20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
I n December, Robbins took away the watch.
It had to go on maintenance again, and he’d return it after Christmas. He commended Fabienne for persistent practice; she didn’t tell him that of all her visits, seven were to see Brayden, and eighteen to respond to every letter he’d written to her.
Perhaps it was good Robbins forced her on a break.
The addition of a Christmas tree in the parlor put the household—save for its mistress—in a jolly mood. Mrs. Beasley rummaged for decorations, and the cook prepared candy and dried slices of lemons and oranges to put on the tree; the sheer extravagance of using those ingredients let Fabienne know how badly they needed a bit of joy.
As she stood alone in front of the tree, finishing it off with candles, she desperately scrambled for a bit of happiness herself. Instead, ghostly visions of a younger Antoine and Marion rushed past her, laughing and shrieking, to check the shoes they’d left by the fireplace on Christmas Eve. Maman, Maman, regarde! Le Père No?l m'a donné une poupée! Fabienne closed her eyes to dispel the illusion, and Brayden’s voice, from one of her visits to the past, echoed in the dark. Caddie, I promise I’ll be home by Christmas. The war will be over by then. He never did come back for that Christmas.
And thanks to her abominable behavior, he wouldn’t come this year, either. She groaned, forcing the thought away.
Her hand reached for a tree branch, fingers gripping a candy cane. Fabienne sighed, took a deep breath, then gritted her teeth. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t—
As if of their own volition, her fingers plucked the candy and safely stored it in her pocket. A wave of exhilaration washed through her.
“Ma’am?”
Fabienne jumped and turned.
Mrs. Beasley stood in the doorway. “You have visitors.”
“There you are!” Caddie brushed past the housekeeper. “That’s a lovely tree. We should have a competition for the best decorated one. Jim can judge since he has no stakes.”
Jim and Gertrude appeared behind her. The former responded, “And not much sense for decoration, either.”
Fabienne stared, dazed, at the neighbors who seemed to have made themselves right at home—except for Gertrude, who remained stubbornly at the door.
Caddie approached her. “I brought you a little something in case my competition plan fell through.” She opened a small, round tin box, revealing cotton strands, dipped in shiny white dust. “Saw a suggestion for it in a magazine. It makes beautiful frosting for the branches.”
“Th-thank you,” Fabienne mumbled. “I’ll use it.”
“See that you do, dear.” Caddie patted her shoulder.
“I’ll have Mrs. Tatham prepare some hot chocolate.” Mrs. Beasley, still hanging around on the fringes, nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen.
“So, what’s new around here, Fabi dear?” Jim made himself comfortable in a recliner. “Oh, that rhymes.”
Caddie rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you should become a poet, now that you won’t be a soldier anymore.”
“You won’t?” Fabienne said.
Jim shook his head. “My reenlistment comes in January. The arm is fine now, but I guess I became a bit of a coward.”
“You’re not a coward, dear,” Caddie said. “I wish Brayden would do the same.”
“Hmm. That is curious.” Jim crossed his ankles, catching balance on the chair. “Him reenlisting this summer. I don’t know why you’d let him do it, Fabienne. If I were you, I wouldn’t risk it. Of course, if I were you, I’d also understand women better, so this might be a moot question.”
Fabienne’s ears grew warm. “Uh… Gertrude, won’t you sit, please?”
Gertrude gave her a stabbing look, but took an armchair by the fireplace.
“Don’t mind my curmudgeon-in-law.” Caddie leaned toward Fabienne. “She’s still upset over the stolen dresses.”
“Still?” Jim leaned forward in his chair. “Good God, the persistence. You should become a general, Gertrude.”
“The dresses were returned, although under curious circumstances. The thief escaped.” Gertrude pursed her lips so much Fabienne was surprised any words were able to escape. “The police think she might be a Southern spy.” Her eyes zoned in on Fabienne. “One wouldn’t believe the kind of people we have in this neighborhood.”
Caddie’s glance switched from Gertrude to Fabienne, and she looped her arm around her. “I just remembered, shouldn’t we look at the dress for the Christmas ball? Let’s do it before the chocolate gets here.”
Gertrude opened her mouth, but Jim started, “Gertie, have I told you I saw Lorraine the other day…”
Caddie led a stunned Fabienne out of the parlor before the latter could object.
Fabienne knew of the Christmas ball: a charity event under the banner of Sanitary Commission, it was meant to raise funds for the army. Those who could were encouraged to bake pastries or contribute goods for the lottery. Fabienne, with the guidance of the cook, prepared to do the first—but she and Caddie hadn’t talked about anything else.
“I apologize for Gertie,” Caddie said as they reached the bedroom. “I hoped some Christmas spirit would cheer her up, but some people can’t be helped.”
Since they were already on the topic, Fabienne decided to test the ground. “This isn’t just about a thief.”
“Of course not. But if the shoe fits… not that it fits you.” Caddie gestured for Fabienne to sit next to her on the bed. “Gertie isn’t the only one lacking a Christmas spirit. No, no, it’s fine, dear. I understand.” She took her hand. “I miss my husband too, especially at a time like this. Brayden hasn’t written, has he?”
Fabienne only shook her head.
“That boy became neglective of his correspondence in the last year.”
Fabienne couldn’t respond, not when Caddie was talking so kindly to her—and she was the reason Brayden didn’t bother to write.
“And you miss them.” Caddie’s eyes, full of compassion, sought hers. “Your family. It’s only fair.” She patted her hand. “Each loved one we’d ever lost is worth thinking of. Worth remembering. But not for the price of our own life, or the people who are still around. You have a family here, too.”
Fabienne looked away, rapidly blinking through the first tears. Caddie couldn’t understand, not ever. She couldn’t know how it felt to be so close to getting them back and yet feel like she was moving nowhere; how torturous it was, knowing she could travel back and see Antoine and Marion at any time but didn’t dare do so because it would hurt too much.
She sniffled. “What problem does Gertrude have with me?” She didn’t care if this was something she should know already; she needed a change of topic.
“I suppose it’s all got to do with Brayden. I never told did, did I? But you know Brayden’s mother died young, shortly after he was born. There was talk William should remarry so the boy would have a mother, and Gertrude was put forth as a candidate since she was unmarried and we were neighbors. But I suppose William couldn’t get over Annabel so quickly, and nothing came of it.”
“She hates me because she couldn’t marry Brayden’s father?”
“No. But Brayden is like family to both of us. I suppose Gertrude only has stricter criteria for whom he should marry.”
And a Frenchwoman, deserted in the States, with ties to the South, probably wasn’t a good candidate. “And you?” Fabienne asked.
“Oof, my criteria is even stricter.” Caddie smiled mischievously. “I’ll approve of no other but a woman who could make him absolutely, over-the-moon happy.”
Then why would she support her? Why didn’t she hate her as much as Gertrude?
“Brayden is a good man.” Caddie grew serious. “When he comes back, you don’t let him leave again, fine? He won’t listen to me, but…” She shrugged. “Now, let’s get to the dress.”
Fabienne wiped away the residue from the tears. “I thought that was an excuse.”
“Yes, but we can still talk about it. What are you planning to wear to the ball?”
“Well, I did have an idea.” Caddie’s eyes glittered, and Fabienne felt some weight lift off her chest. “It’s about this petticoat…”
When they returned to the parlor one very thorough, design-based talk later, the chocolate had been delivered, and the smell of cinnamon and ginger mixed with the warmth from the fireplace. Even Gertrude looked slightly less hostile in the scene so cozy one could hardly believe it didn’t come from a picture book.
Caddie led Fabienne to a tray with the remaining two cups. “Relax those shoulders a bit. You look like you’re carrying the weight of the entire world on them.”
Not the entire world. Heaven forbid she be entrusted with that.
But she relaxed, closed her eyes, and tried to shoo away the ghosts. Just for this evening. She hoped they’d understand.