The California Wife

by Kristen Harnisch

  “Astounding. I had no idea,” Donnelly marveled, walking the length of the eastern wall framework. “I’m no expert on wineries, but I know a little about building materials. Have you considered using steel bars inside the walls to fortify the building in case of another earthquake?”

  Philippe rattled one of the wood frames, as if to test its strength. “Not a bad idea.”

  “The foundry’s received a lot of orders recently from builders in Napa and Sonoma,” Donnelly added. Philippe had been right all along: Donnelly’s family had an iron fortune. “You might want to ask your builder.”

  Just then, Sara called from the house. “Philippe? Can you bring in more wood?” Philippe thanked Donnelly for his idea, excused himself and headed for the woodpile.

  Marie could smell the soothing smoke from the chimney from here, but she could barely see the shadowy outline of the house, only its glowing yellow windows, square like postage stamps. The windless air chilled her nose, and revived her wine-dulled senses.

  Donnelly took her gloved hand, pulling her over to a nearby maple tree. Marie felt her heart beating in double time. He placed their lanterns on the ground, and leaned his shoulder against the tree. She could hear his breath, and she could smell his spice-scented skin, so enticing that she had to press her back into the tree to support her wobbly knees.

  “Marie?” He’d never used her Christian name before, but she loved the way it slipped off his tongue. “May I speak openly?”

  “Haven’t you already?” she replied, thinking of the many times he’d criticized her, or offered unsolicited advice.

  He smiled and linked his fingers with hers. “This is different.”

  “How?” Marie whispered, distracted by the strength of his hand.

  “Why do you think I’m here?” His bowed his face closer to hers.

  Marie didn’t know if the wine had washed away her reservations, and she didn’t really care. He placed a hand firmly on her waist, and she moved closer. Without thinking, she slid one arm around his neck and kissed him, relishing the touch of his lips on hers.

  He moaned softly, pressing her small frame against his chest. After eleven years of self-imposed singlehood, she gave in. Her hands tangled in his hair, and her body twined around his.

  Then Marie remembered she was a student and he a professor. She broke away, flustered, unsure of what to say. She focused on the lanterns at their feet, illuminating their shoes. His black ankle boots were shined and spotless, probably custom-made in Paris. She’d bought her worn, brown leather lace-ups at Kinney’s. Her heart sank.

  Donnelly fell back against the tree, rubbing his forehead, exhaling loudly. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. We shouldn’t do this.” He grinned impishly at her. “But I don’t care.” He pulled her back into his arms and held her there.

  Marie finally came to her senses. “But you’ll lose your place at the college, and I’ll lose my chance to become a surgeon.” She shook her head. “It’s impossible—for now.”

  “Not if we hide it. We could meet here, on the weekends.”

  “And then what?” Marie looked toward the house, hoping the light from their lanterns was too dim for Adeline to see. “I have a ten-year-old daughter, and I’m studying to be a surgeon. I don’t have time for a romance.”

  His fingers skimmed her jawbone. “I understand, but couldn’t you carve out a little time for me?” he asked gently.

  Marie paused. “Your family will surely object?”

  He laughed. “My family objects to everything. They’re still reeling from my choice of surgery over steel. Not that they’re a bad lot—but wealth often gives people the misguided notion that they know what’s best for everyone.” He wove his fingers through Marie’s chignon and whispered, “I only aim to please myself—and now you.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re so serious. I like seeing you more . . . relaxed.” His hands massaged her rigid shoulders. To Marie, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. She practically melted into him.

  “Summer,” she proposed. Her first year at the college ended in mid-April.

  “What?”

  “If you’re still interested, we can spend time together over the summer break.”

  “I can’t wait that long,” he said earnestly, pressing his forehead to hers. Her heart pounded with desire.

  “It’s only a month away.” She found it hard to believe they’d known each other for only seven months.

  He sighed. “Fair enough. But I’m meeting you, with your packed bags, at the ferry on April 19th.”

  “It’s a date,” she agreed. She couldn’t refuse him. Yet she made a promise to herself. If her relationship with Donnelly ever jeopardized her chances of graduating, she would end it.

  The summer months were idyllic. Matthew performed fewer surgeries during the summer, so he visited nearly every weekend. He hired a hackney to drive them into Napa City for dinner and dancing on Saturday nights, introducing her to ragtime music and even teaching her the new four-step. Marie couldn’t remember when she’d had more fun.

  When Matthew was in town during the week, Marie relished the long stretches she was able to spend with Adeline, who taught her all she’d learned from Sara about grape varietals and winemaking. During June, Marie, Adeline, Luc, Sara and Philippe all helped the vineyard hands prune the young shoots and leaves. After spending the last eight months in classrooms, and the ten years before in crowded Manhattan, Marie delighted in the fresh air and beauty of the vineyard.

  The work crews were busy constructing the new winery. Marie watched in awe as the enormous redwood and oak fermenting tanks were lowered onto the second floor and secured. Later the crews worked from morning until night shingling the immense roof. Marie helped Sara and Rose wash the picture windows on the first floor. She even learned to bake bread and made ham sandwiches with Rose to supply Sara’s thriving weekend wine wagon business. By nine o’clock each evening, she dropped into bed exhausted. Who would have guessed that farm life could be more taxing than medical school?

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Marie observed, holding Matthew’s hand as they strolled down Third Street. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Not at all,” Matthew flashed a half-grin. “I’ve just been thinking about Pippa. Philippe asked my opinion.”

  “I know. But Sara’s nervous about the surgery.”

  “Which is understandable. It’s risky, but it’s not uncommon. Dan Richards does ten every month—children and adults.”

  “Perhaps he’d meet with them and examine Pippa? I think Sara might feel better if she came into the city to visit your clinic. The operating room is neat and clean, and not nearly as intimidating as the hospital. We could explain the entire procedure to them.”

  Matthew stopped short. “That’s a good idea. I’ll call Richards on Monday, if he’s not on holiday like the rest of San Francisco.”

  “If he’s available, this would be the best time to do the surgery—before the harvest, and before Pippa starts school in early September.”

  “And you’ll persuade Sara to bring her?”

  “With Philippe’s help, yes.”

  Matthew seemed satisfied with this, but remained silent until he greeted their driver, who was parked nearby. Once he’d handed Marie up into her seat, he said somberly, “This is your family, Marie. What if something does go wrong, or she has a bad reaction to the anesthesia? She’s so tiny.”

  Marie cupped Matthew’s chin in her gloved hand. “From what Sara told me, Pippa’s mother wanted her to have the operation, and so does Philippe. Her ear infections are terrible. She has difficulty eating, and other children ridicule her. If it were Adeline, I’d opt for the surgery.”

  Matthew stepped up, planted his palms on Marie’s cheeks, and kissed her tenderly. “I know you would. You’re a fine mother, Marie.”

  Besides Philippe, no one had ever complimented Marie on her parenting before. “Do you think so?” she asked as he settled in his seat and directed t
he driver toward Eagle’s Run.

  “Why, don’t you believe you are?”

  She hesitated. “Yes, but because I’ve been working all these years, I worry I haven’t spent enough time with Adeline.”

  “Perhaps, but you’ve taught her perseverance.”

  “You think?”

  “Absolutely. She idolizes you. She’s an intelligent and sweet girl, just like her mother.”

  Marie cringed. “What did you really think of me when we first met?” She knew she must sound riddled with insecurities, but her curiosity trumped her pride.

  Matthew smirked. “Honestly? When I first saw you, I thought, ‘She is the loveliest young woman I’ve ever seen, and she’ll never survive here.’”

  Marie elbowed him in the ribs. “And now? Speaking as my professor, of course.”

  “Of course,” he said with mock seriousness. “I think you have an uncommon intelligence and intuition for medicine. If you keep your head about you, and resist the temptation to fall for your dashing anatomy professor, you may have a chance at graduating.”

  Marie swatted him with the back of her hand. “You are a devil!”

  “You love that I am.” He scooped Marie closer to him. They bumped along the road toward Eagle’s Run, silt spiraling in their wake.

  Chapter 30

  JULY 1902, SAN FRANCISCO

  Sara stroked Pippa’s hair as they sat in the foyer of Dr. Donnelly’s boarding house, more to settle her own nerves than the child’s. In fact, Pippa had been delighted to take her first trip by ferry into the city. She leaned back on the polished oak bench and swung her legs, humming. Philippe was pacing so steadily, Sara worried he would wear out the carpet beneath his soles.

  Marie, who’d arrived earlier, held Pippa’s hand and guided the family to the examination room on the other side of the staircase. Sara was so choked with anxiety that she couldn’t even string a sentence together. She was relieved when Marie chatted amicably with the child, asking her how big the waves appeared over the ferry railing, and whether she’d been able to see the city skyline through the thick fog. Philippe squeezed Sara’s hand, and she pressed her cheek against the curve of his shoulder.

  Matthew greeted them with a relaxed smile. To Sara, he was the epitome of capable and confident. He introduced an older man, Dr. Richards, who, he promised, was an expert in repairing cleft lips in children.

  Philippe and Sara took seats by the window while Marie eased Pippa onto the table. “Just lay your head down on this pillow,” she said soothingly. Her eyes never left Pippa’s, and her hand wrapped around Pippa’s small fingers. “Dr. Richards is going to fix your lip, so it will be easier for you to eat, drink and speak.”

  Pippa’s eyes widened. “I be pwetty?” she slurred, contorting her lips as she had to in order to form consonant sounds on the right side of her mouth. A lump formed in Sara’s throat. Marie rested her hand on Pippa’s arm. “Yes, Pippa, you will.” Marie nodded to the doctor.

  After examining Pippa’s face, throat and head, the doctor set out to explain exactly what he was attempting to correct. Sara didn’t understand a word, and when she looked to Philippe for reassurance, his expression was blank as well.

  Matthew jumped in to clarify. “What Dr. Richards is saying is that fortunately, Pippa has an ordinary cleft lip, which means the center and outer portions of her upper lip have failed to unite. It’s not a complicated procedure. Dr. Richards would be able to perform the operation today, if you agree.” Matthew looked from Philippe to Sara. Marie quietly ushered Pippa out of the room.

  Philippe asked, “How exactly do you plan to correct the problem, Doctor?”

  “First, I’ll free the lip from the cheek, to ensure there’s no tension when we pare the edges of the gap. Then we’ll stitch the edges together.”

  “Won’t she choke on all the blood?” Philippe asked.

  “She’ll be lying on her back, but the nurse will be compressing her coronary artery to control the bleeding. If necessary, we’ll turn her on her side, and that will prevent her from swallowing or choking on the blood,” Matthew explained.

  “She’ll be asleep during the operation, so she won’t see or feel anything?” Sara asked.

  “Indeed. We’ll administer chloroform, and after the surgery, when she’s awake and alert, we’ll give her some pain medication to help reduce her soreness.”

  “And is there a chance she won’t wake up?” Philippe asked, a tremor in his voice.

  Matthew glanced momentarily at the floor. A whimper escaped Sara’s throat. After a moment, he replied, “That is always a risk, but the nurse will be administering a very small dose, just enough to keep Pippa sedated during the operation. Marie and I will also be in the room, to oversee everything.”

  Dr. Richards cleared his throat. “Barring anything out of the ordinary, Mr. and Mrs. Lemieux, I expect Pippa to come through the operation with flying colors. She’s a strong, healthy little girl, and her life, and yours, will be much easier after today.”

  Sara’s eyes pleaded with Philippe, who was still by her side. “Thank you, Doctors,” Philippe said. “May my wife and I have a moment to discuss things?”

  “Of course,” Matthew replied, as he and Dr. Richards moved toward the door.

  Philippe sank down next to Sara. “I think we should do this for Pippa.”

  “But are we doing it for Pippa? Or are we risking her life to please a world that won’t accept her the way she is?”

  Philippe’s tone was firm. “We are doing this to give her the chance to be like every other child.” He pointed to the door. “That girl takes life by the horns. She’s not even four, and she’s already frustrated because people can’t understand her.” His face crumpled. “She can’t even smile, Sara.”

  Sara wiped her tears. “She’s your daughter—it’s your decision.”

  “You know that’s not true. I need you with me on this, Sara. One of the greatest gifts you’ve ever given me is caring for Pippa like she’s your own daughter. Pippa and I—we both need you to believe in this.”

  Sara walked over to the window and gazed out. Mothers pushed their prams down sunlit streets, and a huddle of children played hopscotch. She wondered why she had to make this decision today. But the answer was simple: she was Pippa’s mother. She turned back to Philippe. “All right.”

  His face softened with relief. There was a light rap at the door. Marie stepped in. “May I?”

  Philippe waved her in. “Of course.”

  “I have something that might help.” She began to flip through the pages of a book she’d brought in with her. “When I’m studying these tricky surgeries, the drawings are much more helpful than the text.” She opened the page and held it out for them to see.

  The heading on the right page read: “Congenital Deformity of Lips and Mouth,” and below that, two illustrations detailed the ways Pippa’s lip could be repaired. Marie pointed to the second one. “Dr. Richards prefers Mirault’s method here,” she told them. “He’ll most likely use this technique.”

  Philippe looked at the picture intently. “So her scar may be a bit jagged, not a straight line?”

  “Most likely. In his experience, the skin tends to fuse together better with this kind of incision.”

  Sara shuddered. Philippe pulled her close. “This is very helpful, Marie, thank you.” He took a deep breath and announced, “We’re ready.”

  The operation lasted longer than Sara expected. As she sat in the parlor, then paced around the stairwell and through the foyer, she was locked in a solitary prison of prayer and panic. Barely aware of Philippe, or the nurses bustling by, her mind kept wandering back to Pippa’s last words, their last moment together. Sara had bowed down to kiss her silky blond hair, which smelled of sunshine and soap. Pippa clutched Sara’s hand and, whispering words that only Sara understood, declared, “Mama, I bwave.”

  Sara swam in her daughter’s wide, cornflower blue eyes, humbled by the child’s spirit. “Yes, you are, ma petite f�
�e.” She smiled at Pippa, smoothing the hair away from her forehead. Pippa’s face grew serene. Philippe had to drag Sara out of the operating room and over to the parlor, where he sat her down and forced her to drink a shot of brandy. With every sip, Sara’s tense limbs relaxed. Though her nerves never fully calmed that afternoon, she managed not to crawl out of her skin.

  After two excruciating hours, Marie emerged from the operating room, walking slowly toward Sara and Philippe. Sara didn’t breathe until Marie broke into a wide grin. “The surgery was a success. Pippa came through beautifully.” She reached for Sara and Philippe and hugged them tightly, the three of them shaking with relief.

  Donnelly’s private hospital would reopen on the second Monday of August. The nurses came and went, helping to organize the stacks of medical records, scrub the rooms clean and make up the beds with fresh linens in anticipation of the new patients who were likely to appear at Donnelly’s doorstep next week.

  Under the admittedly thin pretext of preparing a special presentation for her upcoming anatomy and physiology class, Marie visited the boarding house three afternoons that week. She sifted through the medical files, jotting down the most memorable cases and their peculiarities. She followed the nurses around, sweeping floors and sterilizing bedpans. She made a point to leave when the nurses did, for she couldn’t afford any appearance of impropriety, even if Jane and Virginia did suspect something was going on.

  Marie’s favorite time of the day was four o’clock, when she knew the nurses would be sorting through the day’s deliveries and restocking the kitchen and supply closet just before locking up. Marie would slip into Matthew’s office and spend a few quiet minutes with him before she left for the day.

  On this particular Thursday, he had a playful spark in his eye. He pulled her down onto his lap and nuzzled her neck. “You know I simply can’t stand it anymore.”

  “Stand what?” Marie asked innocently, but when he kissed her deeply, she knew exactly what he meant. She felt a luscious, tingling sensation. She never wanted him to stop.