***
Several days later, Marian laid the morning paper down on her desk and wanted to cry. Another sensational story about Jean’s murder appeared on the front page of the newspaper. Since his death, there were few days that went by that an article did not appear regarding his murder or the other Cuvier Widows, as they were called.
Now the papers were saying that the arrest of Layla was imminent and alleging she murdered Jean.
The police claimed they had found a motive, though Marian doubted the girl had had the courage to kill Jean. She didn’t know who killed her husband but Marian felt relieved Jean was gone.
Jon rapped on her door. “Mrs. Cuvier?”
Marian glanced up. “Yes?”
“There’s a young boy here who says he’s your son,” the man said. “He’s bleeding, Ma’am.”
She jumped up out of her chair, pushed past Jon and ran out of her office, down the hall. This week was Philip’s first week back in school and when she’d sent him off, she was afraid that newspapermen would hound him.
She saw her son standing at the front door, his head down, his knees skinned, and his left eye swollen. His clothes were tom and dirty as if he’d been rolling in the dirt. Who had done this to him?
“Philip,” she cried. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
She knelt down beside her son, her black skirts billowing around her and the boy.
Philip glanced at her, his face dirty and tear-streaked.
He blinked, trying to hold back the tears. “I ... I got in a fight at school. They sent me home.”
“Oh son! Are you hurt?” she asked, as she pushed the hair back away from his forehead to check the area where he received the blow.
“No,” he said dejectedly. “My eye aches, but that’s all.”
Noticing for the first time that everyone in the office was watching them, she stood and took him by the arm. Not releasing him, she proceeded to walk him back to her office. Once there she sat him in a chair. She walked over to the bowl and ewer she’d brought from home and poured water onto a small towel, which she used to dry her hands.
Walking back to her son, she knelt in front of him and glanced at his face. Gently, she washed the scrapes and bruises on his knees and elbows.
“Why were you fighting, Philip? You’ve never been one to cause trouble,” she said, as she gently washed his face.
He looked away and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
She folded the towel and wiped his face, her heart aching for the boy she loved with all her heart.
“Philip, I know you wouldn’t get into a fight without a good reason. You can tell me. What happened?”
He wouldn’t look at her. “I guess I got mad at what some kids were saying.”
Marian’s chest wanted to explode with fury and she wanted to protect her boy, but instead she calmly asked. “What kind of things were they saying, Philip?”
The boy shrugged, trying so hard to hide his pain. Restlessly he kicked his feet. “It's okay, Mother. I took care of them.”
She swallowed, he was trying to protect her, and afraid he would hurt her feelings. “Were they saying things about your father?”
She walked over to the bowl and rinsed the towel out and then came back to her son.
Philip glanced away, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m not going to let them say those things.”
She dabbed tenderly at his swollen eye with the wet towel. “Sometimes people do things that hurt their families. But that doesn’t mean that they love their children any less.”
“Did you love Daddy?” he questioned, taking her completely by surprise.
The query touched her. She gazed at her son, love boundless for this child of hers. He was growing up and she wanted to protect him from the ugly truth about his father, but the world was not going to let her.
“I loved your father very much at one time. I would never have married Jean, if I had not been in love with him,” she answered truthfully.
“Did you love him when he died?” he asked.
The question tore at her heart and she wanted to lie, but couldn’t.
“I cared for your father, but somehow we lost our love for one another. But that does not mean that we didn’t love you and your sister. Your father loved you. And I love you and Renee, with all my heart.”
Her son’s lower lip trembled.
“The kids at school called papa a bigamist. They said that means he married other women. That he didn’t love you or me. They lied!” he declared vehemently.
Marian brushed the hair away from her son’s face and smoothed his brow with the damp towel. “I wish I could protect you and your sister and keep the truth away from you, but I can’t. Your father did indeed marry two other women.”
With his hands he thrust her away from him. “No!” he yelled. “You’re lying! My father would never do that.”
Marian resisted the urge to take her son in her arms and rock him like she had when he was a small child. She wanted to comfort him, to take away the pain she knew he felt, but she could only be there for him.
She pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. She tried to take his hand in her hand, but he pulled away.
“Philip, you loved your father. Regardless of what anyone says about him, you love him and you miss him. He made mistakes in his life, but his love for you was always constant. Remember him for the man he was to you and the way he loved you. Don’t let anyone’s opinion tarnish your love for your father.”
“Why did he have to leave us? He should have stayed,” he said trying not to cry, the tears hovering near the surface.
“If he could have stayed here with you and me and Renee, he would have. He didn’t have a choice, Philip, so don’t blame him for leaving.” She sighed. “I know you are hurting right now, but try not to blame your father.”
He glanced up at her, his tears momentarily gone. “Are you mad at me?”
All mention of his father’s other wives vanished from his talk. For a moment, Marian thought of explaining more to the boy, but then decided to let it alone. If he had questions, she would answer them, but why not let him get used to some of the truth, rather than giving him more than he was ready for?
She should reprove him for fighting, but her heart wasn’t in it So much had been thrust upon the boy all at once, not to mention the fact that he grieved for his father.
“Fighting solves nothing. I won't punish you this time, but don’t do it again. If your friends start to taunt you about your father, just walk away. They really aren’t your friends.”
A noise drew her attention and she glanced up from her son. There in the frame of the doorway stood Louis, watching her with Philip. His face held an odd expression, his eyes filled with sympathy. For a moment she wondered, how long he'd been standing there in the doorway? How much had he heard?
Wronged (Book 1) Page 12