by Dianne Drake
That’s why she loved him. He was passionate about his desires. And they weren’t selfish, like the desires of every other man she’d ever had in her life. Her father, Mauricio, even her one-time date with the chocolates and champagne. There was nothing in Paul that could be selfish. “You’re an honorable man, Paul, and an honorable man would do the honorable thing. But given the proximity of what our relationship would be if we…”
She paused, shoved her hair away from her face, and squeezed shut her eyes for a second, trying to get hold of her nerves. “Our relationship, you traveling in one direction and me in another, and with all your hopes and dreams pinned to settling down with a wife and children someday…” Solange opened her eyes and turned to face Paul. “Don’t you see? You even said you’d raise those children so I could keep doing the kind of doctoring up in the mountains I want to do. You might delude yourself at first that this could work, that we could live happily ever after in our own strange way, but eventually you would come to resent me, maybe even hate me.”
“Because you can’t have children?” His voice softened. “Do you really believe I’m that shallow, Solange?”
“Not shallow, Paul. Realistic. You said you and Joanna might have had a stronger bond if you’d had children, that the outcome of your marriage might have been different.”
“Of course it would have been different and, yes, there would have been a stronger bond. Would our marriage have survived, though?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It might have gone on a while longer. But it might have ended as it did. There’s no use speculating on what might have been because all that’s in the past.”
“Like my ability to bear children.”
“Dammit, Solange. I don’t care about that.” He stepped forward to pull her into his arms, but she placed the palms of her hands on his chest and shoved him away.
“My father wanted his legacy, Paul. He never had a son, and he still wants one, or at least a grandson. He’s passionate to continue the Léandre line with the male heir that my mother didn’t give him. Even Mauricio, as shallow as he was, wanted the same thing. And so do you…a dozen of them, in your own words.”
“Dumb words,” Paul said. “And I’m so sorry.”
“Not dumb. Honest.” Solange opened the door and stepped outside. The small infirmary was becoming too confining. “I had a breakdown, Paul. You know that already. That’s when I went to stay with Frère Léon. After the hysterectomy I couldn’t cope with all the changes, so I went away for a while.”
“Hormones?”
She nodded. “Hormone surges and finality. A punch for which no one is ever prepared.”
Paul stepped up behind Solange and wrapped his arms around her. “I wish I’d been there to help you through it.”
The feel of his arms around her was so good, and she ached to deceive herself that she could stay there, just like they were in that moment. But that was merely a delusion. He would fight passionately for her now, but in the end, after a year, after five years… “There are so many things that can pull even the strongest bond apart. My parents had a strong bond, yet my father cheated on my mother. And he did love her, I’ve never doubted that. But the life they lived took a horrible toll, and I can still remember all the lady visitors to our guest house when Papa was alone and Maman was in Paris. That was a strong marriage he was cheating on, Paul. One he truly wanted and believed in.”
“Because he was a weak man,” Paul said. “In the end, for all your father’s outward strength, he’s a weak and very sad man over it. I think it will haunt him the rest of his life.”
She pushed out of his arms and spun to face him. “You knew?”
“He told me weeks ago when he warned me away from you. He believes I would do the same to you, given the way we would lead our lives. And, yes, he does want to see you settled and having babies, and he says I’m not settled enough to settle you.” He pulled her back into his arms. “But I wouldn’t cheat on you, Solange! If that’s what you’re afraid of, I would never cheat.”
“I know you wouldn’t,” she whispered. “But I’m so frightened of that look on your face when you realize, one day, that you need more than I am. Paul, I couldn’t bear that.”
Two children wandered through the door, waving at Paul. “Hacky sack,” one of them called, holding up one of the bean bags Paul had brought weeks earlier. “Hacky sack, please, Doktè!”
“Go play hacky sack,” Solange said.
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Paul. This is where I belong.” She stepped off the porch and headed to the donkey shed. Gertie and Pete and Lulu were down with Ràfer Babin right now. But she needed to get away from Paul, and going anywhere was better than staying.
What have I done? Paul asked himself as he kicked the hacky sack to the smaller of the two boys. Solange loved him. He knew that with all his heart. But she was so frightened…frightened by the things her father had done, by the way Mauricio had treated her and, yes, even by him, by the things he’d said.
“She should have told me,” he said to the boys, who clearly did not understand him. “Instead of hiding it from me like it was an embarrassment, she should have told me. Of course, I didn’t exactly make that easy for her, did I, with all that talk of wanting children?”
The older of the two boys tossed the hacky sack straight up in the air and Paul snatched it with his hand, then tossed it over to the younger of the boys to start the next round of play. Squealing with delight, the child lifted his knee and totally missed the bean bag, then dove to the ground to get it before his playmate could. The older boy dove at the same time, and the two of them tussled about in the grass for a few moments, before Paul swooped in, grabbed the hacky sack then held it high for the boys to jump at and try to grab from his hand.
Yes, he did love children. And the older he got, the more he realized that once he’d finished this part of his life—the part where he was a road warrior, always going out to look for funds—he wanted to settle back into being a doctor again, but a doctor for children with infectious diseases. A small specialty that he’d been thinking about since he’d met Tsombé. That was still quite a while into the future, but something he wanted, almost as much as he wanted Solange.
“I love you,” he shouted at the donkey shed, as he lowered the hacky sack enough to let the younger of the boys grab it. “And nothing has changed. I want to marry you, Solange.”
Of course she didn’t answer. It would have been nice if she’d heard his words and come running straight into his arms. But that wasn’t Solange. Not at all. And all he got for his effort was a hacky sack kicked straight into his gut.
The boys, seeing what had just happened, backed away, wide-eyed and ready to run, but Paul held out the toy with one hand and invited them closer with the other. “Don’t ever run away from challenges,” he told them. “Especially not if something you want very badly is at the other end of the challenge.”
Something you want very badly…
Solange!
“Look, boys, I’ve got to go take some of my advice. And it may take a while.” He waved goodbye as he headed for the shed. It might take a while? Hell, it might take for ever. But this was what he wanted very badly, and Solange was at the other end of the challenge.
Solange ducked away from the shed window when she saw him coming straight there, and grabbed a pitchfork to shuffle up the straw. “I don’t know what to do, maman,” she whispered. “He says it doesn’t matter that I cannot give him children, and maybe right now it doesn’t, but…I just don’t know.”
She tossed the straw angrily into a pile in the corner, her back to the door when Paul stepped inside.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
She didn’t turn around to face him. Couldn’t.
“Solange, I love you, and you love me. At least be decent enough to admit that much—that you love me. Because you do, and you cannot lie about it. Not to me, and not to yourself.”
“We might not always be together, but we would always be on the same mission, with the same goal, and that does make us close, Solange. Closer than most couples who live together every day, every night.”
Maman!
“Will you at least answer a question for me?” Paul asked, stepping up behind her, his voice so quiet she could barely hear him.
She could feel his presence. Even if she hadn’t known he’d been there, she would have felt him there—that little tingle that always shot up and down her arms, the quickening of her heartbeat, that slight catch in her breath. It’s what she’d felt the first time she’d ever seen him and it’s what she’d felt every time thereafter. “Yes,” she choked, stabbing the pitchfork down into the straw.
“Do you want children, Solange? With all the argument and all the emotion over this whole mess, that’s something I don’t know about you. And it’s something I have to know. So, please, don’t tell me that you can’t. Put everything aside for a moment and just tell me if you want children.”
She steadied herself with a deep breath, flung another clump of straw into the corner, and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Very much.” More now than she ever had before.
“With me?”
She nodded. “Only with you.”
Paul shut his eyes and smiled. “There are many children to adopt, Solange.”
“Not of your blood.”
He chuckled. “You’re not of my blood, but I love you more than my own life. Love isn’t always about a blood connection. It’s about heart. That’s all.” He reached around, took the pitchfork from her hands and tossed it onto the pile of straw, then wrapped his arms around her. “And you’ve got so much heart for everything and everyone. I know that if you want children it won’t matter to you that they’re not of your blood. That’s not the kind of person you are. Any child who needs us will be ours Solange.”
She leaned her head back to his shoulder. “I’m so scared,” she said. “I do trust you and believe what you say, but—”
“Shh. That’s all we need. For now. And I’m not going to rush you through this, Solange. I know you’re dealing with many conflicts and, I promise, I’m not going to rush you into anything. But you’ve got to know, I love you, and I do want to marry you. That’s not going to change, no matter if you’re up on your mountain somewhere or I’m in Boston. I love you. And you can count on that.”
Solange blinked back the tears. “I am being a bit like my father,” she admitted.
“A bit? From where I’m watching this, you’re behaving awfully like your father. But you’re much cuter.” He pulled her hair up and kissed her lightly on the neck.
“I want to rebuild here, Paul. A bigger and better infirmary. And maybe someday a cottage by the waterfall.”
“Is there room for me in that cottage?”
“Yes, there is. But what about your hospital, Paul? You can’t walk away from it.”
“I don’t intend to, like you don’t intend to walk away from your mountain. That’s who we are, Solange.”
She turned to face him. “So is this where we start to live by the calendar, marking off the days when we’re apart and marking in the days when we can be together?”
“If you’ll have me, Solange, that’s exactly how our life will be for now. And the rest of it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
“I do trust you,” she whispered. “More than that, I love you. And for now it sounds like a beautiful life, if you’ll have me with all my ups and downs and hormonal fits.”
“On one condition,” he said.
“Which is?”
“Could I go have a closer look at that scar right now?”
Solange entwined her hands around Paul’s neck and pulled his face down to hers. “Only if you’ll let me examine you for scars, too,” she whispered.
Paul sighed before he kissed her. “Examine away, Doctor.”
“My pleasure, Doctor.”
“It’s for you. I couldn’t afford it when we got married but I came across a great deal on the Internet.”
The gift wasn’t concealed well. Wrapped meticulously from the handle grip to the club, the paper molded right to it, and Solange beamed as Paul peeled the paper away, one strip at a time.
“A Ping Anser 2!” Paul exclaimed. “You remembered that?” Solange laughed. “Actually, you told me several names that day and that was the only one I remembered. I hope it’s right.” She grinned wickedly. “It was easier to buy once I knew the particulars of your measurements. That’s very important in buying the perfect putter, you know.”
Paul gripped the club and went through the motions of a putt. “Any time you want a measurement, just let me know. I’m more than happy to oblige.”
“You didn’t even know you were being measured, Doctor.” Solange fished a golf ball from her pocket and handed it to him. “Care to putt for real?”
“You don’t know how bad,” he said, setting the putter aside and pulling her into his arms.
“Excuse me. Hate to interrupt here, but it’s simply too small,” Frère Léon said, whooshing into the room, cane in one hand, blueprints in the other. “Much too small, and I’m not going to approve it.”
“And you’re referring to what?” Paul chuckled.
“The children’s ward of the Gabriella Bontecou Léandre Hospital, of course.”
“That’s such a nice name,” Solange said, smiling. “Thank you, Paul. She would have loved the tribute.”
“She would have loved the tribute, but not the small play area for the children,” Frère Léon persisted. He slapped the plans down on Paul’s desk. “I’ve reassigned the architect who designed this cubbyhole to designing a shed for Solange’s kiln, since he seems to thrive in creating small spaces.”
“You’re doing that for me?” Solange choked, throwing her arms around Paul’s neck and kissing him. “First the hospital name, then a pottery shed?”
Frère Léon glanced quickly at Solange, then at Paul, then slapped his forehead. “Did I spoil that surprise?” he asked.
Paul tossed him a fake frown over Solange’s shoulder. “It’s tiny, Solange. We’re going to build it with the leftovers from the building materials for the children’s ward. And it won’t be built until we see what’s left.”
“And I only bought you a putter.”
“Not just any putter. You bought me a Ping Anser 2!”
“Ping Ansers and pottery kilns!” Frère Léon exclaimed. “I’ve got a ward to build, and an old friend on his way from Jamaica who insists on doing the design of this thing—and doing it the correct way. He’ll be here in a day or two to begin.”
“Turning Frère Léon loose on this project may have been a gross mistake,” Paul said, winking at Solange. “He seems to think he runs the place now.”
“I do, when you’re off trotting to wherever it is you go. And it’s a good thing that I do, because someone needs to be in charge, especially since you’re spending so much more time up at The Mission these days.”
The Mission had been rebuilt for six months now, with a nice-sized annexe to the infirmary. There were four properly supplied hospital rooms instead of one, besides the actual infirmary area, which had been enlarged. It had been Solange’s father’s donation to the cause since he’d given up on the idea of getting his daughter into a medical setting of his choice. He still didn’t know that she would never bear him a grandson, but Solaina was pregnant now, and his frequent trips to visit her in Dharavaj seemed to make him forget all about Solange. For now. In time, she would probably tell him. When she and Paul were ready.
“As I seem to recall, you were the one who started all this,” Solange teased Frère Léon. “All of this.”
“And that part of my work is done.” He glanced at the plain gold band on Solange’s left hand, smiling. “Although you didn’t make it easy on me.”
“Well, let me make it just a bit tougher on you,” Paul inte
rjected. “I have a potential donor coming here to Abbeville in the morning. He’s interested in contributing to the children’s ward. Contributing substantially. And he wants to take a look at the hospital. But I’ll be up at The Mission with my wife, helping her handle the next clinic day. Meaning guess who’s going to be wining, dining and convincing the donor to give generously?” Frère Léon’s ankle was healing nicely, but it wouldn’t take him to the mountain again. In spite of it, he was settling in happily at the hospital, and Paul was turning over more and more of the administrative duties to him, including some of the fundraising aspects. Which turned out to be a wonderful match because both the good brother and the hospital were thriving. For Paul, it was a win-win situation. And the bonus was more time with Solange.
A broad grin crossed Frère Léon’s face. “And I have just the thing I believe will work on him. In fact, I’ll bet that by the time he leaves, his contribution will have doubled. Have a good trip. See you when you get back.” Frère Léon gave Solange an affectionate peck on the cheek then bounced, slightly off-kilter now, out of the office, planing his next venture.
“I didn’t bring the truck down with me this time,” Solange said, smiling.
“That’s OK. We can take mine up to Ambrose.”
She shook her head. “I think it’s time to introduce you to the tap-tap. And if we hurry, we’ll have just enough time for me to give you proper instruction before the next one comes by the hospital.”
“Proper instruction on how to ride the tap-tap? That wouldn’t, by chance, have anything to do with making me ride up on top with the other men?” Paul asked.
Solange shook her head, then grabbed him by the hand. “No. The only proper instruction you’ll be getting from me is on how a husband and wife can pass the time while waiting for the next tap-tap to come by.” She arched her eyebrows suggestively. “Or the one after that, depending on how that wait turns out. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even grow to love the tap-tap.”