37. Chapter 37
Chapter 37
F abienne awoke the next morning with trepidation, her legs feeling like lead on the way downstairs. A letter awaited her on the tray in the hallway.
It had been forwarded from Washington, and she didn’t recognize the name or address of the sender. Her hand hovered over it. Perhaps Robbins couldn’t make it. A nervous knot twisted in her stomach. As much as she was afraid of facing Robbins with her news, she didn’t want to delay it. She took the letter to her room, but instead of the cryptic summons she half-expected, the writing was that of her aunt. Brayden had promised he’d try to get more letters to Dionne and back. Relieved, Fabienne dove in.
Chère Fabienne,
J’ai été heureux d’apprendre que tu êtes sain et sauf, et pris en charge en ces temps difficiles. I intended to pen this letter days ago, but had to put it aside on account of more pressing work. Should that not have happened, it would have been a much different letter, and a rather inaccurate one. What has changed, you will ask? When I first received the news about you, I tried my luck again and sent another letter to France, hoping this time I would receive an answer, and my mind could finally be at rest.
A pang of pain pierced Fabienne’s chest. Her letter, informing Dionne of Antoine and Marion’s fate, must’ve been too late. She could imagine very well what a shock the news was.
I spent several weeks waiting for the news, until in fast succession, two letters followed. One was from you; the other, from your home in France. I could not believe it myself, not after what you had told me of Antoine and Marion. For that reason, I’m enclosing it as proof. The letter is from Antoine, and was most definitely written recently, as a response to mine. Your brother and sister are both fine…
The letter slipped through her fingers. Fine? But she was told—she knew—she saw the article. The handkerchief. They were dead.
Battling a choking feeling in her throat, Fabienne picked up the paper and shook it. Another letter, stored in the fold, fell out. Her eyes watered as she passed over the date—February this year—the address to Dionne, and finally, the signature. Oh, that signature. Fabienne had always teased Antoine about making the A look like a big, oddly shaped circle.
Your brother and sister are fine…
It couldn’t be. But the words were his; the words mentioning their home, the previous harvest, the business, Marion having a beau in the village and Antoine not equipped to deal with his sister’s suitors. Fabienne read it all, and then read it once again. When the realization finally set in, her cry came in earnest, relief mixing with confusion, happiness with anger, tears with the words on the paper.
An eternity later, as her sobs softened and her eyes dried a bit, a new emotion arose, fiery and ravaging in her veins—fury. Her family had thought her dead, too. That meant not one, but two misunderstandings. And that meant someone was toying with her.
Punctual as always, Robbins was waiting for her at the cottage. “Good day, Mrs. Marshall. Are you ready for a final evaluation?”
Fabienne clenched her fists. As much as she wanted to shake the truth out of Robbins, it was possible he didn’t even know. “I don’t think I am.”
“There’s no need to underestimate yourself.” His face was open, cheerful. Had he been lying to her all this time?
“My family is alive,” she blurted. “Did you know that?”
Robbins’ expression froze in the middle of forming a word.
“Most definitely alive. I was wrong. You were wrong. Or perhaps you were simply—dishonest?”
“I’m not quite certain what you mean.”
“You promised me you’d bring them back. They were my payment. Only there’s no payment necessary because there’s nothing to fix. No one to save.”
“That is, uh, that is unexpected—”
“I’ll say.” She stalked forward. Robbins promptly took a step back. “You haven’t answered. Did you know they were alive?”
Robbins stuttered, “I offered what I was told would be most alluring at the time.”
Fabienne gripped his lapels. “Did you know?”
He didn’t fight her. A sad shadow passed his eyes. “Yes.”
All these months. They let her suffer. They let her wreck herself over and over with her choices, held the death of her siblings over her head when all this time…
She could’ve been happy.
She pushed Robbins away and marched to the door. “I won’t be doing the job for you. You’ve nothing to offer.”
“But, Mrs. Marshall—this is a mistake, I assure you—we’ve come this far, you’ve already learned so much, we’ve trained you—”
“Then train another. I don’t care. I’m done.”
She headed across the clearing. Robbins hurried after her, straightening his lapels. “There must be something else you want. Political favors. Money—”
“Mr. Robbins.” She stopped to look him in the eye. “Our cooperation has ended. I’ll say this for the last time. There’s nothing you can do for me and nothing I will do for you. Find someone else. Good day.”
She strode down the path, trying hard not to break into a run. No calls, no other attempts came to stop her.
Once out of the woods, Fabienne stopped and took a deep breath. As the fresh spring air invigorated her lungs, the heavy feeling of dread left. The ball of all the tangled emotions that had been squeezing her chest for months—the fear, the anxiety—they were gone. She was free. Everything dragging her down was left behind in that forest, and before her… Before her was the rest of her life. She closed her eyes and tilted her face upwards, enjoying the gentle warmth of the sun, then headed home.
She laughed and skipped and hopped in the sunshine. She chased a shadow of a stray cloud; picked some flowers to make a simple bouquet; smiled at a passing dog happily strutting on his way. She raised her skirts and jumped across a puddle left over from the night rain and finally reached the gravel road close to the house.
Stopping in the entry hallway, she caught her breath. It wasn’t just the world outside; in here, too, everything was painted in a new light. How could she have ever thought these walls gloomy? It was different from Provence, yes, but this was her home, too. She put down the flowers and swung around the newel of the staircase. Her home.
“What are you doing?” Brayden stood at the entrance, head cocked as he looked at her.
He may have thought her strange. Who cared? Amidst bubbling laughter, she ran to him and kissed him soundly, wrapping her arms around him. With a slight delay from the surprise, he kissed her back, and she could feel his smile on her lips.
Eventually, she calmed down and leaned on his shoulder. “You smell good.”
“I smell like horse, and you’ve made your opinion on those known.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll go apologize to Winny and feed him as much sugar as he wants.”
“That will definitely not be allowed. The unlimited amount of sugar, not the apology. I think he’ll accept the latter. Now, what is this all about?”
She didn’t know where to start. What words could do justice to what she was feeling? “They’re alive. My brother and sister. They’re fine.”
Brayden blinked, mouth open.
“I received a letter from Dionne, and with it, one from Antoine. He and Marion made it back to France.”
Brayden exhaled and squeezed her in a tight embrace. “That’s wonderful news. I can’t imagine how it happened—”
“Me neither. Frankly, I don’t care. I still have my family.”
“You always had your family.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “Even when you thought they were gone, you had a family.”
She was grateful Brayden didn’t pry with more questions, only held her close and waited. Instead of words, a loud rumble came from her stomach.
“It appears some nourishment is in order,” he said. “Come. I know the day must’ve been exciting, but you need to eat.”
She held on to his hand and dragged him back. “Wait…”
“What?”
His hair was ruffled, his clothes definitely stank, and she thought he never looked more handsome. Her heart, along with the words of confession, caught in her throat. She knew how he felt. All she had to do was tell him the same.
But perhaps not right now, when her stomach was rumbling like thunder. Hardly the most romantic scene imaginable.
Later. She had all the time at her leisure.
Later came after supper and a game of checkers in the parlor. Through heated looks and telling touches, it became quite clear only one bedroom would be in use that night.
As they prepared for bed, Fabienne mentally prepared herself for one particular topic of conversation—or rather, an honest proclamation.
“What’s with that intense frown?” Brayden asked as she lay down next to him.
“I’m not frowning.”
“You were. In the way you do when you have something distressing on your mind.”
She was worrying too much. Just tell him you love him.
“Are you worried about your family?”
“I know they’re fine. Although there’ll be a lot of things to explain. A letter can’t do it justice. I can’t hug them, or scream at them, or laugh with them. And it’ll also take time to receive an answer.”
“You’ll figure it out.” He raised an arm so she could nestle in the crook of his shoulder.
She’d decided to stay here, knowing it would mean giving up her family, her mission. Now it’s all been turned on its head. “I miss home. It’s been a whole five years since I’d last seen it.” Quickly, she added, “Not that I don’t like being here.”
“No offense taken. Homesickness is natural.” He played with a lock of her hair. “What if we go there?”
She rose on her elbows. “We?”
“If you’d prefer to go alone, I’ll oblige.”
“It’s not that. You surprised me. You always have work. Can you do that?”
“Travel is not forbidden.”
“I know.” She lay back down. “I’m impatient, that’s all. Anything other than seeing Antoine and Marion tomorrow, at the latest, won’t do. It’s not possible, but my mind won’t accept it.”
“We can do it.” He toyed with her fingers. “You’ll be back in France by the end of this year, I promise.”
“Really?”
“The war might be close to the end. We can take the summer to prepare, let your family know, then travel there in the fall. How does that sound?”
“Perfect!” She gave him a wide smile. “Oh! We’ll be there in time for the harvest. Wait ‘till you see it, Brayden. It looks beautiful in the fall.”
His eyes twinkled. “Do you plan to put me to work in your vineyards?”
“Well…” She traced a line down his chest with her finger and arched one eyebrow. “I do have some worries about you and Antoine getting along. He’s very protective, and we’ll have to be careful about how we present this whole marriage thing to him.”
“Doesn’t he know already?”
“Dionne mentioned it, but reading something in a letter doesn’t equal meeting your brother-in-law after the deed’s been done.”
“You make me sound like an absolute scoundrel.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine, eventually. I think Antoine will give you a pass if you prove yourself useful.”
“Am I not already useful to you?”
She giggled. “You are very useful, Mr. Marshall.” She continued to run a finger downward. “Perhaps not yet in wine-making, but you have other uses.”
And she made a good show of one of them.