Painted with Love: Romance Eludes Time and Death

by Karen Diana Montee

  “You rose each day at sunrise to stare at the sky to paint my birthday present?”

  “Why yes, darling. Now you have this memory in paint so you shall always remember how I feel towards you. If I’m ever without you, you and I shall see the same sun and the same moon. We shall be viewing it together.”

  “Jean-Paul, you’re a wonderful man. I’m the most fortunate young lady in all of France. Thank you, for this treasure.”

  “To your parents, it will just be a painting of a sunrise that I gave you for your birthday. But to us, well, we know what it really is. Look very close in this area here,” Jean-Paul said while pointing to the lower middle of the painting.

  As I studied it, I leaned in closer. There was a small, black outline of two people. It would seem that they were turned to face the sunrise while arm in arm, but it was difficult to make them out and not noticeable without Jean-Paul’s mention of it.

  “That’s us. But only we will know that too. This painting shall remain here until your birthday dinner, where I will present it to you as a gift. The meaning will be our little secret, just like our love making today will be.”

  Jean-Paul walked me home. He kissed my cheek at the doorstep and walked away. Quietly I entered my home and walked through the kitchen to the staircase. Before I could climb the stairs, I heard my mother’s voice.

  “Where were you this afternoon Cherie?” my mother asked.

  “On my walk from Jardin des Tuileries to the Opera National, I stopped for coffee and looked in some boutiques. The time I spend alone is valuable to me, Mother.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Oui!” Did she have me followed? How does she always know?

  “My ladies,” my father interjected pleasantly. “Let us all enjoy our meal. All is well. We missed you Cherie.”

  “Thank you. I feel refreshed. The walk was good for my health.”

  “You missed Andre. He called on you. I told him you were at the park. He went looking for you. Did you see Andre?”

  “Non,” I said, hoping that Andre did not see me either.

  “He has invited all of us to a dinner at his parent’s home tomorrow evening. I accepted on your behalf,” Mother said.

  “Oh.”

  “We leave at six o’clock.”

  “Oh.”

  “We will bring wine and cheese. Would you please go to the market tomorrow and choose some excellent cheese?”

  “Ahhh…oui.”

  After supper I tucked myself away in my room, trying not to fret too deeply about dinner with Andre tomorrow and my predicament. Jean-Paul loved me, which made me happy. But he wasn’t willing to pretend to be a faithful member of a church he saw as unethical just to win my parents’ approval. He would not obtain their acceptance falsely. It seemed ironic that Andre, an up and coming attorney learning ethics, found no fault with the Church, where an artist did. The hurdles to overcome seemed endless. My hope was that Jean-Paul could find a way for us to be together when my mind could not.

  Lying on my bed, I remembered Jean-Paul’s touch, his scent, and his eyes. Shivers rippled through my body from the excitement. When could I have it all again; the caressing, the vulnerability, and closeness? The fear of my parents’ demands filled my head, nearly making me go mad trying to calculate my future.

  The thought of sitting with my family and Andre’s family for dinner tomorrow night caused a pain in my stomach. The thought of pretending all was well repulsed me. Many emotions would be with me that I could not share without upsetting two families. My complicated life was enough to make me cry. Tears began to form, then drip slowly into my hair. It isn’t fair. How could I look Andre’s parents in the eye and not scream that I love someone else? My belly and chest heaved with deep spasms while I sobbed. Tears flowed freely. Lying on my stomach, I buried my head into my pillow and released the pain as quietly as I could. Sleep overtook me as I lay on my wet pillow, fully clothed, ready to wake up to a new reality.

  ***

  Chapter Six: Over Sharing

  Paris, Mid-March, 1899

  Mother walked into my room unannounced. “Cherie? Why are you not awake? Are you ill?”

  My sleepy, salty eyes peered at my mother through swollen lids, as I lay in my wrinkled skirt that Jean-Paul had removed skillfully the day before. His scent was still on my clothes. “What time is it Mother?”

  “It’s eight fifteen. I wanted to send you to the market early, but you are…why did you sleep in your clothes? Your blouse is a mess.”

  “What Mother?”

  “Please get clean and dressed. We shall go together. Are you feeling well?”

  “I just awoke Mother. I don’t know how I am feeling yet.”

  “Well come downstairs when you are dressed and I shall have a look at you.”

  Mother walked out and closed my door. I took a breath, disappointed that it was morning. Tonight I was expected at the home of Andre’s parents. Dread shook me fully awake along with fear. Perhaps tonight was my opportunity to make my wishes known? However, I was not engaged to a parishioner in good standing. A lie could make matters worse. I needed liberation, not the bonds of convention that imprisoned me.

  Lying in my bed, I wanted to avoid the inevitable requirements of facing this day. Then I realized that if mother and I did not return from the market quickly, I would miss the opportunity to see Jean-Paul at the park today. I sprang from my bed and freshened up. Bouncing down the stairs and over to mother, I said, “I feel wonderful mother. I am ready to go to the market. Please rest here at home. I shall get some fabulous cheese for the dinner. A long stroll, searching for the best Brie de meaux, Comte and Langre, is just what I needed. I shall not be too long, or perhaps I shall enjoy the walk and find a bouquet to bring as well.”

  “That is kind of you darling. I have decided that we shall go together. It allows us a chance to talk.”

  “Very well mother. Shall we go?”

  “I am enjoying my coffee. Relax yourself child. Would you like coffee?”

  “Non, I am looking forward to the market.”

  “Wonderful. Does that mean that you are looking forward to dinner this evening?”

  I chose my response carefully. “Actually, mother, I find walking around Paris refreshing. The market is a wonderful place to walk.”

  “I feel the same. Let’s go.”

  Mother and I walked casually, enjoying the fresh air as Paris approached the first day of spring. Green buds tipped the tree branches while the grass grew brighter and squirrels chased one another. The sounds of people surrounded us as many ventured from their shelters.

  It wasn’t long before mother’s motive was obvious. “What did you and your father discuss on your walk?”

  Carefully I formed my reply, not knowing what father shared with her. She should hear as much of the truth as possible to prepare her for what was to come.

  “Father and I spoke about the same things that I shared with you. I explained that I would make a miserable, depressed wife for Andre because I didn’t want to be with him. Father answered my question of whether it was possible to marry another man.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He said that if I became engaged to another man who was in good standing within the Church, then my agreement with Andre would be breached.”

  Mother was quiet for a moment. “Is this your intention?”

  “It’s my desire to be engaged to another.”

  “When had you proposed to share this with Andre?”

  “I have shared it with Andre, before I spoke with Father. Andre did not accept my words. He thought perhaps I was simply upset and emotional. He expected that my feelings should pass.”

  “I must warn you, Cherie, that at your age such feelings do swing in different directions. You really could not be sure if Andre could make you a happy woman until you give him the opportunity. If you pass up this perfect arrangement you may regret your decision when you come to your senses.” My mother’s voice w
as firm and serious. She was, however, much more passive than the last time we spoke. “Tonight is an important dinner. Do not embarrass our family. The most you should share is that you are not ready to wed. Perhaps that will ease the discomfort if you do become engaged to another. You have your eyes on Monsieur Soule?”

  “Oui, Mother. My heart is captivated by him.”

  “Young love is dangerous fire. You may get burned.”

  “He’s a wonderful man. You have known him most of his life.”

  “He was a quiet boy. I assume he attends church regularly with Martine and Jacques?”

  “I would have to assume that he does.” I said it--a lie. Lying could cause me serious problems. Webs of falsehoods could entangle me and limit my options. Frugality must be used with my untruths.

  “Is he a deacon?”

  “I am uncertain.”

  “Martine spoke briefly of Monsieur Soule living abroad, in America. Did you hear of this?”

  “He spoke of it. He explained that it would be a temporary arrangement. He desires to live in Paris.”

  “I see. Martine didn’t mention it to be temporary.” Mother paused again, as if collecting her thoughts. Silently I walked beside her with shallow breaths in fear of more reprimand. “You always have been a determined and stubborn daughter. There is no surprise that you resist the choice your father and I have carefully made for you. You may not know what is best for you. However, I also realize that you have some choices in your life. You may choose to be happy or you can choose to be miserable. If you are planning to be displeased with Andre, then I might be inclined to support your decision not to marry him. It’s difficult to think of the family gathering tonight with your head-strong resistance ever-present. Many young girls in Paris are blessed if they have one suitor willing to marry them, with or without an arrangement. You are most fortunate to have two suitors who are each of fine families, have a means to provide and are members of the Church. Be grateful for what God has bestowed upon you. Choose wisely. Youth is temporary.”

  “Mother, I am grateful to God for you and Father. Of course you love me and desire my wellbeing. Your efforts to secure my future are appreciated.”

  “Are you certain that you appreciate it? It’s kind of you to say so, nonetheless.”

  “Mother I feel light and gay that you understand the importance of this to me. Thank you for this walk. May I continue to walk and meet you back at home when I have appreciated the gifts of Paris?”

  “Are you done with me this quickly?”

  “Not at all mother. Would you allow me to dream in my head as I search the trees for buds and lose my cares in the coming spring air?”

  “Oh, to the days of youth. Enjoy your walk. Dinner tonight shall be challenging. Please be careful with your words Cherie. My friendship with Monsieur and Madam Monet is valuable to me.”

  “Of course, Mother. I will be on my best behavior tonight.”

  Mother walked away toward home. When she was out of sight, I quickly turned towards the park to look for Jean-Paul. It was nearing noon and I hoped that he would come find me for an update. Our usual bench was empty. I waited. Soon I heard the church bells announce the arrival of the noon hour. I tingled with delight as I anticipated seeing him. As I waited I reflected on my conversation with mother. It had gone remarkably well, much to my surprise. Her insistence during our conversation at the beginning of the month was far different from today. What changed her mind? Did she know something that I did not? Had father influenced her, or perhaps Martine? Either way things were looking more in my favor. I was excited to tell Jean-Paul the progress. We had only the issue of the Church to overcome now.

  Thirty minutes passed. Maybe he decided not to come today. Perhaps he was upset about our rendezvous yesterday. I wasn’t certain how long I should wait, but I continued, hoping, excited, expecting. An hour passed, and still no sign of Jean-Paul. Another thirty minutes ticked on by and I sat alone. It was time that I should head home. Tomorrow I could update him on how tonight’s dinner went as well. Feeling optimistic, I buried the disappointment in some small place in my heart.

  ***

  When we arrived at the home of the Monet’s, everyone was cheerful, full of smiles. Andre was especially pleasant, grinning the whole evening. Once we sat down for the elaborate meal that their cook had prepared, Madam Monet began with the topic I dreaded. “Cherie, when will you begin making your selections and plans for the wedding?”

  Before I could find words to respond, Andre jumped into the conversation. “Mother, please withhold any questions of matrimony this night. In good time the details and date can be discussed between Cherie and me. For now let us have respect for the bride to be. The last thing to inspire a bride is pressure.”

  Everyone sat at the table in silence. I was shocked at Andre’s words. The family stayed quiet. I couldn’t imagine Andre’s motive? Whatever it was, I was grateful that we might avoid the subject completely. My mother smiled awkwardly, possibly relieved or frustrated. My father didn’t seem to care one way or another, but Madam Monet seemed very upset by the request. She obviously wanted to discuss the matter. She looked quite displeased, as she searched for an acceptable response. Her mouth hung open with barely detectable sounds escaping as she nearly started several sentences that she decided not to say.

  Finally she spoke. “I find your comment rude. I want to hear from the bride.”

  “Mother!” Andre paused. “The matter is closed for tonight.”

  Andre continued to smile as if everything in the world were perfect. Whatever he was up to, I knew that he had some intention he did not share. Somehow he felt that things were going his way, although why he felt that way eluded me.

  The rest of the dinner was tense, but without event. After evening dessert, we said our departing pleasantries as if everything was as it has always been. I fought myself several times to share my emotions. I held my tongue at each temptation, not certain if holding the truth was a wise decision.

  The next morning all I could think of was speaking with Jean-Paul. All morning I was restless waiting for the noon hour when I could walk Lou Lou. Unable to prevent myself from rushing the day, I left a few minutes early. Scanning the park, I looked for signs of Jean-Paul. He usually arrived before me. Today was different. I sat on our bench and waited impatiently. Lou Lou wanted to walk. He sat looking at me, wondering why we were sitting. Obviously he wanted to relieve his bladder, but I was certain that Jean-Paul would be here any minute. My heart became heavier with each passing moment. I wonder where he could be. Did our love making turn him away? Did he find me unattractive to him? He said such reassuring words to me. What has happened?

  If I didn’t know why he didn’t come, I might go mad. I hired a carriage and asked the driver to take me to the home of Jacques and Martine. The driver was certain I was joking when he realized the length of the journey. I reassured him, and promised he would be paid for his time. Of course, I could only hope that Aunt Martine was at home and would pay my fare.

  As I traveled, every possible scenario entered my head. Perhaps he was ill. Perhaps he was injured. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe my parents spoke with him. What could it be? I needed to relax before I made myself crazy.

  Thankfully Martine was home and met me at the front door. She was obviously distraught. She quickly paid the carriage man and asked him to wait.

  She shuffled me inside and asked, “What do you know?”

  “Pardon me, Auntie. What do you mean?”

  “Do you know anything about his whereabouts?”

  “Jean-Paul is not here?”

  “Non! He’s been missing for two nights. Jacques and I assumed he was staying at our flat in Paris.” My cheeks blushed when she mentioned it, but she seemed too upset to notice. “That’s where he was staying for a few nights per week. But Jacques stayed there last night and Jean-Paul was not there. Then we received a delivery today. Here it is. It hurts too much to read it to you.”

  Her
face was solemn as she slid the envelope from her hand into mine. From her expression I could tell that the letter contained something terrible. She nodded, encouraging me to read. The letter began, “March 22nd, 1898. I spoke with Monsieur Soule at the pier this morning. He asked me to deliver a message to this address, stating that he has departed for America and will not be returning. He will not be in contact with you for some time. His wish is for time alone to grieve.” It was signed, “With Regards, A Stranger.”

  “You see? You know now why I’m worried?”

  My dear Auntie and I stared at each other. I shook my head in small, rapid jerks. “Non. Non! This is not true. Someone is playing a trick. Non. Jean-Paul would not do this. Something is amiss.”

  “It’s true. I feel it. He’s injured also, or maybe dead. This note is to stop the police from looking. Jean-Paul would not leave us without saying good-bye or taking his personal items. All of his belongings are here. He did not depart for America!” Martine insisted.

  “I fear for him. Someone is interfering. Who would do something to Jean-Paul? He is the nicest man. No one would want to hurt him. He has harmed no man!” I said, realizing as the words left my lips that they weren’t true.

  “His heart is pure. I know this boy well,” Martine replied.

  “Do you know anyone who has something against Jean-Paul?” I asked.

  “Of course not. The only man who may not like him now is your Andre.” Martine’s words drove a piercing arrow through my heart.

  “Andre?” She was right. He was the only man who could feel ill towards Jean-Paul. “Oui, it’s true. But he doesn’t know Jean-Paul. Andre is boastful and arrogant, but I don’t think he’s capable of criminal behavior.”

  “Arrogance can lead a man astray when he is in love with a woman. Jealousy can do even more harm, especially if he saw you with Jean-Paul.”