Twice in a Lifetime Page 4

  I don’t want to answer, she thought. But there was really no choice. “I—I didn’t make one. I wanted to talk to Marc to see if there was a time he could come.” She clamped her mouth shut and bit the inner flesh on her bottom lip to stop herself from crying again.

  “That’s one of the first things we’d better do,” he said with false brightness. “In fact, I’ll do it myself. Where’s the number?”

  Rebekka directed André to her address book. He was good at organizing, and she could see it gave him a sense of fulfilling his duty to his brother. That was what she was now, a duty, and she had better get used to it. Even so, André was great to sacrifice so much of his time to help her these past few months. Especially today. If he hadn’t forced her to remember that the life of her baby depended upon her taking good care of her body, she might have lost the one thing she had left of her husband.

  André returned shortly with the date of a doctor’s appointment scribbled on the back of one of his business cards. In his other hand he carried a small bowl of fresh curd cheese topped with pineapple. As he handed these to her, Rebekka grabbed his hand for the first time in years. “Thank you for everything. I really appreciate it.”

  An undefinable emotion flared in his eyes before they became hooded and unreadable as if he’d put on sunglasses. The hand in hers returned her squeeze. “I’ll always be here for you. I thought you knew that.”

  The words gave Rebekka comfort, but also a feeling of unease. What would Marc say about her holding his brother’s hand in the bedroom they had shared? Yes, it was an innocent gesture, but why did André’s touch suddenly disturb her?

  He only stayed this long for the baby, she thought. Next week when Raoul moves in, I won’t need André so much. Maybe not at all.

  She tried to pull her hand away, but André held on. He seated himself on the edge of the bed. “Remember when Claire died in the hospital and no one in the family knew yet? You stopped by to see me. I don’t know how I would have gotten through that time without you. You were like a light in the darkest night. I hope I can be that for you now.”

  She drew her hand away, smiling, but feeling extremely uncomfortable. “You have been. Thank you.” She hefted the bowl of cheese and pineapple. “And thanks for this, too. I’ll eat it right now. Then I think I’ll take a nap.” She snuggled into the comforter, although she was feeling rather warm. “Tell the girls hi for me, okay? Shouldn’t you be picking them up?”

  André glanced at his watch. “Mom got them from school today. I’m supposed to pick them up at her house in a while, though. Then we’re all going to the train station to get Thierry. He’s coming home to visit this weekend.”

  This was a topic Rebekka felt safe in pursuing. “How’s he doing? Not grade-wise—he’s always been a good student, and I’m sure college hasn’t changed that. But what about spiritually? I know you worry about him.” André’s adopted son had joined the church at fifteen when André had first received guardianship of his boy, his nephew, and though Thierry seemed to have a strong testimony, there was always the chance he wouldn’t make the right decisions once he was away from home.

  André’s smile was genuine. “Really good. It seems he’s found some friends who respect our beliefs. If all goes according to plan, I think we’ll have another missionary in the family next year.”

  “That’s wonderful. We haven’t had one since Louis-Géralde came back.” Rebekka lifted her fork and paused halfway to her mouth. “Tell Thierry I said hello and that I’ll see him at church on Sunday.” She looked down at her fork pointedly.

  André took the hint. “Okay, I’ll leave you to eat and rest, but I’ll give you a call later to see if you need anything.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He grinned, very much like Marc would have done. “I know, but I’m still going to call.”

  Without warning, he bent and kissed her on the cheek. There was nothing untoward in the action—in the years before her marriage he’d kissed her in that way a million times in greeting or in parting—but it was the first time since he’d done so since her marriage to Marc. Her cheek felt hot and tingled with his touch.

  “See you,” he said. “I’ll let myself out and lock up. Don’t worry about it. And try to think positively, okay? It’s good for the baby.” With a wave, he was gone.

  Rebekka’s hand touched her burning cheek. What did it mean?

  She looked at the ceiling. “I’m being such an idiot, Marc, aren’t I? André’s only doing what you told him to.”

  Blinking away the fresh tears forming in her eyes, Rebekka focused on her unborn baby. She would do her best for him, even if that meant she would have to eat all day and restrain her grief. Her life was basically over; the baby was what mattered now.

  * * *

  André found it difficult to leave Rebekka. Her voice, her demeanor, her every expression held the unmistakable mark of tragedy. He wanted to comfort her more than he’d ever wanted to comfort anyone; and perhaps there was some part of him that craved her comfort just as strongly. Only the years of self-discipline had allowed him to maintain a proper distance. If he took her in his arms, he didn’t know what might happen.

  Marc’s dead. He asked me to take care of her, to make her happy.

  That doesn’t mean to fall in love with her.

  If she loved me, then maybe I could make her happy.

  The idea of “falling” in love with Rebekka was ludicrous. André had already loved her for years, first as a close friend, then as a future sister-in-law, and finally as something more. That “something” had almost caused a break up between Marc and Rebekka before their marriage. And it was the same “something” that had increased his loneliness these past years.

  “I still love her,” he whispered.

  So help him, even now that he knew she was carrying Marc’s child, he loved her. Perhaps even more. While Marc was alive, he would never have considered coming between them, but now, suddenly, everything was different.

  He asked me to make her happy. He entrusted her to me.

  He had no idea how Rebekka might feel about that. Could she care for me again—perhaps even love me one day? He’d always be there whenever she needed him, and if she’d let him, he would love her baby as though it were his own.

  The more he thought about it, the more it seemed the only way he could properly do as Marc asked was to marry Rebekka and become a father to her child. It was simple. Surely Rebekka would agree, and he would be free to give her all the love building in his heart.

  Doubt crept over him. Was he taking advantage of the situation? Rebekka had loved him once to some degree but had chosen to marry Marc. She probably only saw him as a brother, especially now.

  At the time he’d urged her to marry Marc, he’d felt it was the only choice. She’d loved Marc for so long and they’d shared so much. André had eventually realized that he would lose her to Marc anyway, so the real choice was whether he would lose his brother as well.

  No choice at all. He would have given his life for Marc—what was a little loneliness?

  Now he had a second chance—and his brother’s blessing. André had replayed their conversation a million times in the past two months, and he believed Marc wanted them to go on.

  Unless he didn’t know his brother at all.

  All the way up in the elevator to his parents’ apartment, André thought about how soon it would be proper to ask Rebekka to marry him. Should he confess his love, or let her think he was only trying to fulfill Marc’s last request?

  What if I can’t make her happy? he thought. What if she never gives me a chance? He didn’t believe there was ever a time in his life when he had felt so inadequate.

  On the fifth floor, his mother, Ariana, opened the door with her customary smile. “Hello dear, you’re a little early. How did work go?” She offered her cheeks for his customary kisses.

  “I was at Rebekka’s.”

  Ariana’s smile became wistful. “How is she?”
>
  “Not good, but I think she’ll pull through.”

  “It’s very difficult for her . . . for us all, but mostly for her.” Ariana wiped a tear from under her eye. “The girls are in the TV room doing their homework. Come on.”

  “Wait.” André put out a hand to stop her. “I need to ask you something.”

  His mother’s brown eyes met his. There were more wrinkles in her face than he remembered, and he wondered how many private tears she’d shed for Marc, the third child she had buried over the many years of her life. But there was hope in those wise brown eyes as well, and that was enough for him.

  “I think Marc wanted me to marry Rebekka,” he blurted, feeling oddly like an awkward teenager again with his first crush.

  “Oh, have you talked to him?” She spoke seriously, as though she talked to Marc every day.

  “Before he died. He said he knew about how Rebekka and I . . . well, how we felt about each other that time before they were married.”

  Ariana’s brows arched in surprise. “I know you turned to Rebekka after Claire’s death, and that you thought you might love her, but that was a very vulnerable time for you. Are you sure you love her now?”

  André was loath to admit the truth—loath to admit how much his feelings for Rebekka had grown in the past two months since his brother’s death. Just as he would never admit to anyone how much he’d suffered when Rebekka had chosen Marc.

  “Well?” Ariana pressed.

  “What difference does it make?”

  She drew herself up to her full height. Though she only came to André’s chin, she was impressive. “Every difference in the world, André. If you have to ask, then you’d better think about it some more. Marriage is not something to enter into lightly. Anyway, now really isn’t the time to think about such things. There will be plenty of time to learn how you feel later.”

  “But there isn’t time. Rebekka—” He broke off, knowing Rebekka’s secret was not his to share, though the existence of Marc’s baby would bring joy to his mother and the entire family.

  “Rebekka what?” Ariana waited in silence.

  André shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Wait,” Ariana counseled. “Don’t rush anything. Rebekka needs time to heal, and so do you. I know you miss Marc and want to do what he asked, but if you eventually decide to pursue a relationship, you have to do it because you want to—not because your brother asked.”

  André didn’t want to listen, though his mother had never steered him wrong before.

  Yet had he really any choice? Even if he could express his feelings, Rebekka might not share them, much less agree to marry him. He couldn’t go through that kind of rejection again.

  “Rebekka gave Marc’s books to Brandon,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Good. That’s a step in the right direction.” She started toward the kitchen. “That reminds me. Do you still have those boxes of clothes Claire saved from when the girls were little?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “I suppose they’re still down in storage at our building, but I haven’t been down there for years. They’d be pretty old. We should have given them away a long time ago.”

  “Well, Marie-Thérèse needs them now. Since we have time, maybe we can stop by your place to get them and then go by her apartment before we hit the train station to pick up Thierry.”

  “Marie-Thérèse? What would she . . . she’s not pregnant, is she?”

  Ariana sighed. “Unfortunately no, but she has agreed to take care of two little girls for a few days until they can find a good foster home. The children don’t have any belongings. I’ve already collected a box of toys from those I keep around here for the grandkids. That’ll do until we can make it to the store. Josette did buy pajamas for them, but I thought if your girls’ old things fit, we might as well pass them on as well.”

  “I bet we could find a few other clothes and toys in the apartment,” André said. “The girls have been growing like weeds lately.”

  “I doubt anything they wore recently would fit. The oldest is only four and Marie-Thérèse says she’s more the size of a three-year-old. Just a little bigger than Josette’s David—and he’ll be three in December.”

  Ana and Marée chose that moment to come running into the kitchen. They both hurled themselves at him. “Daddy, we’re going to give our old stuff to a little girl, did you hear?” Ana said, her voice full of excitement.

  André hugged his daughters, who were the same size though a year separated them. As always, their dark hair and turquoise eyes reminded him of their mother. There was no pain now in the constant reminder, though once it had been difficult.

  “I want to give her my doll with the blue dress,” added Marée. “Is that okay?”

  “I think that’s a wonderful thing to do.” André kissed them on each cheek, remembering a time when he’d been able to pick up both girls at the same time and “fly” them around the room with ease. Since Ana turned nine and Marée eight, the custom had fallen into disuse. All at once he missed it acutely.

  “I want to give her something special, too,” Ana said. “Only I don’t know exactly what yet.”

  “We’ll think of something.” André was glad to have this to occupy his thoughts—glad for anything other than the vision of Rebekka lying alone in her room with her enormous grief and her unborn, fatherless baby. “Come on, ladies. Let’s go.”

  Chapter Four

  Marie-Thérèse sat down on the floor by the table, wondering what she was going to do. “Don’t you want to come out now, Celisse?” she asked. “It’s past time for bed.”

  No reply.

  Marie-Thérèse rubbed her nose thoughtfully. This was the first moment of quiet she’d had since the child’s arrival. The rigid, organized part of her had been working overtime finding clothes for Celisse and her baby sister, organizing sleeping arrangements in their three bedroom apartment, and watching everyone try to convince Celisse that she was safe and could come out from under the table.

  Brandon was the first to try with Celisse and when he had no success, Marie-Thérèse had let her stay, thinking perhaps her sister, Josette, could do better. Josette Perrault Fields was the mother of five boys and knew more about small children than almost anyone. Besides, Josette was as easy-going as Marie-Thérèse was nervous and uptight—especially where children were concerned.

  Josette had arrived before dinner with the new pajamas she’d purchased. Their parents, their brother André, and his two daughters had also come, bringing toys and clothes for Celisse and the baby. Celisse refused to budge from her sanctuary, so Ana and Marée went under the table to give her a doll and a new brush. Celisse showed no interest, though she didn’t cringe around the girls as she had when Brandon tried to coax her out. Ana and Marée had to content themselves in playing with the baby and taking turns giving her a bottle. After a short while, they left with their father and grandparents to pick up their adopted brother at the train station.

  Josette had left with them, also having failed to communicate with Celisse. “I think it really has to be you,” she said on her way out. “I bet she understands that you’re taking care of her.”

  Marie-Thérèse didn’t remind Josette that the children would only be with her until Monday. She couldn’t even think about that. The probability of Celisse’s being transferred between various foster homes nearly broke her heart.

  Celisse had stayed under the table during dinner, eating three helpings of casserole there. Now it was time for bed and Marie-Thérèse couldn’t let the girl sleep on the floor, could she?

  Mathieu was in the bedroom with the baby, who was sleeping in a bassinet Josette had brought. Brandon had volunteered to give up his room for Celisse and was already in his temporary bed in the living room.

  Making a quick decision, Marie-Thérèse crawled under the table and gathered the stiff little body in her arms. A acid smell of urine hit her, but Celisse wasn’t wet so the smell must be coming from either her cloth
es or her hair.

  She took Celisse to use the restroom. When she tried to help her with her pants, Celisse fought her, pushing away her hands and uttering a high, thin wail that pierced Marie-Thérèse’s heart. All thoughts of giving Celisse the bath she desperately needed fled from her mind. Maybe tomorrow would be soon enough for that. Maybe by then Celisse would trust her a little more.

  Marie-Thérèse compromised by setting the child down in front of the toilet, telling her to use it, and pointing out the new pair of pajamas Josette had purchased. Then she waited outside the door.

  When the toilet flushed, Marie-Thérèse waited a little longer for Celisse to change before going inside and showing her where the soap and water was. The little girl didn’t appear to know what to do with either so Marie-Thérèse opted for wiping her hands with a soapy cloth as she had done for dinner.

  She carried Celisse to Brandon’s room where they had already installed a plastic sheet, fresh bedding, and a safety rail borrowed from Josette. Celisse lay rigidly in the bed where she was placed, and when Marie-Thérèse checked on her a few minutes later, she was asleep in exactly the same position.

  In the bedroom, Mathieu sat on the edge of the bed watching the sleeping baby.

  “Is she okay?”

  He nodded. “I gave her another bottle, and she went right down. She doesn’t seem to be upset at not being rocked to sleep the way our babies always were.”

  She was remarkably quiet—too quiet. In fact, she’d cried only once since she arrived, and Brandon had quickly fixed that with a bottle. Marie-Thérèse suspected that the unnatural quiet was a sign of neglect. Why cry out if no one was there to offer comfort? Perhaps this baby had learned her lesson already too well and only hunger drove her to cry. It was a wonder she’d made enough noise to alert the neighbor at all. If a few more days had gone by . . .

  Forcing the thoughts from her head, Marie-Thérèse kissed her husband and then settled in his arms.

  A short time later, she arose to check on Celisse again. Then, scooping the baby from the bassinet, she cradled her close for the rest of the night.