refused to worry about it now.

  Marie-Thérèse came to her feet. “I have some money I’d like to contribute. It’s in my room.”

  “Me too!” the other children were quick to join in. We had been generous to them for many years, and it seemed they were now willing to give back what they could. I was touched, and the heavy burden seemed lighter.

  We pooled the money, including some I had stashed away as part of the emergency money the Church had counseled us to keep in our seventy-two-hour kits. For a few weeks life would go on as normal, maybe more if I stretched the meals. Surely by then Jean-Marc would have found a new job.

  We said family prayer and read from the scriptures before saying good night. When I visited the children’s rooms as I always did at bedtime, Josette patted her bed for me to sit. Marie-Thérèse was still in the bathroom, and we were alone.

  “Mom, how do you know when you’re in love?” Josette asked.

  An indulgent smile came to my lips. “Well, it feels right,” I said. “And of course you have to pray about it.”

  “Does your heart pound and your head feel light?”

  “At first maybe. It also makes you want to sing with joy and laugh out loud. But you need to be careful that it’s not just infatuation.”

  “Does it matter how old he is?”

  I gazed at her suspiciously. “Just how old?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Twenty or so, I guess.”

  “Did you meet someone you like?” I had always known that if one of my children were to give me trouble in this respect, it would be Josette—but surely not this soon!

  Her face broke into a radiant s
mile. “Don’t look so worried, Mom. I talked to a man a few times. He was nice, that’s all.”

  “Good,” I said. “Just remember—”

  “Who you are,” she finished.

  “Not just who you are,” I clarified, “but who you are destined to become. A queen in heaven. Don’t ever forget that.”

  “I know, I know.” Her voice was slightly subdued. “But what if I never find a man in the Church to marry?”

  What was it about girls and their desire to marry so young? Didn’t they realize that there was an eternity to be married, that their youth was to prepare and to have fun? They would be washing dishes, changing diapers, and making meals for many years to come. After the first week or so it lost its appeal, only then it was too late. Better to experience life and then settle down with a worthy man who would share the burdens. As often as I said this, my daughter still didn’t understand—and probably wouldn’t until she married.

  “I mean, I don’t want to end up like Aunt Lu-Lu,” Josette added. Lu-Lu was Jean-Marc’s younger sister, who was thirty-three and still single. She lived a short distance away with her mother, Louise, and worked as a manager at Jean-Marc’s bank—or had until this disaster. She and her mother were currently visiting relatives in Bordeaux and were due to return home next week.

  “Lu-Lu nearly got married once,” I told her. “But she decided she wasn’t going to settle for someone outside the Church. She wanted a temple marriage, and so she changed her mind and served a mission instead. She helped baptize a few remarkable people. And she’ll get married yet, you’ll see. It isn’t for lack of offers, either. She wants to find the right one—the one who will help make her a queen. The best is always worth waiting for.”

  “I get it,” Josette said in exasperation. But I noticed she was smiling. Her face grew somber in a rare moment of reflection. “I know the Church is true, Mom. I won’t let you down.”

  I kissed her cheek. “I know, honey.”

  How grateful I was for the gospel and for her budding testimony! That, above all, would keep her out of trouble.

  It was long after I had retired to my own bed that I remembered Jacques and our meeting at the cemetery. It seemed trivial now, but I had wanted to mention it to Jean-Marc. Somehow not doing so seemed dishonest.

  I stroked my husband’s shoulder in the dark. He was curled away from me, toward the wall, and light snores filled the otherwise complete silence in the room. My confession—for so it suddenly seemed—could wait for another day.

  Later, I would wish that I had awakened him.

  Chapter Four

  The headlines in the papers for the next few days heralded the whole crisis at the bank, and Jean-Marc’s name was always mentioned, usually unfavorably. Only a few of the papers wrote the truth as we knew it, and even they partially blamed him. We quickly learned not to answer the telephone until the answering machine picked up to tell us who was on the other end. Each day, the machine filled with hateful messages.

  Lu-Lu and Louise cut short their visit to Bordeaux when they read the papers. Their dismay was evident, but so was their determination to give us all the support they could.

  “I have a bit to spare.” Louise pressed a few small bills into my hand. She was a short, stout woman in her late sixties. With her strong spirit and her hair dyed a rich brown, she appeared younger. “My money wasn’t in that bank.” But I knew her retirement check was meager, and much of it went to the doctor for her health problems. She suffered from an ulcer, varicose veins, and painful arthritis, all of which had grown worse with age. Recently, she had developed diabetes. Though the apartment she shared with Lu-Lu was paid for, she couldn’t have much left over, especially now that Lu-Lu was also out of a job.

  “I’ll find something soon,” Lu-Lu said brightly. “I’m not picky.” She was a female version of her brother, even to the green-brown eyes, except that she wore her short brown hair with a flourish of dyed red highlights.

  “I can’t settle for anything that won’t support my family.” Jean-Marc’s voice was tight and angry.

  “I didn’t mean . . .” Lu-Lu began, but he waved her aside wearily.

  “I know. I’m sorry I’m so touchy.” The truth was that his tension was mounting daily, and I had to be careful of each word I said to him.

  Our ward rallied around us, even those who had temporarily lost investments, and their faith sustained ours. In the beginning we refused monetary help, though I didn’t know how much longer we would be able to do so. Our health insurance would soon run out, and to keep it we would have to pay an exorbitant rate—that or pay for Pauline’s treatments ourselves. I was sick with constant worry, though I tried not to let it show. The twins and Pauline went about life as usual, but André grew pensive.

  Marie-Thérèse spoke little, but her thoughts must have been working overtime. “Here,” she said to me on Friday, the evening of her first date. Her hand held a small roll of bills.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  She didn’t meet my gaze. “Just some money I had. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you on Saturday when Dad told us.”

  I could certainly use it, but it wasn’t like her to hold back. Before I could question her, Josette flounced into the room. She was still jealous about Marie-Thérèse’s date but loved her sister enough to be excited as well. “Where’s your jacket?” she demanded. “It goes perfectly with what you’re wearing. Alain won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

  “We’re just friends,” Marie-Thérèse said automatically. She nervously adjusted her silk blouse so that it fell attractively over the matching jade skirt. Her feet shuffled nervously in high heels.

  “So where’s the jacket?” Josette probed.

  “I’m not going to wear it.”

  Glancing down at the money in my hand, I knew exactly what my adopted daughter had done. Part of me wanted to make her take back the money, but I didn’t want to reject her sacrifice. I put my arms around her. “Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  There were tears in her eyes. “You already have, Mom. Many times.”

  A vision of her as a child, set adrift in a sea of pain, came to my mind. There was a bond between us that was in some ways stronger than the one I shared with my birth children, and even with Pauline, who was everyone’s favorite.

  “You’ll wear mine,” I said, going to the closet and pulling out the full-length leather coat with the fur lining.

  “You never let me wear it!” Josette protested.

  “Your sister has made a sacrifice for us, and I will make this one for her.”

  “What?” Josette hadn’t understood any of the exchange between us.

  The buzzer rang, telling us that Alain was at the outside door. I punched the button to let him in. Jean-Marc came into the entryway, and the rest of the family followed. Even Grandma Simone, Grandma Louise, and Lu-Lu were on hand for a picture.

  Alain was an average-looking boy with black hair and gray eyes. He was the same height as Marie-Thérèse, who had always been tall, like her natural mother. Though Alain was a member of our stake and we knew his family, he appeared as nervous as Marie-Thérèse.

  “I understand how he feels,” Jean-Marc whispered to me. He cast me a boyish grin, and for a moment I could see no trace of his constant worry. “I was so nervous when we went out on our first date.”

  “That was hardly the same thing,” I whispered back. “We were already engaged when we had our first date.” We had fallen in love through letters exchanged during my mission.

  “I was still worried you’d find out who I really was and get rid of me then and there.” We both giggled and tried to hide it. Everyone gazed at us, but we didn’t offer to explain.

  “Well, the rest of the gang’s waiting downstairs,” Alain said. “We’re going to catch a movie.”

  I was glad to hear they were going out in a group like most of the young people usually did. “Have fun!” we called after them.
/>   It was a strange moment for me, seeing my little girl leave. This was the beginning of a new phase in our lives, one that would end when our children left home. The many years in its making now seemed few.

  * * *

  As the first weeks of December dragged by with no sign of a job for Jean-Marc, his wavering confidence dwindled. Every day he met with the heads of different companies, but always he was refused. He grew depressed, as I should have expected, and nothing I said made a difference.

  “Just pretend you’re a missionary,” I said lightly one day after the children had left for school.

  He didn’t appreciate my humor. “It’s as if I’ve been blackballed.” He set his cup of hot milk untouched on the table. “Like someone has warned people not to hire me. I explain and explain that what happened could not be avoided, but they don’t hear what I’m saying.”

  “After the investigation is over, then they’ll know.” I had faith the truth would come out and also that people would forget. Already the angry phone calls had decreased to almost nothing.

  His face darkened. “But it might be too late. We need money now.” We both knew that our cash was gone, and only our credit card stood between us and hunger. Soon we would have to rely on relatives and charity to get by. “I’m thinking I’ll have to find something out of Paris.”

  The suggestion shook me. “But our life is here! Our apartment, the school, the ward, our family.”

  “I know, but what else can I do?”

  Approaching the table where he sat, I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I could work for a while.”

  He pulled away from my touch, as he had been doing of late. “I can do it, Ari. Don’t lose faith in me!” He stood, his face sorrowful.

  “It’s not a question of losing faith in you! I know you, I know your intentions, but why can’t I help out?”

  “Just a bit longer,” he pleaded.

  “All right,” I said, watching his face relax. But I didn’t mean it. There was an empty ache growing inside me, and it wasn’t because of the lack of food—at least not yet. This crisis had hit Jean-Marc in his weakest spot, and it was fast becoming a wedge between us. He was unable to help his family, and his pride wouldn’t allow me to do so. I could only hold onto hope and pray that things would soon change.