24 December 1960

"That was a lovely day," Jean said, sighing as she rolled onto her side to face him. With one hand she propped her head up, watching him with a soft, fond sort of expression, and with the other she reached out to press her palm against his chest. Lucien smiled, lifting her hand to his lips briefly before dropping it back down, delighted by the warm slide of her skin against his own, just above his beating heart. Yes, it had been a lovely day, a wonderful day, a day full of joy as they entertained their friends and family, and Lucien could hardly imagine a better one. Perhaps if Jack had come, or his Li, perhaps if they had been able to host all their children beneath one roof that might have made the day completely perfect, but as it was he knew better than to hope for such things, to allow sorrow to distract him from the beauty of the moment.

For though a piece of his heart would always miss his darling Li, would always lament for Jean who he knew fretted so over her Jack, in truth his soul was light and filled with joy. He had seen Christopher laugh, had played silly games with little Amelia, had gone to sit beside his Jean for a special Mass at Sacred Heart and held her hand while the familiar rituals washed over him, the only importance they held for him the delight they brought to his beautiful wife. They had eaten a fine meal and in the morning would wake and open presents and bask in the peace of the season. He had purchased a few gifts for Jean, and was very much looking forward to watching her as she opened them, to seeing her soft smile, and he had spent much of the afternoon entertaining notions of a private Christmas celebration there in the warmth and quiet of their bed once everyone else had gone to sleep. Reality was rather less rosy, however, for he was not yet recovered, his lungs not yet ready for such strain, and in every line of Jean's face he could see the evidence of her own exhaustion.

"Yes," he agreed, shifting so that he could wrap his arms around her, so she could rest her head on his bicep and he could feel the gentle press of her belly against his bare stomach. "I can't recall a better Christmas," he confessed. Beneath him Jean hummed, turned her head to press a kiss against his skin.

"Even Ruby seemed happy," she told him, a drowsy note to her voice.

Though Jean seemed perilously close to falling asleep she had just unintentionally touched on a matter that had been bothering Lucien most of the evening. Earlier in the day he had sat in the sunroom with Jean's tempestuous daughter-in-law, had spoken quietly to the girl and learned the cause of her apparent distress. And having discovered that Jean lay at the heart of Ruby's disquiet, he felt compelled to discuss the matter with his wife, no matter how uncomfortable that conversation might prove to be. Yes, Ruby's spirits had improved but Jean remained somewhat wary of her, speaking to her politely but with none of the warmth she reserved for her son, for her friends, for her husband. Ruby had wilted slightly as the evening wore on, but to her credit she had not withdrawn, had persevered and for that Lucien felt she ought to be commended, particularly given her natural inclination towards reticence.

"Speaking of Ruby," he said, his arms tightening their grip on Jean ever so slightly. "She and I had an interesting chat today."

Jean hummed, sleepy and unbothered by his words. "Yes, I know. I really ought to thank you for that, my love. Whatever you said to her it seems to have done the trick. She seemed much happier after you talked."

"Ah," he said somewhat lamely, casting about for the right words to say to explain the situation to Jean, to ask her if she could - what, exactly? He wasn't sure. "The thing is, Jean...well...Ruby thinks you don't like her."

At those words Jean lifted her head to stare at him incredulously, all traces of sleepy delight vanished from her face in a moment.

"That's what this has all been about?" she asked, her eyebrow arching in disbelief. "I thought there was something genuinely wrong with her and it's just...she's just worried about my opinion of her?"

"Your opinion of her matters more to that girl than just about anything else," Lucien told her, trying not to sound too stern, too judgmental. In his estimation Ruby was a very pleasant girl, but he could understand how the sudden swing of her emotions could exhaust those around her, particularly Jean, who believed that such inner turmoil ought to be kept very tightly under wraps. Perseverance in the face of adversity, that was Jean's way, chin up and carry on; whether she felt that young Ruby ought to have been the same Lucien wasn't sure, but it was clear the two ladies had wildly different perspectives on life.

"She's Christopher's wife," Jean said. "She's a part of my family. I don't know why she would think I don't...like her."

And therein lay the crux of the problem, for Lucien could think of no delicate way to point out that she had made no secret of the fact that she found Ruby high strung and somewhat dramatic. He did not wish to accuse her of anything, to ruin the beauty of this night, and so he chose a different track.

"Apparently, Ruby thinks you're perfect," Lucien told her.

"Oh, if only she knew," Jean sighed, and in that sigh Lucien heard a world of sorrow. He knew where her mind had gone, what thoughts plagued her now; Jean did not think herself perfect for she knew better than anyone else the name and number of her own sins, punished herself for them more severely than even the church would have required. Every mistake Jean had ever made she carried within her heart, everywhere she went, but of course it was not the sort of thing she would have discussed with her daughter-in-law, and young Ruby had no way of knowing just how far from the path of righteousness Jean's steps had fallen. Not that she needed to, necessarily, Lucien thought as he smoothed his hand along the elegant curve of Jean's spine; Ruby did not need to know the circumstances of Jean's second marriage - or indeed the first - did not need to know of Jean's heartbreak, the argument that had sent Christopher Senior from her side, never to be seen again. But perhaps there were other things, more mundane mishaps from the boys' youth Jean could share with her, some kindness, some sympathy from one woman who had been made a mother too young to another.

"Maybe it's time she knew," he said slowly, rushing to explain himself when he felt Jean tense in his arms. "I don't mean that you ought to tell her about...well, more delicate matters, but perhaps if you shared with her, talked about the boys when they were little, that sort of thing, it might make her feel more comfortable with you."

"She really told you she thinks I'm perfect?" Jean asked, staring up at him with grey eyes bright and sparkling, despite the furrow of her brow.

"She did," he answered, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead. "And, if you ask me, she's not far off the mark."

"Silly man," she chided him lightly, though her cheeks flushed pink at the praise.

"I'm serious," he pressed her earnestly. "You are so brave, Jean. And you are so kind, and I sometimes suspect that you know everyone in town. These hands," he lifted her palm once more to his lips, kissing her gently for emphasis, "can accomplish any task. Everything you touch becomes a work of art, my darling. And you are so beautiful," another kiss, this time to the tender wrinkles at the corner of her eye. "And everywhere you go, people love you. Amelia loves you, and you already knew just how to look after her when Ruby hadn't yet learned what to do. To a young woman like Ruby, who doesn't have much experience of life, I imagine it's easy to think of you as perfect."

There were tears standing in the corner of Jean's eyes by the time his little speech was through, and fear lanced through him sharp as a knife as he worried that he had overstepped, that he had, however intentionally, wounded his beloved. He needn't have worried, however, for Jean gathered herself together and rose up to plant a kiss against his lips, soft and sweet.

"You say the most wonderful things," she told him, her voice faintly awestruck, as if she had never before received such praise.

"I love you," he answered simply, for that seemed to be the only explanation for the fondness he felt for her, this beautiful woman he adored with everything he had.

"I do feel bad about Ruby," Jean sighed, relaxing against him once more. "I suppose I could make more of an effort with her. I don't dislike her, you know," she added, and Lucien just grinned into the darkness, for he had suspected much the same. "I'm afraid I wasn't as...enthusiastic about their marriage as I could have been," she confessed, and Lucien found himself listening intently, eager to learn more about Jean's past, the making of her family. "But that wasn't because I didn't care for Ruby. They were so young, Lucien, and I didn't want...I wanted more for them."

More for them than what I had. Lucien could almost hear those words, could understand exactly what it was she meant, even if Jean couldn't speak that truth aloud. His heart ached for her, the girl she had been, nineteen and scared, eager to see the world but tied to hearth and home by circumstances beyond her own control. Of course she would have wanted her son to be happier than she had been in her youth, of course she would have feared for him; Lucien knew what it was, to be a parent, to dream of more for his children.

"They made their own choices, Jean," he told her gently. "And they seem happy."

"They are," she agreed. "Christopher told me so. He loves Ruby and Amelia, and I'm glad he's found his way. I'm so proud of him, Lucien." She sighed and nestled herself that little bit closer to him. "That's the thing about children, I suppose. When they're little you can protect them, and guide them, and then one day they're grown up and making their own choices and you just have to let them."

Though he never would have told her, the truth was her quiet words wounded him, just a little, as he thought of all he had missed with Li, how she had been forced to grow up without her parents there beside her, how he was only now beginning to know the woman she had become, whereas Jean had been able to accompany her boys on that journey from the very start. Still, though, they had both been given a second chance at that joy, the wonder of parenthood, and he was so very grateful for it, grateful for the child Jean carried safe and warm beneath her skin.

"What do you think she'll be like?" He asked her suddenly, his palm coming to rest against the swell of her belly. "This little one, I mean. What sort of person do you think she'll be?"

Jean smiled in the darkness and covered his hand with her own. "I hope he'll be just like his father," she answered. "I hope he will be as brave, and as kind, and as gentle as you."

She remained as determined as ever that the baby must be a boy, but Lucien did not argue the point; he found it rather lovely, this hope she carried, and if indeed he was destined to have a son of his own he would count himself blessed beyond measure.

"I hope she will be as clever and as beautiful as you, my darling."

He kissed her again, and they settled back amongst the pillows, content with one another and delighted by the prospect of their growing family.