Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
I breathed in the lavender-scented breeze whispering through the open window, accompanied by the distant melody of birds. Sinking onto the worn velvet of the window seat, I traced my fingers along the intricate patterns etched into the weathered wood frame. Beyond the glass pane, rows of gnarled trees stretched toward the horizon, their silver-green leaves shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
A lump formed in my throat as I gazed out at the sprawling estate.
"I didn't ask for any of this," I murmured to myself, my breath fogging the glass. For nearly three decades, I'd been a stranger to this world of rolling vineyards and family legacy. Now, I felt like an intruder, thrust into the middle of a fractured family portrait.
A gentle knock interrupted my brooding. I hastily wiped my eyes, composing myself before calling out, "Come in."
The door creaked open, revealing Colette's kind face. Her eyes crinkled with concern as she stepped into the room, holding a checkered cloth napkin.
" Ma chérie ," Colette said softly, "I thought you might need a little sweetness." She unfolded the napkin, revealing a collection of pastel-colored macarons. "Sometimes, in times like these, only a homemade macaron will do."
I couldn't help but laugh, the sound tinged with both mirth and melancholy. "How could I possibly refuse?"
As Colette settled beside me on the window seat, the rich aroma of almond and vanilla enveloped us. I took a delicate bite, savoring the crisp shell and chewy center.
"I'm sorry for my reaction earlier," I said, brushing a stray crumb from my lap. "It's all so... intense. I feel like I've been dropped into someone else's life."
Colette's weathered hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "They're not being fair to you, ma petite . I've known those boys since they were in diapers, and I love them dearly, but..." She sighed, shaking her head. "They can be têtes de mule —stubborn as mules."
My lips quirked in a wry smile. "I suppose I can't entirely blame them. One day, everything's normal, the next—surprise! Here's a long-lost sister, ready to claim part of your inheritance."
Colette's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. "Ah, but this is France. A love child or two is practically a family tradition."
I snorted, nearly choking on my macaron. As I regained my composure, Colette's expression grew serious.
"Whatever those boys might say, remember this: you belong here, Elodie. You are Pascal’s daughter, and that makes you one of us. This," she gestured to the sprawling estate beyond, "this is your home, too."
I blinked rapidly, willing away the tears that threatened to spill over. I took a deep breath.
“What do I do now, Colette?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "About all of... this?" I waved my hand toward the window, encompassing the vastness of my unexpected inheritance.
Colette's lips curved into an enigmatic smile. "What do you want to do?”
I laughed, the sound lighter now. "Aren't you supposed to be the wise old housekeeper with all the answers?"
"Ah, but where's the fun in that? Your grandfather gave you this gift, no strings attached. You could wash your hands of it all—sell the estate, fly back to California, and chalk this up as a lovely little adventure."
"Or?" I prompted, leaning in.
Colette's smile widened. "Or... you could consider other options. The kind that might just change your life entirely."
I glanced out the window, not even able to contemplate what she was suggesting. After a moment, I turned back to her.
“Did you–” I paused. “Did you know my mother very well?” I asked, shifting the subject.
Colette smiled. She nodded.
“I did. For a little while, anyway. She was lovely. Full of life and joy. She could get excited about every lavender blossom. A fresh loaf of bread. Walks in the sun. A rare kind of joie de vivre .”
I smiled. There were times I saw that in her, too. But so much of the time, there was a cloud of stress lingering over her. Being a single mother couldn’t have been easy.
Colette's eyes took on a faraway look, her fingers absently smoothing the wrinkles in her apron. "I know things did not turn out how your mama had anticipated,” she said softly. "But for a time, your mother and Pascal... they were like characters from a storybook. Young, giddy, drunk on love and possibility." She paused, a wistful smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Perhaps if they had met later in life, things might have been different. But Pascal... he was too caught up in himself back then to truly understand what he was giving up."
I lowered my eyes, feeling the weight of the next question settling on my tongue like a stone. Part of me wanted to swallow it back down, to protect myself from the answer I feared. But I had come too far to turn back now.
"Did Pascal ever..." I began, my voice barely above a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Did he ever talk about me? Do you think... do you think he ever thought about me?"
The flicker of hesitation in Colette's eyes told me everything before she even opened her mouth. Still, I waited, holding my breath as she carefully chose her words.
"After you left, he rarely spoke of you," Colette admitted, her voice gentle but honest. "I knew it pained him deeply, but he would only respond with anger when asked. So, eventually, everyone simply... stopped asking." She sighed, the sound heavy with years of unspoken regrets. "It broke your grandfather's heart, truly. You must understand, ma petite , back then, your brothers and sister didn't exist. His only grandchild had come into his life and then vanished like morning mist. It was a very difficult time for all."
I nodded, blinking back the sting of tears. The once-comforting lavender breeze now felt cloying, almost suffocating.
Colette continued, her voice softening. "It caused a rift between Pierre and your father that never fully healed. But as time passed, life moved on, as it always does. Pascal met Céline and had more children. Pierre did his best to be in their lives.” She paused, squeezing my hand. "To answer your second question, chérie ... I know he thought of you. In his vulnerable moments, I believe you were never far from his thoughts.”
I swallowed hard, trying to process this bittersweet revelation. "Mom rarely talked about Dad," I confessed, my voice wavering slightly. "I feel like there's this... this gaping hole in my life. In my history. Like I'm a puzzle with half the pieces missing."
Colette's weathered hand found mine again, her touch warm and reassuring. "Then maybe, this is your chance to find those missing pieces. To discover who you truly are. Use this time to learn about the part of yourself that's been waiting to be found. After all, isn't that what brought you here?"
As I gazed out the window at the sun-drenched vineyards, their neat rows stretching toward the purple-hued mountains on the horizon, I felt a curious mix of trepidation and excitement bubbling up inside me. Colette was right. I had come here seeking answers, seeking a connection to a past I'd never known. And now, for better or worse, I had the chance to uncover those long-buried truths.
I turned back to Colette. “Can I ask you a difficult question?”
“I will do my best to answer.”
I inhaled. “Why didn’t anyone know about me? I mean, you and Pierre never told anyone—why?”
Colette’s mouth twisted around a couple of times. “I’m sure it’s hard to understand. And it wasn’t what we wanted. But Pascal—he didn’t want anyone to know. He thought—he thought he would never see you again. I think he just wanted to forget. Especially when he started a new family.”
I nodded. It wasn’t what a girl wanted to hear, but it made sense.
Colette patted my hand. "I hope you will find the answers you need here. With Pascal and Pierre now both gone, I think we have nothing left to do but be honest.” She stood and stretched, cracking her back with a little twist. “Now. I am preparing something delicious for dinner. We will gather around and get to know one another. We will have good wine. And all will be well. You’ll see.”