Nothing But Love
A/N: There will probably be two more chapters and an epilogue for this story. Thanks to those who have reviewed, and to those who haven't, I hope you have enjoyed the story anyway.
At the end of Ch. 20, Jean-Marc Gaspard arrived at Erik and Christine's with a message from Jack.
Chapter Twenty-one
Christine flinched at Jean-Marc's announcement and Erik reached for her hand. "We just received a wire from him ourselves," he told the solicitor.
"May I?" asked Jean-Marc, and Erik gave him the telegram. In turn, the older man handed him the message from Jack, and took a seat across from them.
Erik read quickly, frowning at the mention of Louis Chalfont and the request for information on the acquaintance. He handed the paper to Christine. "Have you discovered anything about this Arnaud?" he asked Jean-Marc.
"Not much, and what little I do know is disconcerting, to say the least." The solicitor leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "He is . . . a little . . .slow, and not the same type of person as Chalfont, as one might expect. What I have found seems to indicate that he feels he owes Louis some kind of debt."
Christine made a snort of disgust, causing both men to smile. "How will you send this information to Jack?" she asked. Neither man responded immediately and she looked sharply at Erik, and then Jean-Marc. "Well?"
"I suppose . . . I will wire it to him," said Jean-Marc slowly.
"I hope you are not thinking what I fear you are, Christine," Erik said in a low voice. She opened her mouth, and he held up a hand to forestall her. "Remember your condition."
She blew out a breath in frustration and sank back against the cushions, shooting him an angry look.
Before Jean-Marc could ask, Erik explained, "You are going to become a grandpère again in a few months, mon ami."
A delighted smile spread quickly across the older man's face, only to fade an instant later. "How are you feeling, chère?"
"Well enough, I suppose. No sickness like the last time. But my husband," she continued in an aggrieved tone, "forces me to lie down and rest twice a day."
"Which is why you are going to travel no farther than the orphanage until the child is born. The journey to Sainte Anne du Jardin would be much too long and therefore too tiring for you." Erik's voice brooked no argument, and she huffed out another breath, her bottom lip poking out in a tiny pout.
Clearing his throat, Jean-Marc rose and said, "I believe that I shall take my leave now and allow you to finish your 'discussion' in private. I will send you a copy of whatever information I gather about this Arnaud." He bent down and kissed Christine on both cheeks, murmuring, "Take very good care of yourself, child."
She promised she would, and he bid them adieu. Erik stood and walked to the door with him.
A long moment of silence passed; finally she turned to look at Erik and asked, "What are you thinking?"
He gave her a lopsided smile. "I am trying to determine what you are thinking, love." Returning to the loveseat, he sat next to her and pulled her close; she laid her head on his shoulder.
For several moments the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. Christine put her hand on his chest, rubbing across his breastbone. "You're going to take the information to Jack, aren't you?" she murmured.
Erik dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Yes," he answered quietly. "You read Jack's message; Louis sent a wire to this man. One must presume that he has asked Arnaud to come to Sainte Anne du Jardin to help him. If indeed Stephen is nearby, as both you and Jack maintain, then . . ." His voice trailed away.
"Something is going to happen soon," whispered Christine. She shivered, and Erik rubbed his hand up and down her arm. "You'll leave as soon as you receive it from Jean-Marc?" Erik nodded, and she raised her head and looked at him. Her eyes swimming, she said brokenly, "Please, mon ange? Please bring him home."
Stephen stood at the kitchen sink, grinning to himself as he heard Sara Jane moving about in her room. The sound of drawers opening and closing, accompanied by louder and louder muttering, led him to conclude she was looking for something. He went to her door and tapped lightly on the doorframe. "What is the matter, Tante Sara Jane?"
She jerked and looked over at him, noticing the cloth wrapped around his right hand. "What did you do to yourself this time?" she said as she came out of her room and into the kitchen.
"I scraped my hand on a nail. M. Victor is replacing the boards in the floor of the loft." He winced as she unfastened the cloth and looked at the wound.
"The nail wasn't rusty, was it? Come here," she ordered, going to the pantry. Grabbing a clean rag from a nearby bag, she dipped it in the kerosene barrel and pressed it to the scrape.
"Ow! No, it wasn't rusty! That hurts!" Stephen cried, and tried to pull his hand away. Sara Jane held on tightly, giving him a sharp look.
"Better that it hurts now than let it get infected," she retorted. Lifting the rag, she inspected his injury. "Doesn't look too deep, so you should be fine. But you watch it carefully, you hear?"
Knowing that tone of voice very well, Stephen nodded and said meekly, "Yes, Tante Sara Jane." He stood to one side and let her precede him to the kitchen. "What were you looking for when I came inside?"
Okay, girl, let's see how smooth a liar you are. "Must be gettin' old," she said, not quite meeting his gaze. "When I went back into town the other day for the flour I forgot, I must have left my gloves somewhere. I can't find them now." That much is the truth, anyway.
"Do you think you left them at the dry goods store? Maybe they're in the saddlebags." He turned back to the pantry, knowing that was where she kept them.
"Already thought of that—they're not there." Don't say too much! "Sure would like to have them back," she said wistfully. "They were my best pair." Going to the stove, she stirred the pot of soup and tasted it, adding a pinch more salt.
Stephen stepped up beside her and said, "Since Jolie is at her friend's house for the day, we could go into town and look for them."
"And leave the house empty? I don't think M. Victor will agree to that." Sara Jane wiped her hands on her apron and sat at the table.
Stephen frowned, knowing she was right. "But M. Victor is working in the barn today. Surely that would be close enough to the house to satisfy him."
She pursed her lips, considering the idea. "Maybe. Let's go ask him."
Victor had no objection to them riding into town. Once Sara Jane had returned to the house to move the soup to the back of the stove and retrieved her coat and reticule, they set off, Stephen driving the small buggy.
Well, so far, so good, she thought, watching him out of the corner of her eye. But I'd bet my bottom dollar he's got another reason for wantin' to come to town. Suddenly she realized he had spoken to her. "I'm sorry, hon. What did you say?"
"Do you remember all the places you went, the last time you came to town?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied. "Are you worried about somebody recognizin' you from the posters?"
He stared at the space between the horse's ears for several long moments. Finally, he sighed. "No, I don't think so. I have considered this very carefully since you told me about the man who is looking for me. I think . . . perhaps . . . I will be ready to go home soon." The letter in his trouser pocket to Thèrése seemed to burn through the cloth.
Jack had just finished grooming his horse when he glanced out the door of the livery stable and saw Sara Jane. She rode in a buggy driven by a young man; Jack would have recognized him anywhere from Erik's sketch. "I'll be damned," he muttered.
Hanging the curry comb on a nail, he went to the door and watched as they stopped in front of the dry goods store. Quickly, he brushed off his trousers and picked up his duster, making sure Sara Jane's gloves were in the pocket. He settled his hat on his head and rolled his shoulders to ease the tension. Here goes nothin'.
Jack made his way down the street as though he had all the time in the world. Reaching the store just as they exited, he tipped his hat. "Bonjour, Miss Jones," he drawled, watching her reaction as well as Stephen's. "I believe I have something that belongs to you." The delighted smile that crossed her face when she saw her gloves made his heart give a funny little thump.
"I'm so glad you found them," she murmured, and went up on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek.
Some perverse little devil in him made him turn his head just in time, so her lips grazed his mouth instead. "Oh," she breathed, her blue eyes wide with surprise, and he smiled at her consternation.
Stephen observed their exchange with increasing hostility. "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur. I do not believe we have been introduced."
Immediately, Jack turned to him and offered his hand. "My name's Jack Templeton. Your parents hired me to find you, Stephen. I'm glad to see you in one piece."
Stephen looked at Sara Jane, his eyes narrowed in resentment. "Did you truly lose your gloves, mademoiselle, or did you leave them behind on purpose?"
"Now just a minute, son. She's done nothing to deserve that tone of voice from you, and damn sure not that measure of disrespect." Jack's voice was hard; his eyes bored into Stephen's relentlessly.
" 'She' is quite capable of speakin' for herself!" Sara Jane declared hotly. "You just hold your horses," she told Jack, stabbing him in the chest with her index finger. She turned her back on him and addressed Stephen. "And you need to keep a civil tongue in your head, boy."
She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "Now, if we can talk about this calmly, like adults," she continued, "I think we can explain everything to everyone's satisfaction."
Stephen's face flushed and he clenched his jaw. He looked down at the ground then back at Sara Jane. "Pardonnez-moi, Tante Sara Jane, M. Templeton. I will listen to what you have to say."
"And we want to listen to you, too, hon," said Sara Jane quietly. She looked up at Jack. "Let's go to the café and get some chocolate. Seems like another good day for it."
Once they were seated at Jack's favorite table in the back, Sara Jane said, "Jack, why don't you lead off?"
He took a moment to put his thoughts in order, and then said, "Your folks hired me to find you, make sure you were all right. They received the note you sent and understand that you'll come home when you feel ready. When I did find you, I wasn't to put any pressure on you to come home until you're ready."
Yvette approached with their chocolate, favoring Stephen with a brilliant smile when he rose to help her with the heavy tray. Sara Jane and Jack shared a private smile at the young woman's mild flirting.
When he resumed his seat, Stephen looked squarely at Jack. "When you speak to my . . . family, please tell them that I will contact them soon. I have . . . worked through the problems that caused me to leave."
Sara Jane blinked back tears. "Boy, howdy, they'll be glad to hear that," she murmured.
"There is still one thing to consider, though," Stephen reminded her. "Louis Chalfont."
Jack nearly choked on his chocolate. "You know Louis?"
"Unfortunately, he is my employer's brother," Sara Jane told him disgustedly. "They're nothing alike, and certainly there's no love lost between them. Louis stupidly showed up at the farm a few days ago, struttin' around like a bantam rooster." She grinned, nodding at Stephen. "He dragged Louis outside by the arm, and you should've heard the little runt squeal."
"M. Victor told him he would kill Louis if he set foot on the farm again," added Stephen. "Once he had told us who Louis was, he warned us that the little âne would try to get revenge. So we have all been very careful not to find ourselves alone and away from the house."
"There's an added complication," Jack said in a low voice. "He's sent a wire to a friend to come here and help him with something. Promised the man a big reward."