II:
"Lucien's joined the Army," Desiree said, blowing a raspberry on young Christopher's belly and tickling the squirmy little boy. "Mum's beside herself, and dad's going on about what a disappointment it is to have such willful children."
Jean chuckled and cut another slice of cake for her visitor. She knew that her little farmhouse was shabby compared to the house on Mycroft, but the least she could do was be hospitable. "Well… you're the one that said yes to Matthew Lawson when he asked you to marry him," she pointed out.
"Yes, but we mutually broke the engagement off when he went to Melbourne for training," Desiree sighed. "So dad can stuff it." She tickled the baby again and said, "Now… tell me how you're doing. I never see you anymore."
"That's because running a farm and taking care of a family are hard work," Jean said with false cheer. "When are you off to France?"
"Next week," Desiree sighed dramatically. "Don't remind me: mum can't wait to drag me to meet all of the relatives. Dad is thrilled to not be going. Meanwhile, I'm just thinking that it's all going to be a terrible bore and I'm so tired of everyone telling me I need to settle down and get married. As if I'm going to do something so obviously stupid!"
Jean's smile vanished. "Thank you for that."
"Well, I mean, it's all well and good for you," Desiree said quickly. "But for me? When all a man is going to see is my father's money and prestige? And mum's parties. Let's not forget mum's parties. Why not my brain? I'm not just a pretty face."
Jean sighed heavily. "No, you're right," she agreed quietly. "You should marry for love or not at all."
"Leaning toward not at all," Desiree said. "Now, you and Christopher must come to my going away party –"
"We really can't," Jean said quietly.
"Well, then… I'm sorry," Desiree sighed, disappointed. "I wish you could."
"So do I," Jean said. But they were such different people now, not girls any longer, and the world no longer looked fondly on their mismatched friendship. She always felt the sting of not having enough money, enough food, enough resources to keep things together, and the Blakes wanted for nothing at all. It was enough to make her sick.
And to think, she could have had all of that… if she hadn't been so determined to do the honorable thing and marry Christopher. Her pride stung, and she hated herself for every moment of weakness when she dreamt of Lucien instead of her husband.
Lucien held Li in his arms and smiled down at the tiny baby, so fragile and light. She and Mei Lin were his everything, the light of his life, and he delighted in them. "Hello, my darling girl," he whispered. Li looked up at him with wide eyes, as if waiting for him to continue, so he did. "You know you were very much wanted, yes? And you're very much loved."
"Stop talking or she's never going to go to sleep," Mei Lin mumbled from the bed wearily.
"Mummy's being grumpy," Lucien chided cheerfully.
"Mummy has only had an hour's nap," Mei Lin countered.
"I spoke to my father," Lucien said quietly.
Mei Lin sat up, the covers pooling around her. "Oh, Lucien…" she sighed.
"No, no… he was upset at first," Lucien said. "How dare we give the baby a Chinese name, etcetera, etcetera, and then he let me finally tell him that we named her after the grandmothers, and your mum is older, so she gets precedence." He lightly bounced his daughter and smiled. "My little Li Genevieve," he whispered.
"And then…?"
"Then he calmed right down and muttered about how I shouldn't wind him up."
"You shouldn't," Mei Lin sighed. "It's a bad habit."
"I know, but I can't help it. He's terrible. Ever since I went to university, I can do nothing right," Lucien sighed. "You should have heard the rows we had over me marrying you."
"What's done is done, Lucien," she murmured. "Bring our daughter to bed so I can feed her. Poor thing must be hungry."
He smiled down at Li and sighed softly. "No, she's happy," he said. "And so am I."
The crops failed. There was a war on; the menfolk were gone, the farmhands long gone, and Jean and the boys were left to fend for themselves. Without the meager planting to feed the livestock, Jean had sold the starved cows as a herd to a woman from Castlemaine, and the flock of sheep to Patrick Tyneman's home farm. And what of it? It wasn't even enough to pay the arrears on the land, let alone put food on the table.
It was too much: she poured her heart out in the confessional, sobbing her despair in a way she could not with the boys in the house. Christopher, her Christopher, was gone – dead in the Solomons months before, and she had only just learned as her farm's lifeblood was drained away one drop at a time.
She wanted to scream, to run away, to pretend that it was all a nightmare she could wake up from. But it was not. It was real, oh so real.
And even as she railed against the horror show that her life had become, she prayed: she prayed for the safety of Lucien and his family, and she prayed for Desiree. Desiree had been in London and got caught in the Blitz, and after that, she hadn't left Europe, despite Thomas's insistent begging. All they knew was that, at some point, she had gone over to France – but that had been months before. And Lucien… they hadn't heard anything since Singapore had fallen to the Japanese. Where his wife and daughter were was even less certain. But she prayed for them all because even if she could do nothing for herself and the boys… she could do that much.
She was leaving the church, wrapping her shawl around her tightly and hoping no one saw her when she walked right into Genevieve. "Oh, Mrs. Blake, I'm so sorry," Jean said quickly, still nearly in tears.
"No, it's my fault, Jean, dear," Genevieve said softly. "Are you all right?"
Jean exhaled and shook her head. "The bank is foreclosing on the farm," she said very quietly. "I don't have anywhere to go, no money – nowhere to take the boys. I don't know what I'm going to do."
"How much do you need?" Genevieve asked.
"I can't ask – no – it would be throwing good money after bad," Jean blubbered. "Better to let them take it and declare bankruptcy and… and try to start over."
"Chérie, you mustn't do any such thing," Genevieve insisted. "I will lend you the money to bring the mortgage up to date and then you can sell it and find a home somewhere close by. If you need work, we will find you something. Jeanie, poor darling – you must not think you are ever alone. Not ever. Your maman was so happy we were looking out for you when she was ill because she wasn't sure your papa could."
Jean looked up at her with wide eyes. "Mrs. Blake –"
"And I had hoped that you and my Lucien would maybe find love together, because you are such a nice girl," Genevieve sighed. "But, alas… he is stubborn, and you love Christopher Beazley, and right you are. He is a good boy, your Christopher, and I am sorry, Jeanie."
At the mere mention of her husband, Jean broke down again, and Genevieve held her close. "I can't," Jean whispered. "I can't do this alone –"
"You aren't alone," Genevieve promised. "You are never alone."
It seemed like nothing had changed except the color of the house. That didn't sit well with Lucien; too much else had changed in the world, least of all the eddies that swirled around him. The war was over, prisoners released, uprisings supposedly quelled in the name of a fragile peace, but what good was it when his wife and daughter were most certainly dead? He had sent them away on an Australian frigate bound for Hong Kong, then Jakarta, then Sydney, and even as he had been marched into the POW camp, he had heard of the decimation that had rained on Hong Kong.
Every day had been torture, knowing he was alive. And now he had confirmation that they were, in fact, dead. There had been no survivors from the frigate.
He was numb, not from a lack of emotion, but from too many of them encroaching on his fragile psyche all at once. Better not to feel anything than to give in and feel everything.
Lucien shifted his rucksack onto his other shoulder and rapped soundly on the front door. He shifted impatiently from foot to foot, and then the door opened and the woman before him smiled. "Can I help?" she asked gently. She was shockingly beautiful, her dark hair up in a delicate style and her eyes sparkling as much as her smile, and he was taken aback for a moment, forgetting to breathe.
"I – my – I've come to see my father," he said quickly.
She stared at him, then gasped, her eyes full of wonder as she reached out to touch him. "Lucien?" she breathed. "Oh my – Lucien – you're – you're here – you're really here –"
His brow furrowed, then suddenly he realized why his heart was pounding so hard. "Jeanie," he said with a small sense of dread. "I –"
"Come in and sit down – let me get your mother. Your father is at the hospital with a patient," Jean said quickly. "Do you want a cup of tea? A biscuit? A whiskey?"
He followed her inside and watched her move through the corridor like she belonged there, feeling out of place for just a moment. "Jean – you don't have to wait on me."
"It's my job, Lucien," she said softly. "Would you care for anything to drink?"
"Tea would be lovely – I assume Maman will want some as soon as you tell her I'm here."
Jean's small smile returned. "She will want champagne on ice, if it's like when Desiree showed up out of the blue," she said. "You know you have a niece?"
"I had no idea," Lucien said, both of his eyebrows rising into his hairline.
"She won't talk about the father, or her time in the Resistance," Jean said, "but she dotes on that little girl. And so does your father. Your mother is in her studio, working," she continued. "Why don't you go sit down for a moment and I'll get her," she suggested softly, reaching out to touch his arm as if to reassure herself that he was really there. She smiled brightly again, then turned and all but darted down the corridor.
Lucien made his way into the sitting room and sat down uncomfortably, wondering how it all had gone so spectacularly wrong so quickly. But then there was a flurry of activity, and his mother was in the doorway, her hand over her mouth and frantic sobs echoing in the space between them. As she caught him in her embrace, Lucien suddenly felt home at last.
TBC...