by Jan Moran
The old farmer had removed his straw cowboy hat and knelt beside her. “You okay, Miss?”
“Not really,” she said, feeling sheepish. How much worse could this day get? She ran her hands through her hair, picking out pieces of wild grass.
The priest returned with a glass of water. “Drink this.” He sat next to her.
“If you think she’s going to be okay, I’ll go on yonder.” The farmer jerked his thumb toward the door.
“We’ll be fine. Bless you for the hay.”
Juliana gulped the water and handed the glass to the priest. “Thank you, Father.” He wore the collar, but he was casually dressed. He had sandy hair and didn’t look too much older than she was.
“Would you like more water?”
Sniffing, she shook her head.
“Solange Laurent was a good woman. We all miss her.”
At that, Juliana began crying again.
“There, there,” the priest said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “Are you a relative or friend?” He dug into his pants and produced a neatly folded white cotton handkerchief for her.
“Neither.” She dabbed her eyes. “I’m just confused.”
“Then tell me about it. Maybe I can help.”
Juliana half rose to leave, but then she thought, what did she have to lose? Sitting back down, she said, “I’ve misjudged someone. Or maybe I haven’t.”
“Would you like to tell me who?”
“Solange’s husband—her widower.”
The priest listened thoughtfully. “And who might that be?”
“Henri Laurent. You probably know him.”
The priest inclined his head and nodded slightly. “Go on.”
Juliana spilled out the story, holding nothing back. “I knew he was a widower when we met, but then he had the gall to deny it. I told him exactly what I thought of him, that he was utterly despicable.” She paused to take a breath. “But on the other hand…” She told him about the letter and her visit to his house.
“And then you stopped here. I see.” The priest stroked his smooth chin. “I can clear up some of this for you. The rest will be up to you and Henri and the head guy upstairs.” He pointed toward the ceiling.
Juliana nodded solemnly. “What do you think, Father?”
“I believe other people in this community—not only you—also thought Henri and Solange were married. Solange was ill, and Henri wasn’t sociable, so they didn’t mix much with the local community here. When people don’t know the truth, sometimes they assume things.”
“You mean—”
“They were cousins on Henri’s father’s side. They were never married to each other. Or to anyone else that I know of.”
“Really? Oh, thank you, thank you.” Juliana caught herself. For the second time today, she was gushing. She glanced down self-consciously. At least her shirt was fully buttoned.
“Henri Laurent is a good man.” The priest rested his hand on her shoulder. “He and Solange survived the war in Europe under horrendous circumstances.”
Hearing this sobering information, Juliana grew quiet.
The priest sighed. “Henri deserves whatever happiness he can find”
Juliana wondered what the priest meant. “He didn’t tell me anything about the war.”
“You must ask him, but this time, listen carefully to what he has to say. I think you will find a different man than the one you think you know.”
“I will.” Juliana brushed an ant from her dungarees, replaying in her mind the last conversation she and Henri had on his boat. Their emotions had run the gamut, from the heights of passion to the depths of despair. She regretted how she had spoken to him; she hadn’t allowed him the opportunity to explain. “I have jumped to conclusions, haven’t I?”
“So it would seem.” He quirked a smile. “Have patience. Get to know each other better.”
“Thanks for the advice, Father.”
Juliana slid from the pew, crossed herself, and left the church. Leaving behind misunderstandings and immature behavior, too, she hoped.
As she drove home, disheartened over missing Henri, she felt an urge to return to the marina. She couldn’t justify this impulse, but neither could she deny it.
Juliana turned toward San Francisco.
Henri was going south, Mrs. Peabody had said, but how? Her greatest fear was that his yacht would not be in its slip. She couldn’t stand the thought of waiting weeks to see him. By then, it might be too late for them to repair their relationship.
An hour later, she was in San Francisco. She turned toward the marina, passing pastel macaron-colored Victorian homes dotting the way. Dense clouds obscured the afternoon sun, and a chilly fog snaked through the city.
After parking, Juliana stepped onto the wooden walkway, her heart hammering as she neared the end. Gaining strength, the wind blew whitecaps on the water. She shivered in her thin cotton shirt and wrapped her arms around herself.
Henri’s yacht was nestled in its slip.
She slowed her step and craned her neck. There was no sign of movement. She stopped, hesitating. He might not even be there. Gingerly, she swung herself onto the deck. The hatch was closed and locked.
Behind her, a noise startled her. “Juliana.”
Turning, she came face to face with Henri. He wore a navy jacket and a thick cable knit sweater with a canvas bag over one shoulder. With his cap angled over his eyes, she couldn’t read his expression.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I went to your home, and Mrs. Peabody said you had gone south. So I took a chance and came here.”
Henri stared at her. “You never returned my calls.”
“No.” Juliana bowed her head slightly. She was ashamed of how she’d treated him.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared beyond her out to the bay. “I needed a break, so I’m taking Anne and Beatrice on a voyage.”
“Are they here?” With her lips numbing from the cold, her words sounded strange.
“They’re down below. We were leaving today, but the weather turned bad. Maybe tomorrow.”
Juliana’s heart was shattering. Gone was the sparkle in Henri’s eyes. As quickly as his enthusiasm for life had been restored, it was once again deadened. And she’d done this to him out of her fear and ignorance.
He swung back toward her. “I’m not the monster you think I am, Juliana.
The rich timbre of his voice reverberated through her soul. She ached to feel his arms around her again. But he made no move toward her.
It was up to her.
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
“I stopped by the cemetery where Solange is buried and spoke to the priest.”
“You don’t trust me.” Pursing his lips, Henri drew a sharp breath through his nose. “Better we know that now than later. Good-bye, Juliana.” He started toward the hatch.
“Henri, I was wrong.” Shivering, she blinked back hot tears.
He stopped with his back to her.
“Wrong to accuse you of lying to me when I had based my beliefs on hearsay.”
Henri turned slowly. “And I would be lying if I didn’t say your actions shocked me.”
Clasping her icy hands together, she said, “When Alfonso died, I was so broken that I feared risking my heart again. I didn’t think I could survive another heartbreak. So I never took a chance, until you came along. Yet I don’t regret it.”
“Go on.” Henri took a step toward her.
“I reacted the way I did out of fear. I was protecting my heart.” Her teeth chattering, she added, “I might be outspoken, but I’m not normally a fire-breathing, she-devil shrew.”
Wordlessly, Henri slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her. Tilting her chin up, he met her quivering lips with his.
9
With his breath forming misty clouds in the brisk air, Henri took Juliana’s hand and led her down the ladder below deck. Had the weather not been bad,
he’d have set sail today, perhaps never to see Juliana again. He’d even thought of selling Chateau Laurent and returning to Europe to acquire a vineyard. There he could create a new life for his small family.
But now, Juliana was back. He thought he might break down with relief. After lifting her slender frame from the ladder, he enveloped her in his arms. “I’ve not been honest with you, Juliana. There’s so much I need to tell you.”
“This time, I promise I’ll listen. And I won’t judge you.”
“When you didn’t return my calls, I thought I’d lost you forever.” This was the first time since he’d returned from Europe that he’d let his guard down. Her actions had devastated him.
“I acted so foolishly.” Juliana shook her head. “And ruined the lovely night we were having.”
Flicking a tear from her cheek, he said, “Will you promise me another dance?”
“As many as you want.”
He hoped she would still feel that way after she heard his story.
Footsteps sounded in the passageway behind them. Anne appeared in his oversized sweater. He’d put his warm clothes on the girls before he left. “Henri, did you get my clothes—Juliana!” Anne ran, her dark hair streaming behind her, and flew into Juliana’s open arms.
“I knew you’d come back,” Anne cried.
Beatrice raced into the galley and flung her arms around Juliana, too. “Did you get our letter?”
Juliana laughed. “I did. I thought it was so sweet of you to write.”
“What letter?” Henri hadn’t heard anything about this.
Anne pushed up her falling sleeves. “We sent her a letter. But it’s a secret.”
“If you tell him, it’s not a secret anymore,” Beatrice said.
“I’m not going to tell him what we wrote.” Anne smiled up at Juliana. “I wrote most of it.”
Henri chuckled. The girls were always up to something. “I’ve got your warm clothes and hot food. Which do you want first?” He opened the canvas bag he’d brought on board from the car.
“We’re starving,” Beatrice said, bouncing up and down.
“I take it the girls are wearing your sweaters,” Juliana said. “I’ll help them change if you want to put supper out.”
“Thanks for helping. I hope you’re staying to eat.” Henri handed her sweaters and socks for the girls, and then he kissed her on the cheek.
“I think I can fit it into my schedule,” she said, smiling. He’d missed that smile.
“Come on,” Anne said. “We’ll show you our bedroom.”
Beatrice grinned. “That’s called a stateroom on a boat. And do you know what the bathroom is called?” She started giggling.
Knocking Beatrice on the noggin, Anne yelled out, “It’s the head.”
Henri watched the girls take Juliana by the hand and disappear through the passageway. Was it too much to hope for that they might form a family someday? When Solange was alive, they’d been a kind of family, but after she’d died, Anne and Beatrice had been deeply affected.
Reaching into the bag, he brought out peaches, plums, grapes, tomatoes, and lettuce grown on their land, along with several types of cheese and nuts. He’d also bought hot sourdough bread and a large jar of seafood cioppino from the old Tadich Grill.
After arranging the food on the galley table, he called the girls. They came racing through the passageway, followed by Juliana, who now wore one of his sweaters. He liked the way she looked in it, though it was far too large for her.
Anne and Beatrice slid into the built-in booth on one side, leaving Henri and Juliana on the other. Their eyes darting between Henri and Juliana, the two girls giggled and whispered to each other.
“Remember what I said about telling secrets in front of others?” Henri gave them a false frown, but he meant it. Still, he was relieved they’d taken to Juliana so quickly. He’d been concerned they might not like her because they’d feel she was taking the place of Solange, who for all intents and purposes, had been the only mother they’d ever known.
He and Solange had been honest with the girls from the time they could talk. They’d told them they were not their parents, but they loved them just as if they were. Henri and Solange didn’t know how long they’d be able to keep Anne and Beatrice, so they didn’t want to confuse them. But as the years went on, he and Solange had become the parents the girls had never known.
As the boat rocked against the wind, the four of them sat eating and laughing. Juliana seemed at ease with Beatrice and Anne. Henri made jokes with them, though inside, he was still guarded. Would Juliana look at him differently after she heard his story?
As the wind whistled above them, Henri took Juliana’s hand in his. “It’s getting late, and the weather is bad. I’d feel much better if you stayed here. There’s another stateroom you’ll be comfortable in.”
“I’d like that. We can continue our conversation, too.”
After supper, Henri brought out a board game, and they all played Monopoly. Beatrice amassed a small fortune, but at the end she insisted on sharing her winnings with Juliana.
“Then I owe you a bedtime story,” Juliana said.
At that, Anne and Beatrice rushed to bed. The girls cuddled on each side of Juliana, mesmerized as she told them a story that her mother had told her as a child. Rain began to dribble onto the portholes. The girls hugged their knees to their chest. This scene of domestic tranquility tugged at Henri’s heart. He saw Juliana fitting into their lives, but could they offer enough to her?
After he’d tucked in the girls and kissed them goodnight, Henri put his arm around Juliana while they made their way through the passageway. “I happen to have a fairly decent cabernet on board. Care to join me for a glass?”
“Only if it’s your wine.”
“It’s my best vintage.”
While the rain intensified, Henri opened the wine. He carried the wine and two glasses to a seating area, where they sat on a built-in couch surrounded by pillows. Finding two candles in a cabinet, he brought them out and touched a match to them. The flames flickered against their wine glasses and threw shadows on the bulkheads surrounding them. Here they were safe, protected from the elements—and the past.
Juliana raised her eyes over the rim of her glass. “Will you leave tomorrow?”
He was quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had planned. Monterey, central coast, Marina del Rey, Newport Beach, San Diego, Baja California. Yet nothing seemed as important as the woman sitting beside him now. “We’d planned on it, but now, it depends. Or we could have a short voyage. Would you like to join us?”
“Maybe,” she replied, a smile touching her lips again.
Henri touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to us, and to veritas.”
“To us and to truth.” Juliana sipped her wine. She waited for him to speak.
He cleared his throat and hoped she’d understand. “My grandfather immigrated to this country from France. My father was born here and joined the United States diplomatic service, so we had moved a lot. In 1935, I was 15 years old, and they decided it would be better for me to go to boarding school to have the benefit of staying in one place.”
“That’s when you went to Switzerland.”
“Yes, and when I finished school, my parents wanted me to return to the States. But I was young and idealistic. I had cousins in France—Solange and others—and a lot of my closest pals from school were from France. When we graduated in ’38, I went for a holiday to my grandfather’s vineyard.”
Henri swirled his wine, staring into the shimmering depths as if gazing into a portal to the past. “Then the political borders began to shift. Hitler annexed Austria in 1938 and then took Czechoslovakia. Just a year later, the Nazis invaded Poland from the west, while the Soviets seized the eastern portion. That’s when France and Britain declared war against the Nazis.”
“Why didn’t you come back to the States?”
“There, I was needed. I wanted to make a difference and s
tand up against violence and oppression. My family and friends needed me. That was so much more important to me than going home.”
Henri watched the rain sluicing across the portholes, remembering just such a night long ago, hidden in the dark cellar of a farmer’s home. Sweating and praying he wouldn’t be discovered. Henri shuddered involuntarily.
Composing himself, he continued. “One of our friends from school—Solange’s boyfriend—was forced from his home with his family. They were imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp.” He sipped his wine, trying to calm and order his thoughts. “No one ever heard from the family again. That’s why Solange and I joined the resistance movement and went underground.”
Juliana cradled her glass in her hands. “So you did serve in the war.”
“We did what we could, all over France. I helped liberate Paris, too.” As Henri stared into the candles, visions of the past took shape. The flames dredged up the memory of his great aunt’s torturous death.
“Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” Juliana said gently.
“I can’t,” he said, his words strangled. For years, his nights had been haunted by the waking nightmares he’d witnessed. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Juliana rubbed a hand along his shoulder. Henri brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. Only Solange had shared his darkest memories. When he had awakened screaming in the night, it was she who had raced to him, comforting him until he had regained control, even on some of her sickest days. She was the only one he had trusted with his secrets.
Solange was gone, but Juliana was here with him now. And it was time he tried to trust someone again, rather than locking away his heart and family. He licked his lips and began. “I was thinking about my great aunt Geraldine, one of the sweetest souls I’ve ever known. She died in the village of Oradour-sur-Glane in the summer of ’44.”
Drawing an unsteady breath, Henri went on. “Oradour-sur-Glane was a peaceful village in the Vichy-governed part of France. Acting on a tip that later proved false, Nazi SS troops stormed the village.” He choked back a sob. “When I heard what happened, I went looking for her. What I found was gruesome. There, after hearing the rain of gunfire that had killed their husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons, the women and children were herded into a church.”