Gastien: From Dream to Destiny: A Caddy Rowland Historical Family Saga/Drama (The Gastien Series Book 2)

by Caddy Rowland

  “Do you think she is in heaven now?” asked Tristan Michel.

  “Well, she believed in heaven. If there is such a place, then she is surely there. Regardless, I do know that she still exists somewhere. I also know that she can feel our love. She will always feel our love. Once you don’t hurt so badly, you will feel hers, too, for the rest of your life.”

  “I hate God,” declared Tristan Michel.

  “If he exists, he is big enough to understand that, and he will still love you.”

  “You don’t believe, do you,” Tristan Michel stated.

  “Non. Not in a god that is a being up above us. I am sorry. But, I do believe in a great energy force. I think that force makes us and calls us back again. That is how I believe.”

  “Do you think I will see Mother again when I die?” Tristan Michel sounded like a small child.

  “Oui. I do think that. I think all three of us will be together. We will all get along and be filled with love.”

  “That sounds a lot like heaven to me,” his son said suspiciously.

  “Perhaps so. Maybe that is heaven, after all.” Gastien heard noise outside the front door. “Here comes the doctor or the priest now, maybe both. Dry your eyes, and let’s go meet them in the front room like two strong men. It will make your mother proud.”

  II

  The doctor pronounced Sophie dead. The cause of death was listed as pneumonia. She had lived 34 years. The priest also arrived. Arrangements were made for the graveside funeral service; the priest had the body taken away for an undertaker to prepare. The coffin would then be brought to the house. When the priest asked what clothing they wanted on Sophie, Gastien turned to his son.

  “Son, is there something special you would like your mother to wear, or is it all right if we bury her in the dress she wore on our wedding day?”

  Tristan Michel nodded. “That is fine. I would also like her to wear the locket that I saved up for and bought her last year. I think she should wear the one you gave her on her wedding day, too.”

  Odette added, “I think she would like to be buried with her bible, since it was her mother’s.” Then she surprised Gastien. “Also, the book of love poems that you brought to her.”

  Gastien looked at her with gratitude, eyes filling with tears. He sat for a few moments struggling to maintain control, while the tears slipped down his face. Finally, he could speak.

  “That will be fine. Merci, both of you.”

  Tristan Michel fell apart then. Without thinking, Odette went to him. Realizing that she had overstepped Gastien, she looked at him, but Gastien nodded. He knew how much she loved his son. He also knew that a woman could provide comfort that men were not as good at giving.

  Besides, thought Gastien, Tristan Michel knew her better than the boy knew his own father. Sitting there, Gastien realized just what a mess he had made of his family. It seemed that no matter what choice he would have made all those years ago, unhappiness was bound to follow.

  There were footsteps outside and a knock on the door. The priest went to see who it was. He returned with a very white faced Mic. Mic nodded to Odette and Tristan Michel.

  “Odette, Tristan Michel, I am so sorry.” Then he sat down by Gastien and put his arms around him. “Oh, Gaz! Oh, Gaz, I am so sorry. How your heart must ache! I am so very, very sad for you.”

  Gastien broke down then. Mic simply held him closer, tears running down his own face.

  The priest quietly left to make arrangements for the body to be made ready. He would return with the coffin to set it up for viewing, along with the undertaker. Details for the service could be talked about then. He said a prayer before leaving and then went about his business.

  Once Sophie was taken away, the discussion of where to lay her out began. Odette wanted the front room, but Gastien was hesitant. If Tristan Michel stayed living there, which he would probably want to do, he did not want his son to think about his dead mother laying in a coffin whenever he sat in the living room.

  He suggested Sophie’s room. Odette said that was unheard of. Gastien explained that the undertaker could take the bed apart, so that the coffin could be set up on a stand the undertaker would provide. It could be placed in front of the dresser. Lots of Sophie’s pretty things were on that dresser, which would make a nice backdrop for viewing.

  “I know it is unusual, but hopefully you don’t think it is weird, Son. What do you think about the idea? If you would rather have her in the living room, then I will respect your wishes.”

  “I would rather have her in her room,” agreed Tristan Michel. “That is actually a good idea, Father. I think having her things on the dresser by her would make her happy.”

  Odette found it a good idea, too, once Gastien had explained it. The decision had been made peacefully.

  Mic got up to get everyone some food. “I know none of you feel like eating, but you have to keep your strength up. Neither of you want to get sick like Gaz and Sophie did,” said Mic, looking at Tristan Michel and Odette. “Hopefully, you were taking oregano oil since hearing from Sophie that Gastien was sick.” They nodded.

  Mic left to go buy some food. He returned and fixed plates for everyone, which all of them just picked at.

  The body arrived back early the next morning. Gastien stayed in Sophie’s room the whole day, inconsolable. Now that all of the arrangements had been made, he could no longer put up a strong front. He wanted to stay by Sophie.

  Throughout the whole day, Sophie’s amies and relatives stopped by to pay respects and visit. They all brought food, and the house soon was full of the smells of various cooked and baked goods.

  The siblings were all very cold to Gastien, hardly acknowledging him. As he sat there all day, not one person brought him food, or anything to drink. Nor did they ask him to come out and join them. None of them offered him sympathy. When he went to the toilet, everyone was strangely silent as he passed by. He guessed he could have helped himself to the food, but it was so obvious that they did not want him around that he felt embarrassed even being in the same room with them.

  One would think that they could have reached out to him and comforted him, after sixteen years of monthly Sunday dinners. However, not a single one did. It was as if they formed a rank of solidarity against him from the day Sophie and he married. Now, with her gone, they no longer had to tolerate him. He would have dearly loved to be included in the conversations about Sophie and their memories.

  Whenever any of them entered to view Sophie and glanced his way, he simply looked at them with hurt eyes, refusing to look away. They would finally turn away in shame and embarrassment.

  That evening, Tristan Michel finally brought Gastien some food and vin. “You must be hungry, Father. Why didn’t you help yourself?” he asked.

  “It is pretty apparent that I am not wanted out there. I felt uncomfortable. I would have thought they would honor Sophie by being kind to me.”

  “Well, they don’t feel you treated Mother well. You can’t blame them,” Tristan Michel stated quietly.

  Gastien did not answer. He was done defending himself. He just wished he could be dead, instead of Sophie.

  III

  Gastien sat all through the night by Sophie’s coffin, leaving only to allow Odette or Tristan Michel alone with her. Finally, they both went to bed. Gastien was once again alone with Sophie. He knew she was no longer in her body, but he could not help but cry out to her.

  “Oh, Sophie, mon Dieu, how will I go on? How? I never expected this. It seems like we were just starting!“ He did not try to stop the tears. “Sophie, I will miss you so much. I can’t even bear to think about tomorrow, or the next day, or the days after that! They are all devoid of color, of any meaning!”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “I know I was not as good of a husband as you deserved. I tried. I really tried. Still, you knew how much I loved you. I know you did!”

  Reaching out to touch her face, he cried, “Why did you leave me so soon? If your God tha
t you so stubbornly believed in is real, why would he do this? I need you here, Sophie. Our son needs you! I would give anything, anything to have you back! If this God is so just, why didn’t he just let me die instead? No one would miss me much, except Mic and you…and you were much stronger than I am.”

  He put his hand in her hair. “I can’t do this, Sophie! How can I go on? How will I watch them put you into the ground? How do I watch that? How do I turn and walk away, like tomorrow is going to be another day, a future with hope? I have no future without you, Petite Oiseau. Everything good, everything happy, left when you died.”

  “Oh, Sophie, please…God, please…if you are real, please give her back! I will never ask for another thing, but please…just give her back!”

  He was met with only silence. Sophie looked cold and unfamiliar in her coffin. She was long gone. This body and face did not even seem like hers because the joy, the energy that was Sophie, was missing. Gastien wondered if his heart could ever beat again without him feeling the intense pain of loss and loneliness.

  He had been right, after all. To care simply meant you ended up being hurt. He should never have opened himself up to loving someone! Now he was so severely injured that he doubted he would ever be glad for life again.

  He laid his head in his arms on the coffin and gazed at the dead body of his wife. Maybe if he stared long enough, it would seem like she was breathing; only sleeping. He kept staring for the rest of the night, but nothing changed. She did not appear to be breathing, and the thundering finality of death remained the only noise in the room.

  IV

  Mic came back early the next morning. He had brought Gastien a clean set of clothes. Mic had been tempted to buy Gastien a suit; then he realized that Gaz would not have wanted to appear as someone that Sophie had never known. He selected the trousers and satin shirt that Gastien had worn on his wedding day. He hoped that would not make his ami even more upset. Personally, he would have wanted to wear them if he was the husband; he hoped he had done the right thing.

  He found Gastien in with Sophie, just staring.

  “Gastien? I brought you fresh clothes for the service. I will help you get ready. I hope it is all right that I brought your wedding clothes.”

  Gastien looked startled. After a few seconds, he looked at Mic and nodded.

  “Merci, Mic. That will be fine. Sophie is wearing her wedding dress, so I will be glad to wear my wedding clothes. I don’t care what other the people think, anyway. They all hate me.”

  Mic sat down next to Gastien, putting his arm around him. “I am sorry that they are so awful to you, Gaz. That is their loss. Don’t worry about being alone at the service, though. You need to be strong for your son.”

  “I know. That is assuming he will let me provide him strength. He blames me, too.”

  “That is normal. I just want to say, do what Sophie would want. Reach out to him. I think you will find that you will have a good amount of support present when the time comes.”

  Gastien laughed bitterly. “I doubt they will suddenly have a change of heart.”

  “Non, but you do have amis. More than you realize.”

  Mic pushed Gastien’s hair back from his face. “I brought your brush and your leather strap. Do you want your hair back or left long for the service?”

  “I will leave it long. Sophie loved my hair.”

  “Then you should wear it long. Let’s go into Tristan Michel’s room and get you ready. He has agreed to let us use his room for a little while. I have brought in water for you, so that you can clean up a bit. I know you don’t want to bathe here.”

  Mic paused for a few minutes, but Gastien did not move.

  Mic tried again. “Let’s go get you cleaned up and ready to say goodbye.”

  “I will never be ready, Mic! Never!”

  “You have to be, Gastien. Death is part of life. Unfortunately, we don’t get to pick which person goes first. Sophie needs you to formally say goodbye. You will find the strength.”

  Gastien started crying again. “I can’t Mic! Mon Dieu, I cannot face her being put into the ground! I will go crazy!”

  “Non. You will call on that inner strength that kept you alive on the streets. You have a son that does not know how he will face it. You will show him. You can do it, Gaz; I will be right there by you.”

  Mic stood and offered his arm. Gastien slowly stood up. His hands gripped the coffin, while he stared at Sophie.

  “Je t’aime, Sophi-belle. I lov – “ Gastien broke off and fought for control.

  Finally he looked into Mic’s eyes and whispered, “Help me!”

  Nodding, Mic walked Gastien to his son’s room.

  There he washed his ami’s face, shaving him carefully. Not a word was said. He then took the same cloth and bathed Gastien, with soap he had brought along from Gastien’s studio. Mic then put Gaz’s scent on his ami's face and under his arms. He handed Gastien the toothbrush and tooth powder he had remembered to pack, knowing how fussy Gastien was with his teeth.

  “Your clothes are right there. You get dressed, I will empty this water. When I come back, I am going to brush your hair.”

  “It is all dirty. I can’t go with my hair all dirty.”

  “Then I will wash it for you. I will be right back with water, but it is a small basin. I don’t know how we will get the soap out.”

  “Just use water, it will be fine with just water; maybe a tiny amount of soap.”

  So, Mic washed Gastien’s hair. He toweled it as best as he could and found that the towel had absorbed quite a bit of the water. Gastien dressed, and sat in a straight chair while Mic carefully combed through his hair. Then, Mic brushed it dry. He put the leather strap in Gastien's pocket in case it got too windy. He might want to tie it back.

  “There. You are ready. Do you think you can help your son?” asked Mic.

  “I will try.”

  Mic and Gastien went out to the front room. Gastien looked at his son. “Tristan Michel, do you want me to help you get ready?”

  “I bathed early this morning. I also have my clothes picked out already.”

  “Do you want me to be with you, so that you don’t have to be alone?”

  “I can dress myself.”

  “All right. If you change your mind and want me with you, I will be right outside the door.”

  Tristan Michel shrugged and went to his room. Gastien followed, waiting outside the door. He heard his son dressing, and then he heard him start to weep. The sobbing grew louder. Gastien decided to go in. When he opened the door, he found Tristan Michel curled up on his bed, half dressed and crying.

  Silently, Gastien sat down on the bed and gathered his son to him. Tristan Michel tried to pull away.

  “I am sixteen, Father!”

  “And your mother just died. It is permissible to be comforted, Tristan Michel. We are all like little children when we lose somebody that we love! It is all right.”

  Tristan Michel allowed himself to relax. Gastien held him close, not caring that his son was getting tears on his satin shirt. The shirt meant nothing compared to his son’s pain.

  After a while, Tristan Michel stopped crying and sat up.

  “I better get dressed now. It is almost time, I bet.”

  “Oui. I will be back in Sophie’s room. Please join me there.”

  When Gastien walked in, Odette was alone with Sophie.

  “Shall I leave?” asked Gastien quietly.

  Odette replied, “Non. I am finished. You and Tristan Michel can have the room. I will keep the others out. They got to say goodbye yesterday.”

  “You can stay, Odette. You were as much family as the two of us.”

  “I would rather not. I would like you and Tristan Michel to be the last ones in here.”

  Once Odette left, Gastien stood looking down at Sophie.

  “It is almost time, Sophie. Please, Petite Oiseau, find some angel to give us strength to see this through with dignity. I can’t do this on my own.”r />
  He reached out and touched her hair for the last time; that wonderful, wild, unruly hair that would soon be closed away in this box and covered with dirt, never to see sunlight again. He bent and kissed her, stroking her face.

  Turning, he saw his son standing there. He stepped back so that Tristan Michel could say goodbye to his mother.

  Tristan Michel bent and kissed her. Then he stepped back, shoulders shaking. Gastien put his arm around his son.

  “Here we are, Sophie. Your two hommes. We will make you proud.”

  Looking at Tristan Michel, he said kindly, “It is time.”

  He put his arm around Tristan Michel. Together, they walked out of the room.

  When they entered the living room Gastien simply said, “Let’s go.”

  Then he led the way out of the house, his arm still around his son.

  V

  The coffin was taken to the cemetery where Gastien had purchased two side by side gravesites the day before. It was covered in pink and white roses, which was unusual in those days. Money was scarce for the working class. Flowers for the dead just wasn’t something people wasted money on. Gastien did not care. He wanted her to have a beautiful send off.

  As they approached the site, he saw that the amis and relatives of Sophie’s were already there. Then he saw something else.

  There stood at least three dozen artist amis of his. Some he knew quite well, some only casually. They had come to show support for one of their own. Alice was also there, although she and Mic had broken up again. And, of course, Cassie and Vic. Father Fournier had even made it, and he was now quite old. Dr. Morel had passed last year. Maurice and his wife were already gone, too.

  Mic was right. He would not be alone today. Gastien was overcome with gratitude and looked up at Mic, eyes glistening with tears.

  “Mic – “

  “Shhhh. We ‘bohemians’ know how to stick together, Gaz. We are our own family; we make sure that when a family member is hurting, he does not hurt alone.”