XXXII

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Jean woke up late. How late, she could hardly say. But the sun was high in the sky. And upon realizing that she had overslept, she had a moment of panic before falling back onto the pillows of her bed and passing out again.

It was much later—though how much later she had absolutely no idea—she was jolted awake by a very familiar feeling in her stomach. She didn't look at the clock, she didn't pay any mind to anything. Jean threw the covers off of her and hurled herself into the bathroom.

The retching constricted her stomach muscles in the most agonizing way. Her head was throbbing and her eyes watered and her nose ran and her throat burned. And when the vomiting stopped long enough for her to catch her breath, Jean slid down the side of the toilet and let the cold tile floor soothe her hot, sweaty skin. She was panting to breathe and eventually lost consciousness again.

Lucien felt absolutely sick to his stomach. It was the first ordinary day after Christmas. Well, sort of. It was Boxing Day, which was not a religious holiday, thank goodness, so he did not need to worry about Mass. But it as still a holiday, so his parishioners were with their families. He and Jean had spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day together, and Christ he'd never been so happy in all his life.

But she had gone home in the afternoon on Christmas, needing to attend to things. She had kissed him and smiled before she left, and he'd hated to see her go, but it had been quite necessary, he knew. Everything between them was still so new and incredibly inappropriate and forbidden. If he had any sense at all, he'd listen when she'd told him that they couldn't do this. He'd have tried harder to resist the clamoring of his heart whenever she was near. The way they'd fallen together in the church…and after…and again…it wasn't an acceptable way for an upstanding woman like Mrs. Beazley or a priest such as himself to behave. But the heart wants what the heart wants. And if he had not spent so much time getting to know her and sharing himself with her before he'd even touched her skin, he might think it wasn't just his heart that wanted her. Really, all of him wanted her. Craved her at every moment. But it was not just lust, though he felt that. This was love, truer and deeper than he had ever imagined. And Lucien could not bear to ever let that go.

Today, though, Lucien had expected Jean to arrive at nine as she always did, to make him breakfast and drink her tea with him. He'd hoped he could take her in his arms and kiss her for a while before she inevitably turned them to more practical pursuits. While he'd love nothing more than to take her to bed and keep her there all day, he knew that she wouldn't allow that. There was work to be done, things to clean up in the church and her garden behind the rectory surely needed attending.

Only Jean had not arrived in the morning. He thought that perhaps she was just running a bit late, though such a thing was unheard of from her so far. But ten o'clock passed. And eleven o'clock passed. And Lucien began to worry.

He paced back and forth by the front window, looking up with his heart racing at every little movement. But it was just the wind in the willow tree or a bird flying by. It wasn't Jean. She wasn't coming.

Was it because it was Boxing Day? Was she busy with something else? Neighbors or family keeping her occupied? She hadn't told him she wouldn't be coming over. But she hadn't said that she would either. He tried to remember what she'd said when leaving the day before. She'd perhaps seemed a bit off, but Lucien had assumed she was just tired. After all, neither of them had slept much, busy instead with much more pleasurable pursuits.

Lucien felt the anxiety bubble up into panic. Did she regret their dalliances? Was she avoiding him now? Had she decided not to come in order to punish him? Or was she keeping herself apart from him to prevent temptation? He didn't know. He needed to know.

In a flash, he began to search through the small house for the parish directory that got printed each year. Though Lucien being his usual unorganized self, could not seem to find anything. He and Jean had thrown away so much junk during her first week working for him that he didn't know what he even had anymore. The only directory he could find was from four years ago. And, of course, the directory was released in January each year. Jean hadn't lived here last January. She wouldn't have been in the directory anyway.

He nearly threw the directory away, knowing it would be no use to him since he did not know her phone number and could not get it. But then he remembered one pertinent fact. She lived next door to the Collins family. And they'd lived here for years and years. Lucien dug picked up the directory again to find the Collins' address.

Without giving it another thought, Lucien got himself dressed and began to walk through town. He knew where the various streets in town were. He did not go out exploring all that much, but he did occasionally visit the sick and bereaved in their homes, so he knew his way around. It didn't take him long to get to the street where the he knew Jean lived. The trouble, however, was figuring out which house was hers. The Collins' lived in the middle of the street. Would Jean be their neighbor to the left or to the right?

Thankfully, he had been granted a reprieve. He located the address for the Collins family and saw Mr. Smith mowing the lawn of the house to the left. So Jean must be to the right.

As he approached up the front walk, he realized that this must be her house. There were lovely flowers planted in pots on the porch. The grass was neat and everything looked so pleasant and tidy. It felt like her.

Steeling himself for the worst, he knocked on the door.

Jean was jolted awake by a sharp banging. She came to realize she was lying on the floor of her bathroom and drooling from her open mouth. And she felt absolutely terrible.

The banging occurred again, and she recognized it as the sound of someone knocking on her door. "Mrs. Beazley?" someone called. It was a man's voice. That was about all she could decipher through her hazy mind.

She hauled herself off the floor, groaning and whimpering through it all, and fetched her pink dressing gown to cover herself. It was sometime in the afternoon and she was still in her nightclothes.

By the time she hobbled down the hall, she was starting to feel nauseous again. Whoever was looking for her would just have to go away, lest she vomit all over him. But when she opened the door, the most welcome sight greeted her. "Lucien!" she realized in surprise.

He hesitated, looking her up and down. "Mrs. Beazley," he replied insistently.

She realized what she'd done. And how he was dressed, in his cassock and collar. He was standing on her front step. "Come…come in, Father Blake" she said, this time addressing him properly and feeling utterly bewildered over what was possibly going on.

Jean closed the door behind him. Dimly, she wondered if anyone had seen him. And why he was at her house, of all places.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, turning back toward him. She wrapped her robe around her tighter, fighting off a chill.

"I came to ask you the same thing. I got worried when you didn't come over," he said. The look on his face was one of confusion that she surely matched.

And then it dawned on her. With a gasp, she hurried to the sitting room to look at the clock on the mantlepiece. It was nearly one in the afternoon! "Oh Lucien, I'm so sorry! I had no idea what time it was. I should have called!"

"Called to say what, Jean? Why didn't you come? What's going on?" he asked her worriedly.

It took her that long to realize what he must have thought, after the time they'd spent together for her not to turn up as usual. "I think I've got the flu," she explained.

Lucien's face changed immediately. "Oh my darling, I'm so sorry!" He did not hesitate to take two steps toward her and wrap her in his embrace.

Immediately, Jean felt better. The nausea was still roiling in her stomach and she felt sweaty and chilled, but being in his arms was so soothing. She nuzzled against his chest and closed her eyes, breathing in the very distinct scent of him with that slight note of spiced aftershave he wore.

"I'm glad I came over then, if you're not feeling well," he murmured. "Would you mind if I did a short examination, just to check you over?"

Jean pulled away and looked up at him warily. "I don't think that's a good idea with the way I'm feeling."

He chuckled. "No, I mean an actual examination, Jean. I am a doctor, remember? I can run home and get my medical bag and be back before you know it."

She had forgotten that he was a doctor. His suggestion made much more sense now. "But you probably shouldn't be seen going to and from my house, Lucien." She absolutely hated to say it, but it was true. Before, there had been nothing much to convict them of impropriety, certainly nothing to damn them. But now…well, they'd more than crossed the line now. Galloped over it, in fact.

"You're ill, and I have been known to visit and pray with the sick. It isn't so unusual that I should come visit you when you're not feeling well. Particularly because you live alone. It wouldn't be right for me to leave you like this."

Jean knew she should tell him no and be the voice of reason. But she just could not bring herself to it right now. She wanted to go back to bed and curl up in his arms and let him sing her to sleep while stroking her hair. And if he, with his medical training, could do anything else to help her, that would be all for the better. Jean knew it was just the flu, though she herself had not been sick in a very long time. She'd nursed her boys through enough of this to know it wasn't much to be worried about. Still, being on her own was difficult. And she had a man who loved her who wanted to be with her in her rather disgusting weakness. Jean could not bear to turn him away.

She nodded and he kissed her forehead. "Oh dear, you've got a fever, my darling. Go right back to bed. I'll go get my things and be back before you know it, if you'll trust me to come right in through the front door?"

"Yes, that's fine. I don't ever lock it when I'm home during the day, just before bed."

He cupped her cheek gently and pushed her hair off her face. "I'll be sure to lock it before bed, then."

Jean took that to mean that he would be staying over, which was certainly a bad idea, but her head was just too heavy for her neck and her eyes were protesting being open like this anymore. In a minute, she'd not be able to remain upright, let alone think or speak. And so, she allowed Lucien to help her down the hall to her bedroom and tuck her into bed.