by Jan Moran
Then again, Juliana had been awfully rude to her.
She ran back upstairs and shoved her feet into a pair of woven espadrilles. She ripped off her dirty shirt and wriggled into a clean one, buttoning her shirt with one hand and grabbing her purse and keys with the other.
She could probably make it to Calistoga before Agatha got off the phone.
Once Juliana was on the road, she tried to speed through the dusty back roads, but meandering livestock and slow farm tractors delayed her progress. Frustrated, she pulled up in front of Chateau Laurent.
The gate was locked. Of course.
She parked on the side of the road and ran to the gate. Grabbing the top railing, she hefted herself up and swung her legs over, dropping down the other side.
So much for the security of gates, she thought to herself, jogging to the front door.
Remembering her landlord’s admonition, she smoothed her hair back and tugged her shirt down. Something felt amiss. Looking down, she realized she’d buttoned her shirt wrong and it was lopsided.
“I can’t win today,” she muttered to herself. Turning around, she unbuttoned her shirt to fix it.
The door creaked open behind her. Clutching her shirt, she whirled around.
“Mrs. Peabody, oh, thank God it’s you.”
The housekeeper’s eyebrows shot up nearly to her gray hairline. “What on earth are you doing here half-dressed?”
“I’m looking for Henri—Mr. Laurent.”
“Like that?” Mrs. Peabody began to back away and close the door.
“No, no, please don’t close the door.” Fiddling with her buttons, Juliana shoved her foot in the doorway. “My buttons were all wrong, I was in a hurry. I’m trying to fix them.”
The housekeeper looked doubtful, but sighed and kept the door open. “He’s not here.”
“Can I wait for him inside?”
“You’ll be waiting a mighty long time. He took the children this morning and left. I have no idea when they’re going to return.”
“Days, weeks?”
“Weeks, I’m afraid.”
Bending over and bracing her hands on her knees, Juliana muttered a few choice words to herself under her breath.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing, sorry.” She raised up. “Where did they go?”
“Mr. Laurent said they were going south.”
“Any specific place?”
The housekeeper shook her head.
Juliana pressed her palms together. “If he calls, please tell him Juliana Cardona is trying to reach him.”
“I remember you, Miss Cardona.”
“Will you tell him?”
At last, Mrs. Peabody smiled. “I’ll be sure to, dear. I believe he was quite fond of you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Peabody, thank you. Tell him I—I’m quite fond of him, too.” Juliana almost hugged her with joy, but instead she grabbed her hand and shook it fiercely. “Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.” She pressed her hands to her heart for emphasis, and then turned to leave.
“Um, Miss Cardona?”
Juliana turned around. “Yes?”
“Your shirt. You might want to finish buttoning it.”
Juliana looked down. She’d gotten only as far as the top two buttons.
After climbing over the gate again, Juliana got into her car, feeling dejected. She’d been too late. Resting her forehead on the steering wheel, she let tears fall onto her lap.
She wondered if she would ever see Henri again. Outside her window, she heard the dull rhythmic clomp of horse hooves. She looked up.
A farmer in denim overalls with a wagon of hay had passed her. Drawing the back of her hand across her tear-stained cheeks, she watched him. Fortunately, he turned near the end of the lane. She cranked the engine.
She passed the spot where the farmer had turned off, which was a country church with a graveyard to one side. A strange feeling struck her. Coming to a stop, she slid the gear into reverse, and then backed up. The farmer had stopped his horse on the other side of the church. She parked and got out.
Could Solange be buried here? Juliana walked to the graveyard. She tucked her hair behind her ear and peered at the headstones, stepping gingerly around the graves.
At the far corner of the small graveyard she spotted a carved angel. Several bunches of wildflowers lay at the base. Juliana raced through the graveyard, zig-zagging around the plots.
She dropped to her knees by the angel. There were three clutches of wildflowers, clearly picked today and only slightly limp from the sun. Her gaze fell on the carved marker.
Here rests our beloved Solange-Marie Laurent.
Her head spinning with doubt and disillusionment, Juliana sank her face into her hands and fell to one side, gasping between sobs.
She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
Chapter 9
A hand touched her back and Juliana yelped. Looking up, she held her hand against the sun until the outline of two men came into focus. One of them held out his hand.
“Come with me, child. There’s a bed of ants nearby. They’re overrunning this gravesite.”
Sobbing, Juliana stumbled to her feet with the help of a man wearing a priest’s collar. The famer she had passed was hurriedly brushing ants from her dungarees.
“Let’s go inside,” the priest said.
Once inside the stone church, Juliana could breathe easier. Incense tinged the air and it was mercifully cool and dark. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she fumbled her way to a wooden pew.
The old farmer had removed his straw cowboy hat and knelt beside her. “You okay, Miss?”
“Not really,” she said, feeling sheepish. How much worse could this day get? She ran her hands through her hair, picking out pieces of wild grass.
The priest retuned with a glass of water. “Drink this.” He sat next to her.
“If you think she’s going to be okay, I’ll go on yonder.” The farmer jerked his thumb toward the door.
“We’ll be fine. Bless you for the hay.”
Juliana gulped the water and handed the glass to the priest. “Thank you, Father.” He wore the collar, but he was casually dressed. He had sandy hair and didn’t look too much older than she was.
“Would you like more water?”
Sniffing, she shook her head.
“Solange Laurent was a good woman. We all miss her.”
At that, Juliana began crying again.
“There, there,” the priest said, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “Are you a relative or friend?” He dug into his pants and produced a neatly folded white cotton handkerchief for her.
“Neither.” She dabbed her eyes. “I’m just confused.”
“Then tell me about it. Maybe I can help.”
Juliana half rose to leave, but then she thought, what did she have to lose? Sitting back down, she said, “I’ve misjudged someone. Or maybe I haven’t.”
“Would you like to tell me who?”
“Solange’s husband—her widower.”
The priest listened thoughtfully. “And who might that be?”
“Henri Laurent. You probably know him.”
The priest inclined his head and nodded slightly. “Go on.”
Juliana spilled out the story, holding nothing back. “I knew he was a widower when we met, but then he had the gall to deny it. I told him exactly what I thought of him, that he was utterly despicable.” She paused to take a breath. “But on the other hand…” She told him about the letter and her visit to his house.
“And then you stopped here. I see.” The priest stroked his smooth chin. “I can clear up some of this for you. The rest will be up to you and Henri and the head guy upstairs.” He pointed toward the ceiling.
Juliana nodded solemnly. “What do you think, Father?”
“I believe other people in this community—not only you—also thought Henri and Solange were married. Solange was ill and Henri wasn’t sociable, so they didn�
��t mix much with the local community here. When people don’t know the truth, sometimes they assume things.”
“You mean—”
“They were cousins on Henri’s father’s side. They were never married to each other. Or to anyone else that I know of.”
“Really? Oh, thank you, thank you.” Juliana caught herself. For the second time today she was gushing. She glanced down self-consciously. At least her shirt was fully buttoned.
“Henri Laurent is a good man.” The priest rested his hand on her shoulder. “He and Solange survived the war in Europe under horrendous circumstances.”
Hearing this sobering information, Juliana grew quiet.
The priest sighed. “Henri deserves whatever happiness he can find”
Juliana wondered what the priest meant. “He didn’t tell me anything about the war.”
“You must ask him, but this time, listen carefully to what he has to say. I think you will find a different man than the one you think you know.”
“I will.” Juliana brushed an ant from her dungarees, replaying the last conversation she and Henri had on his boat. Their emotions had run the gamut, from the heights of passion to the depths of despair. She regretted how she had spoken to him; she hadn’t allowed him the opportunity to explain. “I have jumped to conclusions, haven’t I?”
“So it would seem.” He quirked a smile. “Have patience, get to know each other better.”
“Thanks for the advice, Father.”
Juliana slid from the pew, crossed herself, and left the church. Leaving behind misunderstandings and immature behavior, too, she hoped.
As she drove home, disheartened over missing Henri, she felt an urge to return to the marina. She couldn’t justify this impulse, but neither could she deny it.
Juliana turned toward San Francisco.
Henri was going south, Mrs. Peabody had said, but how? Her greatest fear was that his yacht would not be in its slip. She couldn’t stand the thought of waiting weeks to see him. By then, it might be too late for them to repair their relationship.
An hour later, she was in San Francisco. She turned toward the marina, passing pastel macaron-colored Victorian homes dotting the way. The afternoon sun was soon obscured by dense clouds and a chilly fog encroaching from the ocean.
After parking, Juliana stepped onto the wooden walkway, her heart hammering as she neared the end. Gaining strength, the wind blew whitecaps on the water. She shivered in her thin cotton shirt and wrapped her arms around herself.
Henri’s yacht was nestled in its slip.
She slowed her step and craned her neck. There was no sign of movement. She stopped, hesitating. He might not even be there. Gingerly, she swung herself onto the deck. The hatch was closed and locked.
Behind her, a noise startled her. “Juliana.”
Turning, she came face to face with Henri. He wore a navy jacket and a thick cable knit sweater with a canvas bag over one shoulder. His cap was angled over his eyes and she couldn’t read his expression.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I went to your home and Mrs. Peabody said you had gone south. So I took a chance and came here.”
Henri stared at her. “You never returned my calls.”
“No.” Juliana bowed her head slightly. She was ashamed of how she’d treated him.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared beyond her out to the bay. “I needed a break, so I’m taking Anne and Beatrice on a voyage.”
“Are they here?” With her lips numbing from the cold, her words sounded strange.
“They’re down below. We were leaving today, but the weather turned bad. Maybe tomorrow.”
Juliana’s heart was shattering. Gone was the sparkle in Henri’s eyes. As quickly as his enthusiasm for life had been restored, it was once again deadened. And she’d done this to him out of her own fear and ignorance.
He swung back toward her. “I’m not the monster you think I am, Juliana.
The rich timbre of his voice reverberated through her soul. She ached to feel his arms around her again. But he made no move toward her.
It was up to her.
“I know that now.”
“Do you?”
“I stopped by the cemetery where Solange is buried and spoke to the priest.”
“You don’t trust me.” Pursing his lips, Henri drew a sharp breath through his nose. “Better we know that now than later. Good-bye, Juliana.” He started toward the hatch.
“Henri, I was wrong.” Shivering, she blinked back hot tears.
He stopped with his back to her.
“Wrong to accuse you of lying to me when I had based my beliefs on hearsay.”
Henri turned slowly. “And I would be lying if I didn’t say your actions shocked me.”
Clasping her icy hands together, she said, “When Alfonso died, I was so broken that I feared risking my heart again. I didn’t think I could survive another heartbreak. So I never took a chance, until you came along. And I don’t regret it.”
“Go on.” Henri took a step toward her.
“I reacted the way I did out of fear. I was protecting my heart.” Her teeth chattering, she added, “I might be outspoken, but I’m not normally a fire-breathing, she-devil shrew.”
Wordlessly, Henri slipped off his jacket and wrapped it around her. Tilting her chin up, he met her quivering lips with his.
Chapter 10
His breath forming misty clouds in the brisk air, Henri took Juliana’s hand and led her down the ladder below deck. Had the weather not been bad, he’d have set sail today, perhaps never to see Juliana again. He’d even thought of selling Chateau Laurent and returning to Europe to acquire a vineyard. There he could create a new life for his small family.
But now, Juliana was back and he thought he might break down with relief. He lifted her slender frame from the ladder and enfolded her in his arms. “I’ve not been honest with you, Juliana. There’s so much I need to tell you.”
“This time, I promise I’ll listen. And I won’t judge you.”
“When you didn’t return my calls I thought I’d lost you forever.” This was the first time since he’d returned from Europe that he’d let his guard down. Her actions had devastated him.
“I acted so foolishly.” Juliana shook her head. “And ruined the lovely night we were having.”
Flicking a tear from her cheek, he said, “Will you promise me another dance?”
“As many as you want.”
He hoped she would still feel that way after she heard his story.
Footsteps sounded in the passageway behind them. Anne appeared in his oversized sweater. He’d put his warm clothes on the girls before he left. “Henri, did you get my clothes—Juliana!” Anne ran, her dark hair streaming behind her, and flew into Juliana’s open arms.
“I knew you’d come back,” Anne cried.
Beatrice raced into the galley and flung her arms around Juliana, too. “Did you get our letter?”
Juliana laughed. “I did. I thought it was so sweet of you to write.”
“What letter?” Henri hadn’t heard anything about this.
Anne pushed up her falling sleeves. “We sent her a letter. But it’s a secret.”
“If you tell him, it’s not a secret anymore,” Beatrice said.
“I’m not going to tell him what we wrote.” Anne smiled up at Juliana. “I wrote most of it.”
Henri chuckled. The girls were always up to something. “I’ve got your warm clothes and hot food. Which do you want first?” He opened the canvas bag he’d brought on board from the car.
“We’re starving,” Beatrice said, bouncing up and down.
“I take it the girls are wearing your sweaters,” Juliana said. “I’ll help them change if you want to put supper out.”
“Thanks for helping. I hope you’re staying for supper.” Henri handed her some sweaters and socks for the girls, and then kissed her on the cheek.
“I think I can fit it int
o my schedule,” she said, smiling. He’d missed that smile.
“Come on,” Anne said. “We’ll show you our bedroom.”
Beatrice grinned. “That’s actually called a stateroom on a boat. And do you know what the bathroom is called?” She started giggling.
Knocking Beatrice on the noggin, Anne yelled out, “It’s the head.”
Henri watched the girls take Juliana by the hand and disappear through the passageway. Was it too much to hope for that they might form a family someday? When Solange was alive, they’d been a kind of family, but after she’d died, Anne and Beatrice had been deeply affected.
Reaching into the bag, he brought out peaches, plums, grapes, tomatoes, and lettuce grown on their land, along with several types of cheese and nuts. He’d also bought hot sourdough bread and a large jar of seafood cioppino with garlic bread from the old Tadich Grill.
After arranging the food on the galley table, he called the girls. They came racing through the passageway, followed by Juliana, who now wore one of his sweaters. He liked the way she looked in it, though it was far too large for her, too.
Anne and Beatrice slid into the built-in booth on one side, leaving Henri and Juliana on the other. Their eyes darting between Henri and Juliana, the two girls giggled and whispered to each other.
“Remember what I said about telling secrets in front of others?” Henri gave them a false frown, but he meant it. Still, he was relieved they’d taken to Juliana so quickly. He’d been concerned they might not like her because they’d feel she was taking the place of Solange, who for all intents and purposes, had been the only mother they’d ever known.
He and Solange had been honest with the girls from the time they could talk. They’d told them they were not their parents, but they loved them just as if they were. Henri and Solange didn’t know how long they’d be able to keep Anne and Beatrice, so they didn’t want to confuse them. But as the years went on, he and Solange had become the parents the girls had never known.
As the boat rocked against the wind, the four of them sat eating and laughing. Juliana looked at ease with Beatrice and Anne. Henri made jokes with them, though inside, he was still guarded. Would Juliana look at him differently after she heard his story?