“I’ve only had them since Friday,” she continued, laying her head on his lean shoulder. “I don’t know if I’m up to it. The house is a mess and I . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to admit how out of control she felt.
“Do you think we should discuss this as a family?” Mathieu asked. “Perhaps if we enlist the children, let them know how you feel. I know I could certainly do more to help out. I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”
Marie-Thérèse’s frustrations began to ease with his understanding. “You do a lot. You practically take care of Raquel every minute you’re home.”
“Raquel is easy.” He waved to the baby who watched them from the baby swing Josette had lent them. She smiled and Marie-Thérèse felt an urge to pick her up. He was right. Raquel was easily satisfied and even more easy to love. Only once had she cried uncontrollably because of colic, and that had been resolved by gently rubbing her stomach and changing her position. Marie-Thérèse could spend hours simply watching her—if she weren’t so busy with Celisse.
She lowered her voice and said, “I don’t want to give Raquel up. But sometimes—a lot of times—I don’t feel that way about Celisse. Isn’t that awful?”
“No. It’s understandable. But does this mean . . .?”
“I’m not giving up. I felt the Spirit the other day, and I know I’m supposed to help Celisse.”
“Have you called Pascale yet and told her we’d like to keep them?”
Marie-Thérèse gasped. “Oh, no! I forgot! There’s just so much going on. I never seem to have a free minute. Besides, I wanted to talk first with Larissa and Brandon about our decision . . . Oh, Mathieu, what if she’s found a home for the girls? I know I’ve been sitting here complaining, but what if . . .?”
Marie-Thérèse was amazed at her own emotions. How could her attitude change so drastically in less than a minute? I want to get off this roller coaster, she thought. But she knew she couldn’t—or wouldn’t.
“Let’s call her now.” Releasing her, Mathieu went to the phone, while she quickly looked up Pascale’s number. The agency was closed, but he left a message, saying it was urgent. “I’m sure she’ll call back when she can.”
Marie-Thérèse let herself be reassured by his confidence. “I guess I’d better go find Celisse. I put her in her room after the last potty accident. I know logically that this whole mess is really not her fault—that it somehow stems from the abuse and neglect she’s gone through—but I needed to calm down before I lost my temper. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“No, though I do understand the frustration. Anyway, a little time in her room won’t hurt her.” Mathieu looked around. “Where are the kids, anyway?”
“Larissa’s in her room—actually doing homework, I think. Brandon’s in the sitting room watching a video he borrowed from a friend.”
“Brandon!” Mathieu called. A minute later he appeared and father and son shared a hearty hug. “Would you watch Raquel for a minute while we go talk to Celisse?”
“Sure,” Brandon said. “Can I take her out of the swing, though? I want to watch my show.”
“Of course.” Marie-Thérèse watched as Brandon removed Raquel from the swing.
“I’ve got a great video for you to watch,” he said in a voice two octaves higher than normal. “Don’t worry. I’ll cover your eyes during the scary parts.” Raquel smiled at him.
Mathieu took Marie-Thérèse’s hand as they walked down the hall. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “What if Celisse’s problem isn’t just your normal potty-training accidents?”
“It’s not—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I know I’ve only trained two children, but it doesn’t seem normal. Even Josette says that, and she’s got five boys.”
“Maybe we should take her to the doctor. Or if you think that might be too traumatic, we could call up that nurse friend of your mother’s. She might have an idea.”
Marie-Thérèse felt lighter just thinking about Monique. “I wanted to talk to her about finding a good pediatrician, anyway. Our doctor is good, but I think Celisse has problems trusting men. Besides, we need a doctor who specializes in sexual abuse.”
“Good idea,” Mathieu said solemnly. Then he sighed. “Oh, Marie-Thérèse, what have we gotten ourselves into?”
Marie-Thérèse managed a chuckle. “I don’t know, but I’m glad we’re in it together.”
* * *
An hour after dinner, they put Celisse and Raquel to bed and called Larissa and Brandon back to the kitchen table. There was one chair empty: the new one Marie-Thérèse’s mother had brought over for Celisse.
Larissa looked at them warily, while Brandon’s stare was curious. Marie-Thérèse prayed that her daughter would be open to what they had to say.
Mathieu cleared his throat. “Your mother and I have been talking seriously about Celisse and Raquel. We know having them here has not been easy for any of us—especially for your mother—but since the day I met those little girls . . .” He paused, suddenly overcome with emotion. Marie-Thérèse reached for his hand.
Swallowing twice, rather noisily, he continued, his black eyes glinting with moisture. “Since the day they came into our home I felt they belonged here and that we had a chance to make a real difference in their lives.”
Larissa began to speak, but Mathieu held up his hand. “Wait. I know you’ll all want to speak but I need to finish first.” He took a deep breath. “I knew your mother would be primarily responsible for their care, if they stayed with us, and I didn’t want to force her into any decision she would regret. She was reluctant.” Mathieu’s eyes met Marie-Thérèse’s briefly. She could almost feel a smile in the glance.
“Her reluctance stemmed from a lot of reasons—many of which I don’t think either of you could begin to understand. But she worried about our relationship with each of you . . . as well as Larissa’s continuing objections to adoption.”
“I was also afraid of losing the girls,” Marie-Thérèse said. I was afraid of losing them like I lost my parents and my sister, and like we almost lost Brandon that time in the hospital. I think you kids can understand that. The girls aren’t ours, and they could be taken away at any time . . . or maybe even go back with their mother.”
“Even after what she did to them?” Brandon asked. “No way.”
“We don’t know she did it,” Larissa said.
Brandon rolled his eyes. “She allowed it to happen—it’s the same thing. She didn’t fight to help her kids. She let people do horrible things to Celisse. She doesn’t deserve to have them back. I think they should stay here.”
“You’ll want me to share my room.” Larissa’s face flushed. “That’s what will happen eventually. Me and them in one room. They’ll be all over my stuff—touching it, using it, messing it up. It’s not fair!”
Mathieu calmly took his hand from Marie-Thérèse’s and reached for the portable phone sitting on its charger. He offered it to Larissa. “Okay, why don’t you call the social worker and tell her to take them back to their mother? Will you be responsible for what will happen to Celisse?”
Marie-Thérèse held her breath. Even if Pascale had discovered who their mother was, there was no way she’d take the girls back to her. Not yet, anyway. What are you doing, Mathieu? she thought.
Larissa didn’t take the phone. “There has to be another place for them to go. It’s too hard for Mom anyway. She was crying when we got home from school today.” The words came placidly, but her chin quivered slightly. She wrinkled her freckled nose. “I want things to go back the way they were.”
Mathieu replaced the phone and stared at her silently for a few minutes. “I’m trying to understand how you feel. I really am. I’m actually in total agreement about you having your own room. You’re a teenager now and the girls are small. You sleep at different times, your needs are different. I am in no way suggesting that you give up your privacy.”
Marie-Thérèse touched her husband’s arm to let him know she had somethi
ng to add. She met her daughter’s gaze. “I’m so proud of you for keeping your room so clean and orderly. I think I’ve begun to understand your concern about your room in the past few days since my own order has been so undone. It’s really frustrating. Your dad’s right. You’re old enough to need your own space.” Marie-Thérèse was gratified to see a small smile on her daughter’s face.
“Actually,” Mathieu said to Larissa, “you and Brandon would be more suitable roommates.” He held up a hand to prevent another onslaught of protests. “But I know that isn’t really reasonable. What I’d like to do right now is discuss our options—after your mother tells you what happened when she prayed about Celisse and Raquel.”
All eyes turned to her, and Marie-Thérèse smiled, trying to recapture the spiritual feelings that had so overwhelmed her the day before. “I could see your father really wanted to keep the girls—every day he was growing closer to them. Finally, we talked and agreed to pray about what we should do. So we did. Your dad continued wanting to foster them—with the possibility of adoption later on. I kept worrying about my orderly life, my fears, and” —her eyes met her daughter’s—“Larissa’s reaction. I realized that the girls wouldn’t be just a part of my life if they stayed, but they would take up almost all my life. I didn’t know if I was willing to sacrifice that much time, to lose that much control.”
Embarrassment crept into her voice. “Had it just been Raquel, the decision would have been much easier. Anyway, I told God I didn’t want to do it, and I felt so guilty for admitting it. And then it came, this . . . this feeling.” She sat up straighter in her chair, looking directly at Larissa. “That’s when I knew I had to try. I couldn’t stand by and let Celisse drop through the cracks. I knew we could make an eternal difference in her life.”
Mathieu cleared his throat. “I believe these girls have come to us for a reason. I know it won’t be easy, but if we all help, we can do it and be happy.”
Brandon was nodding, but Larissa’s face showed no expression.
Mathieu’s brow furrowed in frustration. “Larissa,” he said gently. “If your mother and I had been able, we would have had more children. We’ve always wanted more children. We have the chance here not only to achieve that dream, but to do something that will make a difference in the world. Celisse needs us, don’t you see that?”
Larissa’s gaze dropped to her hands, tightly gripping one another atop the table. Her short, spiky black hair shone under the lights. “Sounds to me like you’ve already decided.”
“We still want to know how you feel,” Marie-Thérèse said. “You and Brandon have always been our first concern.”
“Until now,” Larissa mumbled, bitterness lacing the words.
“We love you.” Mathieu’s voice was calm. “If you can give us a good reason for not helping the girls, we will certainly take it into consideration.”
Larissa wrinkled her nose several times as though she needed to blow it. “I don’t think you would, not really,” she said, her voice wavering. “Because we’re not enough. You still want more.” Her brown eyes rose to meet her father’s black ones, and Marie-Thérèse saw tears in them. “You want more daughters, at least.”
Mathieu scooted his chair closer to Larissa. He placed his hand next to hers, but she moved hers away. “Look, honey,” he said. “No matter what, you will always be my little girl, my firstborn daughter—flesh of my flesh. You are the first baby I ever walked the halls with all night. The first child I ever took to the zoo or had smear ice cream down my shirt.” Mathieu smiled at that, and even Larissa’s lips twitched. “No one could ever take your place in my heart. But you see, Larissa, love isn’t one of those finite things like cookies or chocolate that we have to gobble up quickly to get our share. Love is something that increases with the giving. The more you give, the more you have to give. There’s room in my heart for the girls, just as there was for you and Brandon when you were each born. It doesn’t mean I love you or Brandon any less. This I promise you with my whole heart. That’s why we’re sitting around this table right now. Your mother and I want your support—and Brandon’s. We need to do this as a family.” He took her hand now, and Larissa let him.
“I really won’t have to share my room?”
“No. Your mother and I are talking about moving into another apartment. We’ll even look for a place with two bathrooms.”
Larissa’s tight frown faded. “That would be nice.” She waited a minute before asking, “I won’t have to baby-sit?”
Marie-Thérèse was disappointed by the question, but she understood Larissa’s concern. “We won’t make you baby-sit, but I hope eventually you’ll want to.”
Larissa shrugged. “Then I guess I don’t really mind too much.” She inclined her head toward Mathieu’s. He followed the gesture and as their heads touched, Marie-Thérèse read contentment on their faces.
“I’ll watch them whenever you want,” Brandon said into the silence. “But what if you have to take me to the doctor? Won’t Larissa have to watch them then?”
Larissa pulled her head away from Mathieu. “No way. That’d be like practically every day. You’re always sick.”
“So I have a few allergies.”
“A few? You’re allergic to almost everything.”
“Children, Brandon’s allergies are not at issue here,” Mathieu said with a warning glance. “We promised we won’t make Larissa baby-sit unless she wants to and that’s that.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well then, it’s decided. We’ll become the girls’ foster family, if they let us, and maybe more down the road. Meanwhile, we’ll look for a four-room apartment with two bathrooms.”
“It won’t be easy to find,” Marie-Thérèse said. “Even one with small rooms.”
Mathieu smiled. “Maybe easier than you think. I know a good real estate agent.”
“Uncle Zack!” Brandon shouted.
“Have you already talked to him?” Marie-Thérèse’s words came more sharply than intended. She hated the idea of Mathieu going behind her back.
“No, but the Lord wants us to help these girls, and I’m sure He’ll help Zack find us the perfect home.”
Larissa rolled her eyes at her father’s comment, but she didn’t look too unhappy.
“Until then, we’ll make do here,” Mathieu said. “Brandon doesn’t mind sleeping in the sitting room and Celisse—and eventually Raquel—will share his room.”
Marie-Thérèse stood and pushed in her chair. “Guess it’s time for bed.” She felt itchy to check on the little girls.
“I don’t know. First we may have to do something about Larissa’s hair,” Mathieu teased. “With those sharp spikes, she might pop her pillow. She just about brought blood when her head touched mine a minute ago.”
Marie-Thérèse stifled a grin. While her daughter’s hair was much too short and spiky for her tastes, at least it wasn’t green or orange. Yet.
Brandon snickered, but Larissa stuck her nose in the air. “I like my hair.”
“So do I. Just don’t poke me when you hug me goodnight.” Mathieu held out his arms. “Come here, o thou daughter of mine, and give me a big hug and kiss.”
To Marie-Thérèse’s surprise, Larissa went into his arms laughing instead of stomping off to her room. Mathieu hugged Brandon next before heading down the hall to their room.
When Marie-Thérèse kissed her son goodnight, she didn’t like the rasp she heard in his breathing. “Are you all right?” she asked. The last time they’d seen the doctor, they’d learned he’d developed allergies to several more foods and was borderline asthmatic. Usually, she checked on him several times a night, but lately she’d been too busy with the girls.
“I’m fine,” Brandon said in a long-suffering voice before disappearing from the kitchen.
Marie-Thérèse opened her arms to her daughter. To her gratification, Larissa hugged her back. “I love you, honey,” Marie-Thérèse said. “And you may not believe me now, but Celisse and Raquel have love to give, t
oo. Think how close I am to your Aunt Josette, and how often I call her on the phone or go somewhere with her. Next to your father, she’s my very best friend. I’ve always been sad that you’d never have a sister. Maybe now you will.”
Larissa frowned as she drew away. “But you were crying today.”
“You should have seen me when you and Brandon were little. It’ll pass.”
“I wish she’d just stop pooping in her pants. That’s so gross. It makes the bathroom stink all the time.”
“Maybe nobody ever taught her differently.”
“That’s so sad.”
“That’s why we want to help her.”
Larissa titled her head back as though to study her. “I don’t really want them here, but I suppose if they have to be here then it’s good they have you. I think you’re a really good mom.”
Marie-Thérèse blinked back tears and tried not to show her shock at the compliment. “Thank you. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that today.”
“Maybe I did.” Larissa smiled almost shyly. “G’night, Mom.”
“Goodnight.”
Larissa retreated from the kitchen and Marie-Thérèse stared after her for a long time. She couldn’t decide if this was the first of many blessings to come or the calm before the storm.
Chapter Fourteen
Rebekka was weary when she finally arrived at her apartment with Raoul near dinnertime. Her brother was upset about the incident at the police station, and she worried he might do something desperate. He was so angry . . . and desolate. André had promised to see to Raoul’s car—left back at the station—and to go back to the office to take care of work.
In the kitchen, it was all Rebekka could do to get herself a large glass of milk and a croissant for dinner. Raoul came out of his depression long enough to ask her how she was feeling.
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