As independant as she thought she was and wanted to be, Emilie was still depending on men. She had to play the game Maurice and Mr. Flaherty wanted her to play because they had power over her. She could lose her job and be thrown out on the street and then what? She might go live with Kate and depend on Kate’s husband, but that would make her no less dependent, and she figured that meeting young men Maurice hoped would become her husband was the lesser of two evils. She would keep playing the game until she was too old to marry, hoping Maurice wouldn’t get desperate enough to pay a man a small fortune just so he’d marry her.
“Are you going to marry this lad, my darling?” Kate asked as she watched Emilie undress in her bedroom the next day. Most of Kate’s body was covered with the satin sheet but Emilie could see the shape of one perfectly tantalizing nipple under the fabric. Kate’s head was propped up on one hand as she lay on her side and she looked at Emilie with seductively half-closed eyes and a teasing smile. Once she was completely nude, Emilie joined Kate in bed and grabbed the tempting nipple between her lips through the satin of the sheet. Kate gasped. “That’s a no, I assume?”
“The lad won’t propose, don’t worry. One look at me and Mr. Black started talking politics with Mr. Flaherty. Their conversation lasted through dinner and he barely looked at me to say goodnight when he left. It was almost too easy.” Emilie took the nipple back into her mouth, but this time she moved the sheet away first. Kate moaned in pleasure but then placed her hand under Emilie’s chin and gently forced her to look into her eyes. Emilie recognized the familiar lust in Kate’s hazel eyes, but she also saw something else: something she’d never seen there before. She’d shown tenderness several times, but this was deeper, and it almost scared Emilie.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with these men, Emilie. If I were a man I’d want you as a wife. As my wife.” Kate’s voice caught on that last part and she looked down as if she’d been embarrassed by her declaration. Tears sparkled in her eyes and her chin trembled. It was the first time Kate said anything that led Emilie to believe she wished their relationship could be more than what it was. Emilie didn’t know how to answer so she kissed her with as much strength and passion as she could. Kate let herself fall to her back under the pressure of Emilie’s kiss, and they made love.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rimouski, December 1903
It was Christmas morning and Angeline sat at her parents’ kitchen table with her father, mother and the three children. She heard steps on the outside stairs and went to open the front door to Joseph and Yellow standing on the porch, covered with snow. She took the bottles of milk out of Joseph’s hands with a smile and closed the door again to keep the heat in the house. She handed the milk to her mother and through the small window of the door she watched Joseph shake the snow off his coat and boots.
He’d insisted on giving the women a break from milking the cows that morning. Angeline opened the door again to let Joseph inside. Yellow whined but lay down on the porch by the door. He was not allowed in her parents’ home. Her father always said that animals were meant to live outside and that Yellow was spoiled. She patted him on the head before she closed the door again, giving her father enough time to say firmly, “Leave that dog alone, you’re letting all the cold wind inside.” She smiled at her father, who smiled back even as he shook his head. Joseph took his coat and boots off at the door and the couple went back to the kitchen table where the children were getting impatient.
“Can we eat it now, Papa?” Paul-Emile asked, his eyes focused on the orange he’d received for Christmas.
“Yes, you can,” Joseph said with a laugh. Five-year-old Paul-Emile didn’t have any trouble peeling his orange but he did it meticulously, enjoying every bit of the experiment. Almost three-year-old Victor had more difficulty and became frustrated with the process so Angeline went to help him while her mother peeled Marie-Ange’s fruit and fed the fifteen-month-old girl small pieces as she sat on her father’s lap.
Angeline and Joseph watched in awe as their children ate the Christmas fruit. They were rarely that quiet so she enjoyed the moment. Paul-Emile and Victor often fought which was exhausting for Angeline. “Let them fight and settle it on their own,” her mother would say, but Angeline had a hard time following her mother’s advice.
Fortunately, Marie-Ange’s name proved to be predestined and their baby girl was truly an angel. Angeline had miscarried earlier that fall but she hadn’t reacted as badly as she had the two times she’d miscarried before she had Victor. She wanted a larger family, of course, but she was already blessed with three healthy and beautiful children. If nature wanted them to have more they would, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they didn’t. She no longer felt like God was trying to punish her for anything.
“Delphine told me you received a letter from your sister. How’s life in Boston?”
Angeline tensed up at her father’s question to Joseph. The letter had come a week before Christmas. Joseph had been so happy to hear from his sister, but Angeline didn’t know how to react to this letter. She was hurt that the letter hadn’t come with a second one or even a small note addressed to her. Emilie had barely mentioned her at all in her letter to Joseph, only to say she hoped his wife was doing well. She hadn’t even bothered to write Angeline’s name, just “your wife,” as if Angeline wasn’t anything more than Joseph’s property. They hadn’t heard from her in almost five years and Emilie obviously hadn’t missed her. As painful as it was Angeline had to come to the conclusion that she didn’t exist anymore in Emilie’s eyes.
“She’s doing well. She works in a bookstore and has made lots of friends. Her boss and his wife take good care of her. She made fun of me for running away from a war that lasted just a few months but she says she’s happy I’m here now and she hopes she can meet our children someday. She knows their names, when they were born, what they like to do, everything. Our father’s done a great job keeping her informed.”
Angeline realized Joseph was becoming emotional and she put a hand on his to comfort him. What he wasn’t saying was that Emilie had formally apologized for calling him a coward. She’d admitted she’d done it out of frustration because she was losing her brother and her best friend and she had no right to do so. She knew Joseph was brave and strong and she’d lived long enough with that guilt on her conscience.
Joseph looked at Angeline and smiled. Angeline smiled in return. As hurt as she was that Emilie had completely disregarded her in her letter to Joseph, she was grateful for the apology she’d made to him. It had been a huge relief for him and he deserved it.
“Is there no chance she might come back here to live? You were so close at one point, such good friends.”
This time her father’s question was addressed to Angeline. She dropped her husband’s hand and answered more defensively than she intended to, “No, Papa. That was a long time ago. Emilie’s life is in Boston now. And ours is here. I don’t think we’d have anything to say to each other.”
She went back to watching the children eat their oranges as she swallowed the lump in her throat. She felt her father’s eyes on her, silently questioning her reaction, but she refused to look back in his direction.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Boston, November 1904
Emilie was in Kate’s bed, staring at the ceiling while her lover slept by her side. She’d been thinking about Emma Bovary lately, about that feeling of eternal dissatisfaction. The first time she’d read Madame Bovary, Maurice had told her it was acceptable to want more out of life as long as she knew what she wanted and put all of her energy in obtaining it. Emilie hadn’t known what she wanted at the time but she’d thought she’d known when she moved to Boston. A job in a bookstore and a woman like Kate in her life should have been enough, she was certain of it. Of course she’d wanted Angeline more than anything else, but Angeline wasn’t hers to have, so she’d made the best of her situation. Was she truly condemned to never be completely happy because she
couldn’t have Angeline?
At some point, not too long ago, she’d thought she was over Angeline and that old pain. She felt good when she was with Kate and she rarely thought of Angeline. She hadn’t been forced to have dinner with one of Maurice’s friends in several months and that also made her life easier. She wasn’t sure if Maurice thought she was too old or if he’d run out of friends, but she was grateful he’d given up nonetheless. She was as happy as she’d ever been in Boston until she had the brilliant idea to write a letter to her brother to ask for his forgiveness, and he wrote back a couple of months later.
Not only was he forgiving her but he asked her to come live with them in Rimouski. He would add a room to their house and they could be together again. Angeline would love having her close, he’d said.
So would the children. He’d written details about her nephews’ and her niece’s activities and personalities that even her father couldn’t have known. Emilie missed them. She missed her brother and Angeline, and she missed children she’d never even met. How was that possible?
Of course, going to live with them in Rimouski was out of the question. She could never be the good sister, friend and aunt they all wanted her to be. She was different from all of them. Rimouski had no room for someone like her. But the biggest obstacle, the one she was slowly admitting to herself, was that she was still in love with Angeline and would always be. It could never work, so she didn’t write back.
“My gorgeous darling,” Kate whispered in a sleepy voice. Emilie turned to her and smiled. She was beautiful when she woke up from a nap. She lay on her stomach, her head turned in Emilie’s direction, one side of her face on the white satin of the pillow. Emilie could barely see the other side through the messy, short hair. “I just had the most fascinating dream.”
“Oh really? What was it?” Emilie asked as she kissed Kate’s shoulder and caressed her bare back.
“You were with me, like you are now, but not just on Sundays. You were in bed with me every night of the week and we lived happily.”
Emilie stopped caressing Kate for a moment before she forced herself to resume her movement. Kate had made this kind of insinuation more often recently. She’d even asked Emilie to move in with her. She clearly wanted more out of their relationship, and Emilie wasn’t sure she wanted to or could give her more. She didn’t want to depend on Kate’s money—or on her husband’s money to be more accurate. She also knew with more certainty each day that passed that she would never be in love with Kate the way she was in love with Angeline. She knew she could probably be happy with Kate. They made great lovers and definitely knew how to have a good time together. But she wasn’t sure how that could translate into living together as a couple. “That’s a beautiful dream, Kate,” she simply said before she turned to her back.
Kate propped herself up on her elbows so she could bring her face over Emilie’s and force her to look into her eyes again. What Emilie saw was determination. She wouldn’t let it go this time. “It doesn’t have to be just a dream, Emilie. I want you to live with me.”
“And I’ve told you before I don’t want to live in this house with you, be your pretty little thing and help you plan your parties. That’s not who I am.”
Emilie started to sit up but Kate gently pushed her back and left one hand on her chest as she spoke. “I know, my darling. You’re much better than that, and it’s not what I want either. Don’t you understand that I don’t want all of these women in my house every Saturday night anymore either? All I want is you, Emilie. I love you.”
Emilie gasped in surprise. In almost five years, they’d never said those three words to each other. Emilie had expected them at first but had finally accepted that their relationship was not a love story. It was a passionate tale, an erotic affair perhaps, but not a love story. Kate was changing the game on her and she didn’t know how to react. “Kate,” she simply murmured, closing her eyes.
“I’m tired of this scene, of this city. My sweet Emilie, we could move to New York together. No one would know who we are there. No one would care. We could start fresh, just the two of us.”
“Kate,” Emilie said again before Kate put a finger on her lips to keep her from talking.
“Don’t say anything now, just think about it. It’s what I want, my darling. I want to share a life with you and only you. I’ve been thinking about it, wanting it for months. Please take at least a few days to think about it too before you make up your mind.”
Emilie nodded and Kate kissed her. The kiss was softer than usual yet seemed deeper at the same time. There were definitely new intentions behind Kate’s lips and Emilie thought as she abandoned herself in Kate’s physical declaration that there could be worse things than letting this woman love her.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rimouski, April 1905
The children were sleeping soundly in the attic. Joseph had placed three beds in the small space, creating a cozy bedroom for Paul-Emile, Victor and Marie-Ange. The boys had first objected to Marie-Ange getting the bed by the dormer window, but had accepted their faith because as much as they fought with each other, they both loved their sister very much.
Angeline sat alone in the rocking chair, worried, trying to focus on the sound of a loose plank creaking underneath one of the rockers. Joseph meant to fix that plank but he worked so much he never had time. Angeline usually moved the chair to avoid the noise when she sat at night to knit while she waited for her husband, but tonight the sound of the squeaky plank helped soothe her nerves.
Yellow stayed by the door, restless. He stood up at the slightest movement or sound of the wind, wagging his tail, then lay back down on the floor with a heavy sigh every time he realized Joseph wasn’t home yet. The presence of the dog usually comforted Angeline, but it failed to reassure her tonight.
Joseph often worked on Sundays or late at night during the week, but he’d never worked after dark on a Sunday before. He’d left for the sawmill right after lunch and wasn’t back yet at nine p.m. Angeline repeated to herself that once Joseph was focused on fixing a piece of machinery he didn’t give up until it worked again and he’d probably just lost track of time, but she couldn’t help but imagine the worst. A chill had passed through her spine around sunset and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She’d finally gone to her parents’ house around eight to ask for help and her father had gone to the sawmill right away, telling her he’d be back with her husband in no time. The fact that her father wasn’t back yet made her worry even more.
Yellow stood up again and wagged his tail. This time he let out a deep, warning bark, and Angeline heard steps on the porch. She jumped out of the chair and hurried to the door. She opened it and couldn’t hide her disappointment when she didn’t see Joseph behind her father. “He’s not done yet?” she asked.
“Angeline, my girl, let’s go inside and sit down.”
Her father’s words, accompanied by his solemn tone and expression, made Angeline’s heart tighten on the spot and another chill traveled through her body as she moved to the side to let her father inside. “What happened, Papa? Joseph had an accident, didn’t he? Is he in the hospital?”
Her father walked into the house and sat in one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. He slowly put his gray wool cap on the table. Angeline remained at the door, powerless to move. Yellow stayed by her side. Her father extended a hand toward her as he asked, “Please sit down, Angeline.”
She obeyed and sat in the chair next to her father, who took her hands in his. “I stopped by Fat Pineau’s house on my way to the mill earlier and he came with me. When we arrived we saw Joseph on the ground.”
“Oh no, Papa, was he hurt?” Angeline’s voice broke and her father held her hands with more strength.
“His head was bleeding and he wasn’t moving, Angeline.” He paused to take a deep breath and Angeline shut her eyes as if it could keep her from hearing the news. “I sent Fat Pineau to get Doctor Michaud, but he wasn’t
breathing and he’d lost a lot of blood. He was next to the circular saw. Fat Pineau thinks a heavy piece of wood probably got stuck in the saw and when Joseph got it to work again, the piece of wood must have been thrown out of it and hit him right in the head.”
Angeline opened her eyes again when her father took one of the hands that were holding hers to hit his own head with his finger, right on the temple, showing her where the piece of wood had hit Joseph.
“Did Doctor Michaud make it to the mill, Papa? What did he say?”
Her father sighed again, looking straight into his daughter’s eyes, and had to swallow a lump in his throat before he spoke. He grimaced, trying to hold in the tears as he answered, “Doctor Michaud said Joseph probably didn’t suffer, Angeline. The blow killed him instantly.” Her father lost control then and started sobbing as Angeline violently pulled her hands out of his.
“You’re lying, Papa. I don’t believe you. I need to see him. Take me to my husband, Papa. Please.”
She stood up and walked toward the door. Her father followed her and placed himself between her and the door. Yellow growled defensively but her father ignored him and forcefully grabbed Angeline and held her in his arms. Through his tears, he explained, “He’s not at the mill anymore, Angeline. Doctor Michaud had his body taken to the hospital to confirm what happened. You can see him tomorrow, my girl.”
Angeline struggled in vain in her father’s embrace, protesting, “I can’t wait until tomorrow, Papa, Joseph needs me.”
Her father held her at arm’s length and forced her to look into his eyes as he declared firmly, “He’s dead, Angeline. Joseph is dead.”
Only then did she finally start crying, collapsing into her father’s arms. He held her tight and cried with her, gently caressing her hair and her back. “We’ve lost him, my dear girl,” he added.
Water's Edge Page 15
