“Madame, you’re in no condition to make that decision.”
She hung on weakly to his hands. “Please, doctor … let my child be born here. …It must be. …”
“Believe me, madame, I think I know what’s best—”
She bit her hand so hard the teeth marks left deep indentations, the perspiration pouring down her face. “I won’t go. …I refuse to go. …No one can make me. …”
When he saw the look of determination in her eyes, he said, against his better judgment, “All right We’ll wait a little longer.”
In the small sanctuary downstairs adjacent to the library, Madame kept to herself. She knelt with her rosary, praying to Mother Mary that she beg her Divine Son to look down on this new child about to come into the world and make him healthy and whole. And allow his mother to survive the ordeal. …
As the hours passed, the screams became more frequent. Jeanette lay in a pool of sweat, almost too tired to cry out. But somehow, with each pain, the screams came. Etienne was frantic and sat with his head in his hands. Jean-Paul, who’d come upstairs now, talked as though to comfort him, although, of course, it was himself that he was trying to reassure. He hadn’t been able to see Jeanette, but hoped she knew that he was just outside.
At this point, she was aware of none of them, of nothing except the pain and the hope that God would forgive her. …
The hours kept ticking away, though they seemed to pass more and more slowly. At eight o’clock in the evening Dr. Bernier examined her once again. The baby had dropped somewhat, but not enough. A Caesarean was too dangerous to perform, and the doctor chastised himself for allowing Jeanette to override his better judgment.
The minutes ticked away. Suddenly Jeanette let out an ear-shattering scream. Etienne began to groan … this simply could not go on. Dr. Bernier examined her again, and glory be to heaven, he began to see the beginning of life.
After twenty hours of excruciating labor, Jeanette’s child was delivered in a breach birth. Breathing hard, she relaxed at last, drenched in perspiration, as the child, still in its placenta, was placed on her abdomen. She looked down at the tiny figure, and from that moment, she was never to know a love as great, as all-encompassing, as this. She had fought, and she had won. And, for now at least, it seemed God had forgiven her. …
This was the flesh of her flesh. She did not think of Jean-Paul, or of Etienne, but only of this small pink ball that lay on her belly. …
Once the cord had been severed, the nurse prepared the child and brought it to its mother. Dr. Bernier, in his shirt sleeves and mopping his forehead, went into the hall where Etienne and Jean-Paul were waiting. He took off his glasses and wiped them. “Well, Etienne,” he said, “you have a son.”
Etienne was almost transfixed. Jean-Paul couldn’t restrain a little jump for joy, repeating, “A son … a son!” He took Etienne by the shoulders and shook him. “You lucky man, you have a son. A son, a new Dupré.”
“Yes, by God, I have a son.” Then, turning to Dr. Bernier, Etienne asked, “How is she?”
“Fine. The labor was very hard, and unnecessary. How she came through it, I don’t know. I wasn’t sure there for a while. But congratulations, she’s going to be fine.”
“Thank God,” Etienne said. “When can I see her?”
“Soon,” and the doctor went back in to see his patient.
Jean-Paul ran down to give his mother the good news. She came back upstairs with him and went to Etienne at once.
“Oh, Etienne, my son. Now you yourself have a boy. How blessed we all are.”
They embraced. Jean-Paul watched his crippled brother secure in the arms of his mother, when it should have been him in her arms being congratulated. …
When Jeanette had been freshly gowned and groomed, with Madeleine’s help, and had the infant in her arms, Etienne came to her side and kissed her. “Thank you, my love, for this gift”
The child weighed less than six pounds. Tiny and wrinkled as he was, Jeanette thought, he did seem to look like Jean-Paul, though only a little more than any Dupré. The sign of the family was unmistakable and strong.
Madame stood at the other side and kissed Jeanette, then looked at the child and thought with satisfaction … this was a new beginning for the Dupré line, a glorious one to perpetuate it. Jean-Paul, who had just come in, kissed Jeanette on the cheek. “Congratulations … you and Etienne are surely the most fortunate people in the world, and since I have been asked to be godfather, may I offer all of my thanks for giving us all a Dupré to carry on our name.” And then, like a true diplomat, he kissed her hand. During his speech, she kept her eyes steadily on a point on the wall behind him. …
“Now, I think you should all leave. I believe madame is very tired and should rest,” Dr. Bernier said as he put on his coat. “And I’ll see you in the morning,” he said to Jeanette.
Antoinette Dupré detained the doctor as he was leaving. “Thank you, thank you, doctor, but please tell me one thing. …Will the baby have to be put in an incubator?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“It’s always been my understanding that a premature baby required one.”
“Not in this case,” he said quickly. “The baby’s weight is quite normal.”
“Really …? My babies, of course, weighed much more—”
“But you, Madame, were able to carry nine months.”
“That’s true. …” And then she forced herself to ask, “And is the child perfect in every other way?”
“Absolutely perfect. …”
The nurse arrived soon after the doctor left. She would remain with Jeanette and care for the newborn child. She was a large and jovial woman in her mid-fifties, and most efficient. She took charge immediately.
Although Jeanette was exhausted from the long ordeal, she asked to hold the child for just a little longer. She couldn’t get over the miracle of him. The nurse assured Madame that the child would be returned to her at seven o’clock in the morning. That would be his nursing time.
Jeanette reluctantly relinquished her son into the capable hands of Mademoiselle Loire, who took him down the hall to the nursery. Madeleine was waiting there to see the baby, all wrapped up in blankets. Looking at his tiny face, she could hardly believe that her friend Jeanette was both a Dupré and a mother. …Madeleine laughed to herself. Life was more unpredictable than anything. …Jeanette, who had stood on her feet twelve hours a day, working for Uncle Jacques, was now on her way to being the lady of the house. …God had singled out Jeanette for something special, no question, Madeleine decided. Clearly, she had been destined for more important things than Uncle Jacques’ laundry. …
Madeleine was brought out of her daydream as Mademoiselle Loire began to instruct her on how to take care of the infant. After all, Madeleine would take over the duties when Mademoiselle Loire left in a month. But Madeleine was too filled with awe even to contemplate that eventuality … the baby was so tiny, almost lost in the folds of the blanket. How could she, simple ordinary Madeleine, take charge of a child born a Dupré?
Promptly at seven o’clock in the morning the whimpering, hungry child was brought to his sleeping mother and laid at her breast. He sucked greedily, but without satisfaction, since Jeanette’s breasts had become dry. The nurse attached a small breast pump, trying to begin the flow of milk, but little came.
This is not a nursing mother, thought Mademoiselle Loire, but she had been at her profession too long not to be prepared for such an emergency. As the child began to cry, Mademoiselle went immediately to the nursery and produced a small sterile bottle from her bag, together with a can of powdered formula which she mixed with boiled water. Later in the morning Dr. Bernier would, of course, prescribe, but this would have to suffice for now.
When she returned, Jeanette was in tears and extremely upset, secretly knowing that because of her strenuous dieting she’d be unable to nurse her child. She hated herself, but what else could she have done? The child had to appear prematu
re. This didn’t appease her, however, as Mademoiselle took the child from her and sat in the chair, putting the rubber nipple into the infant’s mouth. Almost at once, the crying subsided as the baby sucked contentedly.
When he’d had his fill, Mademoiselle handed Jeanette her child. “I believe we’re going to have to bottle feed the baby.”
Jeanette bit her lip. “Maybe if I take a lot of nourishment I could do it?”
“Dr. Bernier will know what to do. …” The nurse tried to reassure Madame, but Madame was not reassured. A baby should lie at its mother’s breast, feeling the warmth of her love instead of sucking on a rubber and glass contraption. She, and no one else, was responsible for this.
But Dr. Bernier prescribed a bottle. “Many children do as well, or even better, that way,” he said.
“I don’t believe that.”
“But it’s true. Besides, we have no other choice.”
“What would happen if I took more nourishment?”
“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. A mother’s milk is built up during months of pregnancy. You’re even thinner now than you were when you first came to see me.”
She knew all too well he was not unaware of the reasons for her excessive dieting. “Well,” she sighed, “if it must be, then at least I want to do the feeding.”
“During the day, but the night feedings will be given by Mademoiselle Loire.”
“No,” Jeanette demanded. “I want my baby brought to me for all his feedings, day and night.”
“Very well, if that’s what you want … Now, please, let me examine you.”
He wasn’t at all pleased when he saw the tear, vowing that this would be the last child born in this bed. All of it could have been avoided if only Madame had consented to have the delivery in the hospital. He should have been more insistent, but after ten days of confinement he would take her to surgery and repair the damage. He discussed this with her now.
“How long will I have to be there?” Jeanette asked.
“A day or two at the most But it must be done. And now I have some instructions which must be carried out to the letter. You, my dear, are a very stubborn young woman.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I insist on it. During the next week, you’re to do very little visiting. I want you to get back your strength and gain some weight”
“I promise,” she said, and smiled back.
“All right. Now get some rest I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As he opened the door, Jeanette said, “Dr. Bernier, I can’t thank you enough for … well, for everything you’ve done for me. …”
He turned to look at her … this lovely young woman. He saw the gratitude in her eyes as she met his. He nodded his head in reassurance. Her secret was safe with him. …
Etienne came in soon after and kissed her softly on the lips. She drew him closer. “Motherhood hasn’t transformed me into a saint, Etienne. You can do better than that.”
“I can do much better than that,” and he kissed her with more vigor, than drew up a chair and sat at her bedside. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Happy. And how are you feeling?” she asked, knowing he hadn’t slept well.
“The father will survive. …”
She smiled. “Etienne … isn’t he beautiful?”
“Like his mother …”
“Well, thank you, sir … you mean I look like a little red lobster?”
Etienne laughed. “I mean he’s a Dupré, through and through. …In fact, he looks exactly like Lucien did when he was first born.”
She lay back against the pillows. …If only the child was Etienne’s.
“I’m tiring you, dearest, and Dr. Bernier left strict instructions about visiting. I’ll leave you to rest now.”
She reached out her hand, which he took. “Thank you, Etienne, thank you for your gift to me … your gift of love—”
“No, darling, it’s the other way around. You have given me a son, our son. …Now rest.”
“Will you be back soon? Please?”
“If you promise to eat and to rest and not to talk much. Otherwise, solitary for you, madame,” and he kissed her on the forehead and left.
During the day Madame paid her a visit, telling her how much happiness she had brought into this house (not mentioning that a year had passed since Denise’s demise and so the year of mourning was over; for her it was especially significant that a new life should come at just this time). She left then, saying she was on her way to see her newest grandchild.
Late in the afternoon, Jean-Paul came to see her. They were alone. He embraced and kissed her much too strongly, and when she said, “Please, Jean-Paul, I know how pleased you are, but this is not the time. …” He was annoyed and took a seat near the fireplace. She understood his feelings. The baby was his child, but Etienne was the one being congratulated. … “Have you seen the child?” she asked, softening her tone.
“The child? Don’t you mean our child?”
“Yes, of course … our child.”
“Then why don’t you say so?”
“Jean-Paul, you’re angry, and I understand, but only you and I know the child is ours.”
“We’re alone now, why offend me by saying ‘the child’?”
“Come here, Jean-Paul.” When he’d come back to her bedside she said, “Jean-Paul, I do know how you feel, not being able to acknowledge your own fatherhood, and I realize how much easier it is for me, lying here and having everyone make a fuss over me while you stand in the shadows … but please remember we knew this would happen. So … please, Jean-Paul, be kind to yourself as well as to me and try to accept the beauty of what we have brought into this world, the two of us … don’t punish yourself because other people, don’t know. It’s enough that we know, and I’ll do my best to try to make it up to you … well spend time together … you and I and the … our baby.”
As he stood looking down at this fragile girl in the enormous bed, his tension and anger did begin to subside. Of course, what she said was true … what other possible way was there for him? A smile broke through. “You’re getting to be a better diplomat than I am,” he said. “Well, may I now at least kiss the mother?” And he did, this time more carefully.
“Now, go in and see your beautiful son,” she said quietly, “who looks just like you. …”
He nodded happily, kissed her on the cheek and left Appointment to the Diplomatic Corps or the Croix de Guerre, he thought. For an orphaned ex-governess, this little lady was managing, no question about it …
The days of confinement dwindled. Each day the children went to see their new cousin, watching wide-eyed as Jeanette fed him. When the feeding was over, Jeanette gently rubbed the baby’s tiny back, waiting for the burp. With this accomplished, the two girls climbed onto her bed, Nicole on one side and Desirée on the other, and Jeanette let the little girls hold the infant on their laps. They couldn’t get over how tiny he was. Like a doll, Desirée said, and Nicole agreed. Even Lucien was impressed.
Etienne sat in an easy chair and watched. What a sight they were to paint …
Finally the time came for Jeanette to go to the hospital to have the surgical repair the doctor had prescribed. Afterward Dr. Bernier told her that she shouldn’t have personal relations with her husband for another six weeks. Etienne was still occupying separate quarters.
She went home and began to gorge herself, and in a few days was putting on weight, which Etienne was delighted to see. She was plied with tempting cream soups, pâtés and desserts filled with whipped cream that Clothilde made sure would excite her appetite. …But Jeanette, self-deprived for so long, needed very little coaxing, and by the time of the christening she was her old self again.
For his baptism the infant was dressed in the same silk and lace robes that Jean-Paul and Etienne had worn. The same tiny lace bonnet was placed on his head and tied under the chin by his doting grandmother, who for the first time in many years had changed from black. Instead she wore a light-gray si
lk dress with matching shoes and bag and white kid gloves. She had carefully selected the jewels which such an occasion called for. Her hat was a small cloche covered with violets, and around her neck she wore a sable scarf. This, she felt, was the way a Dupré grandmother should look when she witnessed a new heir being anointed into the faith.
The excitement grew with every moment as Jeanette dressed with the help of Madeleine, who, of course, would also be present as a guest.
Etienne walked into Jeanette’s dressing room and saw her standing there in a hyacinth-blue silk suit with matching pumps and bag. Her tiny hat, adorned with spring flowers, sat on the back of her head, revealing the chignon. Around her neck she wore the pearls that Madame had given her on her wedding day, and the diamond clasp shone brightly whenever the sunshine caught it, embellishing its many facets. With delicately rouged lips and cheeks, her fair unblemished skin, she was indeed something lovely to look at, and he could not get enough of her.
She returned the compliment as she observed him in his gray striped trousers, deep gray waistcoat, gray silk cravat, in the middle of which was a pearl stickpin—the whole topped off with a shiny black top hat that he now carried. Just as she was about to slip on her short soft leather gloves he took her hand and fastened a diamond bracelet around her delicate wrist
“Oh, please, Etienne, you’ve already given me so much, you’re too good to me, and so good for me,” and meant every word in ways she could never tell him.
He held her for a long moment and then went into the nursery, where Madame already held the child in her arms, and the three of them walked down the stairs to join the rest of the family … including, of course, Jean-Paul, who stood there with Uncle Leon. Leon had arrived only yesterday and would be returning immediately after the ceremony (which, for him, was something of an alien affair and one he would never have attended if it were not for his beloved niece and her child … this, he had decided, he owed the memory of her father as much as herself). The adults rode in the same limousine, with Madame holding her grandchild, while the older children and Madeleine followed behind in the second on their way to Nôtre Dame Cathedral.
Days of Winter Page 35