“I think God wants us to be honest, even in our doubts.”
“Yes, well, I don’t just have doubts; I have grievances. Why don’t you ask Katherine to be the official godmother? She said she was Catholic.”
“She’s been dropping hints since we announced my pregnancy.” Julia gave her friend a rueful smile.
“See? She’s into it. She’ll be perfect as the godmother.”
“What about you?” Julia crossed the room to her friend.
“I get to be Aunt Rachel.” She leaned down and kissed the baby’s forehead. The baby crinkled her brow but kept her eyes closed.
“I’ll talk to Gabriel.” Julia paused. “How are you doing? Really?”
“I went off the fertility medication, but you knew that.”
“How are you feeling about that?”
“Physically? I’m fine. But I’m in sorrow, Jules. I really wanted to have a baby, but that won’t happen.”
“I’m so sorry.” Julia touched her friend’s shoulder.
Rachel stroked the fine hair on Clare’s head. “Aaron told me he didn’t care if we had a baby. He’s more concerned about me.”
“He loves you like crazy.”
Rachel kept her gaze fixed on her niece. “My life hasn’t turned out the way I expected. I thought I’d have my mom forever. I thought she’d be with me when I got married, and when I had babies.”
Julia made a noise and put her arms around her friend.
“But I just keep going, you know? There has to be a way forward. Aaron and I talked about adoption. Maybe that’s something we can explore.”
“Of course. And Gabriel and I will help, if we can.” Julia held on to her friend, a tear coursing down her face.
Although Rachel was very brave, there were no words that would heal her wound. No magic that would alter the circumstances.
“I want permission to spoil this child.” Rachel lifted the baby and placed her against her shoulder. “I want to start by buying a large and extravagant toy or contraption that will take Gabriel days or even weeks to put together. And I want you to film the entire process.”
Julia laughed. “Permission granted.”
Chapter Twelve
Just before midnight, Julia sat in the nursery, feeding Clare.
Gabriel was situated in the rocking chair, watching over his family. He was touching his wedding band, turning it round and round on his finger. Although his focus was primarily on his current conversation, in the back of his mind nagged an important piece of information he’d yet to share with his wife.
Julianne had wanted to delay having a family. Yet here they were. And Gabriel’s news was going to change everything.
He shook himself from his reverie. “I spoke with Father Fortin today. Rachel is correct—the official godparent has to be Catholic. We could baptize Clare in the Episcopal church.”
“Rachel says she would feel hypocritical being an official godmother.”
“I could speak to her.”
As if in reaction to her father’s words, Clare finished feeding. She gazed up at her mother.
“Let me.” Gabriel stood and crossed to Julia, taking the baby into his arms. He retrieved a clean flannel cloth from nearby and placed it on his bare shoulder, carefully positioning the infant over the flannel.
The child wriggled in his arms, protesting noisily until her father’s hand rested on her back. Gabriel began to pat her.
Julia rebuttoned the top of her silk pajamas. “I think we need to let Rachel be. She’s dealing with a lot and I don’t want to pressure her into doing something she’s uncomfortable about.”
“But Rachel’s doubts are serious,” Gabriel observed, swaying on his feet. “Someone should speak to her.”
Julianne’s gaze alighted on his tattoo, which was visible atop his exposed left pectoral. “Rachel’s doubts are caused by suffering. She’s missing Grace, and grieving the fact that she can’t have children, and now she’s afraid of losing Richard. She seems to think Rebecca has her eyes on him.”
“Nonsense.” Gabriel followed Julianne’s gaze. Under her inspection, the tattoo seemed to burn against his flesh. He found himself lost momentarily in a memory—a drug-and-alcohol-infused haze of loss that precipitated the tattoo. The pain that accompanied the remembrance was dull, not sharp. But it was pain, nonetheless.
He kissed the baby’s head and focused his eyes on her mother. “A brown-eyed angel spoke to me in my grief. She helped me.”
“She helped you by loving you and by listening. That’s what your sister needs. She needs you to love her and to listen. Words won’t heal her sorrow.”
Gabriel pressed his lips together. His inclination was to argue with people until they accepted certain conclusions. Julianne was much more Franciscan in her charism.
“All right,” he conceded, rubbing Clare’s back. “But Rachel isn’t going to lose her father. She’s seeing ghosts.”
“I disagree.” Julia’s expression grew grave. “Rachel’s problem is that she isn’t seeing ghosts.”
Gabriel’s dark brows knitted together. There had been times in his life when the supernatural had intruded. Seeing Grace and Maia at the house in Selinsgrove was one of those times. But he’d never mentioned the appearance to Rachel.
Richard had confessed to seeing Grace in his dreams. But Gabriel was fairly certain Richard had never mentioned those dreams to Rachel, either.
Gabriel changed the subject. “I’m fond of Katherine, as you know. Should we ask her?”
“I think she’s a good choice.”
Julianne paused to stare at her husband. His dark hair was tousled, his chest was bare, and he was wearing tartan pajama bottoms.
He adjusted Clare so that he was holding her in front of his body. And he smiled down at her, murmuring quietly.
Julia lifted her cell phone and began snapping pictures.
Gabriel grinned and moved Clare back to his right shoulder. As if on cue, Clare spat up, absolutely missing the flannel cloth and baptizing Gabriel’s shoulder and neck instead.
Julia continued taking photos.
“We aren’t filming a documentary,” Gabriel grumbled. “Must you immortalize every moment?”
“Yes. Yes, I must.” She mimicked his displeasure with a laugh and snapped away.
Gabriel retrieved a second flannel cloth and began mopping himself with one hand, while holding the contented baby with the other.
“You’d never laugh at Daddy, would you, Principessa?” The baby made eye contact with him and an understanding seemed to pass between them.
“Of course not.” Gabriel brought his nose to his daughter’s. “That’s my girl.”
Julianne captured the moment. Professor Emerson in a suit and tie was certainly attractive. But a shirtless Gabriel crooning at their baby was beauty itself.
“We need to put Clare to bed.” Julia walked to Gabriel and kissed him firmly. Her lips found his ear. “So we can go to bed.”
Gabriel lifted his eyebrows. “Are you . . .” His gaze drifted down to her lower abdomen.
“I am as I was.” She placed her hand at the back of his neck. “But I’d like to do something for you. Something creative.”
“Yes, Mrs. Emerson. I’ve always been very impressed by your—ah—creativity.” He gave her a heated look. “But you fainted this morning.”
“That’s true.” She kissed him again. “But I’m eager to look after my handsome, sexy husband.”
Julia winked and exited the nursery.
Gabriel danced a little jig with the baby. “Your mother is very beautiful, Princess. And tonight, Daddy is getting lucky. Let’s get you cleaned up and put to bed.”
He placed the infant atop the changing table and retrieved a pair of surgical gloves that he kept in a box nearby. Rachel had mocked him mercilessly about
them. But he would not be deterred.
He undid the lower snaps of the baby’s sleeper and slipped her legs free. Then he began to undo her diaper.
“Stercus,” he exclaimed.
The color of the stercus in question was not one with which he was familiar. It defied description, definition, and the laws of nature. In fact, the Professor hypothesized the waste to be the product of a changeling, since nothing so foul could ever have been emitted by such a sweet and angelic being.
He gazed longingly at the doorway, as if hoping a certain brown-eyed angel would come to his rescue.
She didn’t appear. And it was possible she was beginning certain sensual activities already. By herself.
There had been a time when he, Professor Gabriel O. Emerson, would have simply rewrapped the infant and returned her to her mother. For a fleeting instant, the Professor contemplated doing just that.
But Clare was his daughter. She was the fruit of his union with his beloved Beatrice and a miracle, besides. It would not be fitting to expect Julianne to do everything, including the removal of nuclear waste.
No, the Professor was now responsible for the little life that looked up at him innocently, absolutely unaware of the noxious emission she was now inflicting on her paternal parent. He would not fail her.
He held his breath and completed the various steps of removing the toxic substance, cleaning the baby thoroughly, covering her with some kind of ointment, and providing her with a new, pristine diaper.
Throughout the procedure the baby sought his face. He smiled and sang a little, wondering if his new foray into the music of Nat King Cole would be more to the princess’s liking. He sang the words to “L-O-V-E” quietly, after apologizing for his initial Latin profanity.
Gabriel deposited the waste in the diaper pail, resolving to eradicate it from the nursery and his household as soon as possible.
Waste did not belong in pails. Indeed, waste did not belong on his property or anywhere near civilized humanity. To think otherwise was simply barbarous, in his estimation. But he was conscious, all too conscious, of the beautiful creature who was waiting for him in bed in the next room.
In haste, he snapped off his surgical gloves and placed them in the pail, as well. Then, just as a precaution, he carefully cleaned his unsoiled hands not once, but twice, with antibacterial wipes.
With the air of a saint who’d just completed a lengthy task of self-mortification, Gabriel redressed the baby and swaddled her competently in a large piece of flannel. Then he cuddled her to his chest.
He sang the first verse of “Blackbird” by the Beatles, rubbing circles on her back.
“Much better now.” Gabriel kissed the baby’s head. “What do you think of Daddy’s new music? We’re improving, aren’t we?”
When the baby yawned indifferently, he kissed her and carried her into the master bedroom.
Chapter Thirteen
Two days later
Oh, my gosh!”
Gabriel’s ears pricked up.
“That’s fantastic.”
Gabriel paused his tooth brushing, eager to hear more of the sounds emanating from the bedroom.
“Oh, my goodness!”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!”
The cries coming from Julianne’s lips signaled pleasure. But they puzzled Gabriel, since he was not the agent pleasuring her.
He leaned backward, peering through the doorway that led from the en-suite into the bedroom, eager to see what she was doing.
She was standing by the bed, scrolling on her cell phone.
Gabriel scowled, wondering who was eliciting such a reaction from his wife. He spat out the toothpaste, rinsed his toothbrush, and stalked toward her.
Julianne collided with him in the doorway, her dark eyes dancing. “You’ll never guess who emailed me.”
The Angelfucker, Gabriel thought, but did not say.
He plastered a restrained smile on his face. “Who?”
“Professor Wodehouse.”
“Don Wodehouse? Of Magdalen College?”
“Yes!” Julianne held her cell phone aloft and danced in a circle.
Thank God it isn’t the Angelfucker.
Gabriel took her hand. “Why did Wodehouse email you?”
“He’s hosting a workshop on Guido da Montefeltro and Ulysses. It’s by invitation only and he’s invited me.”
“That’s great. When is it?”
“Early April, between Hilary and Trinity term. He’s hosting it at Magdalen and it’s funded by a research grant he was awarded.”
Gabriel squeezed her. “Who else was invited?”
“Cecilia Marinelli and Katherine. But it looks like Professor Wodehouse is directing it.” Julia scanned the recipient list. “No Professor Pacciani. No Christa Peterson, either.”
“Thank heaven for small mercies.”
“Paul was invited, along with a bunch of people I don’t know.”
The Angelfucker strikes again.
“Norris was invited.” Gabriel sniffed in mock umbrage. “But not Professor Emerson?”
Julia looked up at him. She bit her lip.
“Don’t.” Gabriel’s thumb tugged on her lower lip, freeing it. “I’m proud of you. You impressed Wodehouse when you gave your paper at Oxford. You earned the invitation.”
“I’m sorry you weren’t invited.” Julia looked unhappy.
Gabriel kissed her forehead. “Don’t be. This is great news. Wodehouse is not easily impressed.”
She studied her husband’s features. “And Paul?”
“Paul does good work.” Gabriel wore a pained expression, as if he were struggling to be positive. “Katherine probably invited him. Although I’m not sure why, since he doesn’t really work on Guido or Ulysses.”
“I want to go.”
“Of course. Email Wodehouse and tell him.”
“What about Clare?”
“We’ll come to Oxford with you.” Gabriel smiled. “Rebecca and I can take care of Clare.”
“Thank you.” Julia brushed her lips against his. “By April, Clare should be sleeping through the night. I hope.”
“Cecilia will see your name on the recipient list, but you should email her. And send an email to the chair of your department.”
“What about my maternity leave? I contacted Greg Matthews and Cecilia yesterday, telling them I wasn’t coming back this year. Won’t they be upset I’m missing classes next semester, but going to the workshop?”
Gabriel snorted. “I’m sure Cecilia supported your invitation. Greg Matthews will send out an announcement to your department, bragging about you.”
“I hope so.” Julia pushed her shoulder-length hair behind her ears.
Gabriel took her hand. At six feet, two inches, he was much taller than she. His large hand toyed with her wedding rings. “I’ve been worried about the aftermath of Toronto and how it would affect our careers.”
“Sweetheart,” Julia whispered. “I didn’t know you were still worrying.”
“You had enough on your mind. But Wodehouse’s invitation shows you are already making a name for yourself, even as a graduate student.” Gabriel’s blue eyes glittered. “That’s my girl.”
Julia beamed. “Thank you.”
Gabriel twirled her in a circle and dipped her, her laughter ringing out. “I had an interesting email this week, as well.”
“What?”
Gabriel retrieved his cell phone from his nightstand. “You may want to sit down.”
“Why?” Julia sounded alarmed. “What happened?”
Wordlessly, Gabriel scrolled through his email and handed the phone to Julia.
She read the screen.
And then she brought the phone closer to her eyes and read it again. And again.
“Holy shit.” She lift
ed her head, her mouth hanging open. “Is this—is this what I think it is?”
Chapter Fourteen
Gabriel took the phone from Julia and quickly put on his glasses. He read aloud,
“The University Court of the University of Edinburgh is pleased to invite you to deliver the annual Sage Lectures in Literature in 2013. The Sage Lectures were founded in 1836 at the bequest of Lord Alfred Sage. The Lectures take place annually, usually in the second term.
It is customary for the Sage Lecturer to arrive on campus in the first term of the academic year and then remain in residence while delivering the Lectures in the second term. We invite you to be our Sage Lecturer in residence during the 2013–2014 academic year.”
He scrolled down. “Compensation, accommodation, airfare, publication, media, et cetera.”
Julia sat on the edge of the bed, stunned.
Gabriel peered over the rim of his glasses. “Darling?”
“The Sage Lectures,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can barely believe it myself. I must be one of the youngest lecturers they’ve ever invited.”
“When did they email you?”
“The day we left the hospital.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gabriel frowned. “You were upset that day. I was going to tell you the following morning, but then we were at the hospital.”
“You could have told me last night.” Her tone was reproving.
“I was waiting for the right moment. I haven’t answered them. I haven’t spoken to my chair or to anyone from Boston University. I wanted to discuss it with you first.”
Julia closed her eyes and touched her forehead. “I don’t see how this is going to work.”
Gabriel froze. “Why not?”
“Because I’m in coursework next year. Clare and I will be here in Cambridge, but you will be in Edinburgh.”
“You can take a leave of absence and come with me.”
Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno) Page 6