“Oh, yes. Just perfect,” Josette said to herself as she stood up and inspected the deep-purple rug, making sure it sat straight in front of the rose-colored couch. It changed the room immensely. She whirled on the old chair that she arranged opposite it. She’d bought a beautiful rose fabric to sew a cover for it. She’d have this house in order in no time.
A knock broke her out of her thoughts, and Josette hurried to the door. When she peered through the screen and saw three ladies standing on her porch, she slipped on the black heels she’d left by the door before she answered.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” Josette held the door open wide, disguising her surprise at Susie and two of her closest friends standing on the steps, Susie with a pie in her hands. “Please, do come in.”
“Thank you.” Susie beamed at her, and for a moment, the way the single light in the living room hit her hair gave her a halo. She strode in, more comfortable than Josette ever would have been in a room with a person she had been working against for the last few weeks. The other two girls followed, keeping their gazes on the carpet.
Susie turned to hold the pie out to Josette, her gaze falling over the old chair for the first time. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, but she covered it. Josette’s face flamed, and she took her time closing the door behind them. She vowed to get that cover done as quickly as she could, although she hadn’t cared so much about how it looked until Susie came. In truth, the old chair was the best piece of furniture Josette had owned in the last few years until Andrew insisted they buy this new couch.
“Where should I put this?” Susie asked, her radiant, and condescending, smile returning.
“I’ll take it into the kitchen.” Josette held out her hands and Susie gave her the pie. “Oh, it’s strawberry. How delicious-looking.” She poured every bit of genuineness she could into the statement. Susie had sculpted the fluffy whipped cream into careful peaks, and the strawberry mixture underneath didn’t move an inch as Josette took it, betraying how perfectly set it was. It almost made her jealous.
“Yes, Andrew’s favorite.” Susie shrugged as though she made Andrew’s favorite meals in her sleep.
“I kn—”
“You probably didn’t realize,” Susie spoke over Josette. “You haven’t known him near as long as I have.” Then she added a giggle.
Josette blinked. She’d known Andrew for almost nine months, and he’d told her his favorite pie was strawberry on their first date. It wasn’t exactly classified information. In an effort to be gracious, Josette bit her tongue against telling Susie that. Instead, she hurried through the doorway to the tiny kitchen and slid the pie into the refrigerator.
It was silly to worry about such a small thing as what Susie or anyone in town thought of her. She’d risked her life on multiple occasions back in France and faced much scarier things than a girl bent on revenge for someone stealing her beau. She put her hands on her hips and marched out to face the enemy.
When Josette returned to the room, the three girls had taken seats on the new couch, leaving her the ratty chair. It looked so much rattier now that Josette thought about it. Was it the new carpet and couch or the company that made her think that? She fell back into the old thing, where the stuffing had worn down to the springs in the back from too many years of use. She scooted to a more ladylike position by perching on the front of it, facing down her guests with the best smile she could muster.
She opened her mouth, waiting for something kind to come to her, but Susie saved her from speaking by piping up first. “I suppose you’ll find something more . . . comfortable later,” she said with a glance around the room. Spic and span and gleaming, thanks to Vera, Fay, and Mother Larson—but yes, worn, now that Josette really scrutinized it. Rough wooden floors and walls. The paper peeling and paint faded. “I mean, I suppose everything was very last-minute, considering your elopement.”
She said it like it was a bad word and insinuated more with the little cough she tagged on to the end of it. “No, we didn’t give them much warning,” Josette said. “But Andrew plans to work with his brother on the farm, and this house is convenient for that.”
There came that condescending smile again. It made Josette want to stuff her handkerchief down Susie’s throat. “Oh, well. Andrew always said he would build me a nice big house up on the hill overlooking the farm.” She giggled again. “But things change, don’t they?”
“Yes, they certainly do,” Josette said through gritted teeth. She surveyed the other two girls, wondering when they’d join the conversation, but the carpet held all their attention.
“So exciting that you came all the way from France. Everyone’s talking about that. It was good of Andrew to marry you so you could get to America, wasn’t it? We Americans are good at that. Saving the French.” She tittered again.
Josette had no reply for this latest attack. Her face burned and her blood boiled. She hopped to her feet. “It was nice of you to bring the pie. I’m sure Andrew will be eager to eat it.” She could muster no more politeness than that. Be gracious, be gracious, she said to herself before she blew her top.
And Susie had the gall to tip her nose up, her eyes shining in triumph. “Yes, he will. It’s probably been ages since he had one.” She stood as well, leading the other two to the door and out without any other farewell than that.
Josette fell into the chair, determined not to dissolve into tears over such a little thing. She jumped out of the chair and marched into the kitchen, then took the pie out of the fridge and dumped it resolutely in the trash. And when she realized whether Susie had made it or not, Andrew would have liked to eat it, she sat at the kitchen table and cried.
***
Josette tried to keep herself distracted that afternoon by starting the cover for the old chair. She was in their bedroom doing just that when Andrew came in. At the sound of him calling, “Hello, ma chère?” in that ridiculous, and surely exaggerated, American accent, something in her chest pinched. Guilt. Guilt that she’d thrown away that whole pie in a fit of anger at Susie and her smug insults.
“In here,” she called back from the small bedroom where she’d set up the sewing machine Mother Larson had lent her.
She didn’t start up the machine again as she listened to Andrew’s booted feet come down the hallway. A few months ago, the memories that a sound like that conjured up might have sent her heart racing. It was too easy to close her eyes and forget that she was safe in America, that Germany had been defeated, and that the Gestapo wouldn’t barge through her door again.
“I thought I saw Susie Brandenburg’s car driving down the road from the house,” Andrew said when he appeared in the doorway.
For no good reason, a surge of jealousy swept through Josette at the thought of him recognizing that ostentatious, cherry-red Hudson convertible Susie drove. “Oh, did you?” she said, sliding the fabric back under the foot of the sewing machine and whirring away again, even though she should have gotten up and welcomed Andrew with a kiss.
He strode across the room and laid a—quite dirty—hand upon her shoulder. “What’s she done now, Jo?”
“Nothing!” Josette cried shrilly, abandoning the machine again and standing so quickly the rickety wooden chair she’d dragged in from the kitchen wobbled and screeched as she sent it backward. “She’s been ever so kind. Brought you a strawberry pie and everything—but I’m sorry, I threw it in the garbage.” She whirled to face Andrew just as she pronounced that and caught his eyes widening in shock and then disappointment flitting through his expression before it fell into something far too sympathetic for Josette’s taste at the moment.
“Did she do something horrible?” he asked gently, coming toward her, his arms open in that sweet way. He could never resist holding her when she was hurting, and right now it irritated Josette beyond reason.
“Good heavens, Andrew. I’ve thrown away a perfectly good pie. Your favorite. What a silly and ridiculous thing to do. Would you stop being so understanding and let me throw a proper tantrum over it?” She stomped her foot, still clad in the black high heels she’d worn for Susie’s visit.
Andrew chewed on his bottom lip, but she knew him well enough to see he was trying to cover up a smile at her outburst. “You’re quite right, mon amour. Throwing away strawberry pie is unpardonable. I’ve half a mind to take you over my knee and spank you.” He added on some improper things in French that made Josette blush.
“Andrew!” she gasped, and he held back his smile no longer as he came and took her into his arms.
“How was my accent just then, Jo?”
He’d made such an effort at giving his nickname for her the proper French pronunciation that she couldn’t help dissolving into giggles and tears. “Horrific. I’ve half a mind to wash your mouth out with soap.”
He brushed away some of her tears with his thumb, kissing her cheeks where he’d wiped them. “Was she very terrible?” he asked in a soft voice, studying her with serious concern.
“She said some awful things,” Josette admitted in a small voice.
“Her strawberry pie is no good anyway,” he said, and she knew he was lying. She’d licked off a bit of whipped cream that she’d gotten onto her fingers as she tossed it. It had tasted divine—sweet with just the right amount of vanilla.
“Oh, Andrew.” The giggles faded into more tears. “I’ve ruined that beautiful pie.”
“She deserved it,” he said, kissing away those tears.
“You didn’t.” She sniffled and laid a head against his shoulder, picking it quickly back up again when she smudged her cheek with mud.
“Don’t worry over it.” He fished his handkerchief from his pocket, but Josette had to push it away with a hiccupping laugh. It was as covered in dirt as he was. She pulled her own from the pocket of her dress and mopped up her face.
“I’m better now. You ought to get back to work. Sam will miss you. It was so kind of you to come check on me after you saw her car. Je t’adore.” She kissed him fervently to show her gratitude, a kiss that Andrew prolonged. “Now you’re just trying to get out of work,” she accused in a laughing whisper.
“What better excuse? I am practically still on my honeymoon.” He swept Josette into his arms. “I have half a mind to take the rest of the afternoon off.”
Josette wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him. “I have half a mind not to argue with you—not even one tiny bit.”
***
Andrew insisted they go to the farmhouse for dinner that evening. It seemed unfair to ask Josette to make dinner after all that had happened with Susie that afternoon. She admitted she wasn’t up to making anything, and he couldn’t blame her. Nor did he blame her for tossing that decadent-looking pie, with Susie’s fresh whipped cream, into the trash. Not after what Susie had said to Josette. He’d tried not to think too much about maybe spooning out one bite.
“Jo, won’t you let me go talk to her?” he said. They’d spent a happy afternoon together, but the episode hadn’t been far from his mind. “What she said today was plain rude. She may be spoiled, and people may treat their family like royals, but I guarantee her mother would be ashamed that Susie had stooped so low to hurt your feelings.”
“It’s okay. Really, I’m fine. People much worse than Susie have said much worse things.” She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. The fact that his sweet Jo compared social snobbery to some of the horrors she faced during the war made bile rise in Andrew’s throat.
He stopped and turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders. “You shouldn’t have to hear it now. I wanted Bellemont to be your home. I wanted you to be happy here.”
She let a smile through as she threaded her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “She’ll stop soon, I’m sure. I’ll have to weather it.”
“I don’t want you to have to weather it, mon amour,” he murmured and stroked her cheek. “Shall I take you back to France or England? I’d go anywhere to make you happy, Jo. I would.”
She shook her head, and her smile turned more genuine. “Sam needs you here. And you need you here. This place is in your blood. I remember how you talked about it back in London. Susie bragged about how she knew your favorite dessert, and when I thought more about it, it comforted me to think that your favorite dessert is the least of the wonderful things you’ve confided in me. Like the kind of pride you feel when you sit down to a meal that you’ve provided off the farm. Or how much you like the way a field looks right after you till it up.”
Andrew pulled Josette tight against him. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” she said into his shoulder.
They continued on in silence again, this time more comfortable, though the sting of her hurt feelings stayed with him still. When they reached the house, Josette joined the girls in the kitchen to finish preparing the meal, and Andrew sat down in the front room to listen to The Lone Ranger on the radio with his father.
“Evening, son.”
“Evening, Dad.”
Dad turned his attention back to the broadcast, and Andrew found himself listening in on the conversation in the kitchen. Fay had turned it to Susie’s despicable behavior, and Josette filled them in on her latest attack.
“She has some nerve,” Fay said, the anger filling her voice with an edge. “You wouldn’t believe the nonsense she’s spouting in town.” Her statement was followed by the clamor of a pan lid going back on a pot with more force than necessary. “Telling everyone the governor only came to your party because Andrew called Teddy and begged him to bring his father.”
Heat shot into Andrew’s face faster than a brand seared a cowhide. How had Susie even found out that he’d asked Teddy that? Well, Andrew never could trust him with a good secret. Though he would have thought that Teddy could manage to not broadcast to the world that Andrew wanted someone important to show up Susie for Josette. Now it turned out he’d only made it worse.
“Is that true?” Dad asked.
Andrew slumped back against the chair. “About me asking Teddy to bring his father? Yeah, it’s true. I wanted to help Jo.”
“I suppose if you kids would leave it alone, it’d blow over soon enough.”
“I can’t sit back and let Susie make Jo miserable. She came to the house today on the pretense of welcoming Jo, when really she came to say rude things and hurt Jo’s feelings. She was out of line, Dad. Jealous or not, she had no right.”
“No, I agree with you there. Don’t know what you can do to help it though, with a girl like Susie. She always did want her own way over everything.”
Andrew rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t see why in the world that ought to be me right now. To tell you the truth, I never guessed she cared that much. Only that she thought I looked neat in my uniform and that she liked telling her girlfriends how she was dating a G. I. She made all sorts of plans about us getting married, but I never took it too seriously—I was fighting a war!”
“Girls can act funny sometimes about things they can’t have.”
“I suppose so.” Andrew sighed.
“You boys thinking we ought to plow the west field?” Dad asked, switching the subject. He probably had no more wisdom to add—and no more ability to understand Susie than Andrew.
Andrew nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a good idea. Might make things easier in the spring.”
“Not a lot of extra hands around here.” Dad waved what remained of his severed arm in the air and both men laughed. Though the jokes came few and far between these days, it always brightened Andrew’s day to see an old spark of the man he’d known come back.
“You could take Jack Junior and let him steer for you,” Andrew suggested.
“I’m sure he’d like that a lot better than picking beans.”
Andrew grinned, but more because of the smile on his father’s face than anything else. He’d come upon Dad and Jack Junior and Peter in the barn the day before and listened for a moment as Dad taught them about the tractors. His face had held all the love Andrew remembered it having when he’d taught Andrew at that age. Dad lived for farming. It was deep in his blood, and losing an arm couldn’t take that from him. It lightened Andrew’s heart that Dad could still find joy in it, amid the frustrations he experienced now every day thanks to that missing limb.
“Practically anything is better than picking beans,” Andrew said, resting his head back against the chair and thinking back to what Josette had said about them needing him here. He couldn’t leave the farm. This farm brought life back to him, the same way it brought it back to his father. The soil his family had worked and lived on for decades healed more of the broken parts of him from the war than anything else could—except maybe Josette. And without Andrew, they’d be short the people they needed to start planting all the fields again.
But how could he ask his wife to stay in a place that had made her feel so unwelcome?