“Apparently, she did, more or less. And she never let them give her anything to support me. I guess that's nice in a way, but it sure would have made life easier if she had. Anyway, it's all mine now.” Their eyes met and held as he waited, and she took a breath and whispered the words to him that even she didn't understand, and wondered if she ever would. It was beyond thinking. “Ten million dollars,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear her.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, laughing at her, and sitting back in his chair on the porch, amused by the joke. He had been leaning forward waiting to hear, and now he just guffawed at her. “And I'm Mickey Mantle.”
“No, I'm serious. That's what it is.” She looked as though she was sharing something terrible with him, and suddenly he stopped laughing and stared at her.
“You're not kidding?” She shook her head in answer, and he closed his eyes as though she had hit him, and then opened them to look at her in disbelief. “Oh, my God, Marie-Ange … what are you going to do with it? What are you going to do now?” In a way, it scared him for her. It was an overwhelming amount of money. Beyond either of their imaginations.
“I don't know. Aunt Carole told me tonight she's selling the farm next month and going into the home in Boone. I'm not going to have anyplace to live six weeks from now. She already has someone who wants to buy the farm, and she's decided to sell it to them.”
“You can live here,” he said generously, but she knew there was no room for her, and she knew that wasn't right either.
“I could get an apartment at school, I guess, or live in the dorm. I don't know what you do when something like this happens.”
“Neither do I,” he grinned shyly at her. ‘Your father must have been one hell of a rich guy when you were a kid. I guess I never understood that. That chateau you talk about must have been the size of Buckingham Palace.”
“No, it wasn't. It was beautiful, and I loved it, I guess there was a lot of land, and his business must have been pretty successful. He had money saved too, and … God, Billy, I don't know … what'll I do now?” She had come to him for advice, but they were both young, and what they were talking about was inconceivable to either of them, particularly given the life they both led. Their lives in Iowa were very simple.
“What do you want to do?” he asked her thoughtfully. “Do you want to go home, and start over there, or finish school here? You can do anything you want now. Hell, Marie-Ange, you can go to Harvard if you want to.” To him, at least, it represented an unlimited amount of freedom, and he was happy for her.
“I think I'd like to go home for a while, and at least see Marmouton again. Maybe I could even buy it.” And never come back here, he could hear the reality of it echo in his head as he listened to her, but he didn't voice his fears to her. He was suddenly afraid he'd never see her again when she left. But she knew what he was thinking.
“I'll come back. I just want to see what it looks like. Maybe I'll take a semester off, and come back here for Christmas.”
“That would be nice,” and then he decided to put his own feelings aside and think of her. He loved her enough to do that. “But you might be happier there.” She was French, after all, and she had no relatives in the States except Aunt Carole. And although she had spent nearly half her life here, in her heart of hearts, she was still French, and always would be.
“Maybe. I just don't know what to do now.” She didn't feel as though either place was home anymore. And with options open to her, it was all the more confusing. “If I stayed, would you come to visit me? You could use your French finally. I'd send you a ticket.” She knew him well enough to know he would never accept it, and it would be a hardship for him to take the time to visit her even if he had the money to buy the ticket. ‘You have to promise me you'd come over if I stay there.”
“Do you think you'll finish school?” he asked, concerned about her again, and she nodded.
“I want to. I think I probably will come back here. Maybe I'll just take this semester off and see what happens.”
“It would be a shame not to finish school,” he said, sounding like an older brother, as she nodded.
She took the contents of the envelope out then, and they pored over them together. But neither of them understood them. It was the portfolio of the trust's investments.
“I just can't believe it,” he said, looking at her again before she left. “Marie-Ange, this is amazing, “ and then he grinned at her and gave her a hug. “Hell, who knew you'd turn out to be a rich girl.”
“I feel like Cinderella,” she whispered.
“Just make sure you don't run off with a handsome prince in the next ten minutes.” He knew this meant that there was no hope for them, but according to Marie-Ange, there never had been. And now there was no way he could ever ask her. She was an heiress, but she was also his best friend, and she made him swear it would never make any difference between them.
“I'll be back for Christmas,” she promised faithfully, and meant it as she said it. But he wondered if that would be true, if she really would come back, or even want to, after the miserable years she'd spent here. It seemed right to him that she should go home now.
He walked her out to the car when she left, and gave her another hug. The car he had given her seemed foolish to him now in light of everything that had just happened. “Drive carefully,” he smiled at her, still in awe of what she had told him. They both needed time to absorb it.
“I love you, Billy,” she said, and meant it in the very best of ways, and he knew that.
“I love you too. You know that.” And with that, she waved and drove away. She had a lot to think about on the drive home, and she drove to Des Moines the next morning. There was something she knew she had to do there. She had thought of it the night before, and she didn't want to wait another day. She called Andy McDermott and explained it to him, and he sounded a little startled at first, but she was only twenty-one, after all. It was an interesting first step, but she was very determined when he questioned her about it.
She completed the transaction in under an hour, and they agreed to deliver it to the farm for her that morning. They were stunned by the speed with which she had made the purchase. And when it arrived, it caused endless comment amongst the farmhands, and Aunt Carole was livid when she saw it.
“That is just the kind of stupid thing I thought you would do. What are you going to do with that thing?” she asked accusingly, but there was nothing she could do to stop her.
“I'm giving it to Billy,” Marie-Ange said calmly, as she slid behind the wheel of the bright red, brand-new Porsche she had bought for him that morning. Three years before he had made it possible for her to go to school and get an education, and now she was going to do something for him, something he could never do for himself in a lifetime. She had paid the insurance on it for him for two years, and she knew he was going to love it.
She drove it up in front of his house, just as he came in on the tractor with one of his brothers, and he stared at her in amazement.
“Did you trade the Chevy in for that? I hope they gave you back some money!” He laughed and hopped off the tractor to look more closely at the remarkable machine she was driving. “How are you going to tell people you bought it?” he asked, looking concerned. He knew she didn't want everyone talking about her, or knowing what she'd inherited from her father.
“I haven't figured that out yet,” she grinned at him, “maybe I'll just have to tell them I stole it. But at least I won't be driving it.”
“Why not?” He looked confused, as she quietly handed him the keys and kissed him on both cheeks, French style.
“Because it's yours, Billy!” she said softly. “Because you're the best friend I have in the world, and you're my brother.”
Tears welled up in his eyes, and he didn't know what to say to her, and when he could finally speak again, he insisted that he couldn't accept it from her, no matter how much money her father had left her. But she refused to d
iscuss it with him, or to be swayed. The pink slip was already in his name, and she slid into the passenger seat, waiting for him to drive her in it.
“I don't know what to say to you,” he said in a choked voice as he slid behind the wheel. It was hard to resist, and everyone on his father's farm was staring at them. They knew something unbelievable had just happened.
“Does this mean you're marrying him?” his mother shouted from the kitchen window, wondering if she had won it in a contest for him. Maybe she had won the lottery or something.
“No, it means he has a new car,” Marie-Ange shouted back at her with a grin, as Billy turned the key in the ignition and the little sports car roared into gear. They took off at full speed, as Billy gave a wild whoop of glee, and Marie-Ange's long blond hair flew out in the wind behind her.
Chapter 6
Aunt Carole sold the farm, just as she had said she would, and two weeks later she moved to the home in Boone. Marie-Ange helped her pack her things, and she couldn't help thinking of Carole's cruelty when she had taken Marie-Ange's suitcases to the Goodwill and left them there with nearly everything she'd brought with her. But this time, Marie-Ange packed all her little mementos and favorite belongings for her. And when they reached the home, the old woman turned to her, and looked at her long and hard, and said, “Don't do anything stupid.”
“I'll try not to,” Marie-Ange smiled, wanting to feel more for her than she did, but she just didn't. Aunt Carole had never allowed it. Marie-Ange couldn't even tell her that she'd miss her. They both knew she wouldn't. “I'll write to you, and tell you where I am,” she said politely.
“You don't have to. I don't like to write. I can call the bank, if I need to find you.” After ten years of living together, it was a dry, unemotional departure. Carole was simply not capable of more than that, and never had been. And after Marie-Ange left her, she felt sad, for all that had never happened between them. Emotionally at least, except for Billy, it had been ten years wasted.
She went back to the house and packed her things. Tom and his wife were already gone, and the house seemed strange and empty. Marie-Ange had her ticket and her passport, and her bags were packed. She was leaving in the morning, back the way she had come, first to Chicago, and then to Paris. She was going to stay there for a few days, and maybe look into classes at the Sorbonne, and then she was going to rent a car and drive to Marmouton, just to see it. And she was going to find out what had happened to Sophie. She assumed that she had died, but maybe someone could tell her how or when it had happened. Marie-Ange suspected she had died of a broken heart, but whatever had happened to her, she wanted to know it. She knew that if Sophie had been alive, she'd have written to her, and she hadn't. Not a single letter in answer to her own, or since then.
She ate dinner with Billy and his family that night. Everyone in the area was still talking about his new Porsche, and he drove it every chance he got. His father had teased him that he spent more time in it than on the tractor. And his girlfriend Debbi was in love with it. But it meant the most to Billy because Marie-Ange had given it to him. He had finally stopped arguing with her about it, and agreed to accept it, although he said he shouldn't have, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it. It was his dream car, and her thank-you for getting her to college in the Chevy.
“I'll call you from Paris, when I can,” she promised him that night when he took her home. She had left the Chevy with him, and asked him to store it for her, in case she came back to finish college. She didn't want to sell it, it meant too much to her. It was the only thing she wanted to keep from her years with Aunt Carole. There were no other happy memories for her, only sad ones, except those that involved Billy.
Billy promised to pick her up in the morning and drive her to the airport. And as she wandered the house alone, thinking of the ten years she had spent there, it seemed eerie and agonizingly lonely. She wondered how her great-aunt was at the home, but Carole had told her not to bother calling, so she didn't.
She slept fitfully that night, and did no chores when she got up, for the first time in more than ten years. And it was strangest of all to realize that soon she would be in Paris, and then back at Marmouton. She couldn't even imagine what she would find there.
Billy picked her up promptly at nine, and put her one small bag in the car. She had almost nothing to take with her. She had no souvenirs, no photographs, except of him, no mementos, except the things he had made her over the years, for her birthdays and at Christmas. The only other things that meant anything to her were the photographs of her parents and Robert, and the locket she still wore and treasured.
They were both quiet in the car, on the way to the airport. There was so much to say, and no way to say it. They had said it to each other over the years, and been there for each other, as they still were now. But they both knew that with five thousand miles between them, it couldn't help but be different.
“Call me if you need me,” he said, as they waited for her plane to Chicago to board. She hadn't been on a plane since she had come here, and she remembered how terrified she had been, how heartbroken, and how lonely. He had been her only friend for all these years, her only source of strength and comfort. Her great-aunt had provided room and board, but there had never been any love between them. Billy was her family far more than Aunt Carole had ever been, and as she boarded the plane finally, Marie-Ange held him tight for a long moment as tears streamed down both their faces.
“I'm going to miss you so much,” she cried. It was like leaving Robert again, and she was afraid now that she would never see Billy again, just as she had lost her brother. But he sensed her thoughts without her needing to put words to them, and he quietly reassured her.
“It'll be okay. You'll probably hate France and be back here in no time.” But he didn't believe that.
“Take care of yourself,” she said softly to him, and they kissed and hugged for a last time, and she looked up at him, wanting to engrave his freckled face on her mind forever. “I love you, Billy.”
“I love you too, Marie-Ange,” he said, wishing she could stay in Iowa forever. But it wouldn't have been fair to her, and he knew that. She had a chance for so much more now.
He stood and waved at the plane until it was a speck in the sky, and then she was gone. And he drove slowly back to the farm in his new red car, crying for all that she had been to him, and never would be.
Chapter 7
The plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle at four A.M., and with her single bag, it only took Marie-Ange a few minutes to go through customs. And it felt strange suddenly to hear people speaking French everywhere, and it made her smile as she thought of Billy and how well he had learned it.
She took a cab to a small hotel one of the stewardesses had recommended to her. It was on the Left Bank, and it was safe and clean, and after she had washed her face, and unpacked her bag, it was time for breakfast. She decided to walk around outside and found a little café where she ordered croissants and coffee. And just for the sheer joy of it, she made herself a canard in the cup of steaming café au lait, and thought of Robert. It brought back so many memories, she could hardly bear it. Afterward, she walked for hours, looking at people, enjoying the scene, relishing the feeling of being in France again. She didn't go back to her hotel for hours, and when she did, she was exhausted.
She had dinner in a little bistro, and cried in her bed in the hotel that night, for her brother and her parents, and the years she had lost, and then she cried for the friend she had left in Iowa. But in spite of her sadness, she loved being in Paris. She went to the Sorbonne the next day, and took some brochures with her about the classes they offered. And the following morning, she rented a car, and made her way to Marmouton. It took her all day to get there. And she could feel her heart pound, as she drove slowly through the village, and on a whim, she stopped at the bakery she had loved as a child, and stared in disbelief when she saw the same old woman behind the counter. She had been a close friend of So
phie's.
Marie-Ange spoke to her cautiously, and explained who she was, and the old woman began to cry the moment she recognized her.
“My God, you are so beautiful, and so grown-up! Sophie would have been so proud of you,” she said as she embraced her.
“What happened to her?” Marie-Ange asked as the woman handed her a brioche across the counter.
“She died last year,” the woman at the bakery said sadly.
“I wrote to her so often, and she never answered. Was she ill for a long time?” Perhaps she'd had a stroke, Marie-Ange thought, as soon as she'd left her. It was the only possible explanation for her silence.
“No, she went to live with her daughter when you left, and she came to visit me every few years. We always talked about you. She said she wrote to you nearly a hundred times the first year, and all her letters came back unopened. She gave up after that, she thought maybe she had the wrong address, but your father's lawyer told her it was the right one. Perhaps someone didn't want you to see her letters.” Marie-Ange felt her words like a blow to her heart, as she realized that Aunt Carole must have returned Sophie's letters to her, and thrown Marie-Ange's letters away, to sever her ties with her past. It was just the kind of thing Carole would do. It was yet another act of cruelty, but so needless and so unkind, and now Sophie was gone forever. She felt her loss now as though it had just happened. “I'm sorry,” the woman added, seeing the young girl's face, and the pain etched on it.
“Who lives at the chateau now?” Marie-Ange asked quietly. It was not easy coming back here, it was full of bittersweet memories for her, and she knew it would break her heart when she saw the chateau again, but she felt she had to, to pay homage to the past, to touch a part of her family again, as though if she returned, she would find them, but of course she knew she wouldn't.
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