Ties That Bind Read online

  André had no answer. His brother had a valid point. Rebekka was young and could eventually go on with her life, but a temple sealing to a husband who passed away could complicate that immensely. Admiration crept into his heart; if he were in Marc’s place, he didn’t think he’d have it in him to give her up, even if it might be for her own welfare.

  “You understand.” Marc’s utterance was a statement, not a question. “I believe rules are set in place for a reason, André, and I’m trusting in God. I hope and pray that I’ll be the one to take Rebekka to the temple, but if I can’t . . . promise me that you’ll take care of her. Please? See that she goes on with her life and is happy. Will you do that for me?”

  André felt his brother’s eyes gouging into him, demanding, pleading for an answer. He took a deep breath. “Of course I will.”

  “You’ll see that she finds someone and gets married?”

  Anger coursed through André, an anger unlike any he had felt since his little sister Pauline had died and her boyfriend had, upon first request, refused to come to the funeral. When he spoke, his voice was savage. “I will if you do your part! Because that’s when this martyr attitude of yours ceases to make sense. I want you to live! You got that? You have to fight every inch of the way. You don’t give up and go toward any stupid bright lights or Pauline calling you. I don’t want to hear any of those excuses. You must live! Not just for Rebekka, but for me. Got it?”

  Marc studied him silently. “Got it. I will, and thank you.”

  André gave his brother a hug, awkwardly because of Marc’s recumbent position. “I love you, buddy.”

  Then he walked out the door without looking back, not wanting his brother to see the tears in his eyes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  On Saturday, Marie-Thérèse was in the sitting room with Brandon, looking over the family financial files, when Larissa finally dragged in from spending an afternoon with Jolie. She snorted when she saw what her mother was doing. “Don’t tell me—now you’re going off to get yourself some kids while Uncle Marc’s dying in the hospital.”

  Marie-Thérèse gaped at her daughter in amazement. “Larissa!”

  The girl didn’t look penitent. She tossed her dark head. “Well, isn’t that what you got those papers out for?”

  Marie-Thérèse’s hands shook, and she shoved the papers back into their folder. “For your information, little girl, these have nothing to do with the adoption. You father and I’ve postponed our trip to Ukraine because of Marc. We did it weeks ago. Haven’t you heard anything we’ve said?”

  “I’ve been a little busy, you know,” Larissa replied tartly. “After all, members of my family keep up and dying like flies.”

  “Uncle Marc’s not dead,” Brandon said, glancing up from the book he was reading.

  An emotion resembling hatred filled Larissa’s face. “Too bad it’s not you, pig face.”

  “I’m not afraid of death,” Brandon shot back. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Stop it!” Marie-Thérèse wondered when things had tumbled out of control. One minute her life had held so much promise and the next Claire was dead, Marc was in the hospital, and Larissa, her dear sweet daughter, was acting like a stranger. A hateful stranger.

  Marie-Thérèse clutched the financial folder to her chest and ran from the room, not bothering to fight the tears.

  “Way to go,” she heard Brandon mutter. “You’re going to get it when Dad comes home.”

  “Oh, shut up!”

  “You know how much Mom wanted to adopt a kid.”

  Marie-Thérèse shut the door to her bedroom so she didn’t hear her daughter’s response. She tossed the financial folder onto the dresser and lay on the mattress under which she had hidden the adoption application papers—safe and out of sight.

  Yet when she closed her eyes, she could imagine the little baby that was supposed to be hers. Was he crying in some orphanage? Or was it a little girl, longing for a mother to hold her? Was it so wrong to want another baby?

  How terribly ironic that she would want a baby so very badly when once she had cried upon discovering she was pregnant. Yes, the timing hadn’t been right when Brandon came along—she’d just had Larissa, and she and Mathieu had been newly married and still adjusting to each other and to parenthood. There were a thousand excuses for her feelings, but sometimes she wondered if her longing now wasn’t a fitting punishment for her rejection then.

  But no, the Lord would never hold that against me. He isn’t like that. This is simply my lot to bear.

  Before she knew it, Marie-Thérèse was on her knees by the bed, her hands under the mattress touching the folder. She wiped her face on the bed. “Dear Father,” she began. She poured out her soul to God, and slowly her sorrow faded. Heaving a deep breath, she climbed to her feet, steeling herself to face her daughter.

  Larissa and Brandon were still in the sitting room, Brandon with his face in his book, and Larissa staring at the television set. They both glanced up as she walked in the door, taking in the red-rimmed eyes. A brief shadow of remorse passed over Larissa’s face.

  Marie-Thérèse grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flipped off the TV. “Come on,” she said to her children. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “I don’t want to go for a walk,” mumbled Larissa.

  Marie-Thérèse held out her hand, wondering if all twelve-and-a-half-year-old girls were all so belligerent. “Come on anyway. Afterwards we’ll go see Dad at the church, and if he’s done helping install the new lights, we’ll go catch dinner and a movie.”

  “Could we go by the mall so I could show you those new pants I told you about?” Larissa asked. “Jolie got some today.”

  Marie-Thérèse knew her daughter was trying to make the most of the family outing—as she always did—but it didn’t matter. At least they would be together. “Why not?”

  Larissa smiled and bounced to her feet, heading toward the door. “All right. I’m just going to change.”

  Brandon stood more slowly. “Did you see her new earring?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  He pointed to his belly button. Marie-Thérèse was stunned into exclaiming, “She better darn well not have a belly ring!”

  Brandon winked at her. “Gotcha!”

  Marie-Thérèse nearly wept with relief. She hugged her son. “That’s enough of that kind of joking.” It’s too close to reality, she added silently.

  “You sure you don’t want to send her away to boarding school?”

  “Of course not. Who would you fight with?”

  “The new baby?” he asked hopefully.

  Gladness spread through Marie-Thérèse. At least one of her children looked forward to the new addition. She sighed. “Well, Brandon, at this rate I don’t know if there ever is going to be another baby.”

  “Don’t give up hope yet, Mom,” Brandon said with a wisdom far beyond his years. “Miracles still happen.”

  “Good.” Marie-Thérèse figured a miracle was exactly what she needed for Larissa.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Philippe attended church on Sunday with his family. He could feel curious eyes on him, but tried not to feel self-conscious. After all, he had attended before and his presence meant nothing. At least that’s what he told himself. But inside he knew that this time was different. He was there not because Danielle had asked or because one of the children was in a program, but because he wanted to learn about the changes that had begun in his heart. All at once, everything seemed to make sense to him as it never had before. God did exist, so it naturally followed that if He cared about His children, He would have surely organized a church for them, and set out a plan by which they could return and live in His presence. Why hadn’t he understood this before? For so long he had blamed the gospel for stealing his children from him, but all this time had he himself been the one preventing a deep relationship?

  This last thought sat uncomfortably on Philippe’s mind as he watched peop
le file into the chapel for sacrament meeting. One young boy’s eyes caught his. The teen stiffened and blanched as he stared at Philippe. Must be looking at someone else, Philippe thought, but he knew the boy was staring at him. There was a clear fear in his eyes, and Philippe had the distinct impression that if two missionaries had not been directly behind the teen, he would have bolted from the chapel.

  That’s strange. I know I’ve never seen him before. Why would he be afraid of me?

  Of course there was the possibility that the boy had seen Philippe before at church and had been told something negative about him. Since Philippe had always been careful to maintain an emotional gap between himself and the members, he had likely wounded some tender feelings over the years. Perhaps even this boy’s.

  The teen walked stiffly to the back of the chapel to sit with the missionaries. Philippe let his eyes slide over the rest of the congregation. Many he recognized, many others he didn’t. I’ve never set eyes on that boy before either. I’d swear to it.

  He glanced once more at the two missionaries in their neat suits and ties. The boy was staring at him again. When he noticed Philippe’s attention, he gazed carefully down at his brown corduroy pants, plucking at something Philippe couldn’t see. He wore a tie against his blue shirt, but not comfortably. Borrowed, Philippe thought.

  He nudged Rebekka, sitting on the padded bench next to him. “Who’s that kid, the one with the missionaries?”

  “That’s Thierry,” whispered Rebekka, following his stare. “He’s been coming to church for the past few months. He’s come a long way. Used to wear jeans to church and had hair as long as mine.”

  “Have I seen him before?”

  Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “I don’t know. You probably met him at the Perraults. Just about everybody came over that Sunday after the farewell, and he knew Louis-Géralde fairly well. Still, you didn’t stay long enough to do anything but give Louis-Géralde a check, so you probably didn’t talk to him or anything. Why?”

  “I’m not sure. There’s something about him. He’s not familiar, but I would swear that he knows me.”

  Rebekka peeked over her shoulder at Thierry. “He does seem to be checking you out.”

  “Or maybe it’s you,” Philippe said, more comfortable with that idea. Rebekka was a striking woman and it was very possible that the teenager was staring at her not him.

  Rebekka’s reply was doubtful. “Hmm, maybe.”

  The bishop began conducting, and Philippe tried to concentrate but felt eyes burning into the back of his head. Why that single stare stood out among the host of other curious stares he always garnered, he couldn’t say, yet he felt it meant something. What?

  On either side of him, Danielle and Rebekka were intent on the speaker. Philippe closed his eyes. God, hello, it’s me again. So what’s up with that boy? Is it anything I should worry about? And how are You coming along with the Marc thing? Rebekka really needs some help. Thanks for thinking of her.

  Feeling utterly foolish and sure that he had done it all wrong, Philippe quit praying and listened to the speaker. Heat filled his chest and at that moment, he couldn’t think of a single place he would rather be.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rebekka spent Sunday afternoon with Marc at the hospital before going to his parents’ apartment for dinner. The entire Perrault clan had gathered in hopes of hearing from Louis-Géralde. They actually wouldn’t be talking to him, but to President Bradley, who was in charge of the missionaries in Ukraine, and who would let them know when Louis-Géralde would be coming home and how he had taken the news of Marc’s illness. They were grateful President Bradley’s mother was French and that he had learned French as a child, though his father had been American. It would make communication easier.

  Everyone seemed more somber than usual. Marie-Thérèse’s daughter, Larissa, sat sullenly on the couch and didn’t speak to anyone. The other children seemed to pick up on her feelings and the adults’ nervousness, becoming whiny and irritable as a result. After dinner Josette and Zack took them into the TV room to play a few board games. Rebekka was glad to see them go, secretly amazed at Josette’s patience and ability with the children. Even Larissa came out of her ill humor while talking with her aunt.

  As they waited for the phone call, Rebekka surveyed each of the remaining faces. Ariana and Jean-Marc were pensive and always close to one another, sharing support. Ariana’s parents, Géralde and Josephine Merson, appearing older than usual, were seated on the sofa. André sat in an easy chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. This situation was perhaps the toughest for him, having so recently lost his beloved wife. But Marie-Thérèse and her husband Mathieu Portier looked worse than anyone, as though neither had slept in weeks. Since Rebekka knew they hadn’t been at the hospital with Marc, she wondered if Larissa was the real root of their weariness. Or was it because they hadn’t followed through with the adoption? Rebekka wished desperately that they hadn’t postponed their plans for the baby. New life was what they all needed right now. Hope.

  The phone rang. The family members looked up, tense. Jean-Marc answered, signaling with a nod of his head that it was Louis-Géralde’s mission president.

  After identifying himself, Jean-Marc listened soberly for a long time. Then, “Please let us know the minute you find out. Thank you.”

  “Well?” The word came from almost everyone at once.

  Jean-Marc held up a hand. “Louis-Géralde didn’t call in tonight as he was supposed to. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. The pay phone he normally uses could be out of order, a bus he was using could have broken down. Since he’s way out in the country, a lot could have happened. President Bradley is sending someone to look for them. They should have word for us by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Tears stung Rebekka’s eyes. Jean-Marc was talking more, recounting a few instances the president had told him of when missionaries had been out of contact. Each case had ended happily.

  But they didn’t have a dying brother at home, Rebekka thought. She wanted to scream and yell and cry, but how could she? This was Marc’s family and they loved him as much as she did. Now they had the additional worry of wondering about Louis-Géralde.

  Rebekka’s eyes were so full she couldn’t see. A hand reached for hers. André. She clung to him.

  “You said you were going to visit Marc again tonight. Need a ride? The girls and I can wait in the car.”

  “No, I can drive.” Her voice trembled, and she was grateful for the warm, comforting hand on hers.

  “Please, Rebekka. It’s early yet. The girls won’t mind.”

  Rebekka gave in. “Thank you, André.”

  They said good-bye to the rest of the family and made their way to the door, each holding the hand of one of André’s daughters. “Did you ever get to talk to Marc about the wedding thing?” she asked in the elevator.

  He nodded, but inclined his head toward Marée and Ana. “I’ll call you tomorrow to talk about it, okay? Maybe we can go out for lunch.”

  She had the sense that he was stalling for time, but she couldn’t insist that he tell her—not in front of the girls. The only other thing she could do was agree to the lunch. “Ah, a nice restaurant without the smell of antiseptic and medicines. I think I’d like that.”

  “Can you meet me at the office?”

  “I’ll be there at one.”

  * * *

  The next day in his office, André sat back in his leather chair with a sigh of relief. Things at the company were finally under control. It hadn’t been easy with Marc gone, but he and Raoul had worked out the problems so well that now, with suddenly nothing to do, he felt at a loss.

  A large picture of his family stared at him from the wall opposite his desk. It had been the last they had taken together, three months before Claire’s death. At the time he had been annoyed at having to take time off work for the picture, though he’d tried not to show it. Now he was grateful to have it. More than grateful.

  “
Tonight I’ll take the girls somewhere nice for family night,” he said to Claire. “I might not get them in bed on time, though. They’ve been wanting to go to the zoo. It’s not too cold, do you think? First of November already. Is the zoo even open in November? I really don’t know. You always took care of that.” He grimaced. Until she was gone he hadn’t known just how much she had taken care of. “Sorry about that,” he said with a sigh. Then he purposely forced a smile as though Claire were really there. “Well, I’ll do better.” He pressed a fingertip to his lip, kissed it gently, then waved it in the direction of the picture.

  The gold watch on his wrist slid down his arm with the motion. When did the band become so loose? He’d have to tighten it soon, or regain his lost weight.

  He noticed it was almost time for Rebekka to arrive for lunch. An undefined emotion arose in him. Excitement? Pleasure? Well, he’d always enjoyed Rebekka’s presence. She was both kind and intelligent . . . and also a good friend.

  Thinking of Rebekka reminded him of what he would be forced to tell her that day: Marc wouldn’t marry her unless he was certain he was going to live. André’s heart ached with his love for both of them. If only things could be different. If only they could start over and change the future.

  A thought came to him seemingly out of the blue, though he realized as soon as he examined it that its seed had been germinating in the deep recesses of his mind since his conversation with Marc. What if Marc had never opened his eyes to Rebekka’s love? Neither of them would be going through this conflict now about the marriage, and she might even have found someone else to care for.

  It was an absurd, unworthy thought and André felt immediately ashamed. No one could change the present or remove the pain someone else suffered, especially not by wishing. Nor should they. For instance, there was no way he could wish he and Claire had never met just to spare himself the pain of losing her. He snorted. I might as well wish that I had chased after Rebekka when I first had that crush on her and spared us both the pain of losing . . . His thoughts trailed off, and he swallowed hard.