Chapter Eighteen

Rebekka felt as if she were under a microscope. Did the Perrault family think she was dating Samuel? Did they wonder if she planned to move to America again? Maybe she should. Not with Samuel, of course, but on her own.

But she knew she couldn’t. Not with Marc’s child anyway. He deserved to know both sets of grandparents, and the aunts, uncles, and cousins. She wasn’t about to sever that link. Besides, she didn’t know if she could survive without their support. Her mother would especially be devastated to have her grandchild so far away, whether or not they ever found Nadia. No, running away wasn’t an option.

André was the worst of all—she felt his eyes on her each second, perhaps judging her every action. Did he think her unfaithful to his brother’s memory? Or was he trying to silently convince her to tell his family about the baby? Or was he jealous?

Jealous? Where did that come from? Rebekka studied him from underneath lowered eyelashes, but he was talking to Josette. Had she only imagined his stare? She looked away before he caught her watching him.

When dinner was over, the children pounced on the treats, devouring them. Celisse seemed particularly hungry; she sat on Marie-Thérèse’s lap eating anything within reach. Afterward, the older children started to leave the room to play games.

“Wait, everyone.” Marie-Thérèse stood, still holding Celisse. “I have an announcement to make. That is, Mathieu and I have an announcement.” Mathieu, with Raquel cradled in his arms, came to stand by his wife.

“Ah, I knew there was a reason for this gathering,” Jean-Marc said, smiling gently at his adopted daughter.

Celisse buried her head in Marie-Thérèse’s neck at the sudden attention, half of a sweet roll still clutched in her hand.

“Well, Josette thought we ought to let you know that Mathieu and I have decided to become foster parents for Celisse and Raquel,” Marie-Thérèse said. “And if we are allowed, we are eventually going to try to adopt them.”

Amid the chorus of cheers, André asked, “Hey, Celisse, what do you think about that?”

When Celisse didn’t answer, Marie-Thérèse said, “We tried to explain last night, but I don’t know how much she understands. She does seem a little more relaxed.”

“She sure eats a lot,” said Anton, Josette’s second son. At nine he was the family self-appointed tattle-teller. “I don’t see how she fits it all in.”

Josette clamped her hand over her son’s mouth. “What’s important is that she will always have enough food now—as much as she wants.” She stared hard at Anton.

“The medicine the doctor gave her is really working,” said Marie-Thérèse. “We had a rough evening last night as the laxatives began working, but today she’s been perfectly clean.” She tickled Celisse. “Haven’t you, Celisse?”

To everyone’s surprise, Celisse lifted her head and nodded at Marie-Thérèse. Then she buried her face again. Marie-Thérèse patted her back and gave her a hug.

“We’re moving,” Larissa said to no one in particular. “And I’m getting my own room—I don’t have to share at all.”

“No fair. We all have to share,” said Emery, Josette’s oldest boy. “I’m turning fourteen this month and I’m still in with Preston. And Anton and Stephen and David share their room, too.”

“I’m almost sixteen,” Larissa said loftily. “I need my own space.”

“Not for four months,” muttered Brandon.

Larissa ignored him.

“So you can stay up all night, I bet,” Anton said.

Six-year-old Stephen pounded on his mom’s arm. “Hey, I want my own room.”

“No way,” Josette said. “Marie-Thérèse and I shared all our lives and you can too. It’ll make better friends of you . . . I hope.” She sighed. “If only bedtime weren’t so noisy.”

Everyone laughed except Rebekka. If Marc hadn’t died, she would have laughed right along with everyone as she planned the sleeping arrangements of her unborn children. But there would be no children now, only one child who would never have siblings.

When we find Nadia maybe we can raise them as . . . But, no, Raoul wouldn’t likely remain single. Rebekka’s eyes drifted toward Valerie and Raoul. It was plain to her that Valerie was in love with Raoul. He obviously cared for her, too, even if he didn’t know it yet. His divorce would soon be final and then Rebekka bet Raoul would move forward.

Ariana raised her wine glass, full of red punch, and clinked on it with a spoon. “I’d like to say something.” Everyone quieted. “I’m so very happy for you, Marie-Thérèse and Mathieu. It’s been a long time coming, and I know it won’t be easy, but you will do a great job. And I want you to know that I’m here for you to watch these girls at least once a week during the day so that you can get out and do what you need to do.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Marie-Thérèse had tears in her eyes. “But you don’t have to—”

“Of course I do. Whether or not you succeed in the adoption, they’re my grandchildren while you have them.”

Jean-Marc stood up and clinked his glass. “What Marie-Thérèse was going to say, honey, was that you don’t have to . . . limit yourself to one day a week to baby-sit.” He grinned at all the laughter, which Rebekka joined in spite of herself.

Ariana kissed Jean-Marc in front of everyone. Their children made catcalls while the teenagers groaned and shut their eyes. “This is good,” Ariana said softly. “We need more children in this family. More laughter. Especially now.”

In her mother-in-law’s eyes, Rebekka saw the same longing she felt in her own heart for something of Marc’s to love. She had kept this baby secret for more than two months after Marc’s death—how could she keep his child from them any longer?

She arose and clinked her own glass in her trembling hand, nearly sloshing the red liquid over the rim. “I—I also want to add my congratulations. And I need . . . well, I need to make an announcement myself. I hope Marie-Thérèse will forgive me for stealing a bit of her show here.”

The family waited in a sudden anxious silence, their eyes sliding between Samuel and Rebekka, making obvious assumptions. Only Raoul and André, both of whom knew the truth, smiled at her encouragingly. Rebekka’s throat was suddenly dry. From across the table where he sat with Marée on his lap, André had stopped spreading purple onions over his second helping of salad and nodded. His eyes told her that he would speak for her if she wanted, and that offer gave her strength.

“I hope that you will understand why I haven’t spoken before now,” she continued, setting her cup on the table. “But I—it was something I needed to keep to myself for a while. I’m expecting Marc’s child. I’m more than three months along now—the baby is due the third week in April.”

The expressions on their faces made Rebekka happy she had made the announcement. Ariana immediately rushed up to her and hugged her tightly, followed by nearly everyone else.

Marie-Thérèse cried, “I’m so glad, Rebekka. I’m so so glad.”

Josette was wiping her own tears as she hugged Rebekka. “If you need anything, you tell me, okay? Have you been sick? What did the doctor say?”

Rebekka answered the questions as best she could, but as she caught sight of Samuel watching her, she grew self-conscious. She shouldn’t have invited him here after all. He would likely be feeling awkward with her now. Why hadn’t she waited until she was alone with Marc’s family? Of course, he should know about the baby, and this was better than telling him alone. Or did it concern him at all?

At least it was easier than I thought it was going to be, she thought. No one had berated her for not telling them sooner, but instead had lifted their voices in celebration. Ariana especially looked happy, and Rebekka was fiercely glad. Over her lifetime, her mother-in-law had lost her brother and three children, and she deserved to feel joy. Rebekka wondered how Ariana had dealt with the loss of her children. If something happened to this life inside her . . . Rebekka shivered and vowed not to think about it.

Soon the congratulations and questions died down. The children slipped away to play their games and the adults settled down for a talk. Rebekka pushed back her chair and stood. “I’d better get going. I . . . Samuel has just come in from the states, and he’s got to be pretty tired.”

Josette grinned. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on.” There was a note in her voice that Rebekka couldn’t place, almost . . . teasing? Rebekka brushed the idea aside.

“Actually, we do,” she said edging her way toward the door. She was relieved when Samuel understood and followed her.

“Goodbye, Samuel,” Zack said in English. “It was good talking with you.”

“Look me up if you’re ever in Cincinnati,” Samuel replied. “I’ll make you the best five-way chili you’ve ever had.”

Rebekka made a face. “That wouldn’t be hard since I doubt he’s ever had the dubious privilege of eating such . . . such . . .” Words failed her.

“Slop?” supplied Samuel with a wicked grin.

She shrugged. “Your words, not mine.” They all laughed—at least those who understood English.

“Uh, Rebekka.” André appeared at her side. “Can I talk with you a minute?”

“Sure.” She followed him into the entryway.

“You did the right thing telling Mom and Dad and the others. You made them happy.”

“I hope Marie-Thérèse is okay with me announcing it tonight.”

“She’s fine. You just added to the excitement. This is a night we’ll remember for a long time.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks for saying so.” Assuming their conversation was over, she started around him to tell Samuel she was ready.

“Wait,” his hand fell on her arm with a gentle but electrifying pressure. “I need to talk to you . . . alone.”

Her heart started pounding furiously in her chest. Why? What could he possibly say that would make her nervous? After that crazy marriage proposal, what could be worse? “I’ve got to get back to Samuel,” she protested. “I shouldn’t leave him alone. He doesn’t know anyone here.”

“Later then?” He was so close to her that she could smell the aftershave on his face—a face she noticed was smooth with recent shaving.

“Okay . . . whenever.” She forced her reply to sound offhand, and willed the pounding in her chest to stop. “But no preaching, huh? I’m not running away with Samuel. We’re just friends.”

The muscles in his jaw clenched. “Are you sure? I don’t know many people who would travel overseas to comfort a friend.”

“You’d come.” Rebekka didn’t know what made her say the words.

He nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

“Because of Marc.” Everything always boiled down to André’s promise.

His hand on her arm tightened. “That’s where you are wrong. I wouldn’t come because of Marc. I would come because of you.”

His face came closer to hers and she found it difficult to breathe. “Samuel’s here on business,” she managed. “That’s all.”

“I don’t think so.”

They were silent a moment, standing so close that Rebekka had the sudden urge to feel his arms around her.

What crazy mixed-up pregnancy emotions were these?

She stepped back quickly. “I’ll see you later. I have to go.” She turned from him and fled, not understanding the emotions tumbling in her heart or why the image of André staring at her seemed burned into her memory.

* * *

Watching Samuel put a hand on the small of Rebekka’s back as they exited the apartment, André fought helpless fury.

“Now I understand the hurry,” a voice said behind him. “You knew all along she was pregnant—I was watching you as she told us.”

“So?” He turned to face Josette, and her taunting smile vanished.

“Oh, André, I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking. That’s got to hurt seeing her leave with Samuel and knowing it’s your fault he’s here.”

“I’m going over there later to talk to her.” André said. “Without Mr. What’s—his—face around.”

“That’s good. But isn’t it such a wonderful miracle—Rebekka being pregnant? I’m so happy about it, and I haven’t seen Mom so content in a long time. But tell me, does the baby have anything to do with why you want to marry her?”

“No. It’s not the baby. It’s Rebekka. Yes, the urgency is because of the baby, but it’s for her sake. She needs someone to be there for her. To help her through.”

“I’m not the one you should be telling this to. You know that, don’t you?”

André lifted a shoulder in frustration. “What irks me the most is that he seems to be a nice guy.”

“Yeah, a really nice guy. Would Rebekka like any other kind?”

He glared at her. “You’re a lot of help.”

“I’ll stay at your place and watch the girls until you get home tonight,” she offered. “Consider it a peace offering.”

“They’re staying here tonight. Mom volunteered to have them.”

Without warning Josette hugged him. “It’s going to be okay, André. I just know it.”

“Thanks,” he whispered.

* * *

Samuel and Rebekka went to a movie. Rebekka was glad the theater was dark and that she didn’t have to make idle conversation. They hadn’t talked about her revelation, but she sensed a subtle difference in his attitude toward her; he seemed to treat her with even more care.

After the movie, he insisted on accompanying Rebekka to her apartment. “I’ll take a taxi back to my hotel,” he said. “I want to make sure you get home all right.”

She was going to make some retort but decided it felt good to have him worry about her. “Then come up for a drink, okay?”

He smiled. “Hot chocolate?”

“Plain milk for me—warm.” She knew he would likely prefer something with alcohol, but she didn’t offer an apology. He was already familiar with her peculiarities.

They took their drink into the sitting room, where her piano seemed to mock her from the corner. “Will you play?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not now.” Hoping he didn’t ask why, she hurriedly changed the subject. “So why are you really here?”

Samuel’s green eyes showed no surprise at her question. He gave a laugh and shook his head. “I should have known you would see right through me.”

She wasn’t about to tell him it was André who had understood the significance of his visit.

When she didn’t reply, he continued. “I’m supposed to be getting married next month, and everything was going according to plan until I received a call about what happened to your husband. And, well, I won’t lie to you—it hit me really hard that suddenly you were free.”

“Who called you?”

He smiled gently. “Don’t you know?”

“No. Or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Then before we get to that, let me tell the entire story first.” He set his cup and its plate on the coffee table and leaned toward her, his elbows on his knees. “My fiancée was aware of my feelings for you. I told her long before we became serious that I had wanted to marry you when you lived in America, but that you had chosen another man and was happy. I was going on with my life.” He gave a wry smile. “It was much harder than I expected, considering we hadn’t known each other long and that we had never committed. But I did go on. I found love and was satisfied—until recently when I found out your husband was gone and you were alone.” He rubbed his left thumb absently over his right wrist. “Suddenly I wondered if it wasn’t our second chance. Polly saw right through me and made me come. She said she didn’t want to wonder if I had married her out of obligation or as a second choice.”

“Wow, that’s some lady you have there,” Rebekka said. “To let you go like that when you might not come back.”

Samuel settled back against the sofa abruptly. “Was there any real chance of that Rebekka? Ever? I mean since that day when you didn’t come to Cincinnati on the plane? I waited for you, you know.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Well?” His voice was gentle, but demanded an answer.

“I’m not sure,” she said. He sighed and she hurried to add, “Samuel, you don’t know what it’s meant to me to see you. To forget my troubles for a while. To know that you still care for me. But there’s the baby and . . . and Marc’s family.”

He nodded. “Ah, there’s the catch, and also the answer to my question. You were right, they’re a wonderful bunch of people—people I would love to know better, and I understand that you would never leave them. I don’t know how you did in the first place when you came to America to work.”

“It was hard. Leaving the Perraults was as difficult as leaving my own family. They’ve been a big part of my life since I was five.”

“And now you’re back for good. You will never leave France again.”

She nodded slowly. “Not for an extended time. They have a right to see Marc’s child grow up. And I—I need them too.”

“They’re members of your religion?”

Again she nodded.

“You believe you’ll be with your husband again, don’t you?”

“With my whole heart.”

In a swift move he leaned forward again, taking her hand. “The crazy thing is Rebekka that I have begun to believe it too, and I wouldn’t want to share you with him. I was born Catholic, my parents are Catholic, and I am a moral person, but you know I have never given much stock in the trappings of religion. Now suddenly I wish to have the assurance you do—that there is life after death. Not as a drop in the cup of water that is God, or in some other general way, but as His children.” He stopped, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have come, should I?”

Tears had filled her eyes as she spoke. “Yes,” she whispered, “because now you can go home and marry your Polly—and eventually you will understand what it’s like to love someone for eternity.”

He stood slowly. “I should go. If I work all night, I can take an early flight home tomorrow. I need to call Polly.”

“I understand.” Rebekka arose and walked with him to the door.

He stopped as she opened it, looking down at her with an unreadable expression that would be forever captured in her memory. He took a deep breath and reached for her hand. His touch was tender and loving. “Thank you for everything. It has been a pleasure knowing you.”

“You, too. Goodbye.”

He didn’t seem to register the finality. Instead, he continued to hold her hand. “Rebekka,” he said softly, “it is possible to love two people.”

Unreasoning fear swept through her, as though the weight of eternity hung on that moment. “What do you mean?” She had the distinct feeling that if she were to throw her arms around him he would stay. She purposely pulled her hand from his.

“André cares for you, you know,” Samuel continued. “I don’t speak hardly any French, but I’m not blind. I’m thinking perhaps you married the wrong brother.”

“Go home to Polly. Send me an invitation.”

She watched him leave, remembering too late that he hadn’t called a taxi. No matter, Samuel could take care of himself; he knew enough to get back to his hotel.

Back in the sitting room she found herself trembling. Over and over she replayed the scene in her mind, but the ending was always the same. Samuel was right: she had made her choice on the day she hadn’t flown to meet him in Cincinnati.

“He never told me who . . .” In a moment she ran to her bedroom and through the French doors to her balcony. Below, Samuel was emerging from the building onto the cobblestone sidewalk, lit only by the streets lights on their tall poles. “Wait!” she called.

He looked up the four stories and waved.

“Who called you?”

“What?” He put a hand to his ear.

“I want to know how you knew about my husband. Who called you?”

She thought he smiled, though because of the distance and the darkness, she couldn’t be sure. “You still don’t know?”

Rebekka felt the urge to strangle him. “Who?”

“André.”

With another cheerful wave, he stepped to the curb, just as a taxi drove up, one he must have call on his cell phone.

She watched Samuel drive away, but her thoughts couldn’t be farther from him. Why had André called Samuel? Had he wanted to pawn her off on him? Was he that desperate to fulfill his promise to Marc?

“I’m going to kill him,” she muttered. But another thought was forming in her mind, one that might just fit into her own agenda. If André wanted her happy with Samuel, well, she would be happy with Samuel—if only in pretense.

And André would be freed from his promise.