The French War Bride

by Robin Wells

  Jack put down the chart. “That’s a big decision, and you are still ill enough to be on oxygen. There will be plenty of time to discuss this when you get home and feel better.”

  “I’ve been considering it for some time. I’m bored here, and the city has a lot more to offer.” She fluffed her hair. “With this scandal of yours, Jack, I think you should consider moving, too.”

  “Getting married is hardly a scandal.”

  “Jilting the most eligible girl in the parish and coming home with a war bride and a baby big enough to be your sibling—that is indeed a scandal, Jack. A big one, in a town this small.” She turned and gave me an insincere little smile. “Sorry, dear, but that’s just how things are.”

  A nerve ticked in Jack’s jaw. “They’ll get over it when the next bit of gossip comes along.”

  “Will they? I fear it will hamper your practice. And anyway, I don’t see why you don’t want to go for a specialty that can make you some real money.”

  “Because I’ve always wanted to be a general practitioner. I want to treat entire families, to know my patients outside of sickness, to be a part of their community.”

  “Well, you can do that perfectly well in New Orleans.”

  “The type of practice I want is only available in a small town.”

  “If you’re expecting to socially interact with your patients, I think you’re going to be disappointed. I hear you’re already being shunned.”

  His features settled into the unreadable set I knew too well. He stiffly kissed her forehead. “Get some rest, Mother.”

  I walked beside him in silence as we left the room. “Is she right, Jack? Am I ruining your practice?”

  He shook his head. “Sick people need a doctor, and right now there are a lot of sick people. My mother has always been overly concerned with the opinions of others.”

  “You, too, must be concerned about the opinion of those you care about.”

  “I hate that I’ve hurt Kat and Dr. Thompson.”

  “Caroline told me you’re considering leaving Wedding Tree.”

  He blew out a sigh and nodded. “I am trying to find a doctor to take over Dr. Thompson’s practice, but it’s not easy. I’ve promised to stay here in the meantime.”

  “Oh, Jack! I am so sorry I put you is this position.”

  He stared at the elevator door as it closed. “I put myself in it. I accept responsibility for my own actions.” His eyes briefly met mine. His gaze was cool, but I sensed a undertone of still-hot anger. “What I have trouble accepting is that I made my decision based on false information.”

  “I am so very, very sor—”

  He held up his hand. “Save your apologies. I am sick of them, and they don’t fix anything.”

  “But . . .”

  The door slid open, and we were no longer alone. My heart was heavy. I didn’t know if Jack would ever be able to forgive me. And if he could not, how would I ever be able to forgive myself?

  68

  AMÉLIE

  1946

  The next day was Saturday, and the weather was again gorgeous. Winter in southern Louisiana was much like spring in Paris, I was learning—varying from chilly to warm, then back again. This day was another gift of sunshine.

  At breakfast, Caroline suggested that we take a picnic to see the town’s namesake. Jack tried to beg off, but Bruce insisted. “You need to spend time with your wife, Jack. It won’t hurt you to take off half a day to show her around her new hometown.”

  As Caroline and I washed the dishes, she confided that Bruce had found Jack asleep on the sofa on Thursday when he’d gone down to the kitchen in the middle of the night.

  “Bruce is worried about your marriage,” Caroline said.

  My face heated. “We’re fine.”

  “A lot of couples come to Bruce wanting to divorce,” Caroline said, drying a plate. “He always tries to talk them out of it. He says there’s one thing those couples all have in common by the time they seek an attorney.” She placed the plate atop a stack of clean ones, carefully keeping her eyes on it. “They’re always sleeping apart.”

  My face flamed. I felt very exposed and vulnerable.

  “I can tell Jack is angry,” Caroline told me.

  “Yes.” I scrubbed a plate more vigorously than necessary. “He’s furious at me for writing to Kat.”

  “He can be very stubborn.”

  I nodded.

  Caroline picked up another plate and rubbed the dish towel over it. “Sometimes the best way to get over a rough patch in a marriage is to just move forward and create positive new memories.” She smiled at me. “That’s why Bruce and I planned an outing for the four of us today.”

  After we finished cleaning the kitchen, Caroline fussed over what I should wear—“Wearing something special makes the day feel special,” she said—and insisted on helping me style my hair. She was up to something, I could tell that, but I thought it was just a clumsy attempt to make me more attractive to my own husband, which, quite frankly, embarrassed me to death.

  I ended up wearing a dress of Yvette’s that I had cut down to fit me—it was light pink with a full skirt. We drove out of town and into the woods, Jack behind the wheel. He was dressed in a suit and tie, because he was going to see patients later.

  “This forest reminds me of France,” I said.

  He parked near a wide spot in the road. We climbed out of the car and walked down a well-worn path through tall oaks and pines. “There it is,” Caroline said. “The Wedding Tree.”

  I stared where she pointed. It was actually two enormous live oaks, connected by a single, continuous branch that formed an arch.

  “Oh, my!” I breathed.

  “It’s called inosculation,” Jack said. “The branches rub against each other and wear off the bark, and the two trees graft together.”

  “It’s like that Cole Porter song, ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin,’” Bruce said, hugging Caroline.

  “The part that grows together is the cambium,” Jack said.

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Trust Jack to know all the scientific terms.”

  “They’re usually called husband and wife trees, or marriage trees, but the local settlers got it slightly wrong,” Bruce added.

  I gazed up at the thick branch. “You can’t tell where one tree ends and the other begins.”

  “Like a really long, strong marriage. Isn’t it beautiful?” Caroline said. “They’ve been completely grafted together for at least a couple of centuries. They share water and nutrients through that branch, too.”

  My throat grew strangely tight. “That’s lovely.”

  “Isn’t it?” Caroline agreed. “There’s a legend that if you kiss under the tree, you’ll always be together.”

  Bruce grabbed Caroline, bent her over backward, and gave her a thorough smooch.

  “Now it’s your turn,” Caroline said to Jack.

  He raised his hands and stepped away from me. “I don’t believe in superstitions.”

  “Oh, right,” Caroline said. “I remember Kat complaining that you wouldn’t kiss her here.”

  Jack’s eyebrows quirked up. “She told you that?”

  “Yes.” She imitated Kat’s breathy voice. “Jack said it’s a bunch of nonsense and he refuses to participate in a pagan ritual.”

  “I’m sure I didn’t call it a pagan ritual. I probably said I don’t believe in perpetuating superstitions.”

  “It’s not a superstition, it’s a tradition,” Caroline said. “And speaking of tradition, I asked Adelaide McCauley to come take a picture of you and Amélie kissing beneath it.”

  Jack’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

  “Well, you know she’s a very gifted wedding photographer. You shouldn’t miss out on having an Adelaide McCauley photo just because you’re already married. You’
ll treasure it when you’re old and gray, and so will your children.”

  Jack frowned. “I don’t think . . .”

  “Oh, look!” interrupted Caroline. “Here comes Addie now!”

  I turned in the direction Caroline was facing and saw a slender brunette coming down the path, clutching a professional-looking camera. I thought she resembled Katharine Hepburn. Caroline waved and walked toward her.

  “Were you in on this?” Jack asked Bruce.

  Bruce sheepishly raised his shoulders. “You know your sister. When she gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.”

  The woman wore a blue shirtwaist and wide smile. “So you’re Jack’s new bride. I’m Addie. Welcome to Wedding Tree!” Instead of shaking my hand, she gave me a hug and patted Elise’s arm. “Oh, what a beautiful child!”

  Elise smiled and cooed at her.

  “Welcome home, Jack.” Adelaide gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “Thanks. How’s Charlie?” Jack asked. “I heard he lost part of a foot in the war.”

  “He’s doing much better, thanks.” She greeted Bruce, then lifted the camera hanging around her neck. “The light is just perfect, so we’d better get busy and take advantage of it.”

  “I’ll hold Elise,” Caroline said.

  I passed the baby to her.

  “Jack and Amélie, stand right here and face each other,” Addie directed. “That’s right. Now, Jack, put one hand on your wife’s waist, and the other hand around her back. Amélie, put one hand on Jack’s chest and the other around his neck.”

  We awkwardly posed as she directed. She stepped back and focused her camera for what seemed like forever. The nearness of Jack—the smell of his shaving cream and the starch in his shirt and the scent of his skin—made me feel a little light-headed.

  “Okay—now kiss!”

  Jack leaned in and lightly touched my lips in what must have been the world’s shortest peck. Bruce laughed.

  “You’d think you two were total strangers,” Bruce said. “How’d you make a baby, kissing like that?”

  Jack’s ears turned red.

  “You need to hold the kiss longer,” Adelaide said gently. “Let’s do it again.”

  This time our lips met and held. I melted a little against him, and he seemed to thaw a bit, too.

  “This is awkward,” I whispered to him.

  “No kidding,” he replied.

  “Again!”

  We kissed again.

  Adelaide repositioned us several times. With every kiss, things grew both more comfortable between us—and more tense. I was enjoying it, I feared, way too much.

  “Okay. I’ve got it!” Adelaide said at last.

  “Thank you so much,” Caroline said.

  Elise started to fuss and reached for us.

  “Oh, wait—let’s take a few with the baby! Both of you kiss her, one on each cheek.”

  We did as Adelaide directed. She snapped away, then lowered her camera.

  “Wonderful! I can’t wait to get these developed.”

  “I can’t wait, either!” Caroline said.

  “Amélie, I want to throw a little dinner party to welcome you to town,” Addie said. “How about next Saturday? Bruce and Caroline, I want you to come, of course—and Kurt and Alice Sullivan, and the Marches.”

  “That sounds wonderful!” Caroline said.

  I looked at Jack. He nodded. “Sure. I’d love to see Charlie.”

  “What can we bring?” Caroline asked.

  “Just yourselves. I’ll send out an invitation with the particulars. Oh, this will be so much fun!” With a wave, Addie headed up the path to her car.

  We ate our picnic lunch, then drove back to the house. Jack left to check on some patients, and Caroline and Bruce went to a movie, with plans to go out to dinner. They invited me to go with them, but I thought they might want some time alone as a couple.

  Oh, what I would give for Jack and me to truly be a couple! The kisses had ignited a longing deep in my soul.

  I had heard the saying “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” I was sure it was not a French saying—Frenchwomen know otherwise—but still, I figured it couldn’t hurt to cook a nice dinner for Jack. I decided to brave the grocery store again.

  I bought a small chicken. I’d just placed it in the oven to roast and had put Elise down for an afternoon nap when Jack came home.

  I had hoped that the kisses had warmed him up, as they had me, but his expression was distant, his manner aloof. “Where are Caroline and Bruce?”

  “They’ve gone out to a movie and dinner.”

  He scowled. “No doubt another of their little romantic plots to leave us alone together.” He turned toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Out.”

  I hurried across the room toward him. “But I’m cooking dinner for you.”

  “Don’t bother.” He reached for the doorknob. “I’ll grab something at the diner.”

  “Jack,” I said.

  He reluctantly turned toward me.

  I pulled off my apron and placed it on the side table. “I want to make things better between us, but I don’t know how.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible.”

  “Maybe if you don’t . . .” I stared at his brown loafers. It took me a moment to gather my courage. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor anymore.” I looked up at him. “We are married, after all.”

  “I don’t feel married.”

  “I don’t, either. But I want to have that with you. To build that with you.”

  His eyes were remote, his features hard as granite. “Because of you, I’ve hurt a lot of people I genuinely care about. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be sharing a house, much less a bedroom, with you. The truth is . . .” He heaved a hard, frustrated sigh. “Damn it, Amélie! I’m so furious at you that it’s hard for me to be around you.”

  “We need to fix that.” I stepped closer to him. “To fix your anger.”

  “How the hell do you propose to do that?”

  I don’t know where the courage came from. My heart was fluttering in my chest like a caged bird trying to escape. I moved toward Jack, put my hands around his neck and drew him down. “Like this,” I whispered.

  I pressed my mouth to his lips, and angled my groin to fit against his.

  He did not move. For a long, heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to push me away—which, I must tell you, would have killed me.

  He remained as still as a rock for so long that I began to tremble. But then, his lips moved on mine, hot and hungry, his tongue demanding entrance. His hands tangled in my hair, then moved down to my breasts, my waist, my bottom. He cupped my buttocks, lifted me and carried me to the kitchen counter, where he set me down.

  He wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t gentleness I wanted. I wanted raw, primal passion. I wanted to be possessed, to be claimed, to be marked as his.

  He unbuttoned my dress, pushed aside my bra, and took my breast in his mouth. His movements were rough and urgent and thrilling. A rush of pleasure shot straight to my groin. He claimed me with his hands and his mouth—my breast, then under my dress, sliding up my thighs—all the way up, stroking me through my underwear until I thought I would die, and then he lifted me again, set me back on the floor, and pulled off my panties.

  “Turn around.” It was an order, low and raspy, and I quickly complied.

  He leaned me over the counter. I heard the clink of his belt unbuckling, the soft whish of his pant zipper, and then he bunched up the fabric of my dress. One hand circled around and stroked me in front on my most sensitive spot, and then . . . Oh, mon Dieu, he filled me. This time there was no pain—only pleasure. Oh, what pleasure! He stroked in and out, continuing to use his hand, as well. Tension built and co
iled inside me until it reached an aching, back-arching need, which spiraled to a breath-holding crescendo. I shattered, like glass broken by a soprano’s purest note. Jack’s completion followed right behind.

  He leaned against me, his lips on the back of my neck, breathing hard. I felt a sense of joy and fulfillment and yes . . . love.

  And then the kitchen door burst open.

  “Oh—excuse me!” I heard Bruce’s voice say. I looked up to see the door rapidly slamming shut.

  “Merde,” Jack said.

  “Mon Dieu!” I whispered.

  Jack backed away and straightened his clothes. “Go upstairs and get decent.”

  I scurried upstairs, but paused around the corner to listen as Jack opened the door.

  “Hey, really sorry to disturb you, buddy,” Bruce said.

  “I was, uh, just . . .”

  “Hey, no need to explain.” I heard Bruce chuckle. “I’m just glad to see you two are getting along better.”

  I couldn’t hear Jack’s response. I don’t know if he made one.

  “Caroline needed a sweater. Good thing she waited in the car, right?” I heard the closet door open. “Say—we saw Betty Costley at the movie, and she asked if you could stop by to see her mother tomorrow. Her arthritis is worse and she’s got some kind of new pain that keeps her from sleeping and she’s miserable.”

  “Okay,” I heard Jack say. “Do the Costleys still live over on Pine Street?”

  “Yeah.” The closet door banged shut. “Well, again, sorry to interrupt.” I heard what sounded like a backslap and a chortle. “Gotta say, you’re a lucky man, bud. Most women won’t do anything unless it’s dark and the lights are all out!”

  I headed to the bathroom so Jack wouldn’t catch me eavesdropping. When I came out, Elise was awake from her afternoon nap, and Jack was gone.

  69

  KAT

  2016

  Hearing Amélie talk about lovemaking with Jack makes my stomach hurt, even though I’d told her I wanted the details. I hadn’t counted on being able to fit her stories into the context of my memories.