Lies Told In Silence (26 page)

Chapter 36

June 1918

Helene knew from the brief twitch of Marie’s eyebrows that she guessed her condition immediately. However, it was not until later when they walked along the beach that they were able to talk openly. Until then, Marie carried on a lively conversation with Tante Chantal while Helene looked on in amusement.

“You aren’t judging me, are you?”

“Of course not. Your mother did not breathe a word to me, even though she knew I was coming. Remind me when we return to the house: she has sent a gift for you. Paris is full of women in your condition. Who can resist men who are going off to war? It’s almost a patriotic duty. I could have been in the same situation, you know.” Marie gave Helene a saucy look.

“Marie! Now you’re shocking me.”

Marie’s voice took on a reflective tone. “I do have someone serious in my life. We’ve known each other a long time as friends, but I see him with different eyes now.”

“Do I know him?”

“I don’t think so. His father is a close colleague of Papa’s, and so we met from time to time when we were young. After I returned from London, he sought me out. His name is Victor. Victor Giroux. He’s an infantry officer. I think he will soon ask me to marry him.”

“And . . .”

“I will say yes.”

Helene laughed. “I’m happy for you, my friend. So happy.”

The women linked arms, strolling away from the centre of town. “I’m glad to hear you laugh. I’ll be able to tell your Maman that you look much better and have colour in your cheeks. She’s very worried about you.” Marie’s voice became serious. “Have you heard from Edward?” Helene shook her head. “What are you going to do?”

“Can I speak frankly?” Marie nodded. “Maman wants me to put the baby up for adoption. But I can’t do that. It’s Edward’s baby, the only thing I have of him. He wanted to marry me, and I said I would. In some ways, I think of him as my husband.” She laid a hand on Marie’s arm. “My father doesn’t know.”

“Really? He will have to know if you keep the baby. How will he react?”

“He’ll be furious. I keep hoping for a miracle.”

Marie shrugged her shoulders. “You should think carefully. A bastard child is unwelcome is most circles. Do you want to do that to your child?”

The word
bastard
made Helene cringe, and she knew her friend had used it deliberately. “I could live in a city where people don’t know me and say that my husband died in the war.”

“Wouldn’t you be lonely without your family and friends like me?”

“I could go to Canada and find his family.”

“But that’s so far away. Besides, his family might be awful to you.”

“You see; there’s no good solution.” Helene’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

“If you chose adoption, surely you would eventually accept it and move on. Perhaps find someone else to love.”

“I don’t know.” Tears welled up. “Grandmere would say that I’ve made my bed and must lie in it.”

* * *

Dear Helene,

While I was away, the family received terrible news. Francois was badly wounded at Amiens. Initially, the doctors thou
ght they would have to amputate, however, ultimately they were able to save his leg, although he will walk with a limp. Maman says he has some large scars. She will stay with him until he can come home to Paris.

Have you made any decisions? You know that I will support whatever path you choose, but I still think adoption is the best for both you and the baby.

I knew you would want to know about Francois immediately. I will write again when I know more.

Marie

* * *

Dear Francois,

I was very upset to hear about your wounds, and I am praying that you recover fully. Based on the thoughts you shared with me in your letters, I can imagine how difficult it has been.

What a poor friend and correspondent I have been. Please forgive me. You deserved much better as a soldier fighting for our country, and as my cousin. I am ashamed that I neglected your letters.

Marie will have told you that I am staying with my aunt in Honfleur while I recover from . . .

Helene paused. It would be scandalous to refer to her pregnancy, although she suspected that Francois would not care in the least. In the past, she wrote freely and easily to him, but today she felt the need to choose each word carefully and had already torn up two sheets of paper.

A slight morning breeze wafted through the window bringing with it the raw scent of seaweed washed up in last night’s tide. Seagulls skimmed the water looking for breakfast while tiny birds scampered to keep ahead of an incoming wave, their spindly legs darting like her aunt’s knitting needles.

Should she use the word depression? Broken heart? Perhaps she should merely say that the doctor recommended rest. She sighed. That would mean tearing up yet another piece of paper. The baby’s kick poked hard against her ribcage.
I know,
she thought,
you don’t like me to sit for long, do you?
Helene picked up her pen once again.

. . . a certain malady. Tante Chantal is very good to me, and I find it soothing to be by the sea, although our lives are very quiet.

I am so pleased to know that you will soon be home in Paris. Your family will take great care of you, and I hope you continue to improve.

Fondly,

Helene

* * *

As summer unfolded, Helene grew larger. Gradually, none of her clothes fit anymore, and she had to endure the embarrassment of shopping for new outfits. The baby kicked and turned with no regard for her comfort, but comfort was nothing compared to the realization that Edward would never see his child, and she wondered, again and again, how she could possibly give up this human being, the only proof of his love for her.

“I’ll be as huge as a whale before it’s over,” she grumbled to her aunt. But in truth, she was delighted with her body, round and blossoming, sensitive to touch, ripe and glossy like a soft peach.

In August, her mother came to Honfleur. For the first few days, Maman did not mention the topic that hovered at the edge of their conversation. Instead, she entertained them with stories about Paris, about Jean and Guy and close family friends, and told them that Helene’s father expected the end to come soon. She brought sad news as well: the death of Maurice Sembat’s eldest son, the son of another close friend missing in action, and the bombing of an orphanage located in a convent just north of the city.

“Innocent children. How could they?” Helene closed her eyes to obliterate the image of dead children and their tiny, twisted bodies.

“Absolutely shameful. Nothing these Germans do surprises me anymore.” Her aunt removed her apron and hung it on the hook behind the kitchen door. “Now you two go for a walk while I do a few errands.”

Helene and her mother walked across the road and followed a narrow, wooden footpath over tufted dunes. The sand sparkled in the sun, radiating heat. Both women removed their shoes and padded down to the water.

“Francoi
s Delancey continues to recover,” her mother said. “When he first came home, Cousin Yvette transformed the study into a bedroom so he would not need to manage the stairs. He progressed to crutches relatively quickly and now goes out from time to time. His mother tells me that they hope he will soon stop brooding and be his old self again.”

“Have you seen him?” Helene lifted her skirt to avoid a sudden wave.

“Not yet. He wasn’t willing to see anyone for weeks.”

Helene nodded. A boy ran past them clutching the string of a red and yellow kite that soared and dipped in the air. All along the beach brightly coloured umbrellas sheltered summer sunbathers. In the distance, two sailboats seemed to be racing each other, bows rocking up and down on white-tipped waves.

“You look happy again.”

“I’m content. Tante Chantal is good company.” As Helene spoke, she cupped her hand beneath her belly. “He’s moving,” she said. “He likes to move when I move.”

“Guy was the most active of all of you. And I suspected you were a girl even before you were born because your movements were so different from his.” Maman shaded her eyes to look farther up the beach. “Shall we continue?”

“I usually go as far as the boat you can see in the distance. It’s a good, long walk and the doctor says I need to exercise.” Another wave rushed into shore, curling into white foam.

“Papa has asked me when you will return,” her mother said.

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No. But I can’t hold off much longer. Have you thought about what I said?”

“I think of little else.” Helene’s voice drifted into silence.

A seagull dove into the water and emerged with a fish flopping in its beak.

“Lunch,” Maman said. “Do you remember the picnics we used to have? Jean loved to t
oss bread crusts to the gulls.”

“He loved running on the beach, didn’t he, Maman? We’re all so much older now. Those carefree times have disappeared, swallowed by war and tragedy.” Helene stopped and faced her mother. “When you tell Papa, you must also tell him that the baby’s future is my concern, not his.”

* * *

Henri was engrossed in maps and papers. News from the front was positive given that Germany’s attack in July had been repulsed by a combination of French and American divisions. The minister now believed they had the enemy on the run. Henri lifted his head as the door opened and Lise entered the room. She never disturbed him in the library unless it was something serious.

“We need to talk, Henri.”

“Sweetheart, can it wait until bedtime? I’m preparing for a meeting with the Americans tomorrow.” France needed more loans to buy armaments; America was the country’s banker.

“It’s important.” Lise did not return his smile.

Henri put down the sheaf of papers he held. “Is it Jean?”

“No, it’s Helene.”

“I thought you said she was getting better.”

“I said that she’s no longer as depressed as she was. But there’s more, Henri.”

His smile faded, eyebrows drawn into a frown. “Yes.”

“You must promise not to be angry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lise. How can I promise not to be angry when I have no idea what you are going to tell me?”

His wife took a deep breath. “Helene is pregnant. She’s due in late November.”

“What?”

Lise held her ground despite the fierce scowl he directed her way.

“Helene didn’t want you to know. And I thought I could co
nvince her to give the baby up for adoption.” Lise pursed her lips. “She won’t agree to it.”

“
Merde
! How could you let this happen?”
A pregnant daughter
, he thought.
A father’s nightmare.

“I? You think
I
let this happen? She’s twenty years old, Henri. I couldn’t watch her every second like I would a small child. Being angry isn’t helpful.”

“A bastard child. This brings shame to our family. And Hel
ene’s so capable and determined, probably the brightest of our children. I had such hopes for her. An important marriage, a strong social position.”

“What’s happened has happened, Henri. Our daughter needs our help now, not recriminations.”

“And Chantal kept this from me too?” Lise said nothing. “A bastard child. I told you that soldier was no good. I should have acted earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing.”

Henri pushed away from his desk and began to pace. “You’ve told her to put the baby up for adoption?”

Lise nodded. “She says it’s her decision. Not ours. She loves him, Henri. But she hasn’t heard from him in months. That’s why she was so depressed. She doesn’t even know if he’s alive.”

“Damn this war. I should have protected her. Damn that soldier. He’s ruined her life.”
Damn, damn, damn.

Chapter 37

September 1918

September began with a heat wave. Sitting on the front porch wearing a loose fitting dress, Helene fanned herself constantly but still felt uncomfortable. A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts.

“They should arrive soon,” said Chantal. “I’ve made iced tea and sandwiches.”

“That’s lovely. I could have helped, you know.” She looked at her aunt. “Marie said they would hire a car from the station so Francois doesn’t have to walk. Did you know Maman thought they shouldn’t come because of my pregnancy? But he’s family, Tante Chantal. And he fought for France. What does my condition matter in the face of his sacrifice?”

“Your Maman is only thinking of your reputation.”

“Papa is furious, isn’t he?”

“Sometimes my brother is a foolish man.” Chantal’s nostrils flared as she spoke.

After three months, Helene knew that her aunt loved her older brother but was more than prepared to criticize his behaviour and challenge him. “Sometimes Papa can be a bully. I never imagined that as an adult I would see the flaws in my parents so clearly. But he loves me. I know he does.”

“You’re right,
chérie
. Let’s not spoil the day talking about your father. A visit with friends is just what you need. Honfleur is a perfect place for Francois to rest.”

“I haven’t seen Francois in four years. What will he think of me in this state?”

“He’ll think you’re a beautiful woman.”

Helene remembered the attention Francois paid to her at Gabrielle’s wedding.
When I was just an innocent
, she thought.
The war will have changed him
. Her aunt went back into the house, and Helene’s thoughts drifted from Francois to Beaufort, and inevitably, to Edward. She closed her eyes, reliving their last time together.

“Well, well, don’t you look peaceful?”

Marie’s voice interrupted Helene’s reverie, and she blushed, imagining that somehow Marie and Francois would know what she had been thinking.

“Francois, how good to see you.”

She ignored Marie’s teasing and got up from her chair, embarrassed that he could see her bulging figure.

“It’s kind of you and your aunt to have us,” Francois said, kissing her awkwardly on each cheek while balancing with his cane. As he stepped back, his gaze rested first on her face and then her belly.

While they settled in, Helene scrutinized Francois, taking care that her eyes did not dwell on the long, jagged scar running across his right cheek. He moved slowly, leaning on a wooden cane, and sank awkwardly into a low-slung canvas chair.

“Now how will we get you out of that?” said Marie.

“My sister enjoys bossing me around.” Francois directed his look at Helene and Chantal, ignoring Marie.

“How was your trip?” Helene asked.

“We did very well. Papa took us to the station and helped with our bags. A very nice man offered his seat so we could sit together.”

“Humph. That fellow only wanted an excuse to talk to you,” Francois said.

Marie ignored her brother’s mood and laughed. “Well, the time passed quite pleasantly, I thought. And I didn’t have to listen to your grumbling.”

“Now you’re making me sound unkind.”

Helene sought a new topic, one that might soften the fierce look on Francois’s face. “We’ll have to make plans. Francois, what do you want to do while you’re here?”

“The doctor has ordered me to swim every day. Says it will strengthen my leg. I’m in your hands, Helene, but with this bloody leg, I can only walk slowly.”

“We’ll make a good pair, then.”

Helene kept her tone light and her face composed while inwar
dly she wept at Francois’s appearance, not only the scar but the grimace that matched each limping step, the hoarse sound of his voice, the weary look of his face. The Francois she remembered had disappeared, replaced by a hard, emaciated shell.

In the morning, Marie and Helene left Francois to read the newspaper while they explored a shady, tree-lined path leading away from the beach.

“Maman has told Papa about my condition,” Helene confessed almost immediately. “He wrote to me of his disappointment and said that I must give up my baby. Do you know he even found a family who will take it? I was furious when I read that.”

“He wants what’s best for you.”

“Only what he thinks is best. My feelings aren’t considered. Maman says she can’t change his mind, so I’ve made a list of my skills, but I don’t see how I can turn them into a future for me and my child. No one needs a person who can knit, cook, tend a garden and speak English. Sometimes I want this pregnancy to disappear, but whenever the baby moves, I think of Edward again.”

On the fifth day, Marie returned to Paris and her hospital work, saying that even though many thought the war would soon be over, the wounded were still coming in.

“I’ll speak to your mother,” she said before climbing into the taxi.

Helene waved her handkerchief until the car disappeared from view while Francois watched from the front porch.

* * *

“You’re not swimming this morning,” Helene said to Francois, who stood near the kitchen window holding a small cup of espresso.

“I thought I’d walk with you instead.”

“Oh. But you never came with us before.”

“I’m sure you and Marie enjoyed being together. I didn’t want to intrude.”

Helene noticed an odd tone in his voice and wondered what he wasn’t saying. “I’ll have a quick breakfast. Someone needs food.” She gestured at her belly before realizing how intimate her comment had been then turned away so he would not see her blush.

“The heat seems to have eased,” she said, matching her pace to his as they proceeded along the path.
We must look odd with one of us limping and the other waddling.

“It’s good to see you smile. You often looked sad after walking with Marie.”

“She was trying to help.”

“With what?”

“A decision I have to make.”

Expecting Francois to probe further, Helene was relieved when he remained silent. They passed a cluster of beehives and two horses snatching grass near the fence.

“Is it painful? Your leg, that is.”

“Quite.”

“Will it improve?”

“Not sure. Better than losing it.”

“Were you afraid? About the leg.” She did not want him to think she was asking about the war itself or reminding him of the letters he wrote.

“Too delirious to be afraid. My mother pleaded with them to save it. Probably made the difference. It would have been easier for them to amputate.” He narrowed his eyes and looked away.

Helene winced at the thought. “How awful. A soldier I knew talked about the war. He said it was horrifying, and the only way to survive was to numb yourself.”

“He was right.”

“Do you talk to anyone about it?”

“No. Just the letters I wrote to you. And a bit of a diary that I kept.”

“Wouldn’t it help to talk to someone?” His sharp look implied she had overstepped. “I’m sorry, Francois. I shouldn’t have asked.”

An uncomfortable silence descended.
I’m such an idiot. I have no right to question him.

“What about you? Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” Helene knew she deserved that question.

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s what Marie and I discussed. I don’t . . .” Helene thought she might as well be honest. “Papa wants me to give the baby away . . . I don’t think I can. And I don’t know where the baby’s father is. I still hope . . .”

“Hmm. That’s difficult.”

“I try not to worry too much. But the closer it gets . . .”

“It’s due in . . . ?”

“November.” Helene had expected a casual, lighthearted conversation, not this intense exchange of confidences. “I think we should go back. I’m getting tired.”

The return trip was subdued with only occasional comments about the scenery and idle chatter about their families until Helene mentioned Jean’s desire to enlist.

Francois spoke harshly, the scar on his face pulsing. “There’s nothing adventurous or heroic about it. It’s just bloody awful. But I think it will end soon.”

The morning’s conversation created a chasm between them, as if confessing private thoughts had exposed personal despair, and they could no longer hide behind a façade of hopefulness and longtime friendship. The following day, Helene professed the need to knit clothes for the baby, and Francois returned to his morning swims.

* * *

Dear Helene,

What on earth did you do to Francois? He has returned in a foul mood and keeps to himself most of the time. I’ve tried to engage him in conversation, but he refuses to tell me anything. I am most disappointed, as I wanted to introduce him to a friend. Do you remember Jeanette Grenier? Well she has passed the mourning period for her fiancé, and I think she might suit Francois. However, he is definitely not capable of being charming to any young woman at the moment.

Enough about my brother. I want to know how you are. Less than two months now, so I imagine that you tire more easily. When Gabrielle was seven months along, she found it difficult to do any housework, and her ankles were so swollen she sat much of the time with her feet elevated. Have you made any decisions about the future? I wish I had lots of money and could give some of it to you!

Victor has written to me several times, and I love getting his letters. He says that the fighting will be over in a few weeks and that he will then be able to speak to my father about our future. Imagine, I may soon receive a proposal of marriage!

Write to me soon,

Marie