When Katherine walked into the kitchen early the next morning, she could not help grinning at the plate of Simone’s madeleines sitting on the island.
It was obvious that Philippe had helped himself before leaving for work. Next to the plate was a box containing a half-dozen pastries. The promised delivery service from the boulangerie appeared to be operating efficiently.
Andrew poked his head out from his bedroom. “I’ll be in the kitchen soon, Aunt Kat.”
“No rush! Take your time.”
Morning sun shone through the east-facing windows. It illuminated the limestone top of the island and was like a spotlight on the amber vase, from her favorite glassmaking studio in Biot. She and Philippe had spent an afternoon in that charming town for her birthday in November.
Andrew appeared as promised a short while later. The pups had already decided he was family and greeted him enthusiastically. Laughing, he spent a few minutes tossing their toys around and giving them robust rubs.
Then his eyes lit up as he moved toward the plate of pastries and the somewhat diminished batch of madeleines. He took his time savoring the flavors as he sampled a few, accompanied by expressions of pleasure. Kat explained how that all happened with the contribution of Simone’s baking and the help of Didier’s delivery crew.
“Oh, to have such thoughtful neighbors! I’m ready to start the day, Aunt Kat! Are you?”
Laughing, she assured him that her day had already been well underway. “Are you certain you are up for a bike ride this morning?” she asked.
“Definitely! We can’t waste this great weather. I didn’t expect it to be so warm, though. I may be overdressed in my lined biking jacket.”
“Once we get into the hills, you’ll be glad you have it on.” She tucked her own jacket into her backpack and motioned for her nephew to follow her to the bikes.
Andrew was as keen a cyclist as Kat and Philippe. He had shipped his bike to Ukraine but had all the rest of his gear with him. After dinner the night before, he had gone into the bike storage area with Philippe, and they decided which of the several bikes available he should choose.
“I was hoping we’d have a chance to go for a ride,” he grinned. “You and Mom got me hooked as far back as I can remember.”
Kat laughed. “You were always walking around with your helmet on, begging to bike with us whenever we were together—ever since your feet could reach the pedals.”
A surge of love rushed through Kat, as she thought about her cousin, Andrea, Terrence, and their three children. Just months apart in age, Andrea and Kat had been the closest of friends since birth.
When it gradually became apparent, in the early years of her first marriage, that Kat could not conceive, Andrea’s daughter and two sons had filled that gap, as best as could be. A deeply rooted ache had a permanent place in Katherine’s heart about that disappointment in her life. Most often, she did not let her thoughts dwell there.
James had been painfully indifferent to Kat’s feelings throughout their marriage. She had embraced her niece and nephews with all her heart, and they loved her in a special way, too.
“Your brother and sister could not have cared less, but you have biking in your blood! We’ve had some good rides through the years. You’re going to love it here.”
Andrew smiled as they remembered past adventures, and he gave Kat a hug. “My favorite aunt!”
She laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Your only aunt!”
He hugged her closer. “Doesn’t matter … you’ve always been such a special part of my life.”
“Allons.” Kat nodded. “We’ll ride over to the marché first and have coffee with Philippe and Gilles. Then be prepared to feel the burn!”
The bustle at the marché was lively as locals bantered with each other before the usual parade of tourists began. The previous Saturday, half the town had turned up to string festive lights, while the vendors likewise festooned their areas. The evening had ended in rollicking music and dancing in the typical French fashion.
Now woven ropes of ivy and greenery draped along beams, wreaths hung from counters, and evergreen boughs covered shelves displaying wicker baskets full of products. The strong scent of pine and cedar hung in the air. Twinkling fairy lights created an enchanting atmosphere even in broad daylight.
Andrew stopped to stand by two cauldrons and breathe in the aromatic combination of cinnamon, cloves, and other rich scents.
“Ahhh, mulled wine,” he murmured. “But there is something slightly different from ours at home. What is it?”
“Vin chaud, we call it in France,” Kat explained. She pointed out that along with red wine, there was a touch of brandy, apple cider, and oranges in this mix.
“The weather may not show it, but there’s no question Christmas is coming once you step in here,” Andrew commented to Philippe and Gilles as he stood behind their stall with them.
“Putting up the decorations is always a great excuse for a party,” Gilles said. “And your aunt had lots of creative ideas. She’s the one who directed all this draping of cedar ropes around our stall, and everyone comments on how great it looks.”
Andrew explained how Kat always would come out to their farm for a weekend early in December. “She and my mom had us all organized with stepladders, boughs, ribbons, and glue guns. Christmas music filled the house—”
“Often accompanied by bad singing,” Kat interjected. “The kids would drive us crazy with their Alvin and the Chipmunks imitations!”
Andrew laughed. “I’d forgotten that! Yeah, we thought we had it nailed! But, by Sunday night, the farmhouse was transformed. As kids we often complained, but in the end we loved it all—and the hot chocolate, toasted marshmallows in the fireplace, and Christmas cookies helped!”
“If they were Kat’s shortbread cookies, I can understand that!” Philippe said. “We need to get busy and make some, minou!”
Gilles clapped his hands. “Oui! I remember them from last year—to die for!”
Kat laughed. “I love the ‘we’ part. I will bake, and Philippe and Gilles will make them disappear just as quickly as I pull them out of the oven.”
Their grins told the story.
After sharing a few more moments of conversation, Gilles shooed them over to the adjacent café so he could attend to customers.
The three of them enjoyed some strong coffee and a short break for Philippe before Katherine and Andrew waved goodbye and set off on their bikes. A few minutes later, they left behind the narrow, crowded streets.
Traffic was heavy on the roads out of town. Kat led the way, always grateful for how French drivers and cyclists respected each other.
Within a few minutes, they were cycling up past the picturesque town of Biot, known for its distinctive glassblowing history, and onto quieter back roads. She was well aware of shortcuts now.
They rode at a good pace up into the hills, through thickly forested areas with birdsong as their background music. After a half hour, they pulled into a picnic area for a short water break.
“The quiet up here is remarkable—and such a short distance from the coast,” Andrew commented. “Biking always makes me so aware of how quickly we can have a complete change of atmosphere. Just going on some of the extensive bike paths in the middle of cities can allow us to lose ourselves. I’m so glad more communities have created those opportunities.”
Kat agreed, and they chatted a bit more about some of their favorite bike routes.
“Okay, ready to work now?” she asked. “We will have about fifteen minutes to warm up on a fairly easy grade, and then the climb will get serious.”
“Let’s do it!”
There was no conversation for the next hour. Once in a while they would yell an encouraging exchange to each other. Otherwise they saved their breath for the strenuous effort of conquering one switchback after another before they finally reached their destination.
Breathing hard, Kat pulled onto a rocky ledge and collapsed on a large boulder. Andrew followed. Their faces were flushed and covered in perspiration. They worked at getting their gasps under control before they each drank deeply from their water bottles.
The view was panoramic. Diaphanous clouds floated gracefully across the sky while the Mediterranean spread before them, shimmering in stunning shades of blue. The greens of the heavily forested region covered the hillside from top to bottom.
“This view,” said Kat. “Inhaling the scents and sounds around us. For a brief interlude, everything is right with the world.”
Andrew’s grin as he nodded silently spoke volumes, and Kat nodded back. Finally catching his breath, Andrew said, “Worth the effort, Aunt Kat. Worth the effort.”
“Come on,” Andrew said, “let’s take the obligatory selfie here. It’s too good to pass up!”
“That will definitely be a shot for my gratitude journal,” Kat told him. Every day, she saved one photo in her special file rather than writing a journal as many others did.
Then they moved to a cleared area and sat for a while at one of the picnic tables.
“It’s so easy to see why you love it,” Andrew said. “Thanks for bringing me here. It’s at moments like this that it seems possible to clarify what I want my life to be.” He paused and looked almost awkward for a moment. “Um, does that sound lofty? Is this rarefied air making me delusional?”
They both laughed.
Kat’s tone was thoughtful. “There’s something about the peace of nature that leads us to moments like that. I agree. I’ve done some of my best reflecting on bike trips or hiking—away from noise and electronics.”
He admitted to Katherine that he was in love with Magda. They talked about commitment and marriage, and somehow in that breathtaking setting, everything seemed to make sense.
That evening, Katherine, Philippe, and Andrew arrived at Simone’s precisely at seven p.m. as requested.
“I have never been fêted with so much champagne,” Andrew exclaimed as Simone asked Philippe to do the honors and pop the cork. “Now I see why it’s called the national drink of France.”
“It took me a little while to get used to having champagne so often, too,” Kat admitted to him. “But it soon began to feel right—for so many reasons.”
Simone chuckled. “Alors, let’s give a toast to Dom Pierre Pérignon! The Benedictine monk from the sixteenth century who we thank for making important improvements to our favorite drink.”
“Santé!” Their voices chorused.
“But he didn’t invent the sparkle in it. That part is a myth,” Philippe added.
“Then we won’t toast him for that part!” Simone said as they all laughed.
Conversation moved easily around their comfortable circle, as Simone asked Andrew about his life in Canada and his experiences in Ukraine. In return, Andrew was interested in knowing more about the stunning paintings that graced the walls of Simone’s home.
Simone had the baskets of santons sitting by the hearth, waiting to be unpacked. They decided to begin the process while they were sipping their champagne and then finish after dinner if necessary.
“Um, excuse me, but is that Bob Dylan singing Christmas carols?” Andrew asked. His eyes sparkled with amusement as Simone explained her penchant for the music.
“He made a Christmas album! That’s news to me!”
“It’s not that old! It was released in 2009, and all proceeds go to programs to feed the hungry around the world. Bob’s my guy!” Simone enthused.
They all chuckled. Simone’s charming accent created an even more humorous twist to her passion for Dylan’s music.
Andrew had never heard of santons and was fascinated by their history. Simone gave a succinct recap of the history of these “little saints” and how the craft of being a santonièr evolved. She entertained with colorful descriptions of the variety of the clay characters that represented the entire spectrum of postrevolutionary France, some touching and others amusing.
“You will see they represent the common people. There are no aristocrats included, except for the Royal Magi. And for whatever reason, we French are in love with them.”
She explained how some were painted and how others wore fabric costumes. “Every detail is done by hand, and being a santonièr or santonièrre is a talent that is often passed from one generation to another in a family. You must come back another time and visit the town of Aubagne, Capitale du Santon.”
“Yes,” agreed Kat. “That’s a good idea. Next visit!”
“After hearing all this, I would love to do that one day,” Andrew said.
Unwrapping each santon and setting up the crèche was far less emotional for Simone this time. Kat’s eyes met Simone’s several times as she helped her friend. She could see that painful memories remained, but Simone was choosing to remember the good ones. The atmosphere was, in fact, jolly.
Simone was delighted and Philippe was amused as Katherine and Andrew sang along with practically all of the songs that played in the background.
“But of course! These are your songs!”
They paused at one point to adjourn to the dining room. Simone had prepared a classically French dinner, after checking with Kat to make sure Andrew was not a picky eater.
Katherine had agreed to Simone’s insistence that she wanted to prepare a fine French meal for Andrew. But only with the caveat that she and Philippe function as the servers.
Bathed in the right combination of butter, parsley, and garlic, the entrée was escargots with warm brioche sliced in rounds and placed on top of each escargot.
“There’s a subtle flavor here that I can’t identify,” Kat said, closing her eyes and savoring the taste.
“Fresh tarragon blended in the sauce, chérie,” Simone shared, with a wink.
Katherine brought a small serving of a delicate lime sorbet to the table.
“You probably are familiar with this, Andrew,” Simone offered. “It’s called an intermezzo and cleanses the palate to prepare for the rest of the meal.”
Philippe interjected, “What it really does is remind us to slow down!” Simone shot him an exaggerated look of dismay as they all laughed.
Next, Katherine and Philippe went to the kitchen, under Simone’s instruction, and brought a platter with duck à l’orange accompanied by small roasted potatoes to the table. A pitcher of the luscious sweet and tangy sauce was served on the side. All four diners indulged in adding more to the perfectly pink slow-roasted meat.
“I always start off with the less is more philosophy, in case someone does not want too much sauce,” Simone explained.
“And everyone wants more!” Philippe enthused as he passed it around.
“It’s incredibly delicious,” Andrew kept repeating.
Simone modestly brushed aside the repeated murmurs of appreciation. “When you have cooked this recipe for as many decades as I have, c’est facile, comme un, deux, trois!”
A simple green salad with a light vinaigrette came next, before Philippe presented the cheese tray. He had included four of Simone’s favorites.
They lingered over the meal with conversation that was at times serious and other times filled with laughter. Topics even touched on global politics, bringing interesting and varied viewpoints from the span of generations at the table.
After two hours, Simone announced, “Pour le dessert, café gourmand! Sweets from our favorite pâtisserie.”
Philippe prepared the coffee in the kitchen, while Kat placed four mignardises on each person’s plate. The mini-desserts consisted of a tiny crème brûlée topped with three raspberries, a pistachio macaron, a two-bite flourless chocolate cake, and a profiterole.
Once again, Andrew expressed his pleasure, as Philippe described how this way of presenting dessert had been gaining popularity over the past few years. “Not just after meals, but also as a great way to enjoy your coffee at any time—and to fool yourself that you are not eating an exquisitely high-calorie dessert.”
Kat snorted quietly. “Pretend is the operative word! Enjoy every bite!”