A Silent Ocean Away (13 page)

“Come in, Papa,” she invited, stepping aside. “We didn’t expect you to visit us today. Mama promised to take us to your room after dinner tonight.”

“The schedule has been changed,” he said, limping into the chamber. “I heard the racket coming from the nursery and went to have a look at the door being installed for your benefit. But you weren’t there. Instead, I have had the pleasure of meeting your new governess.”

Yvette wasn’t listening, her attention diverted. “Oh, my!” she exclaimed, scanning the packages Charmaine carried. “How many are there?”

“Allow Miss Ryan to put them down, Yvette.”

Frederic reached the settee and fell into it with an exhaustive “oomph,” his face drawn as if in pain. When the moment passed, he looked about the room. “Where is your mother?”

“In the bedroom, with Pierre. He needed to have his nappy changed. There is an odd number of packages here,” she observed, lifting the largest.

“One is for Pierre,” her father explained.

“Pierre? Why does he get a present? His birthday isn’t until March.”

“Now, Yvette, would you deny him the pleasure of opening a gift? I realize it’s not his birthday, but he’ll be upset if there’s nothing for him to tear into.”

Charmaine was taken by the man’s thoughtfulness, his tender voice.

“May I open one of them now, Papa?”

“First, tell your brother and sister I have come for a visit.”

She jumped to do his bidding, calling from the doorway, “Papa is here.”

Jeannette scampered into the room and embraced him. “Papa!”

“You are looking well, Jeannette.”

“So are you, Papa. I’m glad you came to visit us today! Does this mean you are getting better?”

“If I am, it is because of you.” He stroked her hair, his eyes glowing.

The endearing moment was broken when Colette stepped into the room, Pierre in her arms. Frederic looked up, missing her smile of greeting, and spoke sharply. “Do you think that wise, Colette?”

Her face dropped. “Wise?”

“Carrying the boy so,” he replied. “You’ve been told not to exert yourself.”

She bit her bottom lip and immediately set Pierre on his feet. He was off and running, crying, “Mainie’s back!”

“Mainie?” Jeannette and Yvette asked in tandem.

Colette understood and laughed, shaking off Frederic’s stern disapproval and reveling in Pierre’s candid joy. “I think you have a new name, Charmaine.”

Charmaine scooped the child up and gave him a hug. “And I like it.”

“Mainie,” Pierre said again, before giving her a big, wet kiss.

Charmaine returned the affectionate gesture, which elicited a repeat performance from the lad. After a moment, she walked over to the sofa. “Your father has come to see you, Pierre,” she said, placing the boy on the man’s lap.

Pierre immediately began to squirm, and Frederic struggled to hold him in place. Before he could wriggle free, Colette crossed the room and sat next to them. Frederic shifted closer to her, their thighs touching, eyes meeting. He relaxed his grip, and Pierre crawled into her lap, happy again.

The minutes gathered in silence, an uneasy quiet. Charmaine grew uncomfortable. No words had passed between the couple, and yet much had been said, the tension mounting. Even the girls could feel it, for they remained mute, waiting for someone else to speak. Only Pierre appeared oblivious, happily playing with the buttons on his mother’s dress.

“Perhaps you’d like some time alone,” Charmaine suggested awkwardly and, not waiting for a reply, turned to leave.

“A moment longer, Miss Ryan,” Frederic commanded. “Would you please distribute my gifts to the children? Each one is marked.”

Charmaine attended to his request. Yvette ripped the wrapping from the present. Jeannette held her parcel a moment longer, studying her parents instead.

Frederic looked up at her. “Aren’t you going to open your gift, Jeannette?”

“Yes, Jeannette,” Yvette urged, “open it quickly. I want to see if
you got something better than a silly old doll so we can trade.” She held up a lovely china doll with eyes that opened and closed.

Charmaine winced, wary of Frederic’s reaction. Would he admonish the girl? He only chuckled, as if the declaration were ingenuous, rather than pert. “What is this, Yvette? I thought all little girls played with dolls.”

“No, sir. I’d much prefer to have a horse!”

“A horse?” he pursued in jest. “And how would I manage to get him in a box of that size?”

“He wouldn’t have to be in a box, Papa,” she replied in earnest. “You could have him hidden in the stables, with a big blue ribbon around his neck!”

“Really? And what would you do with him once you’d found him?”

“Ride him, of course!”

“But horseback riding isn’t ladylike.”

Yvette mistook his facetious remark and wrinkled her nose disdainfully. “I don’t want to be a lady, Papa. I’d much rather be a boy.”

“Would you now? And why is that?”

“It’s no fun being a lady, that’s why! You always have to worry about keeping your dress clean. You always have to wear a dress! Boys can wear trousers. They can be rude and spit. They can learn to swim and climb trees! But if you’re a girl, you’re not allowed to do any of those things. A girl has to have proper manners, and I hate it! I want to do the things my brother does.”

“Pierre?” Frederic asked, baffled. “Surely you’re allowed more than he?”

“Not Pierre, Papa. Johnny. He always does fun things. When he was living here, we had such a wonderful time! Every day we did something new, and he never once told me I couldn’t because I was—”

“Yvette,” her mother remonstrated, “that’s enough.”

“No, it’s not enough! I’m tired of being told not to mention his name. I love Johnny!” With arms akimbo, she turned accusatory eyes on her father. “And when is he coming home, anyway? When are you going to stop being angry with him?
When?
”

“Not for a very long time,” Frederic snarled irascibly, jaw clenched.

“
Why?
” she demanded, stomping her foot.

“He is a menace to certain members of this household. Now, you’ll not speak of him again! Is that understood, young lady?”

Undaunted, Yvette’s eyes flashed fire for fire, refusing to answer.

“
Is that understood?
”

“No—it’s not!” she shouted, throwing down the doll. Its head shattered into a thousand pieces, shards of glass flying everywhere. She tore from the room, ignoring her father’s repeated bellows of: “Yvette, come back here!”

Colette appeared to weather the storm, speaking softly yet firmly when he leveled his wrathful gaze on her. “There was no need to speak to her that way.”

“You think not?”

“She loves her brother and doesn’t understand—”

“Damn it, woman!” he roared, as if astounded by her audacity. “Why do you defend him? It is time you taught the children to respect me! I refuse to tolerate such insolence from an eight-year-old child. My daughter will not decide
if
she obeys. She
will
obey!”

Colette bowed her head to his public chastisement.

Belatedly, Frederic seemed to remember the governess was there. “Where is Pierre’s present?” he asked gruffly.

Charmaine relinquished the package she held for support, and Frederic extended it to his son. “Look, Pierre, I have a gift for you. Come, sit here and open it with me.”

The boy would not budge from Colette’s protective lap.

“Come,” Frederic persisted, “sit on my knee so you can open this. Your mother is right here. She would like to see what’s inside.”

The more he cajoled, the more the child withdrew, balled fists holding tightly to his mother’s dress, face buried in her bosom, his muffled whimpers echoing in the turbulent room. He had no interest in the package with its pretty ribbons.

Colette began her own appeal. “Here, Pierre, I will help you.
Voici, mon caillou,
your father would”—the statement caught in midsentence, a minute flinch as her gaze clashed with Frederic’s—“come, Pierre, we can open it together.”

Clearly, Frederic had had enough. “Give me my son!” he demanded, grabbing hold of the boy’s arm. “Give him here—now!”

Defeated, Colette allowed Frederic to pry Pierre loose. At last, she was free and stood quickly. She averted her face, squared her shoulders, and walked with dignity from the room.

The door closed, and Colette ran—ran to escape the demon that chased her, ran down the passageway, the stairs, ran until her side hurt, coming up abruptly as the main door in the foyer swung open and Paul strode in. She turned from him and ran again, to the back of the house and into the gardens.

“Colette?”

Jeannette was silently weeping when her father spoke to her. “Come, Princess, help your brother open his package.”

The girl looked from Frederic to Charmaine as if she hadn’t heard. “What was the matter with Mama?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Jeannette,” Charmaine whispered.

Hoping to still her quaking limbs, she scooped up the discarded doll and began picking up the pieces of glass that littered
the floor. Perhaps it could be mended. Jeannette crouched down to help.

“Leave that!” Frederic barked.

Charmaine dropped the fragments. “I’d best see to Yvette,” she said, determined to escape the wretched room. But unlike Colette, who had maintained her composure, she fled like a petrified rabbit, the broken doll still in her arms.

Jeannette was right on her heels, until Frederic stopped her. “Jeannette, come help your brother.” With a sigh, she complied.

Paul walked briskly into the dining room; it was empty. Noise from the kitchen sent him in that direction. He was surprised to find Travis, Joseph, and George sitting at the rough-hewn wooden table. Fatima was serving the three men a late lunch, the very meal that had brought him home. “Have you seen Colette?” he asked.

“No,” George replied. “Why?”

“She wasn’t upset about the new door, was she?”

“In the beginning. But not anymore. Why?”

“She was crying. Just now—in the foyer.”

George shook his head. “She wasn’t that upset.”

Paul ran a hand through his hair. She
was
upset. He had to find her.
The gardens—she must have gone into the gardens.

Charmaine found Yvette on her bed, toying with an envelope she tapped on her knee. She looked up, her eyes red. “I may as well burn this,” she said, and Charmaine realized it contained the letter she had written to John.

“No, Yvette. It’s being sent directly to your brother just as I promised. Your mother gave her permission this morning.”

Yvette frowned in momentary disbelief, then smiled, wiping away the last of her tears. “Thank you.” She turned serious again. “I don’t know why Papa is so angry with Johnny. His seizure hap
pened three years ago! Johnny is his son. Why won’t he forgive him?”

“It’s not just a matter of forgiveness, Yvette. I think your father is embarrassed about the way he looks right now. His arm, his leg, the way he walks, the cane he has to use for support. He sees himself as a cripple, and that’s not an easy thing for any man to live with. If an argument with your brother caused that condition, I can understand his bitterness. The pain and humiliation that’s deep inside of him has turned into anger.”

“He’s more than angry, Mademoiselle Charmaine. He hates Johnny.”

Charmaine shook her head. “No, Yvette, I don’t believe your father hates him. No man hates his own son.” Even as she spoke the words, she wondered if she were wrong. After all, she hated her father. And if that were possible, why couldn’t Frederic hate John? She shuddered with the thought of it, for in this relationship, so many others were involved.

“Yvette,” she began cautiously, “I’d like you to do something I know will be difficult. I’d like you to go back to your mother’s apartments and apologize to your father.”

Yvette’s face turned crimson. “
Apologize?
You want me to apologize after what he said? He should apologize to me and to Johnny! I’ll never apologize to him! He’ll be lucky if I ever speak to him again! I thought you understood!”

Charmaine allowed the barrage of protests to ebb before she attempted to explain. “Do you want your brother to come home again, Yvette?”

“Of course I do!”

“The only way you’re going to get your father to change his mind about John is by setting the example you want him to follow.”

Yvette weighed the wisdom of her governess’s supposition and
grimaced in revulsion. “
But apologize?
I don’t see how that can possibly help.”

“Your father is resentful, Yvette. How much greater will that resentment become if he thinks he’s lost your love to John as well?”

“He’ll only hate him more,” she muttered, realizing she’d only make matters worse if she stayed angry with her parent. “I suppose I have no other choice,” she groaned. “And I’ve ruined that silly doll. I can’t fix that!”

“I don’t think your father cares about the doll. But he does love you.”

“I know he does,” she ceded. “Will you come with me?”

“I’ll be along in a minute,” Charmaine promised as the girl walked to the door. “But Yvette, don’t mention the letter to your father.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not that stupid!”

When Yvette had gone, Charmaine went in search of Colette.

Was there nowhere to turn? No quiet haven where the past wouldn’t haunt her? How much longer would she bear this heavy burden of guilt? How much more could she endure? Colette was in the courtyard before the kaleidoscopic questions converged into one ostensible answer, too terrible to face.
Peace, there will be no peace until I die.
She sat hard on a bench deep in the garden, buried her face in her hands, and wept.

Where is she?
Paul scoured the pathways, hearing, rather than seeing her first. He knew who had reduced her to tears. This had nothing to do with the new door. Or did it? He regarded her for countless minutes, uncertain how to confront her misery. It had been years since she’d cried on his shoulder. His chest ached at the sight of her anguish.