Painted with Love: Romance Eludes Time and Death

by Karen Diana Montee

  I was surprised that he broached the topic so quickly. “I plan to convince my mother that I’m not going to marry Andre.”

  “You are a resolute young woman,” Jean-Paul said.

  “What are my options, dear sir? I’m forced to choose between pleasing my family or being happy. I must choose my happiness. I cannot live any other way. Would you not do the same?”

  “It is not my place to tell you how to live your life Cherie. How could I advise you? I’m choosing to sell tea and coffee abroad to help my aunt and uncle while my paintings take a second position to my family’s needs. I do not say that one road is good or bad. I’m simply observing the courage it takes to lead with your heart.”

  Silently I contemplated his decision. We were different, Jean-Paul and I. He felt a duty to the people who raised him. I felt a duty to myself.

  The sky shifted before us while we sat quietly.

  A shiver came over me as my mind contemplated many thoughts in the brisk morning air.

  “Are you chilled?” Jean-Paul asked.

  “Apparently I am.”

  “Please, take my jacket.”

  “No, then you will be cold.”

  “Perhaps a little, but I would have the reward of chivalry, which is worth the price of a few chills. Please, I insist.”

  Jean-Paul wrapped his large jacket over my shoulders. His hands lingered at my shoulder. I reached for the collar to pull the jacket down and our hands touched briefly, which quickened my breath.

  As the sun neared the horizon, the sky appeared like a normal January morning, with subtle, powerful colors interacting in the atmosphere. But as the orb showed its full disc, I looked more carefully. I closed my eyes to blink and reopened them, bewildered. Jean-Paul and I looked at each other with puzzlement. We stared back at the sky. The sun shone its vibrant yellow, illuminating the dispersed clouds while shooting far reaching rays of light in a great arc. The vapor directly above the sun glowed fiery orange, topped with a purplish gray. Above and behind the grey sat a rich, deep purple. To the left and right of the rising ball of fire, lenticular clouds glowed yellow, orange, pink and purple. Above them were puffs of wide mists. They were purple with a velvet red glowing outline at the bottom. A sea-blue backdrop peeked out behind the rainbow of color woven together like a rich tapestry. Far in the distance, evergreens atop hillsides were illuminated, revealing their presence.

  “I’ve never seen the sky do that,” I said.

  “This is the most spectacular sunrise I have ever observed.”

  I glanced at Jean-Paul’s face as he stared in a trance at the mesmerizing firmament. I looked back at the sun in wonder. The rest of the world melted away, as if the sky, Jean-Paul and I were all that existed. I didn't remember the home behind us full of guests. My parents’ thoughts never crossed my mind. I was immersed, deep in the beauty of dawn. It was a magic that was felt, but eluded description. I held myself there, embracing the moment. I wanted to relish and prolong the moment.

  All at once, Jean-Paul reached his arm around me, holding my arm in his hand and pressing me close to him. It was a gesture of sharing the enchantment of the moment. But as he realized his proximity to me, he froze. We were suddenly close and swimming in the scent and emotion of each other. He looked into my eyes for a long second. Then he closed the gap between us, finding my lips with his in a brief, gentle, meaningful kiss. My lips responded, receiving his and pressing back. A wave of pleasure rushed through me. In that moment, I understood what a kiss should feel like: passion, desire, surrender, in selfless compassion. Jean-Paul pulled his lips back slowly, still holding me close with one arm.

  Gazing into my eyes he said, “Forgive me, mademoiselle. I could not stop myself. The…sunrise…and your…”

  “Shhh,” I said out of breath, “That was lovely. Please do not apologize.”

  Jean-Paul nodded. He removed his hand slowly from around me. We sat side by side in silence as blue took over and dominated the heavens.

  “There you are.”

  I heard my mother’s voice and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “You must be feeling better. I see you found someone to keep you company after all.”

  “Hello Mother. Jean-Paul offered to show me this…”

  “We are going home now Cherie. Au revoir, Monsieur Soule," mother said abruptly.

  Jean-Paul stood and faced my mother. “Au revoir, Madam,” Jean-Paul replied.

  I looked at Jean-Paul with a slight smile. “Au revoir Jean-Paul,” I said. “Thank you for…this morning.” Our eyes locked briefly.

  “Come, Cherie.”

  I walked away with my mother, wishing that Jean-Paul would do something to save me from my fate, but he watched me go, standing still in the garden, without his coat. “His coat, Mother.” We turned back.

  “Keep it for the ride home. I shall retrieve it another day. Please!” Mother and I turned to go. I was pleased that she didn’t say a word.

  We barely spoke on the long ride back into Paris. While it was quiet in the carriage, I thought about Jean-Paul. For the past two years I’d noticed him and he finally noticed me. How could I see him again?

  ***

  A week passed. Each day I obsessed about my upcoming nuptial with Andre. My mind raced with every possible scenario with Andre as my husband or with Jean-Paul. I thought of dinners together, children, family gatherings and making love. Each image with Andre as my husband caused me more distress and frustration. My future seemed bleak with my commitment to Andre. I knew I must speak with my mother.

  For hours I sat on my bed to develop a reason to see Jean-Paul. Perhaps he would undo the knot that held me in dark disappointment. Not only might he save me from my doom, but he may also provide the love and passion I desired. The thought of missing out on great romance in exchange for the opposite, tangled my stomach into a tightly knitted ball. A numbing panic clouded my head. My room felt dark, as if the walls were closing in on me. No easy solution came to my confused mind.

  Seven days after the sunrise with Jean-Paul, fate intervened. Martine sent word that she had tickets for us to see the ballet. She asked me if I could meet her for coffee that day. I showed my mother the letter.

  “Perhaps I shall come with you,” Mother replied.

  My heart jumped into my throat. I wanted to speak to Martine alone and ask about Jean-Paul. “Mother, you always protest that Martine and I discuss the things you don’t wish to hear about. How may I have the conversation that I desire if you’re complaining?”

  “Martine and I can visit and then I shall listen quietly while you discuss the ballet.”

  “Mother, I did not want to mention this, but Martine told me at her party that she wanted to discuss a party for your fiftieth birthday and a present. I didn’t want to mention this to you, but you keep on insisting. Now you’re ruining a perfectly good surprise.”

  “But my birthday is not until June,” Mother protested.

  “You know Martine. She plans these affairs far in advance. She’s to have things shipped in, knowing the order in January is necessary.”

  “Very well, if you insist that she wants to surprise me for my birthday.”

  “Mother, why else would Martine not invite you to join us for coffee?”

  Mother relented, much to my relief.

  I arrived for coffee at our favorite afternoon restaurant, La Vie en Rose. Martine and preferred the large white and yellow-striped, cushioned chairs that gave us a restful posture. There were only a handful of tables with the chairs we liked, but Martine must have pulled some strings, for without fail we were given a puffy chair to enjoy our coffee and cake.

  I gave Martine a wide, genuine smile. We ordered our favorite coffee and began to visit. Once we had discussed the latest news and updates about our families, we talked about the upcoming ballet. Then I had the courage to ask Martine the question nagging me. “Auntie Martine?” I always called her auntie when I wanted something from her. She knew this, but indulged me anywa
y. “Is it possible to ask Jean-Paul to attend the ballet with us?”

  “I was wondering if you might speak of Jean-Paul. You know my child that you have made the boy nearly sick.”

  “What?!”

  “Oh my…the poor man. He broods about the house for the full week now. How to comfort him eludes me. I thought that perhaps he fancies you, but how’s an old woman to know these things?” she said winking.

  A waiter brought a refill of our espresso and some lemon cakes. I waited until he left before I responded.

  “Oh, Auntie Martine, what are we to do? My mother’s determined that I shall marry a man that I do not love.”

  “My sweet Cherie, you know that I have always been fond of you. You’re like a daughter to me. Jean-Paul is like my son. Nothing would please me more than to see two of my favorite young ones being happy. Allow me to speak to your mother. I met Catherine before you were born.”

  “Martine! You’re wonderful. How may I repay you?”

  Martine laughed. “Your smile is my reward child.”

  “Merci.”

  “You know Jean-Paul drove me into town. He has the carriage and is waiting for me at Galeries de Zoologie. I shall go to speak with your mother. Perhaps you could keep Jean-Paul company until I return, non?”

  “I would be happy to do this, Auntie Martine.”

  “Very well, after our dessert we will depart. I shall meet you and Jean-Paul at the park fountain in an hour. I love you my dear.”

  “I treasure you, Auntie.”

  We enjoyed the remainder of the lemon cake and our refill of espresso. Then Martine and I departed from our favorite cafe to our perspective engagements. The stroll to the Jardin des Plantes was one of my favorite strolls from this cafe. I enjoyed the walk whenever I had the time. The street leading to the park held my attention well with my favorite dress shop, a lovely fabric dealer and a chocolate importer that sold the best chocolates from Geneva, Amsterdam, Berlin and Paris. There were often samples offered and I enjoyed comparing how each country engaged the flavors of the bitter bean.

  The crisp air brushed my checks and the sun peeked out from behind high clouds as I walked towards the nearby park. Yesterday’s rain had left small puddles which froze overnight. I stepped carefully to avoid slippery ice. People strolled through the frozen gardens bundled in warm coats, hats and scarves. I wore my longest coat which nearly reached to my feet. My favorite knit blue scarf wrapped my neck snuggly.

  I found Jean-Paul sitting on a wood and iron bench watching pigeons enjoy some seeds outside the Galeries de Zoologie. The birds pecked at small seeds that fell between cobble stones. My high heels clicked on the firm path. Jean-Paul turned and saw my approach.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur.”

  He turned and smiled. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said with a nod and a blink, still smiling with his delicious lips. “Martine asked you to come here?”

  “Fortunately she did. I wanted to see you,” I said.

  “I have thought about you very much Cherie.”

  “You did?”

  “Oui, but I tried hard not to,” he said.

  “You tried not to think of me?”

  “Of course, I’m in a terrible dilemma really.”

  “How so?”

  “I’m leaving later this year for America.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “It’s my uncle’s wish. I plan to satisfy his desire.”

  “I see.”

  “I wish to spend time with you before I leave, but it seems like that would be a waste and heartache for us both.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  “If you knew my heart, perhaps you would fall hopelessly for me. That could be terrible. I couldn’t ask you to leave Paris or your family. It would not be right.”

  “What about what I want? Are you to be as my mother and decide what’s best for me?”

  “Non, Cherie, pardon me please. I simply could not ask of you such a sacrifice.”

  “Then do not ask, but allow me to make my own choices.”

  “With all due respect, I know what it’s like to live without one’s parents. I've lived without mine since age eight. There’s a heartache and feeling of isolation that no other love can replace. Without knowing this loss you cannot imagine it. Protecting your relations with your parents is imperative to me. I cannot be the one to jeopardize what you have.”

  “I hope you will not presume to know my fate or make decisions for me.”

  “What would you suggest?” he asked.

  “I suggest that you court me. If you are as loveable as you claim, make me fall in love with you. I will know what suits me best.”

  “Can you maintain your deep connection with your parents if your break your engagement? Family is of the highest importance,” he replied.

  “Does living a truthful, happy life matter?” I asked.

  “I suppose it matters, but the happiness of love heals our heart.”

  “My parents will be delighted enough when they know that I’m happy. This shall please them, although they may resist at first. They love me and pray for my wellbeing.”

  “If your father will allow it, I will call on you.”

  “If he does not, then I shall hide it from him. For I must get to know you Jean-Paul.”

  “Are you confident this is in your best interest and that you can sway your parents?”

  “I have great confidence.” My confidence was not as high as I eluded to, but hope was growing within and determination was hope’s companion. I sat on the bench sideways, facing Jean-Paul. The sun peeked out between clouds. His hair caught the sunlight; reds and browns accentuated in the bright rays. His eyes stirred warmth in me as he gazed upon my face.

  “I am reluctant to compete with your parents for your affections or with their proposed suitor. However, my heart speaks powerfully to me when I am with you. Your eyes are familiar, your smile touches me deeply. If I do not learn more about you, my heart may punish me forever.”

  We both smiled. Jean-Paul stood and invited me to walk the gardens. Although only evergreens provided any color this time of year, the paths were inviting and strolling beside Jean-Paul allowed me to look at something other than his handsome face. I found that staring at him produced a silly smile and blushing cheeks. As we glided along, we engaged many topics: ballet, art and family. “I’ve known your parents vaguely for years. But I’ve spent little time speaking with them. Tell me more, that I may win their approval.”

  A gust of wind blew directly at my face. I closed my eyes to shut out the breeze. We both laughed. It was cold, but being next to Jean-Paul gave me warmth enough to endure.

  “Very well, my mother is traditional, could you tell? She wears her hair up and I’ve noticed that she averts her eyes from a man’s gaze. She is beautiful, for her age, and when men see her eyes, they cannot look away. She holds her tea cup properly, dresses conservatively, and laughs only when it’s appropriate. She’s very loving and giving with family and friends. I learned to be giving from her. People don’t see her warmth because of her tight smile, quiet manners and polite gestures. But they are deceived, her heart is enormous. She’s very soft spoken, except with me. We are like sisters that fight. When she speaks with my father it’s soft and respectful. She would never raise her voice to him or speak ill of him. She loves him of course, but I never see their passion, if it exists.”

  “Perhaps passion is deeply meaningful to them and they keep it private,” Jean-Paul suggested.

  “Possibly, yet I watch my mother perform her duties as if she was hired to do it. She enjoys completing her work, but I believe it is because she receives satisfaction from accomplishment. I don’t know if she’s truly happy. She doesn’t do anything for herself. She gives all to my father and me. I don’t want to be like her, although it’s wonderful to look like her. My flowing hair and dark, brown eyes are just like hers. She hides this beauty from all of France. I want to be myself when I love a man, without
losing my dreams and passions.”

  “That is an honorable goal.”

  “Merci,” I said with a slight bow of my head. We turned right to enter another path and a small boy about three years old ran straight into Jean-Paul. He caught the boy and smiled down at him, but the boy ran on as if nothing had happened. Two black birds flirted in the sky and then darted away as quickly as they appeared.

  The wind tossed my hair in front of my face. I brushed it behind my ears before I continued. “My father has a quiet, tough exterior. Inside he is soft, sweet crème. He is stern with me, on the rare occasion when he deems it necessary. He doesn’t allow many people to know his soft heart. My mother and I know it well. It’s his tall, slender frame, gray hair and quiet manner that intimidate people. Also my father demands honesty and is impatient with deceit. Generally he’s tolerant of me and spoils me. It was his idea to nickname me Cherie. You see my mother cannot have more children. She has already lost a child during pregnancy. Learning that she would never have more children was devastating, especially to my mother. That’s why I’m cherished.”

  “I’ve no doubt that there are other reasons that you’re treasured. How could a father resist that warm, sweet smile you have, or your unrelenting charm. I know how difficult it is for me.”

  “Are you trying to cause me to blush? Allow me to continue.”

  Jean-Paul gestured for me to continue, although he looked pleased with himself for distracting my focus. I felt my cheeks blush and I lowered my eyes to avoid his. The flushed feeling warmed my whole body and pushed away the cold.

  A few children ran after the pigeons, as if they could catch one. The birds were quick to fly three to six feet away from the little ones and continue pecking at fallen seeds.

  “My father reads all the time. If he is not at the University, then he is often reading near the fire. We speak of history and politics, occasionally. Mostly he just gives me advice about life or asks me about my studies. His wish for me is to be well educated. He sees knowledge as the value that improves life.”

  “That is a lot of information.. Your father’s a complicated man.”