The French War Bride (41 page)

1946

T
he evening after our argument, Jack came home with a stroller, a high chair, a baby bed, baby sheets, a baby swing, and about a dozen toys. Caroline and I were in the kitchen fixing dinner and saw him struggling to get the stroller out of the trunk. In those days, strollers didn't fold.

Bruce went out to the car to help him carry everything inside.

“Oh, Jack, how wonderful!” I said when I saw all the baby paraphernalia. Jack pulled Elise into his arms and gave her a big kiss, then guardedly gave me la bise—only, I am sure, because Caroline and Bruce were watching.

“A patient gave me all this.” Jack shot Bruce an apologetic look as he set the high chair in the breakfast room. “I promise we're not permanently moving in with you.”

“You're welcome to stay as long as you like,” Bruce said.

“I've checked into rental property, and there's nothing available right now,” Jack said.

“Why don't you just buy a house?” Caroline asked.

“I'm, uh, waiting to see what happens with Dr. Thompson.”

My chest tightened. Did this mean Jack was still considering leaving Wedding Tree? Or was he holding off because he might divorce me?

I was tense during dinner. Caroline and Bruce carried most of the
conversation. Jack was polite but quiet; he had nothing to say to me directly. I was uneasy about where we stood with each other.

I was thrilled when he followed me into the bedroom as Caroline and Bruce retired for the night. Perhaps we were going to talk. Perhaps we were even going to kiss and make up.

I turned toward him, my heart pounding as he closed the door.

“Tomorrow you can take Elise downtown in the stroller and buy both of you some new clothes.” He handed me five twenty-dollar bills. “And there's a grocery store on Oak Street, just off the town square.” He peeled off two more twenties.

I looked at the money. It was a fortune in those days—especially to me. It was far more than I could imagine spending on clothes or food. I smiled. “Thank you, Jack.”

“You're welcome.”

I stepped toward him, wanting to give him a kiss, thinking this heralded a new beginning.

He stepped back, his expression cold and remote. “I'm going back downstairs to read for a while.” He opened the door and left, closing it quietly behind him.

—

The next morning, Jack once again was gone before anyone awakened. Apparently he had admitted a couple of patients to the hospital, and he also wanted to confer with his mother's doctor and the physician treating Dr. Thompson.

The weather was lovely. In Fahrenheit, it was about 65 degrees. After breakfast, I bundled Elise into her coat, put her in the new stroller, and headed downtown. This was my first chance to really see Wedding Tree.

The town was centered on a redbrick courthouse in a parklike town square. The square had a fountain and benches, and was filled with enormous live oaks and magnolia trees that stayed green in the winter. Stores lined the streets facing the square on all four sides. I was totally charmed by this lovely American village.

I glimpsed a shop with children's clothing in the window and went inside.

“Hello,” said a middle-aged woman with her hair in a fishnet snood, standing behind the counter. I thought she wore too much rouge and the green of her dress was all wrong for her complexion, but she was attractive all the same. “May I help you with something?”

“I am looking for clothes for my baby,” I said.

Apparently my accent immediately called attention to me, because two women in the back of the store turned from a rack of clothes. They looked at each other, then marched up to me, like soldiers advancing on an enemy. “You must be the war bride,” said the one in front, a curvaceous woman dressed all in pink with short platinum blond hair, heavy red lipstick, and large button earrings.

I tensed. I wasn't sure what I disliked more—the term, or the way she said it. “I am married to Jack O'Connor, yes,” I said.

“Well, I have to say, what you did was just awful.”

I froze, unsure if she was unbelievably rude or if there were a slang meaning for “awful” that I didn't understand. “Pardon?”

“You stole Kat's fiancé, then didn't have the decency to even mail the letter Jack wrote telling her about it.” The other woman leaned in. “And I heard you wrote phony letters to Kat to string her along.”

I didn't know what “stringing along” was, but I knew it sounded malicious. “That is not true.”

“Jack's own sister said you did.”

“I wrote the letters, but not for any stringing. I did it because I thought I might have to stay in France with my ailing mother and I thought Jack might return to Kat. I didn't want to ruin their lives.”

The blonde sneered. “You'd already done that when you stole Jack from her.”

“That is impossible.”

“What?”

“A man can't be stolen, like a—a watch, or a pocketbook, or a potato.”

“A potato? Who would steal a potato?” The two women looked at each other and laughed.

“Someone who is starving,” I said in a low, somber voice. “Someone trying to feed a family during a war.”

The blonde quit laughing, but she didn't apologize. “Well, our men aren't potatoes, and we don't take kindly to you Frenchies stealing them. So don't expect to find yourself welcomed in Wedding Tree.” She turned to her friend. “Come on, Maura. It smells in here.”

“Yeah. It smells like frog.” They both giggled as they minced out the door.

I stood there, feeling small and devastated.

“Were you looking for something specific?” the clerk asked.

“No. No, thank you.”

I, too, headed out the door, blinking back tears. I turned the wrong way, but finally found the grocery store. It seemed that everyone there stared at me. Several women at the meat counter stood together, whispering and pointing. I bought a piece of beef, some fruits and vegetables.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” The cashier, a fortyish brunette with a friendly face, smiled at me as she punched in the numbers on the large black cash register.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Why, you don't sound like you're from around here, honey. Where are you from?”

“France.”

“France! Heavens to Betsy! What brings you all the way to Louisiana?”

“This is my husband's home.”

“Oh, yeah? Who're you married to?”

“Jack O'Connor.”

Her brow crinkled. “I thought he was marrying the doctor's daughter.”

Oh, here we went again! “That plan changed.”

“Why, just last week, she was in here, talking about her wedding.”

I fumbled with my wallet, my head down.

“Isn't her father in the hospital? I heard—”

“I'm very sorry,” I broke in. “I'm in a hurry, so if I can just pay for my purchases . . .”

“Oh, yeah, honey. Sure thing.”

I hurried out of the store and down the sidewalk. As I pushed the carriage, struggling to balance my groceries atop the umbrella cover, I noticed that cars slowed down and people gawked at me.

I felt a hot flush of shame rush over me. It was not unlike being une femme tondue all over again.

—

That evening, I told Caroline what had happened.

“Oh, the platinum blonde—that had to be Minxy. She's horrid! She used to make fun of me because I lived on a farm. One time in high school she asked me, in front of a group of her snotty friends, if the polka dots on my dress were milk from one of our cows. Once she wouldn't stand next to me in the lunch line because she said I smelled like manure.”

“How cruel!”

Caroline nodded. “It wasn't true, of course. Mother was such a priss about raising me to be a lady, she wouldn't let me within a mile of the dairy. Anyway, Minxy is a jealous, petty busybody. Ignore her.”

“It wasn't just Minxy. In the store and all the way home—people were staring and whispering and pointing at me.”

“Well, you are quite the town topic. It'll die down eventually. Just smile, go about your business, and ignore it.”

But to do that, I feared I was going to have to ignore the whole town.

—

One person I couldn't ignore was Jack's mother—who, unfortunately, warmed to me no faster than Minxy. The next day, Caroline agreed to watch Elise in the hospital lobby—they didn't allow children on the rooms with patients in those days—while Jack took me to the newly added second floor to meet her.

“Now don't let Mother upset you,” Caroline warned. “She's very outspoken, and . . . well, she's a big fan of Kat's.”

Hiding my trepidation, I plastered a smile on my face as Jack opened the door to her room.

“Mother, this is my wife, Amélie.”

She was a beautiful woman, with dark hair and blue eyes like Jack's. She reminded me of an older Vivien Leigh. She arched her delicate eyebrows as she looked me over. “So you're the girl who turned my son's world upside down.”

“He did the same for me.” I said, with my most charming smile. “That's what love does.”

Jack crossed the room, picked up his mother's medical chart, and began perusing it.

“Yes, but I'm afraid you've made his life here very difficult.” Her gaze raked me from head to toe. I was sure she was trying to figure out what Jack saw in me. “So tell me, Amélie, was your marriage to Jack a shotgun wedding?”

I had never heard the term. “A what?”

“Did he marry you because you were pregnant?”

“No!”

Jack looked up from her chart. “I already told you that, Mother.”

“Yes, but I wanted to ask her for myself. Kat says the baby is huge.”

Oh, mon Dieu! She was going to be what I believe Americans call a tough biscuit. I decided to distract her. “I am anxious for you to meet your granddaughter. She is such a delight. She's here at the hospital, but regulations prevent children from visiting on this wing.”

“That's just as well. I'm far too young to be a grandmother. In fact, I'm worried it'll make me less desirable to eligible men.”

Beside me, Jack stiffened. “Mother, I hardly think a man your age would hold a grandchild against you.”

“Who said I'm looking for a man my age? I've been told I look a decade younger than my years.”

One thing I knew how to do well was to flatter. “You are very beautiful,” I said. “You certainly do not look old enough to be Jack's mother.”

The remark earned me a small lift of the corner of her mouth, but it didn't seem to improve her opinion of me. “Jack, I've been thinking. When I get out of here, I'm moving to New Orleans.”

Jack put down the chart. “That's a big decision, and you are still ill
enough to be on oxygen. There will be plenty of time to discuss this when you get home and feel better.”

“I've been considering it for some time. I'm bored here, and the city has a lot more to offer.” She fluffed her hair. “With this scandal of yours, Jack, I think you should consider moving, too.”

“Getting married is hardly a scandal.”

“Jilting the most eligible girl in the parish and coming home with a war bride and a baby big enough to be your sibling—that is indeed a scandal, Jack. A big one, in a town this small.” She turned and gave me an insincere little smile. “Sorry, dear, but that's just how things are.”

A nerve ticked in Jack's jaw. “They'll get over it when the next bit of gossip comes along.”

“Will they? I fear it will hamper your practice. And anyway, I don't see why you don't want to go for a specialty that can make you some real money.”

“Because I've always wanted to be a general practitioner. I want to treat entire families, to know my patients outside of sickness, to be a part of their community.”

“Well, you can do that perfectly well in New Orleans.”

“The type of practice I want is only available in a small town.”

“If you're expecting to socially interact with your patients, I think you're going to be disappointed. I hear you're already being shunned.”

His features settled into the unreadable set I knew too well. He stiffly kissed her forehead. “Get some rest, Mother.”

I walked beside him in silence as we left the room. “Is she right, Jack? Am I ruining your practice?”

He shook his head. “Sick people need a doctor, and right now there are a lot of sick people. My mother has always been overly concerned with the opinions of others.”

“You, too, must be concerned about the opinion of those you care about.”

“I hate that I've hurt Kat and Dr. Thompson.”

“Caroline told me you're considering leaving Wedding Tree.”

He blew out a sigh and nodded. “I am trying to find a doctor to take
over Dr. Thompson's practice, but it's not easy. I've promised to stay here in the meantime.”

“Oh, Jack! I am so sorry I put you is this position.”

He stared at the elevator door as it closed. “I put myself in it. I accept responsibility for my own actions.” His eyes briefly met mine. His gaze was cool, but I sensed a undertone of still-hot anger. “What I have trouble accepting is that I made my decision based on false information.”

“I am so very, very sor—”

He held up his hand. “Save your apologies. I am sick of them, and they don't fix anything.”

“But . . .”

The door slid open, and we were no longer alone. My heart was heavy. I didn't know if Jack would ever be able to forgive me. And if he could not, how would I ever be able to forgive myself?

1946

T
he next day was Saturday, and the weather was again gorgeous. Winter in southern Louisiana was much like spring in Paris, I was learning—varying from chilly to warm, then back again. This day was another gift of sunshine.

At breakfast, Caroline suggested that we take a picnic to see the town's namesake. Jack tried to beg off, but Bruce insisted. “You need to spend time with your wife, Jack. It won't hurt you to take off half a day to show her around her new hometown.”

As Caroline and I washed the dishes, she confided that Bruce had found Jack asleep on the sofa on Thursday when he'd gone down to the kitchen in the middle of the night.

“Bruce is worried about your marriage,” Caroline said.

My face heated. “We're fine.”

“A lot of couples come to Bruce wanting to divorce,” Caroline said, drying a plate. “He always tries to talk them out of it. He says there's one thing those couples all have in common by the time they seek an attorney.” She placed the plate atop a stack of clean ones, carefully keeping her eyes on it. “They're always sleeping apart.”

My face flamed. I felt very exposed and vulnerable.

“I can tell Jack is angry,” Caroline told me.

“Yes.” I scrubbed a plate more vigorously than necessary. “He's furious at me for writing to Kat.”

“He can be very stubborn.”

I nodded.

Caroline picked up another plate and rubbed the dish towel over it. “Sometimes the best way to get over a rough patch in a marriage is to just move forward and create positive new memories.” She smiled at me. “That's why Bruce and I planned an outing for the four of us today.”

After we finished cleaning the kitchen, Caroline fussed over what I should wear—“Wearing something special makes the day feel special,” she said—and insisted on helping me style my hair. She was up to something, I could tell that, but I thought it was just a clumsy attempt to make me more attractive to my own husband, which, quite frankly, embarrassed me to death.

I ended up wearing a dress of Yvette's that I had cut down to fit me—it was light pink with a full skirt. We drove out of town and into the woods, Jack behind the wheel. He was dressed in a suit and tie, because he was going to see patients later.

“This forest reminds me of France,” I said.

He parked near a wide spot in the road. We climbed out of the car and walked down a well-worn path through tall oaks and pines. “There it is,” Caroline said. “The Wedding Tree.”

I stared where she pointed. It was actually two enormous live oaks, connected by a single, continuous branch that formed an arch.

“Oh, my!” I breathed.

“It's called inosculation,” Jack said. “The branches rub against each other and wear off the bark, and the two trees graft together.”

“It's like that Cole Porter song, ‘I've Got You Under My Skin,'” Bruce said, hugging Caroline.

“The part that grows together is the cambium,” Jack said.

Caroline rolled her eyes. “Trust Jack to know all the scientific terms.”

“They're usually called husband and wife trees, or marriage trees, but the local settlers got it slightly wrong,” Bruce added.

I gazed up at the thick branch. “You can't tell where one tree ends and the other begins.”

“Like a really long, strong marriage. Isn't it beautiful?” Caroline said.
“They've been completely grafted together for at least a couple of centuries. They share water and nutrients through that branch, too.”

My throat grew strangely tight. “That's lovely.”

“Isn't it?” Caroline agreed. “There's a legend that if you kiss under the tree, you'll always be together.”

Bruce grabbed Caroline, bent her over backward, and gave her a thorough smooch.

“Now it's your turn,” Caroline said to Jack.

He raised his hands and stepped away from me. “I don't believe in superstitions.”

“Oh, right,” Caroline said. “I remember Kat complaining that you wouldn't kiss her here.”

Jack's eyebrows quirked up. “She told you that?”

“Yes.” She imitated Kat's breathy voice. “Jack said it's a bunch of nonsense and he refuses to participate in a pagan ritual.”

“I'm sure I didn't call it a pagan ritual. I probably said I don't believe in perpetuating superstitions.”

“It's not a superstition, it's a tradition,” Caroline said. “And speaking of tradition, I asked Adelaide McCauley to come take a picture of you and Amélie kissing beneath it.”

Jack's eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Well, you know she's a very gifted wedding photographer. You shouldn't miss out on having an Adelaide McCauley photo just because you're already married. You'll treasure it when you're old and gray, and so will your children.”

Jack frowned. “I don't think . . .”

“Oh, look!” interrupted Caroline. “Here comes Addie now!”

I turned in the direction Caroline was facing and saw a slender brunette coming down the path, clutching a professional-looking camera. I thought she resembled Katharine Hepburn. Caroline waved and walked toward her.

“Were you in on this?” Jack asked Bruce.

Bruce sheepishly raised his shoulders. “You know your sister. When she gets an idea in her head, there's no stopping her.”

The woman wore a blue shirtwaist and wide smile. “So you're Jack's new bride. I'm Addie. Welcome to Wedding Tree!” Instead of shaking my hand, she gave me a hug and patted Elise's arm. “Oh, what a beautiful child!”

Elise smiled and cooed at her.

“Welcome home, Jack.” Adelaide gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks. How's Charlie?” Jack asked. “I heard he lost part of a foot in the war.”

“He's doing much better, thanks.” She greeted Bruce, then lifted the camera hanging around her neck. “The light is just perfect, so we'd better get busy and take advantage of it.”

“I'll hold Elise,” Caroline said.

I passed the baby to her.

“Jack and Amélie, stand right here and face each other,” Addie directed. “That's right. Now, Jack, put one hand on your wife's waist, and the other hand around her back. Amélie, put one hand on Jack's chest and the other around his neck.”

We awkwardly posed as she directed. She stepped back and focused her camera for what seemed like forever. The nearness of Jack—the smell of his shaving cream and the starch in his shirt and the scent of his skin—made me feel a little light-headed.

“Okay—now kiss!”

Jack leaned in and lightly touched my lips in what must have been the world's shortest peck. Bruce laughed.

“You'd think you two were total strangers,” Bruce said. “How'd you make a baby, kissing like that?”

Jack's ears turned red.

“You need to hold the kiss longer,” Adelaide said gently. “Let's do it again.”

This time our lips met and held. I melted a little against him, and he seemed to thaw a bit, too.

“This is awkward,” I whispered to him.

“No kidding,” he replied.

“Again!”

We kissed again.

Adelaide repositioned us several times. With every kiss, things grew both more comfortable between us—and more tense. I was enjoying it, I feared, way too much.

“Okay. I've got it!” Adelaide said at last.

“Thank you so much,” Caroline said.

Elise started to fuss and reached for us.

“Oh, wait—let's take a few with the baby! Both of you kiss her, one on each cheek.”

We did as Adelaide directed. She snapped away, then lowered her camera.

“Wonderful! I can't wait to get these developed.”

“I can't wait, either!” Caroline said.

“Amélie, I want to throw a little dinner party to welcome you to town,” Addie said. “How about next Saturday? Bruce and Caroline, I want you to come, of course—and Kurt and Alice Sullivan, and the Marches.”

“That sounds wonderful!” Caroline said.

I looked at Jack. He nodded. “Sure. I'd love to see Charlie.”

“What can we bring?” Caroline asked.

“Just yourselves. I'll send out an invitation with the particulars. Oh, this will be so much fun!” With a wave, Addie headed up the path to her car.

We ate our picnic lunch, then drove back to the house. Jack left to check on some patients, and Caroline and Bruce went to a movie, with plans to go out to dinner. They invited me to go with them, but I thought they might want some time alone as a couple.

Oh, what I would give for Jack and me to truly be a couple! The kisses had ignited a longing deep in my soul.

I had heard the saying “the way to a man's heart is through his stomach
.
” I was sure it was not a French saying—Frenchwomen know otherwise—but still, I figured it couldn't hurt to cook a nice dinner for Jack. I decided to brave the grocery store again.

I bought a small chicken. I'd just placed it in the oven to roast and had put Elise down for an afternoon nap when Jack came home.

I had hoped that the kisses had warmed him up, as they had me, but his expression was distant, his manner aloof. “Where are Caroline and Bruce?”

“They've gone out to a movie and dinner.”

He scowled. “No doubt another of their little romantic plots to leave us alone together.” He turned toward the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Out.”

I hurried across the room toward him. “But I'm cooking dinner for you.”

“Don't bother.” He reached for the doorknob. “I'll grab something at the diner.”

“Jack,” I said.

He reluctantly turned toward me.

I pulled off my apron and placed it on the side table. “I want to make things better between us, but I don't know how.”

“I don't think it's possible.”

“Maybe if you don't . . .” I stared at his brown loafers. It took me a moment to gather my courage. “You don't have to sleep on the floor anymore.” I looked up at him. “We are married, after all.”

“I don't feel married.”

“I don't, either. But I want to have that with you. To build that with you.”

His eyes were remote, his features hard as granite. “Because of you, I've hurt a lot of people I genuinely care about. If I had my way, I wouldn't be sharing a house, much less a bedroom, with you. The truth is . . .” He heaved a hard, frustrated sigh. “Damn it, Amélie! I'm so furious at you that it's hard for me to be around you.”

“We need to fix that.” I stepped closer to him. “To fix your anger.”

“How the hell do you propose to do that?”

I don't know where the courage came from. My heart was fluttering in my chest like a caged bird trying to escape. I moved toward Jack, put my hands around his neck and drew him down. “Like this,” I whispered.

I pressed my mouth to his lips, and angled my groin to fit against his.

He did not move. For a long, heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to push me away—which, I must tell you, would have killed me.

He remained as still as a rock for so long that I began to tremble. But then, his lips moved on mine, hot and hungry, his tongue demanding entrance. His hands tangled in my hair, then moved down to my breasts, my waist, my bottom. He cupped my buttocks, lifted me and carried me to the kitchen counter, where he set me down.

He wasn't gentle, but it wasn't gentleness I wanted. I wanted raw, primal passion. I wanted to be possessed, to be claimed, to be marked as his.

He unbuttoned my dress, pushed aside my bra, and took my breast in his mouth. His movements were rough and urgent and thrilling. A rush of pleasure shot straight to my groin. He claimed me with his hands and his mouth—my breast, then under my dress, sliding up my thighs—all the way up, stroking me through my underwear until I thought I would die, and then he lifted me again, set me back on the floor, and pulled off my panties.

“Turn around.” It was an order, low and raspy, and I quickly complied.

He leaned me over the counter. I heard the clink of his belt unbuckling, the soft whish of his pant zipper, and then he bunched up the fabric of my dress. One hand circled around and stroked me in front on my most sensitive spot, and then . . . Oh, mon Dieu, he filled me. This time there was no pain—only pleasure. Oh, what pleasure! He stroked in and out, continuing to use his hand, as well. Tension built and coiled inside me until it reached an aching, back-arching need, which spiraled to a breath-holding crescendo. I shattered, like glass broken by a soprano's purest note. Jack's completion followed right behind.

He leaned against me, his lips on the back of my neck, breathing hard. I felt a sense of joy and fulfillment and yes . . . love.

And then the kitchen door burst open.

“Oh—excuse me!” I heard Bruce's voice say. I looked up to see the door rapidly slamming shut.

“Merde,” Jack said.

“Mon Dieu!” I whispered.

Jack backed away and straightened his clothes. “Go upstairs and get decent.”

I scurried upstairs, but paused around the corner to listen as Jack opened the door.

“Hey, really sorry to disturb you, buddy,” Bruce said.

“I was, uh, just . . .”

“Hey, no need to explain.” I heard Bruce chuckle. “I'm just glad to see you two are getting along better.”

I couldn't hear Jack's response. I don't know if he made one.

“Caroline needed a sweater. Good thing she waited in the car, right?” I heard the closet door open. “Say—we saw Betty Costley at the movie, and she asked if you could stop by to see her mother tomorrow. Her arthritis is worse and she's got some kind of new pain that keeps her from sleeping and she's miserable.”

“Okay,” I heard Jack say. “Do the Costleys still live over on Pine Street?”