Days of Winter (36 page)

“May I offer my best wishes for a long life,” said Jean-Paul, “filled with many happy returns of this day.”

Jeanette could hardly get out her polite if heartfelt—in his case—thanks.

Marie Jacqueline, for once, said nothing, and thereafter everyone ate in silence. After the chocolate soufflé had been served and scarcely touched, the family retired to the sitting room for demitasse and brandy. Jeanette took up her post in the corner.

“Grandmother,” said Lucien, “Nicole and I would like to play a duet that Jeanette taught us.”

Taking up her tapestry, Madame answered, “Not tonight, my dear. We’ve all had a long day, especially all of you.”

“I’d like to hear them,” said Etienne, “and I think you’ll be pleased by their progress. …”

Madame didn’t look up from her handiwork. This … this girl, she thought, has obviously bewitched him, he’d never been so defiant about her wishes. She no longer seemed able to control him at all, but to disagree now would only widen the breach that had developed between them since
she
had come into their home.

“Go ahead, then, my children,” she finally said, drawing up a battle plan.

They played the little French song Jeanette had taught them with almost no mistakes, and Lucien crossed his left hand over his right in the proper place, which he loved to do. It made him feel like a real virtuoso. When they had finished, Uncle Jean-Paul shouted, “Bravo!” and applauded, as did Etienne. Marie Jacqueline remained mute.

“Now you play something, Jeanette,” said Lucien.

“Another time, Lucien.”

But Jean-Paul insisted. “Please, Mademoiselle, will you do us the honor? I’m sure Mother would enjoy it.”

In her fury, Madame stuck the needle into her finger as she attempted to push the yarn through the tiny hole.

Jeanette sat down on the bench as though she were awaiting the guillotine, her mouth dry, her palms sweaty. She began to play the only piece that she could think of,
Clair de Lune
, the same tune played by the music box Etienne had given her. As she slowly began the poignant, haunting melody, the atmosphere in the room seemed to change. Her touch was soft … near-poetic. …Every note, every phrase did its job in conjuring up the appropriate images of moonlight and unfulfilled love. When she finished, there were tears in her eyes. She dropped her hands on the bench, stood up and turned to face the room.

Madame’s tapestry now lay in her lap. She, too, had tears in her eyes. She was not a woman to give compliments easily, but without even thinking she said, “Thank you, Mademoiselle. You play very well.”

Jeanette met her eyes. “You’re very kind, and now may I ask to be excused? It’s past the children’s bedtime. …”

And she finally escaped.

After that evening, although Madame spoke little to her in a personal way, Jeanette knew that she had gained new stature and respect in her eyes. …When they met in the garden, or at mealtimes, there was a reserved cordiality in their greetings. For Jeanette, this was enough. She was, after all, well aware of her position. She hadn’t been hired to become an intimate member of the Dupré family … except with the children. Still, she expected to be treated with dignity. She had certainly earned that much.

U
NBELIEVABLY, IT WAS AUGUST.
How quickly the summer days were dwindling, Jeanette thought. Still, there were a few more weeks to savor, a few more weeks to see Jean-Paul. When they returned to Paris he would go back to Algeria … the thought made her ache. …

One Sunday afternoon, as Madame relaxed on the sofa in the sitting room, her needlework in hand, Etienne stood at the open door leading outside, watching Jeanette and the children play cricket on the lawn. He could not take his eyes away from her, or stop marveling at how beautiful she’d become, and how great his longing for her was … except, he reminded himself grimly, that was a pointless dream … one day she’d meet some healthy young man who would take away the person he wanted most in life. …

His mother observed him, reading the feelings written on his face. And quietly grieved for him. She knew he was suffering. From the beginning she’d suspected how he felt about this girl. She remembered how she had fought him … wanting to send Jeanette away. It grieved her, but the situation had to be faced. …She knew she had been stubborn, and perhaps selfish. She owed her son so much … after all, it was from her womb he had come deformed. He hadn’t asked to be born. It was time to atone, and to pay something on the debt she owed him.

“Etienne,” she said without preamble, “you love this girl, don’t you?”

Without turning, his eyes still on Jeanette, he answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

“You have from the very beginning …?”

“Yes.”

“Come sit beside me, Etienne, please. I want to talk to you.”

He walked over and sat down beside her.

“Etienne … why have you never thought of marrying?”

He got up abruptly, went to the cabinet and poured himself a brandy. “Why do you even ask me that, Mother?”

“Because you’re a fine man who needs a wife.”

He looked at his mother as though she’d lost her senses. “
Look
at me, Mother. Perhaps you’re so accustomed to this foot that you don’t really see it. Well, believe me, other people do, including young women, who don’t marry men because they’re ‘fine,’ but because they’re somebody to fall in love with. And who would fall in love with me? Why should any woman want a cripple? I don’t want to marry a woman who’s only interested in our wealth. So what’s left? Somebody with a generous capacity for pity. Could I live all my life on pity? I’d say not.”

“Oh, Etienne … but what will happen to you? When my times comes you’ll be alone with no one to care about you—” She began to cry.

He went to her side. “Please, Mother, there’ve been enough tears in your life. Please, no more over me. Besides, I’ve accepted my situation. It even has its rewards. I’ve been blessed with many gifts … I paint and do a fair job of it, at least it pleases me. I’ve been given a kind of perspective beyond most, who don’t need it, I grant you—”

“But you’re so
lonely
. I can never take the place of a wife or a mistress.”

He got up and poured another brandy and this time sipped it slowly. “Well … you see, Mother, being crippled doesn’t deprive one of his manhood, and not to be indelicate … but from time to time I have a few ladies who are quite willing to bestow their gifts on me. I grant you, it’s not exactly an until death do us part situation, but at least for a consideration, in pleasant surroundings, I might add, they do me the favor of not being aware of what I am. …”

And now she was crying uncontrollably, and although he begged her not to cry she couldn’t stop. Through her tears she said, “… what a husband and father you would be. …”

“Well, Mother dear, perhaps providence has other plans for me. Who knows? Maybe there are worlds beyond. Now, please, enough of this. Please go to your room and rest, and promise me not to concern yourself so about me. Many people have crosses to bear much heavier than mine.”

He helped her up from the sofa, and, almost dutifully, she went to her room. She was reclining on her chaise longue when Jean-Paul, just back from riding, stopped in to see her and, of course, saw that she had been in tears. Pulling up a chair beside her, he said, “Mother, you seem so troubled.”

“I’m afraid I am—” and started to cry again.

“Please don’t cry. I can’t bear to see tears in those lovely eyes. …I know how you feel, but you must concentrate on how happy Denise was—”

“It’s not for her that I’m crying … not this time. It is poor Etienne. …”

His jaw muscles tightened. “Why Etienne? Has something happened to him?”

“Something
happened
when he was born … he’ll be a cripple all of his life—”

“But why are you carrying on so now? He’s well adjusted to his life. I doubt that he ever thinks of it—”

“Oh, Jean-Paul, how
wrong
you are. Etienne is in love, don’t you understand? And he can’t even ask this girl to be his wife.”

Jean-Paul was shocked. “Etienne in
love
?
Mother, do you realize what you’re saying?”

“Yes, I realize fully. Do you think because he doesn’t walk the way other men do that he doesn’t have the same feelings … or desires?”

“Well … I’m sure he does … but who is the girl? And how do you know?”

“The girl is … Jeanette. …”

Well, he thought, the world was full of surprises. So Etienne, the righteous cripple, was in love. …Unbelievable. But he was pleased … for at least Etienne would be deprived of the girl, just as he, Jean-Paul, had been deprived of his mother by a sniveling Etienne. …Yes, indeed. Jean-Paul was very, very pleased.

“Mother, please don’t cry. Things have a way of working themselves out, you know. Etienne is a smart man. Maybe he’ll propose, after all, and maybe she’ll accept him. After all, being a governess isn’t quite the same as being a Dupré.”

“Jean-Paul, don’t play games with me. …You know as well as I do that he’ll never let her know. Dear God, I wanted so much for all of you. Now Denise is gone, you’re unhappily married and without children, and Etienne is … Etienne. Dear God, what have I done to deserve this?” She clenched her hands until the knuckles were white.

Jean-Paul leaned over and took her in his arms. “No, dearest mother, you mustn’t talk that way. …” And he stayed with her until Renée arrived to help her with her toilette.

After she’d bathed and dressed, Madame left her room quietly and walked down the stairs, through the front door and along the path to the cottage. At the door she paused, then knocked.

Jeanette, dressed in a peignoir, was resting while the children slept. She got out of bed and went to the door. When she opened it, she stepped back in shock.

“May I come in?” Antoinette Dupré asked quietly.

“Please do.”

The older woman entered.

“Please forgive my appearance,” Jeanette said. “I was just resting. …”

“You look more than presentable, mademoiselle.”

“Please have a seat, Madame.”

She sat down in a chair she’d used so many times when her own children were young. “Mademoiselle, I’ve come to speak to you about a very delicate matter.”

Jeanette was dumbfounded. She could think of only one thing … something terrible had happened and she was about to be dismissed. She braced herself to accept it.

“Please sit down. …I hardly know where to begin … you see, I’ve come on my son’s behalf. …”

Jeanette’s heart was a hammer. Did Madame know about her feelings for Jean-Paul? Had Clothilde betrayed her? Trying to keep her voice under control, she said, “Your son?”

“Yes, my son … Etienne has, quite simply, fallen in love with you.”

Jeanette was stunned. She was unable to speak.

“He’d be furious with me if he knew I was here. Please understand, mademoiselle, that you’re the first woman he’s ever loved, and probably will be the last. With his … infirmity, he won’t come to you. He doesn’t feel it proper.”

Jeanette got up and stood behind her chair. “Madame, I don’t know what to say. …What you tell me is so sudden and surprising that I’m, well, I’ve no idea what to say. …”

“Mademoiselle, do you think you might find it possible to care just a little for Etienne? He’s a fine man. …”

“I
do
care a great deal for Monsieur Dupré. My affection for him is deep, but I’m not … I’m not in love with him—”

“My dear, may I speak to you not only as a mother, but as a woman?”

Jeanette nodded, still not fully believing what was happening.

“All marriages don’t begin with love. …I mean, of course, romantic love. But as people grow to know each other and mutual respect develops, love can grow out of that. Being crippled is only a surface handicap. It’s the whole person that counts. Etienne would offer you a love so deep and lasting. …I do know my son. I know his generous spirit, the talent he possesses. …” There were tears showing in her eyes which she tried to hold back.

Jeanette’s heart went out to this woman who until now had seemed to despise her. This was a mother humbling, by her lights humiliating, herself for her son, pleading for his life. …And to whom? A governess. She couldn’t just say, “No, Madame, I’m afraid I could never enter into a marriage without love. …” Instead she said, “Madame, I wish there was a better way to tell you, but marrying Monsieur Dupré is, I’m afraid, out of the question for me.”

“Will you be honest?”

“I’m trying to be.”

“Do you find him grotesque, repulsive?”

“Oh,
no
. He’s a remarkable man. I’m only sad that my own feelings just don’t make it possible, and I assure you it has nothing whatever to do with his … infirmity. In fact, quite the contrary. I admire him enormously for all he’s done and is in spite of it.”

“Yes. …Well, may I ask you a very personal question?”

“Please …”

“Is there … are you in love with someone else, whom you do wish to marry?”

Jeanette paused for a long moment. …“Yes, I’m in love with someone else … but wanting to marry and being able to do so are different things.”

“By that you mean …?”

“The gentleman in question already has a wife.”

“I see. …Are you committed to him in any way …? Please forgive my being so personal and inquisitive—”

“There is nothing to forgive. What you are asking is understandable, but the answer is no. He isn’t even aware that I’m in love with him.”

“Then would you think carefully about Etienne, about the life he could offer you …? As you got to know him better, keep in mind, please, that you might discover in him things that would bring about a change in your feelings. …”

Until this moment Jeanette had no idea how extraordinary this woman was. She wanted to show her all possible respect “Madame, this has happened so quickly I must have time to think. You see, in my religion, as in yours, marriage is a sacred vow, not to be entered into lightly. It is forever—”

“But you will at least consider it?”

“Yes, Madame … I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, my dear. I won’t press you for an answer. But by trying you’ll have my undying gratitude. And whatever your eventual decision,
please
don’t let Etienne know that I came to you and
begged
.”
She said the last word so softly it was almost inaudible.