No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (34 page)

“Andre, it is God who decides who lives and dies. I am only His instrument.” Pascal sighed heavily. “I know this is hard for you to understand—God only knows it’s next to impossible to explain. But I swear to you, there was nothing I could do for Genevieve. It was her time. Please try to understand?”

“Understand?” Andre asked furiously. “It wasn’t your decision to make! You just said you weren’t God!”

“No,” Pascal said with an ironic smile. “Nothing like, I’m afraid. But nevertheless, I knew from the day Genevieve was born that she was always more God’s than ours.”

Andre frowned heavily. “What do you mean by that?”

“Genevieve was born with a malformed heart,” Pascal said gently.

“What?” Andre said, shaken to the core. “A malformed heart? What kind of an excuse is that? She was perfectly healthy, you know she was!”

“No. She wasn’t. Surely you must have seen that she became ill more often than the average person, that she didn’t grow as she might have done. I was surprised she lived as long as she did, but I imagine her love for you fed her will.”

Andre slowly shook his head in flat denial. “No. No, I don’t believe it. I can’t. If that were the truth, Genevieve would have told me. We told each other everything.”

“But she didn’t know about her condition. No one did, save for your mother. What good would it have done for her to live with a death sentence hanging over her when there was no treatment?” He exhaled. “So I kept my peace and tried to keep her as healthy as I could for as long as I could.”

“And her last illness?” Andre asked curtly, examining his father’s face for the he which he was convinced had to be there. “Why did you choose not to help her? It was a simple case of lung congestion—I’ve seen you cure scores of people with the same problem. Explain that.”

“In Genevieve’s case, it put too much of a strain on her heart. As I said, it was her time, Andre. All I could do was to help her go in peace. There seemed no point in prolonging her suffering.” Pascal touched his arm, and Andre flinched. “I’m sorry,” he said, taking his hand away. “If there is one thing I regret it’s that you weren’t there, but there was no way of knowing when you’d arrive.”

Andre covered his eyes with one hand. “No,” he said, shaking his head back and forth, his entire world spinning as his father’s words rewove the fabric of everything he’d believed for so long. What of the last nine years? If what his father said was true, they had been a travesty, his isolation, much of his pain unnecessary. And that thought he couldn’t bear to entertain. “No,” he said. “No. It’s too easy. There has to be more to it than that. What about your opposition to our marriage? You may have held your peace, but I felt it. God, how I felt it.”

“I know you think your mother and I disapproved of your wanting to marry Genevieve, but that wasn’t the case at all. We were simply concerned for both of you, given her condition.”

“I would rather have had a little happiness than none at all,” Andre said tightly, looking over at him.

“And how would you have felt if Genevieve had become pregnant? She would never have survived. Her death would have been on your conscience always.”

“What?” he said in total confusion.

“I planned to caution you against conception if you had married. I didn’t want you to live with the burden of Genevieve’s death, which was inevitable anyway. But given your nature, had her death been in any way on your account, you would have suffered for a very long time. It seems you found a way to do that anyway.”

Andre couldn’t reply. There was something in his father’s flat statement, in the compassion in his eyes, that spoke of truth. And with an agonizing wrench of finality, Andre knew in his heart that his father did speak the truth, that he had spoken the truth all along. It was he who had refused to hear it. He felt suddenly, violently sick.

He laid his folded palms sideways against his mouth, pressing back the taste of bile. Then he pushed them flat against his thighs with a deep, shuddering breath. “I didn’t know. God help me, I didn’t know.”

“I would have told you all of this that night, but there was no talking to you. Still, I’m glad that you trusted me enough to bring Ali here. At least that was a life that could be saved.”

Andre turned to his father, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I don’t know what to say,” he said, his voice breaking. “All these years … all these long years away, all because of a serious misconception on my part. Ah, Papa—I feel such a fool. Such a damn stubborn fool.” His body shook from head to toe as it finally released the burden it had carried for so long, as he let the barriers down, allowed love to rush in and suffuse his spirit, nurture him, heal him. And it hurt like hell.

Pascal reached out and pulled him into his arms, holding him close as if he were still a small child in need of comforting and absorbed his wrenching sobs until they finally subsided.

“Do you know,” he said, releasing Andre and wiping away his own tears, “there was a time before you were born that I was laboring under some misconceptions myself, and I was extremely angry with God. I remember wondering if He was next going to demand the sacrifice of my firstborn son.” He was silent for a long moment. “Well … at least it was only for nine years and not a lifetime.”

“Oh, Papa,” Andre cried, his heart breaking over what he had done to the parents he loved so deeply, for the suffering he had caused them so needlessly. “What have I done?”

“You’ve finally learned to face pain, instead of suffering interminably trying to avoid it,” Pascal said simply.

“God—all this time, trying to push everything away, using my anger with you to justify my actions.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought that if I let myself feel I’d break apart. I was even terrified to love Ali, for fear of the same thing.”

“But now you know that you can’t avoid love any more than you can avoid pain,” Pascal said “And that’s a valuable lesson, especially for people like you and me.”

Andre looked at him in hard question through the blur in his eyes.

“Andre. I know how it is to feel things so deeply that you want to die. It’s as if we don’t have a buffer against the world. But you can’t create one. And isolating yourself is a waste of time.” He smiled sadly. “I tried that too by retreating into monasteries. It didn’t work, any more than your leaving your home and your family worked for you. In the end, the only solution is to submit to God’s will.” He smiled. “And to swear a lot. And to find a woman to love as much as I love your mother and you clearly love Ali.”

Andre wiped his streaming eyes and nose. “How did God ever make anyone so understanding, so good?”

Pascal snorted. “Don’t fool yourself. He may have saddled me with a gift that can be a complete headache at times, but I’m no saint. Ask your mother.”

“Where is she?” Andre asked, suddenly desperate to see her.

“She’s sitting with Ali,” he said with a smile. “She’s very happy you’re home. Overjoyed is a better word.”

“Papa—Ali? She’s really going to be all right?”

“She’s really going to be all right,” he replied, and Andre could see that he had no doubt of it. Pascal stood. “Why don’t you come and see for yourself? Your mother is probably growing impatient to lay her eyes on you.”

“Tell her I’ll be up in a little while. There’s something important I have to do first.”

Pascal gazed at him, his eyes searching. “A good idea,” he said. “I’ll see you back at the house when you’re finished.”

Andre watched his father go, thinking that apparently he read minds as well as he worked miracles.

“Oh. And by the way,” Pascal said over his shoulder as he pushed the chapel door open. “Just so you know, not every medical marvel involves a miracle. And not every miracle involves medicine. Welcome home, Andre.”

The cemetery felt peaceful, the only sound the gentle whisper of the wind through the trees. Andre knelt by Genevieve’s grave, running his hands over the face of the cool headstone.

“Genevieve, my dear girl. I’ve come to say goodbye.” He rested his forehead on his hands. “I will never forget you, or the time we had together, everything that we shared. Thank you for your gentleness, your innocence, your sweetness. Thank you for your love.”

He stood, wiping his blurred vision with one hand, and he placed the flowers that he’d brought on the pebbles that covered her grave. “And now it’s time for me to let go of you. Rest well, dear one. Be happy in God’s arms.”

He felt a rush of peace, the kiss of the breeze on his cheek.

He turned, looking up toward the chateau. Toward life. Toward Ali.

And then he walked out of the enclosed cemetery, softly shutting the wood door behind him as finally as he shut the door on the past.

Andre’s gaze fell on his mother, who sat by the bed holding Ali’s hand in her own. She looked tired, slightly strained around the eyes, but beautiful as ever. God, she was a welcome sight. “Hello, Mama,” he said softly.

“Andre! Oh, Andre—I don’t believe it…” Lily rose from her chair and rushed toward him, arms outstretched, her eyes flooding with sudden tears.

He pulled her tightly to him, trying to hold his own tears in check. “Don’t cry, Mama. Please don’t cry. It’s all right. Everything is all right now.”

She pressed her forehead against his chest, hard. “I should paddle you, you know.”

“You should. But I’m bigger than you are.”

Lily gave a choked laugh and looked up into his face. “You always were too impudent for your own good.” Her fingers lovingly stroked his cheek. “Andre. How I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered, covering her fingers with his own. “More than I can possibly say. How is Ali?”

“Come,” she said, taking his hand. “Look.” She drew him over to the bed.

He gazed down at Ali. Her face was tranquil, relaxed, her breathing soft and even, although her color was still very pale. He touched her hair, his hand shaking slightly. She looked so vulnerable, but oh, so alive. So alive. Even now he could feel the life force emanating from her, and he was infinitely grateful for it.

He glanced up at his mother. “Papa truly did save her, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “He did.”

“He told me,” Andre said equally bluntly. “About all of it. About the miracles, about Genevieve, about what really happened.”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “I gather you’ve come to your senses. And high time too. Although I can’t hold you entirely at fault, Andre.”

She sank into the chair next to the bed, and Andre carefully settled himself on the edge of the bed, taking Ali’s hand into his, relishing its warmth. “You can’t?” he said. “I don’t see how you can think me anything but a hotheaded, stubborn idiot.”

“No,” Lily said. “Well, perhaps partially,” she added, “but you can’t help yourself. That’s breeding from my side, and nothing will change it but experience. What I meant,” she said at his look of surprise, “is that your father and I are also to blame for what happened.”

“What do you mean? Papa said that none of it could be avoided.” He frowned, wondering if his father had not told him the full truth. Had they disapproved of Genevieve, after all?

She folded her hands together and placed them in her lap. “I don’t refer to Genevieve,” she said, answering his silent question. “I refer to you, Andre. The truth of the matter is that you grew up in idyllic circumstances. Your life was entirely happy—nothing tragic happened around you, and you were surrounded by love everywhere you went.”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s true. But what more could you have wanted? What more could any parent want for a child?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe a larger dose of reality. I suppose we wanted to protect you from all the sad things in the world, from all the pain we had been through. But as a result you went into manhood unprepared for pain, for disappointment, for disillusionment.”

“Mama,” he said, deeply touched, loving her even more for her incredible generosity. “Please don’t take my stupidity upon yourself. Please. No one could have asked for a happier childhood.” He smiled at her. “I just needed some sense knocked into my head—and I needed Ali.”

Lily looked down at Ali. “You are fortunate in your wife, Andre.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Oh, I do know. I’ve learned more from Ali about bravery in the face of suffering, about love given without condition, about…” swallow against the hard lump in his throat. “About strength,” he managed to finish.

“And you can take hope in all the strength Ali has. And in her love for you.”

“You’re going to love her too,” he said, wiping his eyes again. “She’s a wonderful girl. Unique.”

“Actually,” Lily said with a broad smile, “I’ve loved Ali for years. So has your father.”

Andre stared at her, stunned. “No. Oh, no…”

“Yes,” Lily said, laughing. “Come now, you can’t think just because you chose to turn your back on everything and everyone that the rest of us would do the same? Ali has given us great pleasure over the years. We all knew you were going to marry her years before you did, you know. Or at least we hoped you’d have the good sense.”

“So
that’s
why Jo-Jean said that you approved of our marriage,” he said, enlightened at last. “And I thought it was her pedigree you liked.”

“Andre,” Lily said gently. “All we have ever wanted is your happiness. Pedigrees mean nothing to either of us, and you really ought to know that. It was clear to us from the beginning that you and Ali were meant to be together.” She smiled. “It appears we were right.”

Andre just shook his head. “The brat,” he said. “The little brat. She never said a word. Not one word.”

“And why would she have? Ali, no doubt, was protecting you. We all seem to have a bad habit of wanting to do that. But I imagine she’s brought you great happiness.”

“Yes. She has.” He arched an eyebrow. “She’s even managed to turn Sutherby into a happy place. Imagine that. Mrs. Grimes walks around with a smile on her wrinkled old face—and Pennyswell looks as if he’s in his second childhood.”

Lily nodded. “Well, that’s good. They all deserve a little happiness. God knows your grandfather made their lives a misery.” She looked up as Pascal came into the room. “Hello, darling. Have you been out killing the fatted calf? Oh—I suppose that will have to be my job,” she said, with another smile. “You and Andre are hopeless.”