1929

by M. L. Gardner

  “I know you would,” he said and smiled with a sympathetic look. “God knows you shouldn’t have to, though.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes it amazes me that you’re still here,” he said quietly. She looked at him with confusion. “When I met you, I had nothing and I worked my ass off to build us a life, and then . . . there it went and I was back to nothing. Yet, here you are. Still.”

  “Of course, I am, Aryl.” She didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended.

  “I’m just really thankful for that is all,” he said softly.

  “Aryl.” She slid her hands from his shoulders up his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head. “Don’t you understand? I can’t be anywhere you’re not,” she whispered, temporarily losing herself in the depth of his dark-brown eyes. “No matter what we have or don’t have, it isn’t possible to live without you.”

  He smiled and pulled her tight against him. “I love you,” he whispered just before he kissed her. He broke the kiss and touched his forehead to hers. “Even if we had to spend the rest of our lives on a feather tick in my parents’ living room?” he asked and grinned playfully.

  “Yes. Even then.” She glanced at the house. “But this is great, too. Much more–” She flashed insinuating eyes, “convenient to have our own place.”

  “I agree. I think I’ll spend the whole first day walking around entirely naked,” he announced with a sly grin. She laughed and released his head. “C’mon.” He took her hand and pulled out two keys. “I’ll show you the inside.”

  ∞∞∞

  “How far away is that rental?” Kathleen asked and grinned mockingly as Aryl and Claire came up the walk.

  “Oh. Well, you know, we had to do a thorough walk through, make lists, measure windows, that kind of thing,” Aryl said nonchalantly as they walked past her. Claire refused to look directly at her mother-in-law's insinuating grin.

  “Well, that’s good. Aryl, ya fly’s open and ya shirt’s stickin’ out in the back,” she snickered. Claire blushed crimson and scurried past them into the house.

  “Kathleen, leave those poor kids alone. I swear, you do love tormenting them.” Michael shook his head hopelessly. “Make ‘em self-conscious about it and you’ll never get those grandbabies.” He shook a finger in warning.

  “Oh, I’m only teasing.” Her mouth twisted into the same mischievous grin that Aryl’s did when he was teasing Jonathan and Caleb.

  ∞∞∞

  Ethel and Hubert’s house was brimming by the time Jonathan, Ava, Jean and his parents arrived. Arianna sat in the corner of the living room in a rocking chair, a blanket thrown over her shoulder as she nursed one of the babies.

  “This is all I do,” she said, not entirely joking. “I’m a walking dairy.” She peeked under the blanket, arranged herself, and then handed Samuel to Caleb, who then deftly handed her Little Girl. Everyone crowded around Arianna, and Little Girl screamed in protest, preferring food over attention.

  Caleb closed one eye and stuck a finger in his ear. “She’s the loud one,” he said and grinned. Arianna threw the blanket over her other shoulder and the wailing stopped quickly.

  Aryl smiled at Samuel, who was perched high on Caleb’s shoulder. “Hey, little guy, remember me?” Caleb turned around.

  “Oh, that’s right. You two have met.” He rubbed his sore arm and handed Samuel off to Aryl. “She feeds and I hold. And neither one of us sleep.”

  “The whole house doesn’t sleep,” Hubert interjected, sitting by the fireplace, grinning. Everyone laughed in sympathy. He stood up with the grunts of old age and stiff bones. “I’ll get you a hot pad for your arm while you’ve got your friends here to do the rocking for a while,” he said and smiled, patting Caleb on the back as he passed.

  Jonathan watched him leave and then looked with question at Caleb. Caleb shrugged and blinked with a grin, telling Jonathan it had all worked out. Jean tugged at Jonathan’s shirt. Jonathan bent over while Jean whispered something in his ear.

  “Oh, okay, well, let’s introduce you then.” He took Jean by the shoulders and walked him over to Aryl, who sat down on the couch to let Jean get a better look at Samuel.

  “He’s so little. I’ve never seen a bebe this close before,” he whispered.

  “Well, here.” Caleb picked Jean up from behind and sat him next to Aryl. “Why don’t you hold him?”

  Jean looked up with wide eyes. “I won’t hurt him?” he asked panicky.

  “You won’t hurt him.” Jonathan rumpled his hair as Caleb took Samuel from Aryl and helped position him in Jean’s arms.

  “No,” he whispered. “I would never hurt him.” He looked over the little baby in awe. Samuel reached up and grabbed Jean’s finger, gripping it tightly. Jean’s face lit up as he looked from Caleb to Jonathan. “He likes me!”

  “Of course, he likes you,” Jonathan said. In getting to know Jean, he had recognized the pattern that Jean’s first and foremost concern was whether people liked him, and he grew very insecure when they didn’t. He still fretted over Ava’s chilly disposition. Jean’s brow furrowed in concentration.

  “What is he? To me, I mean.” He looked up at Jonathan with big eyes.

  “Well . . . .” Jonathan narrowed his matching eyes.

  “You’re his cousin,” Caleb said, squatting down in front of him.

  “I’m his cousin? What do I do as a cousin?” he asked with concern.

  “Well, when he gets older, you can play with him, be his buddy, and teach him things, and look out for him,” Caleb said, “like your dad did for me when we were kids.” Jean looked down at Samuel with all the seriousness he could muster.

  “Oh, I will,” he vowed.

  May 17th 1930

  “Dinner's ready.” Ava stepped into the living room, wiping her hands on her apron. Jonathan was sitting on the couch, hunched to the side, Jean whispering in his ear.

  “I’m not sure,” Jonathan said, returning upright. “But I’ll find out and let you know, okay?” Jean nodded, slid off the couch, and walked past Ava into the kitchen.

  “What was that all about?” she asked with the usual tight-mouthed, reserved expression she used with topics that revolved around Jean. Jonathan motioned for her to come closer.

  “He wants to know what to call you. He realized today he’s never called you anything. He’s only spoken to you when you happened to be looking his way or within earshot.

  “Well, I have a name. He can use that,” she said while untying her apron and wadding it up into a ball.

  “I suggested that. But . . . .”

  “But what?”

  “He said that being here with us almost feels like a real family. In Paris, he only had his mother, and now there are two parents. He feels like it’s too formal to call you Ava. He wants me to find something else.”

  “Well, he’s not calling me Mother, if that’s what you’re getting at.” She crossed her arms.

  “No, he doesn’t want to call you Mother,” he said. “Just think about it, okay? What you’d like him to call you. He’s going to need to address you at some point.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said quietly as he walked around her and into the kitchen.

  The three of them sat down to dinner. Jonathan’s parents had gone out for the evening and the mood was tense. It was left to Jonathan to make conversation.

  “Did Claire tell you that she and Aryl are moving out?” he asked.

  “She did.” Ava's eyes remained on her plate. “We’re supposed to help them move in on Saturday.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t take long,” he joked. “You want to do something after that?”

  “A picnic?” Jean suggested with Jonathan’s grin. “You can teach me how to throw the ball very far like you did the last time.”

  Ava threw Jonathan an annoyed look, recalling that throw and the subsequent flirting in an effort to get her attention. He read her face and grinned back at her.

  “Well, it worked,”
he said with a wink. “Do you want to have a picnic? Or maybe do something else?” he asked, inviting her into the conversation.

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” she said indifferently. Jonathan watched as Ava avoided looking at Jean completely while the child stole little peeks in her direction every few minutes. Toward the end of dinner, which had remained for the most part silent, there was a sharp knock on the door.

  “Who in the world could that be?” Jonathan asked as he rose. Jean stole a timid glance at her, and after he looked away, she stole one of him.

  The eyes. They’re exactly the same. If only I could look at his eyes and nothing else, she thought.

  There was a loud thud in the living room, and Ava jumped up to see what it was. Two deliverymen walked out the door, having deposited a large trunk in the living room. A delivery boy from the telegraph office waited while Jonathan dug in his pocket for a tip.

  A moment later, he opened the telegram and as he read, his face wilted into something between sorrow and gloom.

  “Who’s it from?” Ava asked, glancing over his shoulder. She read it, took a step back, and looked at the floor, waiting for Jonathan to say something. She turned for the kitchen as he spoke.

  “I need to talk to Jean alone . . . . Jean, come sit, please,” he said, dreading the task before him. “I have something to tell you. It’s not . . . good news.” Jean stared at him, not yet connecting the telegram with the trunk delivered from Paris. “Jean, your mother, she’s gone. She passed away last week.” Jean stared at him for a moment as if he hadn’t heard him at all. He looked down at his empty hands lying palms up on his lap. When he raised his head again, his eyes were full of tears. His father scooped him up and held him close before they fell.

  Ava peeked around the corner and saw Jean sitting on Jonathan’s lap with his arms tight around his neck, sobbing as quietly as he could. Jonathan rubbed and patted his back alternately, and bent his head, speaking to him in a voice too low for Ava to hear. She retreated into the kitchen and leaned against the wall. Her eyes filled with tears, not for Jean’s heartache, but because she was glad. And she was sure she would burn in hell for being relieved that another human life had ended. But she was. She hated herself for hating Elyse and for rejecting Jean. In her rational mind, she knew he was only a blameless child caught up in this mess. But the emotional side refused to communicate with the rational. Every time she had opened her mouth to speak sweetly or be kind, the intention shut itself down and what came out were monotone and cold words.

  “Did it hurt?” Jean cried between sobs.

  Ava gasped, and then her breath came quick. That’s what I asked my aunt when they died, she remembered. She closed her eyes tight against a flood of memories conveniently locked away for many years: being called up to say goodbye to both of her dying parents only one day in between, seeing them pasty white, still glistening with sweat from a fever that cooked them from the inside out, their eyes red-rimmed and sunken, mouths that wouldn’t stay closed. All this had scared her, and she felt guilty for it. And then later, she asked her aunt if it hurt when someone died. They looked like it had hurt.

  She fled the kitchen quickly, running through the living room and upstairs to the sanctuary of their bedroom and sobbed. She tried to shove the images, ones she never should have been allowed to see as a child, back down into the recesses of her mind and, in the process, had her first warm thought toward Jean. She was grateful he hadn’t been there to watch his mother die. And although the thought blindsided her to the point of her tears ceasing abruptly, she was appreciative that Elyse had had the decency to send him away beforehand, instead of selfishly keeping him as a comfort right up until the last.

  June 13th 1930

  “Do you have everything?” Jonathan adjusted the straps on Jean’s knapsack, bursting with everything he could possibly need for the weekend.

  “I think so.” He turned around and reached up to Jonathan, who picked him up and gave him a bear hug with growls that made Jean squeal with giggles. He gave his son a solid kiss on the cheek before setting him down.

  “Be good. Mind your Aunt Ahna.” He tousled his hair one last time. Jean waved to Ava and then ran to Arianna, who was waiting inside the Runabout. He hopped in the front seat, reached to hug her and began talking animatedly in French.

  “Seems like he’s doing better,” Caleb said.

  “He is, I think. It’s been a month.” Jonathan shrugged, wondering what the usual amount of time is for childhood grieving. The first few days, he cried off and on from morning till night and, for the most part, stopped eating. After a week, he began to come around; at least the hollow look in his eyes had faded and he would nibble at his food. The end of the second week was when Jonathan saw the most improvement. And it was in no small part, in his opinion, to the talk that Ava had had with him. Jonathan had come home early and found them on the couch. One cushion apart but clearly having a private conversation. He never asked either of them what they had talked about and neither one volunteered. But there was a peace between them now that didn’t exist before. The last week had been hit or miss. Some days, Jonathan came home to him sobbing in his bed, clutching the framed picture of his mother and other days, he would find him drawing at the table, somewhat contented and it was Ava who was crying.

  When Caleb offered to take Jean for the weekend, Jonathan jumped at the idea. “I really think this change of scenery is what he needs. Get his mind off things till the sting starts to wear off,” Jonathan said.

  “Well, we’ll take good care of him,” Caleb promised as he turned to leave.

  “See you Sunday night.” Ava and Jonathan watched from the porch as they drove away, Jean's little hand waved wildly out the window. Jonathan pulled Ava close to his side as a sly grin spread across his face. “We have the whole weekend to do whatever we want.”

  “I know. I hardly know what to do first. Oh! Let’s go to the movie house in Boston!”

  His suggestive smile faded to a pleasant one. “Or we could do that.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Where are the bebes?” Jean walked into the kitchen and dropped his knapsack by the back door. He gave Ethel and Hubert a passing hug and darted into the living room to look for them.

  “They’re upstairs sleeping,” Ethel said with a smile.

  “Alone?” he cried with wide eyes. “What if they need something?”

  “It’s all right, Jean. If they need something, they’ll cry and we’ll hear them.”

  “Can I go sit with them?” he asked with pleading eyes.

  “Well.” Caleb looked at Arianna.

  “Don’t you want to play outside?” she asked. “With the piglets maybe? Or Caleb can take you for a ride on the horse?”

  “Not now. I’d rather sit with the bebes.”

  “Well, all right. Just don’t wake them up, okay?” Jean nodded so fast it looked like his little head might pop off, and he took off wildly up the stairs, slowing to light steps at the top.

  Arianna peeked in on him sometime later to call him for dinner, and he was lying on the floor in the middle of the room, coloring. Every ten strokes or so, he would pop his head up like a gopher and take a look at the babies, who lay sleeping together inside a floor pen, and then go back to coloring.

  “Le temps pour manger, petit homme.” He looked up and grinned.

  “Bon. J'ai faim,” he whispered. He dropped back into English as Arianna closed the door softly behind them.“I didn’t wake them.”

  ∞∞∞

  “I didn’t know I got letters.” Ava picked up two letters from the kitchen table.

  “Mail must have run late today.” Jonathan rummaged through the icebox for leftovers to reheat. “You mind eating before we go?”

  “That’s fine,” she said distantly as she began reading a letter from Shannon. “Oh, no,” Ava breathed.

  “What’s wrong?” Jonathan set a pot of vegetable stew on the stove and lit the pilot light.

  “Patrick was la
id off, says that jobs are harder and harder to come by, says what Maura said, that it’s good we got out of the city.” Jonathan sighed heavily.

  “I’m sure he’ll find something. He’s very versatile.”

  “I hope so,” she said as she opened the other letter, from Maura.

  “What?” she yelled out. “Ian lost his job, too.” She leaned forward, chewing on her thumb as she kept reading–more about the bread lines, small food riots and the break in. She looked up in disbelief. “They got robbed.” She stared at Jonathan, her mouth hanging open.

  “Oh, no.” Jonathan leaned against the stove with crossed arms. “What did they lose?”

  “Food. That’s all they took. Wiped out their icebox and cupboards. Didn’t even look for valuables, not that they had any.” She continued reading, shaking her head slightly.

  “Does Maura still have her job?”

  “I think so, she hasn’t said otherwise,” she said and smiled wistfully at the last line of the letter, Oh well, it isn’t the end of the world. “How can she keep such a good attitude with all this?” Ava wondered out loud.

  “It’s admirable.”

  She crossed the kitchen and hugged Jonathan tight around the waist, resting her head just under his chin.

  “She said to tell you hello. Do you think?” She paused, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer. “Do you think sometime, we could go visit her?”

  “Maybe.” He kissed the top of her head. “I miss her, too.” They both turned to the entrance of the kitchen, hearing the front door close with a thud. His father walked through first, slowly, with a tightly drawn face. Margaret followed, sitting down unhurriedly in a chair.

  “Did you have fun?” Jonathan asked with a wary eye.