2
November, 1939
For Gerard Lapin to be any closer to Marie, heˇd need to be on top of her. Sheˇs radiant beside him, pink-cheeked and red-lipped, green eyes so luminous my eyes snag on them no matter who Iˇm addressing.
I stand at the altar, gritting my teeth as I watch him. His attention is always on her no matter what else is occurring, his hand constantly on her arm or back for no reason whatsoever, as if sheˇs an elderly woman who needs his support to kneel, sit or rise.
When the service is over, I walk back with the family for a small celebration at the farm, and even Henri is annoyed by his friend.
¨Heˇs making a fool of himself,〃
he sighs, watching Gerard fall all over himself to charm Marie.
¨Heˇll need to work fast,〃
Amelie says with a small smile, ¨given how soon we move.〃
I nearly stumble at the words. ¨Move? Move where?〃
It comes out as a demand, and I sound far too invested in her response. I sometimes worry my feelings for Marie are etched so deeply in every word I speak and every gesture I make that even a child could read them plainly. I assume thatˇs the case now, but Amelie shows no sign of it.
¨England,〃 she replies. ¨The countryside is safer there, until the war concludes.〃
Perhaps it should come as a relief that it will put five hundred miles between Marie and myself, between Marie and Gerardˇs grasping, greedy hands. Instead it does the opposite. I picture my life without her, without that single spot of color, and I panic.
All afternoon, at the farm, itˇs a struggle to think of anything else. Iˇm trying to play my part, exchange niceties with Henri and Amelie and their friend Jeannette, but my head is so clouded with thoughts I shouldnˇt have and the desire to say things Iˇm not allowed to say that I can barely function.
My eyes drift, constantly, to where she sits, playing with Jeannetteˇs children. She has never looked more beautiful than she does today, flushed with pleasure, laughing at something the little girl says.
She will be a good mother.
The thought stabs me like a knife. Marie has always been the living symbol of what I gave up to join the priesthood, a test even I couldnˇt have conceived of until I laid eyes on her.
She is the reddest, most lush rose in a sea of tepid pastels. Fragrant and blooming where all else is withered. If I could do it all over again, Iˇd have chosen her. I just didnˇt know.
¨Is everything alright?〃 she asks, walking up beside me. Iˇve always loved the sweetness of her voice, but right now it causes an ache I can hardly bear. ¨You seem distracted.〃
Gerard is occupied at last, bouncing the little boy on his knee, undoubtedly putting on a show of fatherliness for Marie, damn him. One more thing I canˇt do. Itˇs selfish, so selfish, but I want to get her away from him while I can. Outside in the brisk air Iˇll be able to gather my thoughts.
¨Iˇd like to see your orchard,〃 I tell her.
She smiles. ¨I realize you donˇt have much experience with farms, but you do realize orchards arenˇt particularly interesting in November?〃
I take a quick glance at Gerard and grimace. ¨Iˇd like to see it anyway.〃
She nods, though I can tell sheˇs confused, and grabs her coat. I follow her outside, with no plan at all, into the clear but blustery day.
We reach the far side of the barn and the breeze hits us hard. ¨You wonˇt be too cold?〃 I ask.
She glances up at me with that smile of hers, a smile I dream of at night. ¨Iˇm not fragile, Edouard.〃
My eyes linger on her face, though they should not. ¨Of that Iˇm well aware.〃
She blushes and looks away, biting her lip. Already the moment feels too intimate. And despite that, I donˇt tell her we should go back to the house, though we should. I simply stare at the flush of her cheeks, wishing I could feel her soft skin beneath my palms.
She tips her head toward the bare trees that loom ahead of us. ¨There it is. Resplendent, no?〃 she asks with a grin.
Iˇm not looking at anything but her. ¨Just apples?〃
¨Pears too,〃 she says. ¨Have you forgotten that pear tarte I made you last summer?〃
I swallow. She has no idea, Iˇm sure, that she is responsible for every spot of color in my life. The sight of her, the sound of her voice, the food she brings. She is what reminds me, daily, of Godˇs magnificence.
And reminds me daily of why I shouldnˇt have made the vows I have.
¨Iˇve not forgotten a single thing youˇve ever done,〃 I reply.
Her cheeks turn the loveliest shade of rose once more. Tell her not to leave, begs that selfish voice inside me. Tell her to stay with you. I choose silence instead, and the moment stretches so thin and tight I canˇt stand to let it continue.
¨Amelie told me youˇre going to England,〃 I say.
Her eyes meet mine, her pretty mouth a soft red ¨o〃 of surprise. ¨I was going to tell you,〃 she says softly.
¨Is it what you want?〃 I ask. Sheˇs mentioned it to me enough times now, the sense that she no longer has a place on the farm. Henri and Amelie are a family now. She feels as if sheˇs intruding, and that itˇs time they finally had some peace after the tumult of the past months.
Her eyes drop. ¨I have nowhere else to go,〃 she says, and itˇs only when I hear the rasp in her voice that I realize sheˇs trying not to cry.
I reach for her, my palm sliding over her cheek. Something Iˇve wanted to do since the day we met. ¨Iˇm sorry,〃 I say quietly. ¨I shouldnˇt have asked.〃
She looks up at me, those luminous green eyes of her wet with unshed tears, full mouth trembling. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my palm, and when a single tear streaks down her cheek I lean forward, without thought, and press my lips against it.
Her skin is soft as a flower petal, and I can feel the heat of her blood coursing beneath its cool surface. I pull back only an inch, just enough to meet her eyes. In them, I donˇt see surprise. She is waiting, as sheˇs always been. My lips return, slightly lower, and then again, grazing the corner of her mouth.
Her intake of air is almost inaudible, but my body goes taut at the sound anyway. And with that, the die is cast. I could no sooner stop myself than I could cut off my own hand. My mouth moves to hers, soft but insistent, and she yields, just as Iˇve dreamed she would for far too long. My free hand slides inside her coat to grasp her waist and pull her against me.
What began as soft and uncertain quickly gives way to something else entirely. Years and years of wanting her have led to this-and suddenly I find that Iˇm nothing but accumulated desire. My arms band around her tightly and I groan at the feel of her against me, at the growing pressure below.
My hand lowers, splays over her luscious curves and itˇs too much, I know. Too much for Marie, who is probably even less experienced than I am. Too much because Iˇm her damned priest. I should pull away, but when her hands grasp my lapels Iˇm lost. I sink into her mouth, into the taste and smell and feel of her. Together, we form a circle of heat and want in the bitter air, and when a door slams somewhere in the distance Iˇm beyond caring. I want her and Iˇve waited so, so long for this. Let the world cave in around us. As long as sheˇs with me it no longer matters.
Itˇs she who pulls away. ¨Edouard,〃 she gasps, ¨someone is coming.〃
I hear the crunch of a wing tip on gravel, and I still donˇt care. My brain is hazy, awash in pure need. I reach for her and she rests a small hand against my cheek. ¨You canˇt be seen like this,〃 she says, and she turns and runs toward the house. Saving me, protecting me, waiting for me as she always has. I hear the sound of her greeting someone, her voice overly bright and false and I stand frozen, wishing we hadnˇt been interrupted and at the same time shocked at how recklessly and thoughtlessly I gave in after so many years of restraint.
Itˇs the first time Iˇve broken my vows, and though I realize how insane this was-Iˇm not equipped for any other job, and that is no one to fill my shoes if I leave-I canˇt bring myself to regret it. Itˇs what Iˇve wanted for three years straight.