Vintner's Daughter

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Vintner's Daughter Page 14

by Kristen Harnisch


  “Lift her legs, ankles together, now.”

  Sara did as she was told and watched as Marie emptied the contents of the syringe into her sister’s birth canal. Lydia did not react. Her legs were limp in Sara’s arms and her skin was colorless. Sara’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. For minutes that felt like hours, Marie worked to revive Lydia, but nothing appeared to be happening.

  Marie put a small mirror to Lydia’s mouth and observed it intently. All Sara’s hopes and fears hung in the balance.

  “Sara, Lydia is not breathing.” Her words were unthinkable to Sara. She ignored Marie and squeezed Lydia’s slack hand with her own. She rocked back and forth at the bedside, whispering, “Stay with us, Lydie. Stay with us.” Sara placed her head on Lydia’s chest to feel for her breath. She could not hear anything over the cries of her nephew, but she could not feel the natural rise and fall of Lydia’s breast.

  This could not be. Sara rose to her feet and shook Lydia’s shoulders. “Lydie … Lydie! You must awaken for your son. Your son!” Lydia’s face was unresponsive, her neck and limbs slack. Her bright eyes would never look upon her son again. Sara’s hands fell to her sides and she began to sob.

  Marie gently pulled down Lydia’s nightgown and placed the baby to her breast. After some coaxing from Marie, the baby latched on to Lydia’s nipple and began to suck with vigor.

  “What are you doing?”

  Marie’s voice was soft. “He is hungry, Sara. He must suckle.”

  “But she has no milk and she …” Sara could not choke the words out. She shuddered.

  “He’s drinking the foremilk, and it has soothed him—see?”

  After a few minutes, the boy was full and drifted off to sleep in Marie’s arms. She offered Sara his tiny body to hold, but she protested. “No, he must remain with his mother.”

  Marie placed the baby in Sara’s arms nonetheless, and wrapped her arms around the two of them. Sara shook her head in disbelief. Marie held her cheek to Sara’s. Her voice was quiet but firm. “You are his mother now.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Rebirth

  Lydia was buried in a small patch of earth near the end of Mott Street. Before the nuns came to place her body in its pine casket, Sara had cleaned Lydia’s delicate skin with rosewater and vinegar and brushed her curls out until they shone in the candlelight. She turned her sister gently on her side and fastened the line of delicate black buttons down the back of her new blue dress. Sara knelt beside Lydia’s body and took her cold hand in her own. Her stomach lurched with grief. Holding Lydia’s hand to her lips, Sara prayed that God would deliver her sister’s soul into his eternal light. Then she opened the door to the sisters and postulants who were waiting silently in the corridor. Anne held the newly christened Luc de Coursey, who had fallen fast asleep.

  Sara asked them all to wait and took the boy in to his mother. She nestled him into the crook of Lydia’s arm so he could feel her embrace for the last time. As it should have been, Sara thought. As it will never be.

  For the next two days, all Sara felt was exhaustion. She could not eat or care for Luc. She could not bear the whispers and sympathetic conjecture of the sisters when she went to the refectory for meals, and instead hid herself away in the silence of her room. In the small hours of the morning, she lay awake, shining a light on her darkest thoughts. Was this God’s punishment? Had her family not endured enough suffering? What hope was there now of a new life in America when she had no family to share it with? What on earth was she to do with a baby? She knew nothing of his needs. She had no answers, and sleep was her only escape.

  But it was short-lived. On the third morning there was an abrupt banging on her door. Sara’s heart jumped with fear. Then she heard Marie’s familiar voice.

  “Sara, Sara! Wake up, my dear. If you don’t open this door, I shall be forced to break it down, and Reverend Mother will be cross indeed! Open up!”

  Marie’s voice was annoyingly cheerful, and Sara would have ignored her entirely had she not realized that it was very early—half the convent was still asleep.

  Sara opened the door. “Marie,” she sighed.

  Marie entered the room without invitation. “I have something for you, or rather, for your little Luc, but you must dress and come downstairs to the courtyard.”

  “I’m truly not ready, Marie.” Sara leaned against the door for support.

  “That’s nonsense,” Marie said maternally. “You’ve been holed up in here for two days, and that’s quite enough. You have a little boy who needs you, and you’d best get dressed and start tending to him.”

  Sara, taken aback by Marie’s stern tone, realized she had no choice but to obey. At that moment, Adeline poked her head in the door. “Maman?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, bring in the water, my love.” Adeline brought in a large pitcher of warm water that looked heavy for her to manage. She set it down and retrieved a red apple from her apron. She offered it to Sara.

  “For you, mademoiselle.”

  Sara managed a slight smile and thanked the girl. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the fresh fruit, which made her conscious of how hungry she was. She bit into it with relief.

  “Come down when you’re ready—no longer than ten minutes. I don’t want Adeline to have to come fetch you.” Marie smiled and closed the door.

  Sara washed her face and hands, tidied herself and made her way down to the courtyard. There her eyes met with an odd sight. Sister Paulette held baby Luc in her arms as he sucked from a bottle.

  “He’s a lusty little drinker, isn’t he?” Marie’s enthusiasm was met with a quizzical look from Sara, whose attention had turned to a four-legged, shaggy creature with drooping ears. Marie explained, “I have supplied you with a goat.”

  “A goat?” Sara was mystified.

  “Yes. I could not find a cow, which would be far too large for the courtyard anyhow. So here you have our little goat friend. Adeline has named her Josephine.”

  “A goat named Josephine,” Sara repeated.

  “She wanted Napoleon, but I suggested that perhaps Josephine would be more suitable for a milk-giving goat.” Marie took Sara’s arm. “Baby Luc can’t live on sugar water, so he will have nourishing goat’s milk, the next best thing to mother’s milk. Look, see how he’s lapping it up?”

  Luc made an unabashedly loud sucking sound that almost made Sara laugh.

  “Sister Paulette,” Marie cautioned, “that little man is going to need a sizeable belch after such a feast. Please see to it.” Sister Paulette nodded and turned her attention to her charge.

  “Such a creature is surely costly. I must repay you, Marie,” Sara said gently as she stared at the animal.

  Marie faced her with a determined look on her face. “I failed you, and for that I will be eternally sorry. Please allow me the small comfort of providing food for Luc and helping you care for him. In your generosity, grant me this kindness.”

  Sara looked at her nephew. “Don’t reproach yourself, Marie. I will gladly accept your gift and your assistance with the baby.” In all honesty, she didn’t know whether or not Lydia’s death was Marie’s fault, but she didn’t believe any doctor could have performed better. Lydia’s life had been in God’s hands, and he had stolen her away from them.

  Sara felt Marie’s hand squeeze her own. When she looked over at her friend again, she saw her silent anguish. Marie’s eyes were filled with tears.

  Sister Paulette, who had remained silent, handed Luc to Marie, took Sara by the arm and guided her over to the bench beneath the chestnut tree.

  “One of the things you may not have guessed about me is that I have experienced the kind of grief you suffer,” said the young nun. “I did not tell you, that day in the garden, that my father not only left us destitute, but the day after he told my mother the news, he shot himself in the head with a pistol. Convenient for him—not so for my mother and me.”

  Sara’s shock must have shown on her face, for Sister Paulette spoke again qui
ckly.

  “Don’t pity me. I tell you this because I don’t want you to despair. It’s only natural for us to lose hope when suffering is heaped upon us time and time again.”

  “Indeed it is,” Sara replied, growing weary of their conversation. “Forgive me, Sister, but I daresay it is not a benevolent God that permits the kind of violence and death that I have witnessed.”

  “This God you speak of—is he the same that led you to the safety of this convent and delivered a healthy nephew into your arms?”

  Sara did not answer.

  “All I am saying, Sara, is that your suffering is not in vain.”

  “Really? Then pray tell me, Sister, in your wisdom, what grand purpose does all this suffering serve?” Sara asked bitterly.

  Paulette looked away, and Sara worried that she might have hurt her friend. The nun, however, was not so easily discouraged. Her eyes filled with kindness as she placed her palm gently against Sara’s cheek. “If we do not struggle and suffer in this life, then what need would we have for God?”

  Yes, perhaps, thought Sara. However, with her own survival and Luc’s at stake, she would not accept this suffering in any measure. She would fight it every step of the way.

  Josephine the goat turned out to be a blessing. Over the next two months, Luc grew to be a happy and hearty baby. By October, Sara was thoroughly immersed in the routine of caring for him. Marie had shown her how to diaper, clothe, swaddle, feed, burp and bathe him. Sara thought the feeding and sleeping regimen strict, but Marie insisted that babies needed a predictable schedule and that deviation from it could result in disaster—or sleepless nights. Luc was a source of amazement to Sara. How could a creature so tiny relieve himself over ten times a day? He produced more soiled clothing in one day than any other human would in a week. Marie assured Sara that in the first few months of life this was, in fact, perfectly normal.

  Despite Luc’s robustness, Sara still feared pneumonia or typhoid—many children died before their first birthday—so she paid close attention to Marie’s instructions and, just as she had for her grapes, kept a detailed journal for Luc’s care. Marie advised that he should be allowed to cry himself to sleep and should not be held or kissed except during feeding time. Sara disregarded this advice entirely. When she swaddled him and rocked Luc in her arms, his sweet face, his warmth, comforted her. She knew that she needed to hold him for her own sake, if not for his.

  Sara was relieved to have a purpose. Caring for Luc took up most of her time, energy and anxiety. She had no time to despair or think upon the past, for she fell into bed exhausted each evening, to be awakened by Luc at least a few times during the course of the night. She would have had no idea of the month, or even the season, if it had not been for Sister Paulette’s mention of the convent preparations for All Hallows’.

  When she realized it was almost November, Sara knew she could not stay with Reverend Mother and the sisters for much longer. No matter how much sympathy they felt for her and Luc, they would soon ask her to leave. Sara couldn’t bear to think of life on her own with Luc. What if something happened to her? What would become of him? Where before she’d found the convent confining, now she didn’t know how she could leave its safety. Sara dragged her heels on the question for several weeks until an unlikely turn of events made her departure not only imaginable but necessary. In late November, while Sara was helping Marie with her laundry, Marie announced that she had received a letter from Adeline’s Uncle Philippe.

  Sara did not understand. Was this Philippe Lemieux? Wasn’t he Adeline’s father?

  Adeline clapped her hands and spun around. She peppered Marie with questions. “When? Do you think he’ll bring presents, Maman?”

  “He’s coming in three weeks.” Marie chided her daughter for her impertinence. “Perhaps he will bring a present, but we shan’t ask him. It would be impolite.”

  “Yes, Maman.” Adeline snatched the letter from Marie’s hands and pretended to read it. Marie returned to the laundry, which she’d hung on a line above the wood-burning stove. She slipped two clothespins onto her belt, removed the hanging sheet, shook it out and folded it into a neat square, with Sara’s help. The cotton warmed Sara’s hands.

  Marie explained, “Monsieur Lemieux has been our most generous benefactor. He takes good care of Adeline.”

  Sara was curious, but spoke carefully. “Yes, of course. Um, forgive me, but I wasn’t aware that you had any family in America.”

  “He’s not my family, but he is the brother of Adeline’s father. When her father abandoned me, Philippe took me under his protection and brought me to New York.”

  Sara could not help herself—this was all too strange. She waited until Adeline had disappeared into the bedroom before asking, “Where is Adeline’s father?”

  Marie hesitated before answering. “In France. He married into a family with land.” She lowered her voice to prevent Adeline from hearing. “It was apparently not enough for him to be in line to inherit his father’s wine brokerage. He wanted land as well. That’s why he betrayed me. He had promised to marry me, but it was a lie,” Marie said, her voice tightening.

  Sara could not believe it. She had thought Philippe was Marie’s seducer when, all along, it had been Bastien. To conceal her surprise, Sara knelt down to cover Luc, who was dozing in his Moses basket. “Where is Monsieur Lemieux visiting from?” Sara asked.

  “He has a farm in California, and he is coming to New York via Chicago on business. He says he has some news to share with us. I don’t believe all of it is good, though. The tone of his letter was rather serious.”

  Serious indeed. He had probably received word of his brother’s death. “Did you ever consider going with him to California?” Sara asked.

  “No. I was still with child when we arrived here at the convent. From what I gather, he gave Reverend Mother a substantial sum to look after me. He stayed in New York for the rest of my pregnancy, but I insisted after Adeline was born that he make his way out West, which had always been his dream. He had sacrificed a great deal for us, and I was quite content not to travel any more. The thought of long wagon and train rides at that point was less than appealing.”

  “I see.” Sara’s mind swirled.

  Marie finished folding the last garment. “Monsieur Lemieux is a good man. I am grateful that Adeline has such a gentleman to admire.”

  Sara was relieved when Adeline, twirling around the room, broke into the conversation. “May I sing Uncle Philippe a new song?”

  “We’ll see, my dear. Now, I’m sure mademoiselle has better things to do than help us with our chores.” Marie rose from the settee. “Thank you for your help.” She squeezed Sara’s hand slightly. “And for listening.”

  “Of course.” Sara was happy to help her friend. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, picked up Luc, still sleeping in his basket, and stepped out into the brisk winter air.

  There was no entrance to the main convent from Marie’s apartment in the back, so Sara walked down the narrow alley leading to the front of the building. These new revelations confounded her. About several things, however, Sara was very clear. She could not return to France, for she might be caught and executed. She could not stay in New York and wait for Lemieux to discover her. Lastly, no matter what the old priest had said, there would never be an apology from her lips. The price had already been paid: her innocent sister for that ruthless son of a bitch.

  As she thought of Bastien, bile began to rise in her throat, and her fists clenched in anger. No, even if her actions landed her squarely in hell, she would make sure she and Luc were taken care of here on earth.

  Sara resolved to depart at once.

  Sara’s anxiety grew every day she remained at the convent. If Philippe met her and discovered who she was, who knew what would happen to her—or, worse, to Luc? Though running might be a coward’s way, she could not risk his future.

  Sara knew she must go where she could find work. She could not cook or even sew adequately. S
he was a vintner’s daughter, and the only work she knew well was grape farming. Winter was almost upon the wine country in upstate New York. The journey to California would be much more difficult, but she had read that the milder climate and terroir were exceptional and that the fruit farming was very successful. California was a large state. They should be able to avoid Philippe Lemieux. She counted the money she had remaining: $135. Who knew when she would next have the means to travel? She would seize the opportunity now and head west to Napa.

  Sara purchased a train ticket to Chicago on the New York Central Railroad. Once in Chicago, she could buy a ticket to San Francisco on the Southern Pacific Line. From what Sara could ascertain from her map, San Francisco was the closest major city to the Napa Valley, and the southern route was her best option during the winter months. The entire rail journey would last about ten days, with stopovers in Chicago and Santa Fe, during which time Sara would purchase milk and supplies for the next leg of the trip.

  Before Sara left, she wrote a long letter to Maman explaining what had transpired in New York. She apologized for leaving France, and expressed her deep pain over the loss of Lydia, her mother’s favorite. Sara had gained a new compassion for her mother now that she had experienced firsthand the demands of motherhood. She promised to write again when she was settled, and expressed hope that once she had established herself she could send for Maman and they would be together again. In her last line, she begged her mother not to tell a soul of her whereabouts or her grandson’s, for fear that Bastien’s father would try to find them. Jacques could know they were safe, but no one else. She instructed her mother to burn the letter once she read it. She almost wished her mother a happy Christmas, but stopped short. Sara remembered the horror she had felt when Lydia died, and imagined what her mother would feel when she read that Lydia was gone: disbelief, anguish, frustration, guilt. Holiday wishes would not lessen her pain. Sara signed the letter with love, and dropped her pen. She would mail it from Chicago.

 

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