Ties That Bind Read online

  “Okay. I’ll keep it.”

  He gave her a smile that melted the odd feeling growing in her heart. “Thank you. And hurry back after you change. I want to find out what’s going to happen next in that book.”

  “Try reading it yourself. You’re obviously feeling much better.” She winked at him, grateful the words were true.

  “And miss hearing your voice? Not a chance. Besides, you’ll wonder what happened and I’d have to explain it anyway.”

  “But I—” She had been going to say that she hated science fiction, but the truth was, she did want to know what happened in that particular book. “See you later then.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and escaped before he could comment on the brevity.

  What was wrong with her? Didn’t she love Marc? She felt as if she had asked herself that question a million times. The answer was the same: of course she did—passionately. Then why did she feel so confused?

  In the waiting room she found Dr. Juppe talking to Marc’s parents, who had just arrived. She glanced around for André, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  Ariana hugged her. “Isn’t this wonderful? Dr. Juppe tells us that Marc is definitely going to survive the surgery and that already his creatinine levels are lower than even a week after the other surgery. Our prayers have been answered!”

  Rebekka started to say how grateful she was that everything was going so smoothly but instead yawned.

  “Go home and get some rest, Rebekka,” Jean-Marc suggested. “You’ve been here all night. We’ll keep our sons company.”

  “Yes, go on,” Ariana agreed. “Don’t worry about them.”

  “I think I’ll do just that.”

  She left the hospital, but instead of going to her car she walked aimlessly, thinking about her life and trying to make sense of it all. For so long her normal life had been put on hold—her job, her marriage, her family. But it wasn’t as if she didn’t know where life was taking her. Her future was decided.

  Or was it? Why the sudden thoughts that plagued her conscience?

  “Rebekka!”

  She stopped and searched for the source of the voice, and saw Ariana emerging from the hospital doors. Rebekka waited for her to catch up.

  “I thought you were going home,” Ariana said, slightly out of breath.

  “I guess I needed a walk. I’ve been cooped up a lot.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m on my way to get some fresh pastries from that café down the street. For the boys. And I promised to call André. He wanted to know how Marc was doing.”

  Rebekka thought she knew why André hadn’t come himself. He was avoiding her. She sighed. “He should come to see Marc,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I probably won’t be back until after lunch and you and your husband might not want to stay with him that long.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  As they walked, Rebekka felt Ariana’s gaze acutely, but didn’t lift her eyes from the cobblestone sidewalk. She kicked at a loose stone and sent it flying with more force than intended.

  “Do you want to talk?” Ariana asked softly.

  Rebekka stopped walking and looked up at her with a jerk. “What?”

  “You seem rather distracted lately. I’ve noticed.” Ariana put a hand on her arm. “It’s about André, isn’t it?”

  She closed her eyes, willing her emotions to steady themselves. Tears seeped out anyway, as if mocking her control. She took a breath, held it, then slowly let it out and opened her eyes. Ariana was watching her, blurred by Rebekka’s tears.

  “But how?” Rebekka asked. “I don’t understand. I love Marc so much. I think I’ve loved him so long I wouldn’t know how to begin not to love him. But . . .”

  “You feel something for André.”

  “We’re friends,” Rebekka insisted.

  “But . . .” Ariana prompted again.

  “But every now and then I wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t met Claire, and if Marc hadn’t come to love me.”

  At this confession, a tight ball of pain grew around Rebekka’s heart. There was Marc, the man of her childhood dreams and the knight of her adulthood—strong, loving, and finally ready to be all hers. She had dreamed about him for nineteen years, had wanted nothing more than to be his bride. Yet suddenly there was André, who was always there for her, his quiet kindness belying the suffering he had endured. The vulnerability in him evoked a tenderness in her heart that she had never expected—and wasn’t sure she wanted.

  “It can’t be,” she whispered. “I can’t feel this way.”

  “Why not?” Ariana said, seeming to follow her private thoughts. “You grew up with both of them. They were your friends. It’s natural that you would develop feelings for them.”

  “It’s Marc I’ve always loved.”

  “And Marc loved you, although he never understood that until recently. But André was attracted to you too, before he met Claire.”

  “He never told me at the time.”

  “Perhaps he was a little hung up on how much younger you were, just like Marc. What was it, seven years between you?”

  “Yes, and there’s almost ten between Marc and me.”

  Ariana put an arm around Rebekka. “What I’m saying is that there’s a lot of history between the three of you. You have to sort out what is real.” She smiled. “I know you’ll do what is best—for you and for everyone else involved.”

  Rebekka wanted to deny everything Ariana said, but how could she when it explained the feelings in her heart? And the awful guilt. “What am I going to do?” she asked.

  Ariana gave a low laugh. “Marc’s getting better now, so I say take your time and be sure about what you want to do.”

  “I feel sad for André,” Rebekka said. “He’s so alone.”

  “Yes, but he’s strong. He’s already faced one of the worst things a man can endure. He’ll be all right.” Ariana prompted Rebekka with a light touch on her back and they resumed walking. “Emotions are such interesting things,” she continued. “Especially love. Sometimes it happens when you least expect it. You know, I fell in love with Jean-Marc while he was a missionary. Eventually I went on a mission myself, while he went into the army. We kept in touch by writing. At the time it seemed like a miracle for me to have such strong feelings for him.

  “You see, before I learned the gospel, I used to believe there could be only one person you could really love, but now I know that’s not true. I loved my first husband, Jacques, very much. He could have been the man of my dreams, if he had wanted to progress in the same direction. But he didn’t. Not then. Perhaps he never would have with me. But I know that he loved me and that under other circumstances, we could have made our relationship work. Like Jean-Marc and I have done. On the other hand, Jean-Marc was ready for an eternal relationship from the first. We had the same goals. We grew together. I have never once regretted loving him.”

  Rebekka wiped the tears from her face with both hands. “Are you saying that I should—should—” she stumbled over the words “—pursue a relationship with André?”

  “No, not at all. I’m just saying that the idea of a soul mate simply isn’t true—at least for most people. As long as two people love each other and put the Lord first, they can make it work. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Rebekka gazed down the street to avoid the stare of an interested passerby. This was a discussion she would have preferred to have inside somewhere, out of the view of others, but she couldn’t help that now. “I’m so confused. I used to be so sure of myself. Of my decisions. But I’ve learned that I’m not always right—look at my kidney for example. My insistence almost cost Marc his life—may still do so.”

  Ariana stopped and hugged Rebekka’s trembling body. “Oh, Rebekka. Never think that. You did nothing wrong. You sacrificed a great deal for Marc, and we are so thankful.”

  Rebekka let herself sink into the other woman’s arms, grateful for her comfort. “I don’t know if I can ever trust my feel
ings again. Even the ones I feel for Marc. And how can I even begin to think about André romantically? That would kill Marc, and I might just die too—of guilt. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “Pray. A lot. It’ll come to you.” Ariana paused and when she spoke again, Rebekka could hear the smile in her voice, though she didn’t meet the older woman’s eyes. “Be true to who you know you are and trust in the knowledge that your Father in Heaven has given you.”

  Rebekka’s gaze flew to the older woman’s. “Thank you.”

  Ariana reached out for her hand. “Rebekka, I don’t know why any of this has happened, but I do know the Lord has a reason, one we can’t see right now. Just have faith in Him.”

  “I will . . .” Try, she amended silently.

  They began to walk again. When they reached the pastry shop with all its delectable smells, Rebekka’s stomach grumbled loudly. “I think I’ll have one of everything,” she mumbled. Ariana laughed. A short time later they emerged, each carrying a flaky pastry. Tucked under her arm, Ariana also had a small box filled with a variety of pastries for Marc and Louis-Géralde.

  Ariana walked Rebekka to her car. “Go home and sleep on it, Rebekka. I believe you have the answer inside your heart. Pray for guidance and it will come. Don’t worry about getting back for Marc. We’ll stay with him and call you if he needs you.”

  “Thank you.” Rebekka popped the last of her warm pastry in her mouth and slid inside her car. As she drove off, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw Ariana looking after her thoughtfully.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Thierry Lorrain, you say?” Philippe asked, adjusting his grip on his cell phone. He had parked his car and was making his way into the corporate offices of the banks he managed when the phone had beeped.

  “That’s right. He’s supposedly staying with his father, a Basil Lorraine, but the neighbors haven’t seen too much of the guy. Apparently, he comes and goes. Sometimes for months at a time. Landlord said—and I quote—‘ain’t none of my business, so long’s the rent’s paid.’ ”

  “Hmm, interesting. How old do you think the kid is?”

  “Fifteen tops, I’d say, given the school classes he’s taking. Looks older though.”

  Philippe was only listening with half his mind. The other half hummed, Lorrain, Lorrain. Where have I heard that name before?

  “Anything else you want me to find out?”

  Philippe could tell the private eye was curious about Philippe’s connection to the boy, but Philippe had no more information to give the man. Thierry Lorrain was simply a teenager who had stared at him in church.

  “No, that’ll do. Wait. I know. Find out what the last date was anyone saw the father. And how long until the rent is due again?”

  “That last I already know. Seems the kid paid it a week ago, so nothing’s due for another three weeks.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll let you know on the other.”

  The private eye hung up, and Philippe clicked his own phone shut. Lorrain—where had he heard that name before? He tried to think back if Rebekka had mentioned the boy’s last name. No, he distinctly remembered that she hadn’t. Thierry was all she had said.

  Philippe was sure he had heard the name in connection with someone he knew, but the memory eluded him. He sighed. What was the point? Thierry Lorrain was another neglected child who would resent interference from anyone trying to help. Not that Philippe planned to interfere; he simply wanted to know why the boy had stared at him so intently. He felt compelled to discover the reason.

  Philippe greeted his secretary as he approached his office. “Two young men are waiting to see you,” she informed him. “They said they had an appointment, although I couldn’t see it in your book. I put them in the conference room. Is that all right, or should I send them packing? They look like they’re selling something.”

  He smiled. “Actually, they’re giving it away. I do have an appointment with them. Could you please send them into my office?”

  When the two young American missionaries were ushered into his spacious office, Philippe met them with a warm handshake. One was tall and somewhat portly, his brown hair decidedly uneven, while the shorter one had a wiry build and sandy hair. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for asking,” replied the shorter missionary in decent French. Philippe peered at his tag; Elder Ferguson, it read. The other man’s tag said Elder Pike.

  “We, uh, are rather curious as to the nature of the business you want to conduct,” said Elder Pike, his large face clearly showing his trepidation. His face, framed by the uneven brown hair, turned crimson. “I mean . . .” Whatever Elder Pike meant he really wasn’t prepared to say. Philippe doubted he would understand anyway, as the missionary’s nervousness made his American accent a hairbreadth short of atrocious.

  “What my companion means,” Elder Ferguson said quickly, “is that we’ve known your wife and children for some time now and they’ve told us that you weren’t interested in our message.” He shifted uncomfortably. “So we are naturally curious.”

  “Of course,” Philippe motioned to the plush, black leather sofa and easy chairs that were tastefully arranged in a corner of his office. He went to the bar behind the sofa. “May I offer you a soda?”

  “Sure,” the missionaries said simultaneously.

  Philippe searched the contents of the bar, glad that his secretary had kept a small variety of nonalcoholic drinks for his wife and the occasional customer who did not drink. He had heard that Jean-Marc Perrault, also the manager of a large banking firm, didn’t keep alcoholic beverages in his office, and wondered how he explained the lack to important clients. Did it make a difference in his career? Philippe realized abruptly that he didn’t care. The desire to know God had been growing since his first clumsy prayer in that alleyway. Philippe wanted to know once and for all why the anger in him had diminished, and what his family had found in the gospel. As with this Thierry business, he felt compelled.

  He turned to the missionaries, who had seated themselves on the sofa. “I brought you here for the same reason anyone invites you into their homes. I want to hear your missionary lessons, but I don’t want you to tell my family or anyone else yet. This has to be between us.”

  Elder Ferguson dipped his head, and a short, sandy lock of hair fell to the front. “Between us and the Lord,” he corrected gently.

  “Ah, yes. Him, too.” Philippe felt a burst of emotion in his chest at the thought. Did the Lord really care what he was doing?

  Of course, a gentle voice whispered in his mind, but Philippe couldn’t put a source to it.

  “My wife’s been a member of your church a long time,” he said quickly, settling himself into one of the leather easy chairs, “and I don’t want her to get her hopes up. I’m still very skeptical.”

  “What made you want to hear our discussions?” Once again it was Elder Ferguson who spoke, and his intense hazel eyes seemed to burn a path to Philippe’s heart.

  “Because my daughter asked me to pray for her.” Philippe wanted to explain more, about how it hurt to see his daughter plan for a marriage he couldn’t attend; how he and his son had barely exchanged ten words since his elopement; how his beloved wife looked up to him with such faith even though he was an unbeliever who at times barely managed to conceal the rage inside him. But he couldn’t tell these personal things to anyone—he hadn’t even voiced them to himself. He was relieved when the missionaries seemed to accept his explanation without question.

  “I can see that you love your family very much, Monsieur Massoni,” said Elder Ferguson. “That is why the gospel is so important.”

  Philippe nodded absently, for an idea had suddenly occurred to him. “You’re teaching that young boy, Thierry, aren’t you?”

  Both missionaries looked surprised. “Yes, we are,” said Elder Ferguson.

  “He’s going to be baptized soon,” added the tall Elder Pike hesitantly.

  “He is?” Philip
pe made a mental note to suggest a visit to his own barber for Elder Pike. Although it probably wouldn’t put a cramp in his ability to carry out missionary work, having the world’s worst haircut couldn’t be the highlight of this young man’s mission.

  “Yes. He has prayed about the gospel and knows it’s true.” Elder Ferguson said. Philippe waited for him to elaborate, confident that with a little urging these young boys would tell him what he wanted to know. The other missionaries he had spoken to over the years were always too anxious to tell about the lives of future converts, perhaps believing these soon-to-be members would somehow change Philippe’s longtime decision to not listen to their discussions.

  “Tell me about this boy,” Philippe pressed. “How can a child so young know whether a church’s teachings are true? For that matter, how do you boys know?”

  Elder Ferguson answered both questions with fervency. “Because the Lord told us,” he said. There was strength in his voice, a strength Philippe envied. “Age is not what’s important,” the elder continued, “but the intent, the seriousness of the request is. The Lord will answer prayers.”

  “Ah.” Philippe tried not to be impressed with the boy. But he was. “So you’re going to baptize Thierry soon.” He was fishing again, hoping the missionaries would bite.

  “That’s right.” Shy Elder Pike’s tongue loosened and he was suddenly anxious to speak. “Except he’s only fifteen and he needs his father’s permission to be baptized. But he’s gone away on business, we think.”

  Ah, the missing father. “Any idea where he went?”

  This time Elder Ferguson answered. “No. We’re waiting to hear from him.” He fell into silence, seeming to sense that Philippe’s interest was unusual.

  Philippe wouldn’t let it go. “Fifteen is too young to be alone.”

  He had touched just the right chord, as Elder Ferguson’s face plainly betrayed his worry. “Yeah, we’re worried.”

  “What are you doing about it? Maybe I can help.”