She grinned innocently. “It’s just another person come to wish Mom a happy birthday. Or Grandma Simone. Or maybe Grandma Louise is feeling better.” Since the older girls had gone out with their friends, Simone had volunteered to stay with the children while we had our date. We normally asked Louise, because Simone’s fiancé didn’t like to be without her on a Saturday night; but Louise’s diabetes was acting up, so Simone was filling in. Though the children were old enough to stay by themselves, I worried about Marc having a relapse and wouldn’t leave him without an adult until he was fully recovered.
“We’ll see.” Jean-Marc turned to me. “Shall we go?”
I nodded. “Give me a kiss, Pauline. Where are André and Marc?”
“They’re playing chess in the living room,” she answered.
The doorbell rang, and I went to kiss my sons while Jean-Marc answered the door. It wasn’t Simone or even Louise. A strange man followed Jean-Marc into the spacious living room, shifting his weight awkwardly as we stared. He had medium brown hair and eyes, with a slightly prominent nose and sharp chin. His strong-looking features seemed vaguely familiar, yet I couldn’t remember ever having seen him. The boys glanced up from their game.
“This is Jourdain Debre,” Jean-Marc said. “He’s looking for Pauline.”
“For me?” Pauline asked, bouncing up from the couch. “Why? I don’t know you.”
“No, but we have a mutual acquaintance,” the man said.
I motioned to the couch. “Please, have a seat, Monsieur Debre.”
The man obliged. “Please, call me Jourdain.”
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Lu-Lu asked from the doorway. Evidently, it didn’t take much for her to lose interest in cleaning.
Jourdain smiled, and his average-looking face became quite handsome. “It’s not me. It’s my younger brother you met, though we look quite a bit alike.” His dark eyes didn’t leave Lu-Lu’s face, and now it was her turn to shift nervously. She put her hands, still clad in the cleaning gloves, behind her back.
“Your brother?” she prompted.
Jourdain’s face clouded, and his smile dimmed. “Guillaume and his wife, Nicole, were in the bombing of the subway. She died. Burned to death.”
“The newlyweds!” I said, remembering the man Pauline had hugged and who had helped carry Danielle to the ambulance.
Jourdain nodded.
“I remember him,” Pauline said. “He was so sad.”
“Guillaume remembers you too,” Jourdain said, turning his attention to Pauline. “He wanted to thank you for your kindness. But he couldn’t bear to come himself. He took Nicole’s death very hard.” He slipped a hand inside his overcoat to an inner pocket, withdrawing a small ring. “Nicole used to wear this on her little finger,” he continued. “My brother wanted you to have it.” He held out the ring with a steady hand. Across the front the gold twisted to form the word LOVE. Pauline hesitated.
“Guillaume gave this ring to Nicole when they were children, about your age. Please take it. He says it will make him feel better knowing it’s with a little girl who has as much love inside her as Nicole did.”
Pauline glanced at me, and I nodded. She took the ring in her small fingers. “Thank you,” she said. “I guess I can keep it for her until I see her in heaven.”
Jourdain looked at Pauline in surprise but said nothing.
“How’s he doing, your brother?” asked Lu-Lu.
Jourdain shook his head. “Not well. They were childhood sweethearts, though when they went away to different colleges, things cooled off considerably. But after college, when their jobs brought them together again, they rediscovered their love. I’ve never seen anyone so happy as they were on the day they married. Two days later, she was dead.” He frowned worriedly. “I try to tell him that he’ll see her again, but he just laughs, sort of bitter like, you know, and says that I have no proof of it. And he’s right, I don’t.” He gazed at Pauline again, as if remembering what she had said.
She felt his stare and looked up. “I tried to tell him that too. I told him my parents were there in heaven, that they’d look after her, but he didn’t believe. I think he has to learn to trust Jesus. Lots of people have trouble doing that.” Pauline squeezed André’s arm as she said this. Grinning, he shrugged her off.
“Your parents?” Jourdain asked.
“Pauline is our adopted daughter,” I explained. “My husband’s brother and sister-in-law died shortly after Pauline’s birth, and we adopted her and her sister.”
“But we’re sealed to our parents,” Pauline said.
“Sealed?” Jourdain’s question held an unmistakable intensity.
Jean-Marc sat down opposite Jourdain. “Yes. We believe that God has restored the sealing power through modern-day prophets—the power that transcends death and binds loved ones together forever.”
“What is this church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Lu-Lu replied.
“I think I saw a news clip about that a few weeks ago. Do you have missionaries with short hair and white shirts and dark suits?”
“That’s us,” Marc said. “I’m going to be one soon. Well, when I’m older.”
“Me, too.” André’s words were the best birthday present he could have given me.
“Tell me more,” Jourdain said. “I like hearing about various churches. I’ve studied more than thirty different religions so far. I almost became a preacher in one, but I couldn’t reconcile myself with some of the doctrine.”
“We’d be glad to talk with you,” Jean-Marc said. “But today is my wife’s birthday, and we have plans this evening.”
Jourdain stood up hastily. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s no intrusion at all,” Jean-Marc said. “We’re very happy you came by and even happier to have the chance to share our beliefs with you. They bring us a lot of peace.”
“It’s strange, but I can feel that here,” Jourdain said. “There’s a peace in this house. Like it’s a haven from the world.”
I smiled. “We try to make it so.”
“That’s the Spirit and the priesthood,” Marc said. “It makes the apartment feel like that.”
“The priesthood!” Jourdain’s exclamation wasn’t a question but more a recognition of something he already knew or had studied.
“The power to act in the name of God,” recited the boys together. “It has to be given by the laying on of hands.”
A curious light came into Jourdain’s face. “I read about that once.”
“You can come to church with us tomorrow,” Pauline invited. Not for the first time, I thought what a wonderful missionary she would make.
“Yes, we’d be glad to have you.” Jean-Marc took a piece of paper and jotted down the church’s address and our phone number. “Please feel free to call anytime,” he said, handing Jourdain the paper.
“Thank you. I’d love to learn more.” Jourdain smiled. “I can’t believe it was my brother who brought me here. He doesn’t put much stock in religion.”
“Maybe it will make him feel better to know that he helped save a woman’s life,” Lu-Lu said. “He helped me take my friend Danielle to the ambulance. If we hadn’t gotten her there so quickly, or had waited until they got around to her, she would have died.”
“I pulled her from the wreckage,” Marc put in. “Only I got caught myself.”
“But of course. I remember reading about that in the papers,” Jourdain said. “You are quite the hero, that’s for sure. But I didn’t know Guillaume had helped anyone. It might give him some comfort to know.” He edged to the door. “I guess I’d better leave you to your evening.” Still the man paused, seeming reluctant to leave.
“I’m not doing anything tonight,” Lu-Lu offered abruptly. “I could talk to you about the Church. I was a missionary once.”
“Could you, really?” Jourdain said. “I mean, I’m not doing much, either. I’m a bachelor, you know
, and I work a lot. Religion is sort of a hobby with me, though. I keep thinking I’ll find something important.” His gaze deepened, and Lu-Lu flushed becomingly. She looked positively radiant.
“You might at that,” she said.
“Could we go somewhere?” Jourdain asked. “I mean, I know this good couple”—he motioned to Jean-Marc and me—“wouldn’t feel comfortable with a stranger in their house while they’re gone, and I don’t want to ruin their plans.”
“Sure.” Lu-Lu looked down at her outfit and then to Jourdain’s nice dress slacks and button-down shirt. “I’m not dressed to go out, but I live nearby. Maybe we could stop, and I could change.”
“Sounds great.”
We watched them leave together, hiding our smiles. “Well, it looks like Lu-Lu forgot about the floor again,” I said.
Jean-Marc grinned. “It hasn’t hurt it to wait this long.”
I punched him. “Is that a negative reference to my housework? Be careful, Monsieur Perrault, or it’ll be your assignment!”
He caught me in his arms and kissed my cheek. “Whatever you want, I’ll do.”
“Yeah, right,” I said dryly. “Trying to sweet-talk me again.” I never could think clearly when he held me that way.
The doorbell rang a second time, but the children were too engrossed in their game to notice. “It must be Simone,” I said. “I bet Lu-Lu let her in downstairs.”
We were surprised again. Jacques and Charlotte stood in the hallway, the elevator clanging shut behind them. “Come in,” I said hesitantly.
“We’ll only stay a minute,” Jacques said. He walked deliberately, as we would expect from a man who’d been released from the hospital only a week earlier. Charlotte supported his arm, though more for closeness, I thought, than for any help her thin frame might offer.
Under his arm Jacques carried a large, rectangular object wrapped in white tissue paper. “I knew it was your birthday, Ariana, and I brought you this.” He hesitated. “Only it’s not really for you but for Jean-Marc.”
“Thank you,” Jean-Marc said. “But we are already indebted to you for helping our son.”
Jacques stared at me. “I was only doing what I should have done in the first place, and it has brought me so much more.” He put his arm around Charlotte. “We got married, you know. Yesterday. We’re leaving on our honeymoon as soon as I’m up to it.”
Married! I thought.
“Congratulations!” Jean-Marc and I said together.
“Thank you. Well, we must be going.” Jacques turned and opened the door. “Good-bye, Ariana, Jean-Marc. Thanks for everything.”
As they left, I noticed that Jacques’ lean, hungry look had disappeared and in its stead resided an unusual contentment. I felt happy Charlotte could give him that.
Jean-Marc opened Jacques’ package. Inside was the painting of me that had hung over the couch in Jacques’ office. “Wow!” Jean-Marc exclaimed.
“Look, there’s a note.”
Jean-Marc opened the folded paper and read aloud. “To Jean-Marc. Here is Ariana, almost as beautiful as she is today. She was always meant for you. Take care of her. Jacques.” My eyes misted over at the magnitude of Jacques’ gift, both the physical one and the far more important acknowledgment of my eternal relationship with Jean-Marc.
“One thing he got right for sure,” Jean-Marc said. “You are more beautiful now than ever.” I thought I might always be so to him. For eternity. He hugged me, and I hugged him back, enjoying the feel of his arms.
Then without warning, bile rose in my throat. Uttering a muffled cry, I ran for the bathroom. Jean-Marc followed anxiously. By the time I reached the bathroom, the urge was gone and I sat wearily on the side of the tub, face in my hands.
What is wrong with me? Am I sick?
The answer came, so simply that I wondered why I hadn’t recognized it before. The past few months of extreme fatigue, the occasional dizziness, the constant tears, the emotional displays, and the extra pounds. No, I wasn’t just suffering from the trials or giving way to the middle-age spread. I was pregnant!
“What’s wrong, Ari? You’re as white as the tub. Are you sick?” He knelt beside me and took my hands from my face.
I shook my head and then nodded and started to cry.
“What is it, Ari? Is it Jacques? Did his visit upset you?”
How dumb can I be? I thought. I had attributed the few months of a lighter menstrual flow and then finally a complete lack to stress, undernourishment, or possibly an early change of life. It had happened to my mother about this age, and the symptoms I’d been having were easy to shrug off. The fact that my last two pregnancies had followed the same unusual pattern had never entered my head.
“Ari! What is it?” The torment in Jean-Marc’s voice spurred me to action.
“I’m pregnant!”
He blinked twice, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Pregnant? Really?”
“Well, I think so, but . . .”
He slapped his open palm against his forehead. “Why, of course you’re pregnant! I should have known. I’ve seen the signs.” He hugged me. “How wonderful!”
“But we’re too old to be parents!” I protested. How could this happen? After so many years of wanting another child and finally accepting that it was not going to happen—then bang!
He pulled back to see my face. “What do you mean, too old? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but whether you’re pregnant or not, we’re still parents.”
“But to a baby?”
He laughed. “We can do it. And you’ll have a lot of help this time, with the children being older.” His arms tightened around me again.
Now that the initial shock was fading, the joy came through. I could almost feel the tiny miracle in my arms, hear the satisfied sighs as it slept. “A baby!” I murmured into my husband’s shoulder. “Well, it had better have your eyes.”
Chapter Twenty
A month later, Jean-Marc and the boys went on an all-day fathers and sons outing with the youth of the ward. The girls and I sat in the living room, planning to spend the day together reading, talking, and making things for the baby. The room shone brightly, lit by the warm April sun that sparkled into the room through the open sliding glass door that led to the wide balcony. The grandfather clock chimed its deep, resounding bongs, marking two o’clock. Lu-Lu had just arrived.
“Jourdain said yes!” she cried triumphantly as she burst into the living room. “He’s going to be baptized next week!” A mere month had passed since we had met the man, but we shared Lu-Lu’s excitement.
“That’s wonderful,” I said, looking up from the pregnancy book I was reading. Lu-Lu’s face glowed with the radiance of a woman newly in love. It was good to see her so happy.
“Now maybe you can get a baby, too,” Pauline said. In her hands was a small needlepoint square she was working for a baby quilt she and the other girls were making together for the new baby. Grandma Louise had shown them how to make the tiny stitches two weeks ago, and Pauline certainly had her mother’s talent for it—a talent she shared with Marie-Thérèse. Pauline was already on her tenth and last square. Marie-Thérèse had finished her ten and seven of Josette’s as well.
Lu-Lu’s face darkened. “I don’t know about that.”
“But why not?” asked Josette. She too had needlepoint in her hands, her first square, but the uneven stitches looked more like vague flowers than plump teddy bears.
Pauline looked up from the cloth. “But I thought you said the other day that you thought he loved—”
“Girls, that’s enough.” I propped the open book on my stomach. At five months along, my belly had grown but was not yet to the point of being uncomfortable.
Lu-Lu heaved a sigh and flopped to the couch. “I don’t know,” she wailed.
“At least he said yes to baptism,” I said. Jourdain had turned out to be one of those special people who recognize the truth instantly when they hear it. I wasn’t surprised today by Lu-Lu�
�s news.
“He asked me to marry him,” Lu-Lu blurted out.
“What!” I said.
“How romantic!” Josette clapped her hands.
“I’m so happy for you,” Marie-Thérèse said.
“I knew it! I knew it!” Pauline dropped her needlework and hugged Lu-Lu.
Lu-Lu frowned. “I said no.”
We all stared at her aghast. “But you love him!” Josette said.
“But how do I know whether he’s getting baptized because he believes in the Church or because he loves me?”
“Lu-Lu, that’s ridiculous—” I began. But it wasn’t ridiculous. It was possible, and in Lu-Lu’s eyes, too scary for chance. She had been waiting for an eternal love for a long time.
The phone rang into the silence, and we all jumped. Pauline picked up the receiver. “Daddy?” she asked. Jean-Marc had promised to call if he and the boys were going to be late. Pauline held the phone away from her mouth. “It’s not Daddy,” she said. “It’s for Aunt Lu-Lu.”
Lu-Lu took the phone. “Hello? This is Lu-Lu. Who’s this? . . . You want me to what?” She hung up the phone.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“Some crazy person saying something about looking out the window. Like I’m going to do something so idiotic just because someone pretending to know me calls and tells me to.”
“Right. Like we even care what they are doing,” Josette added.
We waited for a full second before rushing out onto the balcony. Lu-Lu’s jaw dropped. “Well, tie a bib around my neck and call me baby!” she exclaimed.
“Let me see!” The girls jostled for position against the railing.
Five flights below on the cobblestone stood Jourdain, the missionaries, and several of his friends, who worked in building construction with him. Jourdain and his friends had guitars, and the American elder had a violin. Portable microphones and speakers carried the sound up to our disbelieving ears. Almost all the windows in the nearby apartments showed the curious faces of our neighbors.
The Ariana Trilogy Page 66
