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Occasionally in life, you have revelations about the motives behind your behavior and those of others. The trip from Kentwood to Lyon was long and tiring by boat and train. I experienced an eye-opening moment, during the extended journey alongside my mother. You would think that spending time together would have brought us closer. On the contrary, and I realized that my mother had always been incapable of forming close relationships with anyone. For the majority of the trip, she buried herself in a book and rarely spoke a word to me. When she raised a glance in my direction, I felt as if she were checking to make sure her extra luggage hadn’t gotten lost.
As I reflected on her marriage with my father, I had to admit that they never displayed affection. Their life had been a coexistence of sorts between two people living under the same roof. Perhaps their marriage had been another parental arrangement. Obviously, I had been the only child born from the union, and I doubted there had been any medical reason behind it. Most of my early childhood I spent with a caregiver. To be frank, my mother had never been the mothering type nor would she ever display those qualities. When I pondered the situation, I realized that I had merely been a chore rather than a daughter, and it deeply grieved me. Her intermittent pats to calm my worries had been platitudes.
Finally it all made sense. Because of the lack of attention or affection from either parent, when Roger Gooding gave me the eye, I perked up like a wilted flower starved for devotion. No wonder I shivered with excitement and let him have his way with me while he watered my so-called drought. Someone noticed that I existed even if it had been for his roguish pleasure. Being able to make sense out of my actions had been a turning point. I understood why I had transgressed and discovered the ability to forgive myself in spite of it all.
Along with that insight came a self-made vow that I would never be like my mother. Even though she unsympathetically, along with my father, insisted that I give up this baby, I would never stop loving the new life imparted to me. In fact, my affections grew each day, and when alone, I would whisper words of love, assuring my child it had been wanted. I may never know him or her, but I would forever be a mother regardless of whether we were together.
When the trip ended, I found myself on the doorsteps of Mr. and Mrs. Spencer with Mother standing by my side. After the door had swung open to reveal my wards, a surprise awaited me. The elderly couple I had expected looked much younger. As soon as my eyes met their welcoming gazes, I experienced a profound sense of peace that everything would be all right. I wanted to turn to my mother and say, “You can go now.”
“Welcome to our home,” Mr. Spencer said. “You must be exhausted from your trip.”
“Quite, I’m afraid,” Mother groaned.
“Gerard, our butler, will see to your bags,” his wife replied. “Here, let me take that from you,” she offered, reaching out and taking my large handbag.
Gladly I gave it up and slipped my arms out of my coat, which Mr. Spencer grabbed.
“Let me help you with your wrap,” he offered my mother.
She remained sullen in her manner, and her pickled face annoyed me. Instantly I assumed she was ashamed to be here alongside her hussy of a daughter.
“Please come into the parlor and relax.” Mr. Spencer pointed in the direction of a large sitting room off to the right. “We have a pot of tea and cakes coming for refreshments.”
“Thank you,” I replied, seeking a comfortable chair. The quaint chateau was modest, boasting perhaps six bedrooms in all. The interior of the sitting room, expensively decorated with art deco modern furniture, was a switch from our nineteenth-century antiques my parents kept in our cold stone manor house.
“So your journey was long but uneventful?” Mr. Spencer inquired, sitting down on the divan next to his wife.
“Yes, nothing of significance,” Mother blandly answered. She brushed a wrinkle from her skirt acting indifferent.
“I enjoyed people watching. There was such a variety of individuals traveling through France,” I responded politely, acting far more pleasant than Mother.
Mrs. Spencer grinned. “Yes, there can be quite a menagerie of human life from different countries, including Germany. I understand the fascination.”
Suddenly my mother spoke up with a rather surprising announcement. “I only need a bed for two nights as I will be leaving early on Thursday morning.”
“Two nights?” I queried, swinging my head in her direction. “But I thought you would be here for a week.”
“I’m afraid not,” she answered sharply.
The glare in her eyes told me not to pressure her for an explanation. The Spencers glanced at each other clearly taken back by the news.
“Well, I’m sorry that you cannot stay longer and take in the country air. It seems a shame that you must travel all that way and only have a two-day rest.”
“It’s my preference. I only agreed to accompany my daughter to make sure she arrived safely,” Mother reiterated.
Her reply confirmed my earlier thoughts—her baggage had arrived in one piece.
“As you wish.” Mr. Spencer glanced at me for a moment. “I assure you that your daughter will be well cared for during your absence.”
The tea and cakes arrived, and my body, craving sweets, ate a mound of food, eagerly devouring the French pastries. My taste buds tingled with flavor after the first bite. An idle conversation ensued for several minutes between the Spencers and my mother while I downed the dainties. After satisfying my tummy, I yawned, feeling unusually fatigued.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” I apologetically announced with my hand over my mouth.
“Would you like to see your room, Isabella, and perhaps rest?” the kind voice of Mrs. Spencer suggested, rising to her feet and extending her hand. The caring gesture of attention increased my respect. I needed a little lift to get my derriere off the chair, which I swore was swelling as much as my belly.
“That would be refreshing,” I acknowledged, taking her hand. Turning to Mother, I invited her along. “Would you like to come, Mama, and see your room?”
She drank the rest of her tea and rose to her feet. “Yes, of course. A short nap would do me good as well.”
Mrs. Spencer released my hand and led us to the staircase, which we climbed to the second floor. Ascending gave me a better glimpse of the chandelier that hung in the foyer. Each crystal sparkled like diamonds, capturing the rays of light from indoors and outside. The bright interior of the chateau lifted my spirits. We reached the landing and took a few steps down a corridor. My hostess opened the door and led me inside.
“This will be your room, Isabella, during your stay with us. I hope it’s to your liking and that you will be comfortable. If there is anything that you need, please do not hesitate to ask.”
My suitcases had been delivered and placed at the foot of my bed. After glancing around the spacious interior, I acted on an overwhelming urge and hugged Mrs. Spencer.
“Thank you so much,” my voice cracked.
“Oh my.” She giggled in bewilderment over my actions. “You are most welcome.”
An anxious glance exchanged between my mother and our host, and Mrs. Spencer quickly ushered her down the hallway to another room.
I closed the door behind them and looked at the inviting bed beckoning me to plop on the soft silken bedspread bursting with a rose pattern. When I did, the fluffy mattress embraced me. A second later, I had kicked off my shoes, curled up on my side, pulling a throw over my shoulders from the foot of the bed. What a beautiful place to have my baby, I thought. A moment later, I drifted off to sleep.
