Whispering in French

by Sophia Nash

  I could feel the saliva rising on my tongue, only I couldn’t exactly remember her scent anymore.

  Oh, I didn’t like this feeling.

  What was this feeling?

  “Miss me?”

  I turned to find her big, round golden eyes watching me from under the pink blooms that were drooping from the dry spell.

  “Oh, Yowler, where did you go?”

  “Miss me?” she repeated.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did you wish I was here while I was gone?”

  “Yes, exactly that,” I said, and breathed in her lovely, poignant scent. “I thought you might be dead.”

  Her whiskers fluttered, and she stretched out a back leg and started to lick herself in a most undignified manner as usual. But I didn’t say anything because I was just so happy to see her. Yes, this was happiness. Almost—no—better than a slew of little Slugs gleaming in the moonlight.

  “I went on a little adventure,” she said. “You might call it a retreat. Or a semester abroad. Whatever. You know what I mean, right? Hedgehogs do that, don’t they?”

  “You mean hibernate? Yes. I live to hibernate.”

  “No!” She sounded annoyed. “It’s the complete opposite. It’s when you succumb to the call of wildness. You explore. Find new hunting grounds, meet others of your species to, ahem, well, mate, although I must admit that I’ve never, ever enjoyed it. I mean, really? Who likes to have some idiot sinking their claws and teeth into your neck and doing something completely embarrassing? Not me, I tell you. And then, ten weeks later, your figure is gone, and a litter of demanding kittens appear and they almost never look like me.”

  “So where did you go?” I asked again, desperate to change the subject.

  “Just over a few hills and valleys. Saw a horse or two. You know the horses are a little different in the mountains—much shorter, and sturdier.”

  I was so happy to see her, but I wanted to understand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going away for a while?”

  “You’re not going to start that, are you? Trying to keep a collar on me? If you do, it’s going to get tedious fast,” she said. “Besides, you should never give up your power like that.”

  “Power? I don’t have any power. I don’t think I even want any power.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she continued. “But, Quilly, you need to know that now that you’re out in the world, relationships between creatures are always under the control of those who care the least.”

  “Well, I don’t want to care the least. I’ve been alone so long that I like the idea of caring the most. And where I come from everyone pretends not to care at all.”

  She made a strange tsk-tsking noise. “You’ve got to get your game on.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, what are you going to do if I die or leave and never come back?”

  “Go into hibernation early. Probably. Or just focus on Slugs and hiding. It’s who I am.”

  “Forget I said a thing,” she muttered. “It’s almost impossible to explain things to you sometimes.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t need you to explain things. I just don’t like it when you leave for a long time and not tell me you’re going.”

  “Where did you think I’d gone?”

  “I thought the Barkers had got you. Or maybe one of those big, smelly, loud things the Two-Leggeds ride around in.”

  “You should never assume anything, Quilly.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a waste of time and energy. You’ll never know what’s going on in someone else’s mind unless you find the courage to ask them. And you can’t afford to waste any time or energy given your average life span.”

  “What!? How long am I going to live?” I was afraid I’d started to whimper.

  “Forget I said anything.”

  Yowler got a little closer and I felt her lovely, long orange tail curl around me.

  “Could you please come a little closer, Yowler? I guess you’re right. It was that missing thing that was happening.”

  “All right,” she said inching closer. “But don’t expect me to lick you or anything. I’m not a fool. I don’t make mistakes twice. I only have six and a half lives left and I don’t intend to lose one with you.”

  “Oh,” I said, wondering how many lives I had. A dark sense of time and space enveloped me.

  “Now, don’t take it personally,” Yowler said with a meow. “Never take anything personally.”

  “Is that a waste of time too?”

  “Exactly,” she said. “You might not follow directions well, but you’re a fast learner.”

  I heard a funny sound emanating from her throat. It was sort of like the drone of the scary machine that clipped the grass—only much softer. “What’s that sound?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said, and sounded a trifle embarrassed. I knew that feeling well.

  “It’s okay, Yowler. I won’t take it personally and I won’t assume anything. So I guess I just have to be courageous and ask you again. What’s that sound?”

  “I’m purring, Quilly. I can’t really control it. It just means I sort of, kind of, like you.” She coughed. “For now, at least. I might change my mind. You never know.”

  It took a while for all of this to sink in. But finally I understood. “Whose got the power now? I’ll tell you who. I do!”

  “Oh, shut up,” she said.

  “But you like me.”

  “Don’t get your quills in a twist, will you? I knew I shouldn’t have said a thing.”

  I could see a sudden wild swirl of the plane tree branches silhouetted in the moonlight. “Yowler?”

  “Yes, Quilly?”

  “I like you too. You can have the power back. I don’t need it.”

  A crack of sound and light rolled down to earth from the night sky, and Yowler’s lovely purring stopped.

  “Come on, you,” she said. “Time to go into hiding. I knew this was coming and it’s going to be the worst one in many, many moons.”

  I didn’t need her to tell me that. I could smell it and feel it in my bones. I ran as fast as my legs would go.

  “Can’t you go any faster?”

  “No,” I moaned.

  She dashed to an ancient boxwood at the front near the gate and waited for me to catch up. “Okay, we’ve got to get to that cave on the cliff face. But I found a shortcut for you. Just please tell me you’re not claustrophobic.”

  “I don’t know what that is, but I promise not to be if that’s the only way.”

  She crouched on her hindquarters and began madly digging. Yowler stopped and walked behind me. “Okay, then. Down the hatch.”

  “What?”

  “Go down that hole. I promise you’ll be safe.”

  “You just told me not to make any assumptions.”

  “I also said not to take anything personally. So don’t take this the wrong way.” With that she shoved me with a swipe of her paw. And we both yowled. She then sang out, “Meet you on the dark side!”

  I fell and fell and fell some more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was a good thing we’d laid up enough provisions for ten days or so since the beginning of July. Everyone in the village had been talking about the coming storm. All the restaurants on the beach had battened down for a flood rivaling the days of arks and plagues. Even the BBC weatherman, usually as cool and emotionless as a coma ward, had broken a sweat when issuing a warning for the southwest coast of France this morning.

  “The storm, expected to commence late tonight, has now been upgraded on the Beaufort Wind Scale from nine to ten. Gale-force winds predicted. Flooding in low-lying areas, major damage to structures near shore due to waves predicted to exceed twelve feet. Residents advised to secure property and stay indoors.”

  In the way of all storms, it was due the exact night and hour most inconvenient—the evening of the dinner with the Soameses.

  “You don’t think we’d let a spot
of rain keep us away from the pleasure of introducing all of you to my great-great-niece and -nephew, do you?” Phillip Soames insisted when I rang him that morning with an offer to postpone. “Why, if an Englishman stopped socializing when it rained then we’d be a nation of recluses!”

  By the time the four members of the Soames household appeared, the wind had picked up and the trees were bending with each large gust. Lily took on the role of hostess as if she’d been born to it as I’d relegated myself to the kitchen with Magdali, following her orders. No amount of the Food Network had prepared me for the wildly creative flare of a French-American-Namibian in the final throes of preparation for the first dinner party in over a decade.

  I’d never seen this side of my half sister. Who knew clarified butter and onions could elicit such passion? Then again, after sniffing her Poulet Basquaise à la Magdali, a traditional stew of tomatoes, onions, sweet peppers with chicken, and Magdali’s twist of a dark African spice she refused to name, I felt like dancing. And, indeed, I did. Right outside the kitchen door— all by myself.

  “You look very happy, Kate,” she said with a rare laugh.

  “I am happy.” A smattering of raindrops hit my upturned face and I reached out to her.

  She joined me in her apron, tapping her two wooden spoons in a tribal beat. We collapsed in each other’s arms a few moments later.

  “Allez, allez!” she ordered. “Back to work. Find the Cointreau for the soufflé à l’orange.”

  The mood at the dinner table improved with each course.

  “Mrs. Hamilton?” Edward’s seven-year-old son was dressed like a seventy-year-old man, complete with a bow tie and enough plaid to give an instant headache.

  “Yes, Charles?”

  “Father said you are a head doctor.”

  I shifted my feet under the formal dining table and cleared my throat. “I am.”

  “How do you fix people’s heads? Do you know how to do the Vulcan mind meld like Spock on Star Trek?”

  I glanced surreptitiously toward Edward for help. The laughter in his usually somber eyes proved he was going to enjoy watching me flounder my way out of this.

  “Shhh, Charles,” his sister, Winnie, interrupted. “You’re not supposed to ask such things. Honestly. Don’t you know anything?”

  “Father said only the weak don’t ask questions. Idiots just pretend to know when they don’t.”

  His sister sighed and just shook her head.

  I pursed my mouth to keep from laughing. “Charles, you are exactly right. You can’t learn without asking questions. No, I haven’t mastered mind melding, although I wish I could. It would make my job much easier. What else do you want to know?”

  “What’s psychopeppery?”

  Lily leaned forward and grinned at Charles. “Ohhh, I like that term.”

  “Psychotherapy,” I replied, “is what courageous people do to examine their lives and make better choices.”

  Edward shook his head. Phillip Soames chuckled.

  “Exactement,” inserted Jean.

  “Are you seeing Father to fix his head?”

  That brought the laughter to a standstill.

  “Charles! Shush.” Winnie’s voice broke the silence. Her wistful, hopeful gaze turned to me.

  I looked at Edward and then turned to his son. “Well, here’s the thing, Charles. Your father is an amazingly strong man. The strongest I know. I think you don’t need me to tell you that, do you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, the thing of it is this, your father doesn’t need to be fixed. He’s perfect just the way he is. He’s just seen a few too many bad things. Scary things that would give any of us nightmares.”

  “War,” Charles said.

  “Yes, war.”

  “Dead people,” he continued.

  “Yup,” I said. “So what do you do when you have a nightmare?”

  “Run to my Dad’s bed.”

  “And what does he do?”

  “He lets me climb in and tells me he will protect me and fight off any monsters whilst I sleep.”

  “And how does that make you feel?” I shot Edward a glance when I saw him roll his eyes. He looked about as uncomfortable as a sunburned man in a hair shirt.

  “Safe,” Charles piped up. “Settled.”

  “Right,” I said. “So just think about that, okay?”

  His eyebrows scrunched and his sister cupped her hands and whispered something into his ear.

  Edward opened his mouth but his uncle beat him to it. “Children, Mr. du Roque and Lily have offered to give you a ghost tour of the villa after dinner. Would you like that?”

  A chorus of excitement ensued. Since when had my daughter learned any ghost stories about Madeleine Marie? I looked at her, sandwiched between Jean and Magdali. She winked.

  “Does your family have any pets?” Winnie asked me. “I really like animals.”

  I loved working with children. Their lack of guile and focus mimicked my own these days. I was beginning to worry if I’d ever be able to focus again after the stress of the last few years.

  “No, we don’t,” I replied.

  “Not yet,” Lily interjected.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “You always said I could have one—one day. Mom, it’s one day now.”

  “I hear it’s all the rage among head doctors,” Edward deadpanned.

  “This is not the—”

  “A girl must have a dog,” Jean added.

  I was feeling outnumbered. “Really? I just don’t think now is—”

  “Winnie and Charles—you should both come with me and my great-grandfather next week. We’re going to the nearest animal shelter and picking out a dog.”

  What? “What?” I looked at Jean, who at least had the grace to look embarrassed. For a moment.

  “Come on, Kate,” Edward Soames said. “Smart people know when they’ve been outmaneuvered. Even head doctors.”

  A crack of thunder rent the air and the chandelier flickered.

  “Oh dear,” Phillip Soames said. “We’re in for it now.”

  “This is just the beginning,” I said. “It’s not supposed to really hit until after midnight. Right now it’s time for the dessert.”

  All mention of the storm was put on hold as the members of the dinner party immersed themselves in the serious business of soufflé à l’orange. The rain upped the intimacy of an evening filled with laughter, camaraderie, and fellowship. Sort of like the Titanic.

  But thank God for it.

  The storm played havoc all around us. It circled around the town several times as the wind, rain, and lightning advanced and retreated like the tides. The wind whistled under doorways, forced branches into a staccato beat against a window or three, and attacked at every angle. Finally, the rain let loose in earnest, the roar punctuated only by the rips of lightning. It was the perfect backdrop for the ghost tour. As I listened to my grandfather and daughter recount stories of my ancestors amid the portraits in his chamber, I motioned to Magdali to step back from the group.

  “I think I should go in the attic and see if there are any leaks.”

  Edward stepped beside me. “I was thinking the same. Where’s the entrance? Got any torches?”

  Magdali led the way and handed us flashlights.

  Dust covered everything from one side of the low room to the other. Discarded furniture and boxes of every shape and dimension littered the floor. A lone porthole at one end flashed bright each time lightning struck outside.

  We found two leaks near the window.

  “It could be so much worse, I guess,” I said.

  “Any buckets in the villa that—”

  A brilliant flash illuminated the attic at the exact same moment that a thunderous boom rent the air.

  The entire villa reverberated in response.

  Except that it didn’t stop. It sounded as if a train had hopped its tracks and was heading straight for us, gaining momentum.

  Edward grabbed
my arms and shoved me down the attic stairs. Everything went to slow motion as I saw Lily herding the children down the red-carpeted, winding staircase. Youssef followed, my grandfather in his arms, as Magdali helped Phillip Soames. It was only after Edward half tossed me out the door that I realized he’d been gripping my left arm so tightly that I couldn’t feel it.

  The rain was coming in sheets and the temperature felt like fifty degrees as I involuntarily shivered. But the shaking had stopped.

  “Was that an earthquake?”

  Edward’s dark eyes met mine. “Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

  I shielded my eyes from the rain and looked toward the roofline. “Did lightning strike the house?”

  “No,” he said. “That I’m sure of.”

  Magdali held her daughter in her arms, and Lily guided the children to protection under the eaves.

  And like the military man he was, Edward finally ordered everyone back into the marble foyer a few minutes later. He barked orders left and right.

  No one dared question him as the children were dried off before a roaring fire Youssef lit in the salon. Magdali retreated to the kitchen to make hot chocolate and Edward pulled me aside.

  “I’m going out to assess damage and figure out what happened. Don’t let my children or my uncle leave here. I’ll return shortly.”

  “Got it.”

  Jean was silent and refused to be drawn into any conversation. Even Phillip was shaken.

  Only Lily was her jovial self, amusing the children with card games and books.

  I felt someone tugging my shirt.

  “Where’s Father?” Charles’s eyes were huge in his face.

  “He’s going to be right back. He went out to see what that noise was.”

  “It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

  I refused to sugarcoat it. “Possibly. But I think it was an earthquake. They happen all the time in this area. And it’s over now.”

  I could hear old Mlle Lefebvre calling for her cat outside.

  “Charles? Could you please help your sister with her cards? I’ll be right back.”

  “No,” he pouted. “I want to go with you. I don’t want to be left behind anymore.”