by Anna Adams
“That, my friend, is a very interesting question,” she answered, her dark brown eyes twinkling mischievously. “It was luck. I was lucky enough to meet James Baldwin, a great producer and friend. He took me under his wing and here I am.”
“You are one lucky girl, Maude Laurent! I have another question for you. I’m sure you’ve heard Lindsey Linton and Thomas Bradfield’s duet ‘Paris Versus New York City.’ I think you have a unique position to answer this on the question. Which city do you prefer: Paris or New York?”
Maude laughed again and knew without seeing him that Matt was chuckling behind the scenes.
“Had you asked me this question six months ago, I would’ve said Paris without any hesitation. Paris will always be the city where I was discovered and for sure the most romantic city in the world,” Maude started. “Now, I honestly can’t imagine living anywhere else than New York,” she admitted, startled at her own admission.
She knew now, thanks to people she’d met and loved in New York where she truly belonged. Maude gazed fondly at the Baldwins, who were listening intently to every word that came out of her mouth, and she knew she didn’t want to part with them. She couldn’t part with them, and she shouldn’t have to.
She was ready to tell them about the contract she had signed with the Ruchets and let them help her get rid of her foster family once and for all.
Chapter 14
“So this is why the Ruchets agreed to let you sign with Soulville?” James asked gently, laying aside the written contract.
Maude nodded. The Baldwin children were all huddled up in Victoria and James’s hotel room.
“I can’t believe this!” Victoria expostulated. “These people are barbaric. There is no way in hell you’re staying over there.”
“And by making you live in a basement, they broke at least ten different international laws,” Cynthia observed, bewildered.
“Goes to show you how trustworthy lawyers really are,” Victoria commented dryly.
“Oh please, Mom. Just because—”
“Cynthia, don’t start. This really isn’t the time,” Victoria warned tersely.
“We have to let them know we want to adopt Maude,” James declared.
“They’ll give us a hard time out of spite,” Victoria said, clearly frustrated.
“We have to think this through,” James concluded. “For now, get some rest. You have an early flight tomorrow.”
“I’m not leaving,” Cynthia declared firmly. “I’ve decided to come with you to Carvin.”
James surveyed her, and then nodded. “All right, you’re an adult, you can make your own decisions.”
“If Cynthia’s staying, so am I,” Jazmine put in.
“Me too!” yelled Ben.
Victoria shook her head. “Ben, you’re leaving with Matt tomorrow. That’s final,” she declared in a tone that left no room for further discussion.
“Only girls get to do cool things in this family,” Ben mumbled, as he followed the rest of the clan out of the room.
“Victoria, can I speak to you . . . alone?” Maude asked.
“Sure. What about?
Maude waited for the door to close before speaking. She wasn’t really sure how to start.
Victoria sat next to Maude.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow,” she said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “The Ruchets won’t know what hit them.”
“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Maude took a deep breath. “Do you remember that night, the first month I was in New York, where we spoke about my parents? We wondered if sometimes it was best not to know how the people we loved had died.”
“I remember,” Victoria acknowledged.
“I saw something in your eyes,” Maude hesitated. “And now I know, I’m sure something tragic must have happened to someone you loved.”
Victoria looked away painfully.
“My father was Nigerian just like you,” Maude continued, tears welling up in her eyes. “Today, I found out both of my parents had been brutally murdered. I almost wish I hadn’t found out. How does one live with such knowledge?”
Victoria looked at Maude, her eyes filled with pain.
“Like many Nigerians, my family fled when the civil war began. We were quite an influential family. We had a lot of money so it was easy for us to leave and establish ourselves in the United States,” Victoria shook her head sadly. “Others weren’t so lucky. Today the war is over but peace, real peace, takes time. Democracy takes time. Nigeria is a better place today but still needs work. We all had to make sacrifices, and we still do. Even those, like my family, who thought they could escape. We all lost loved ones. For me, it was my brother. You lost your parents. Others lost everything and everyone they loved.”
“I sang ‘Coming Home’ for them. For the people we lost to wars and conflicts.”
“You sang beautifully, Maude. Especially considering the circumstances. You’ve come such a long way,” she smiled gently.
“I didn’t run off stage this time if that’s what you mean,” Maude laughed.
“I’m glad you can laugh about it now.”
“The sting of the humiliation has worn off . . . but not completely,” Maude admitted with a deep sigh.
“It will with time,” Victoria reassured. “For now, off to bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. You need all the sleep you can get.”
Everything had happened so fast, Maude thought regretfully, a heaviness building up in her chest. She had barely had time to say proper goodbyes to Matt and Ben due to take an early flight. She had hugged Ben warmly, and he’d promised to let her know which instrument he had chosen for his twelfth birthday.
“Just don’t choose bagpipes,” Maude had murmured between hugs.
Then she’d turned towards Matt. They had looked at each other a little awkwardly sensing five pair of Baldwin eyeballs staring curiously at them.
“It was a pleasure working with you,” Matt said simply, stretching out his hand.
She wanted to scream! She wanted to tell him that nothing was going on with Thomas, that nothing ever could happen, that . . .
What was the use? He had been perfectly clear that he wasn’t asking for anything more than genuine friendship.
“The pleasure was all mine,” Maude replied in an even tone. She took his hand and shook it just as awkwardly as she felt.
And they had parted ways. He was flying back to New York, and she was back in dreary Carvin. Not much had changed here since she’d left. The Grand Place was animated, everyone wanting to enjoy the few, precious rays of sun. Couples were walking hand in hand, and from afar Maude could see Mrs. Bonnin eyeing them curiously from behind her counter taking mental notes under her immaculate baker’s hat.
While the Ruchets checked in at the Belle Etoile Inn, Maude went to see her dear old friend.
“Maude,” Mrs. Bonnin cried out. “How you’ve grown! And so stylish, oh my! I almost didn’t recognize you on the Grand Place.”
Maude hugged her warmly, all the while sniffing in the delicious smells that emanated from her oven.
“I’m sure you were too busy spying on Carvin’s newest couples. Is it just me, or does Mr. Martin finally have a girlfriend?” Maude asked utterly baffled. “Please tell me she isn’t a mail order bride.”
“No, honey,” Mrs. Bonnin laughed. “She’s the new girl in town. Her name’s Abby, and she’s always dreamed of living in a big city.”
“She should visit New York some time,” Maude replied, taking a bite in her warm croissant.
“Honey, you don’t understand. This is the big city for her,” Mrs. Bonnin explained an amused twinkle in her eye.
Maude nearly choked.
“Whaaat? Where does she come from?”
“Avesnes-le-Comte.”
That was an explanation in itself.
“So, I want to know everything about your trip to New York,” Mrs. Bonnin said eagerly. In her mouth it sounded more like “Neu Yorque,” but Mau
de understood nevertheless.
“I’ll tell you everything just not now. I’ve got a few errands to run first,” Maude replied kindly.
“Okay, come back as soon as you can,” Mrs. Bonnin called out as Maude left.
Maude met the Baldwins near the fountain, and they headed for rue du Général de Gaulle.
“I’d go crazy in a small town,” Jazmine observed.
“Jazmine, don’t be rude,” Victoria warned.
“I wasn’t being rude. The town doesn’t look too bad. There’s just one huge problem.”
“What’s that?” Maude asked innocently.
“There isn’t a decent shop in sight.”
“I’m surprised you waited this long to make that observation,” Cynthia chided.
“I’m so glad you two came,” Maude said suddenly.
She was going to miss their bickering.
“Just wait till you hear Jazmine whine about her small-town itch,” Cynthia replied.
“It is a real condition,” Jazmine protested. “I went on a forum where people described the same symptoms I had.”
“That just means they’d escaped from the same psychiatric ward you were held in,” her sister snorted.
“STI is a condition that even famous people have apparently. Don’t you find it weird that celebrities are always born in small towns and die in big cities?” Jazmine mused.
“Martians have small town itch too, that’s why they leave their tiny planet and come visit us on Earth,” Cynthia said with a wicked grin.
Maude laughed.
“You two can stop now. We’re almost there.”
It was as if time had stopped at 29, rue du Général de Gaulle. Same boring plants, same vases, same paintings, same furniture. The twins had grown a few inches, but were still the same mischievous, little monsters they had always been. And of course, Mrs. Ruchet was still comfortably seated in her couch. She probably hadn’t moved from it a single inch in six months.
Only a close observer might notice that the china vase on the chimney was no longer there. With no one to watch them, the twins had gleefully smashed the object while playing soccer one afternoon in the living room. Maude noticed Mr. Ruchet had grown a few stray grey hairs. She however had no idea those grey hairs came from having to take care of his own children. The Ruchets had refused to hire a nanny while Maude was abroad and were eagerly waiting for her return. With Maude gone, Mr. Ruchet had been obliged to pick up the twins from school every weekday. He felt it to be an immense task indeed and keeping an eye on them after school would have been too much to ask.
Maude thought Mrs. Ruchet looked a little green in the face and knew she must have started on a new diet. Perhaps only green fruit and vegetables, Maude mused, trying to control an irrepressible laughter.
When Mr. Ruchet saw Victoria, a strange look appeared on his face, as if he was seeing a ghost.
As they all sat in the living room, Mrs. Ruchet stared at Maude fixedly then blinked twice. Maude ignored her, but she continued her strange behavior.
“Is something wrong?” Maude asked finally.
“Aren’t you going to get us drinks?” Mrs. Ruchet asked astonished.
“Maude just got here,” Victoria pointed out, trying to hide her utter bafflement. “I think we’ll manage without drinks.”
“Besides, we have important matters to discuss with you,” James added.
“I hope you didn’t come here in hopes of making Maude sign another contract. Ze deal was six months. A contract is a contract,” Mr. Ruchet stated ceremoniously.
“We understand that. This is another matter entirely. We would like to adopt Maude,” James continued.
Mrs. Ruchet let out a small cry and brought her hand to her heart.
“Robert,” she whined.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he said soothingly. “Zat’s not going to happen.”
“And why not?” Victoria asked coolly.
“We are her foster parents.”
“You never adopted her, never really wanted her to be a part of your family, did you?” Victoria asked masking her contempt with difficulty.
“We never legally adopted her, but we have her best interests at heart. That is what I will tell the judge when I will plead with him to keep our foster child from the harmful influence of a family only interested by her money and newfound fame.”
“And what will you tell that judge of yours when I tell him Maude wasn’t properly cared for?” Victoria asked undaunted.
She wasn’t a lawyer, but she possessed the fierceness of a shark.
“What are you insinuating?” Mr. Ruchet asked, unmoved.
“That any social service would be appalled to hear the conditions this poor girl has been living in for sixteen years,” James declared unflinchingly.
Mr. Ruchet smiled.
“I see ze girl has been telling tales. I see zat you absolutely want to get her out of here as quickly as possible. I also see zat you know nothing about French administration. It will take you years, not even to adopt, but to prove zat we are unfit parents. And in the meantime, she will have to stay with us. Furthermore, her own parents entrusted us with her safety. We want to honor our promise.”
“Is that how you honor your promise?” Maude asked softly. “I never knew a single thing about them until I contacted the French administration. They gave me this,” she said, taking out the beautifully crafted jewelry box from her bag.
“There’s a letter from my mother, Danielle. She writes that you were her closest friends.”
“Robert was their friend,” Mrs. Ruchet put in contemptuously. “I never liked Danielle.”
“Danielle wrote you a letter?” Robert asked, ignoring his wife.
He made an abrupt movement towards Maude, intending to grab her box. Victoria and Maude jumped at the same time, Victoria wanting to protect Maude, and Maude wanting to protect the box.
The box fell to the floor, throwing out all of its contents. The letter and three photographs lay on the floor.
Mr. Ruchet, Maude, and Victoria made a dash for the box. Mr. Ruchet picked up the worn-out letter and started to read it.
Maude snatched the letter from Mr. Ruchet and hissed, “Don’t you dare.”
Her eyes flashed angrily, and Mr. Ruchet took a step back.
Victoria was still kneeling down, picking up the Polaroid pictures, when she suddenly gasped, dropping the photos.
James hurried by her side and noticed she was trembling.
She let out a small cry and picked up one of the pictures with a trembling hand.
“Aaron,” she let out faintly.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Cynthia asked worriedly.
Her daughters kneeled down beside her.
“That’s Aaron,” she explained shakily. “My brother.”
Maude’s eyes widened in shock.
“My father, Aaron Williams, was your brother?”
Truth is a rare object. Human beings search for it like a rare metal, like silver or gold. They dig deep into the ground trying to unearth its mysterious forms. They rush towards it when they mistakenly believe they’ve found its bewitching glint, learning the hard way that alas, not all that glitters is gold. And even when they find the precious stone, they are disappointed, the rush of searching for it being more worthwhile than the discovery itself. But there are times, yes there are times, when finding Truth’s golden light is the greatest, purest treasure one can find.
“You’re my brother’s baby girl,” Victoria said, her voice quivering with emotion.
She took Maude in her arms and hugged her so tight, Maude thought her bones would ooze out of her body. But she didn’t mind it in the least. She clung to Victoria never wanting to let go.
“She’s our niece,” an astonished James whispered.
“Robert, do something!” Mrs. Ruchet urged.
“You aren’t leaving with ze girl. There is absolutely no proof of zis.”
“Oh, come on,” Jazmine exclaimed. “D
on’t you see the resemblance between Mom, Uncle Aaron, and Maude? Geez, Mom, were you and your brother twins?”
“Resemblance won’t work in court, young lady,” Mr. Ruchet stated curtly. “Besides, Maude is bound by a contract that she signed. You aren’t leaving with her.”
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?” Victoria hissed. “You made a sixteen-year-old girl sign a contract binding her to you for ten years and giving up all she’s hardly earned.”
“A contract is a contract, Madame Baldwin,” Mrs. Ruchet sneered.
“Not when the contract is void,” Cynthia pointed out.
Mr. Ruchet turned disdainfully in Cynthia’s direction, raising an eyebrow.
“What do you know about contract law, Miss Balding?” he questioned with a smirk.
“You know as well as I do, Mr. Ruchet, that according to the French Civil Code, a minor isn’t allowed to sign a contract that will dispossess him of his possessions. So that part of the contract is void. The part about Maude working for you for ten years is void as well. French Labor Laws are very strict especially concerning minors. However, nowhere in your contract is there any sort of mention of a salary. And do you know what that means Mr. Ruchet?” Cynthia asked fiercely.
Mr. Ruchet seemed to know because his face seemed to have been drained of its blood.
“It means,” Cynthia pursued triumphantly, “that Maude’s condition in this house can be defined as slavery under Article 4 of the European Convention on Human Rights.”
Mrs. Ruchet let out a small gasp.
“Not only that,” Cynthia said closing the distance between herself and Mr. Ruchet. “Her sleeping arrangements: a thin mattress in a basement without any light, with rats and a clutter of objects can be considered under Article 3 of that same convention as torture and inhuman or degrading treatment. Do you know what you’re risking, Mr. Ruchet?” Cynthia asked, grabbing Mr. Ruchet by the tie. She towered him tall and confident like a knight in shining armor swerving the Law like a silver sword.
Mr. Ruchet swallowed. He would have gladly taken such an intelligent student as a legal intern in his firm if she hadn’t been using her intelligence against him.