Your reviews on this chapter are welcome!

Chapter 34

Both Meg and Julia proved to be terrible patients when it came to doctor ordered rest.

Meg argued that she had been a dancer for most of her life and continued on the stage with blisters, bruises, pulled muscles and myriad other injuries as proof she was well enough to not only leave her bed and the nursery, but to work outside in the garden and make meals for Charles and herself. Ruby insisted on helping her, but Meg did not stay confined to her bed.

Julia, on the other hand, needed no excuse for leaving the guest room and continuing with household duties two days after the miscarriage. She simply stated that she had two children to tend to-and with a devilish smile added that I needed more care than Alex and Lisette combined.

"Indeed," I said before she kissed me and straightened my collar.

I knew she needed to keep herself busy for her own sake. The longer she stayed in the guest room, I could see it in her eyes that she thought of our loss. Twice, when she had decided to rest, I found her staring blankly at the wall with her hand over her abdomen. When she caught me looking at her, she forced a smile and returned to the book in her lap.

With our holiday postponed, the task of moving Lisette and Julia into my home and Meg, Charles, Madeline and the twins into Julia's house became the main focus.

At first Alex and Lisette were thrilled to gather up books, toys, and smaller items, place them into boxes, and deliver them through the back garden and into our kitchen. While they were excited to help pack, neither one of them found unpacking to be of much interest. Ruby stayed later than needed and did her best to keep both homes orderly before larger items were moved by a couple of men who were employed by Archie Leach.

"I hate leaving this house," Madeline said at the end of our third day of moving items. She stood in the hallway just outside of the study and looked around at the paintings on the wall, any one of which she could have taken with her.

"Then stay," I commented as I glanced up at her.

"But Charles and Meg," she worried. "And Audrey and Xavier." The twins were two weeks old already, which hardly seemed possible.

"Then move with them."

"Alex…"

"If only sleeping on the fence between the houses was a viable option."

Madeline took my words as an invitation to join me. She seated herself across from me and sighed heavily, which made it perfectly clear I would not be able to finish my work until she voiced whatever was on her mind.

I returned my ink and pen to the desk drawer and sat back with music still spread across the desk. Hands folded, I waited for her to continue.

"Were you busy?" she asked once she saw me clear the desk of pens and ink.

It took every ounce of strength not to return a snide remark. Honestly I have no idea why she asked such a thing.

"Not at all."

"I worry about Alex," she said suddenly.

My brow furrowed. "What has you concerned?"

"I worry he will think he has been abandoned."

"You, Meg and Charles are quite literally moving behind the house you currently live in. I highly doubt he will feel abandoned. I can assure you will be more than willing to barge in unannounced and spend his usual time studying with Charles."

"He is a very sensitive boy," Madeline replied.

"He will be perfectly fine."

Madeline quickly looked away and sniffled. "I suppose you are correct. I merely…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.

Months earlier I would have dismissed her concerns without a second thought and returned to my bedroom with not so much as a glance in her direction.

"Oh, for God's sake, will you speak whatever is on your mind?"

"I wish I had done more for you," she blurted out. "And now I worry I have not done enough for Alex."

My breath caught in my throat as I studied Madeline for a moment in silence.

"He has known you since he was an infant. I did not know you until I was thirteen years of age and there was nothing you could have said or done to erase the previous twelve years. You have done more than enough. For both of us."

"He is quick to anger."Madeline shook her head. "It worries me."

"He is not like me," I said defensively. I thought of how he had reacted in recent days from throwing a book at Charles to his assumption that he was cursed. Perhaps he was more like me than I was willing to admit.

"He is very much like you, but that is not what I meant. He is much like his mother when he was her age."

Ever since Alex had been delivered to my doorstep I had hoped he would be every bit Christine and nothing like me, but after Madeline spoke, I understood her concerns.

"He was not like this when he was younger," I said as I stared at the music laid out before me in an attempt to avoid meeting Madeline's eye.

"You do not think so?" she ventured.

I inhaled sharply and glanced toward the open door momentarily as I listened for Alex and Lisette's voices. Distantly I heard Lisette's sing-song voice coming from outside and assumed the two of them were out playing with their friends.

"What would you have me do?" I asked quietly. My pulse thrummed through my veins. "If anyone had known of Christine's condition, she would have been sent to an asylum and never seen or heard from again."

The thought made me shiver not only for the woman I had loved for so many years, but for our young son. As a child my parents had spoke of sending me to an asylum. At the time I did not know what the word meant, but as an adult I was fully aware of how asylums were little more than a traveling fair where the general public paid to view the inhabitants. Criminals, those suffering from mental afflictions, and those cast aside by their families were imprisoned for a lifetime, often chained to their beds and treated with unspeakable cruelty.

I would be damned if my son were left to such a fate.

"I know you would never allow such a thing to happen to Alex. I would pray it would not come to that," Madeline said.

"Alex did have his share of tantrums when he was an infant, but he settled down considerably once he was around the age of what? Two or three?"

Madeline nodded. "He did," she admitted.

"His anger is my doing."

Madeline's eyebrows shot up, and she started to shake her head, but I held my hand up to silence her.

"He became combative when he learned of Christine's return." I struggled to voice my mistakes aloud. "He changed when I pushed him away."

Madeline sat back and frowned. She knew what I said was true, but I doubted she ever thought I would admit such a thing.

"You are not fully to blame," she said.

"Who else would I blame? You? Meg and Charles?"

"His mother for leaving him," she said with a tone that voiced her disgust.

"He was better off here." My words came out as more of a question than a statement. "Wasn't he?"

"Of course," she answered.

Outside of the last year, I wanted to add. For a little more than twelve months I had unraveled the most important relationship, the bond I had with my own son.

"I will speak to him," I offered.

"What will you say?"

"I have no idea," I admitted. Thankfully, Alex was never at a shortage for words.

Madeline looked at the papers spread out on the desk and turned one facing her. "You were in the middle of composing," she said as she glanced up at me. "I apologize if I interrupted."

"I was moments away from setting the damned thing on fire. You saved hours of my work, Madame."

She shook her head at me, stood and walked around to the side of the desk. I fully expected her to pinch my arm, but instead she leaned forward and kissed my temple.

"I think I would like to stay in both homes," she said.

I smiled to myself as she walked out of the parlor. "You are always welcome, Madame," I said under my breath.

Julia and Meg spent a great deal of time together with the twins and Lisette volunteering as a nurse caring for both the adults and the newborns. She was quite proud to be of assistance and Ruby seemed to enjoy the company.

When asked if he would like to be a nurse as well, Alex grumbled that he prefered doing men's work and stormed to my side, arms crossed and stiff-legged asking what we were going to do.

"Walk the dog," I replied.

He nodded, but I could tell he was expecting a much more grand task.

We set out in the middle of the afternoon and weaved our way through busy streets toward the park. Alex had asked Charles if he wished to join us, but Charles expected company to arrive to not only celebrate the new house but the new additions to his family.

Bessie pulled harder than usual thanks to Alex leaping over curbs and jumping onto park benches, which only encouraged her to bound after him. Bessie bayed as Alex ran ahead, and when he looked back to see how far behind we walked, he nearly ran into a gentleman.

"Is this your boy?" the man asked through his teeth. He didn't wait for me to respond. "Tell him to mind where he's going."

As much as I wanted to consider a dozen ways I could have ended the man's life-or at least ruined the rest of his day-I merely apologized on my son's behalf and called Alex toward me.

"Enough running like an animal," I said firmly.

Alex bowed his head and fell back into step beside me. "It was an accident."

"One that was thankfully prevented."

Alex's head snapped up, his eyes nearly bulging from the sockets. "Father!" he exclaimed far louder than necessary. "Did you know I have a scar on my head just like you?"

I glanced around to see how many people had turned to stare at us, but thankfully the handful of other people walking in the park were too preoccupied with their own conversations to notice.

"Two, actually," I answered. "But they blend together."

His mouth dropped open. "How did you know?"

"Because I know everything about you."

He grinned up at me. "Was I born with a scar?"

If there was one thing I was certain of in my life it was that I would never be prepared for Alex's questions. He truly made me think before I offered a reply, and of course this was no different.

"You were not," I answered.

He pushed up his curls of hair to show me his forehead. "How did I do it?"

"You hit your head on the desk in my room and also against the wall."

Alex's expression of mirth slipped into a bewildered frown. He stared at my hairline and the top of my mask where the scar on my head from the alley was carefully concealed.

"Was I learning to walk?" he asked.

"No, you were in the midst of a tantrum and had a habit of slamming your head into things when you were upset."

His cheeks flushed. He looked away from me briefly and pursed his lips. "Was I a difficult baby?" he asked, his voice much lower than normal.

"You are the only infant I've had the pleasure of raising and it appears we both survived."

Alex didn't catch the intended humor. He looked quite somber as we continued through the park.

"You were no trouble," I told him. Bessie slowed her pace, her head low as she sniffed the ground. Up ahead there was a refuse bin and I assumed her nose led her toward untold treasures.

"But why would-" He stopped both speaking and walking suddenly and shook his head.

"I beg your pardon?" I tugged on the leash and Bessie stopped immediately and dropped to the ground where she stretched out a few steps from another park bench.

Alex stared at his shoes. "Why was I not wanted?" he asked, his voice quivering.

"I wanted you," I said despite knowing that was not what he meant.

His demeanor changed before my eyes, his chest heaving and nostrils flared. I placed my hand on his shoulder and watched as he stiffened, his hardened eyes settling on my hand.

"Alex," I said softly.

His question was one I had asked myself repeatedly as a child. No matter how harshly I was treated by my father, no matter how my mother neglected to spare a glance in my direction, I loved them and desperately begged them to want me.

I knew by the feral look in his eyes that he considered swatting or shrugging my hand away. Deep inside I saw myself beside my uncle, conflicted by my love for him and my lack of comprehension of the world around me.

"I cannot answer on your mother's behalf," I told him. Unfortunately no one would be able to tell Alex why she had left him on my doorstep. Compassion or a moment of sheer madness, her reasons were her own.

"Would you sit with me a moment? I do not think Bessie will move without a steak in front of her."

Alex plopped down on the nearby bench and alternated between swinging his legs back and forth and tapping his feet on the ground in chaotic, maddening fashion. I sat beside him, leash held loosely in my right hand, and loyal hound on her back at my feet.

"Grand-mere," Alex said, his voice still much quieter than normal.

I looked at him when he spoke and saw his dark eyes narrowed. He looked less like his mother and more like… I wasn't sure who he looked like. He had Meg's penchant for dramatic facial expressions, Madeline's posture, particularly when she was cross, Charles' quick wit, and my height, frame, and quick temper. He was a composition of the best and worst of the people around him.

"What about her?" I asked.

"She is not really your mother," he ventured carefully. "Is she?"

I leaned back and placed my arm on the top of the bench behind Alex, who sat hunched.

"She is not my birth mother," I answered.

Alex studied me a moment. "Which means Aunt Meg is not your real sister?"

"We are not related by blood, but that does not necessarily make someone more or less your family."

His eyes narrowed, undoubtedly fueling a thousand questions as he continued to search my face.

"May I ask you a question?"

Alex was not the type of child to ask permission before speaking, which was undoubtedly my fault. The fact that he prefaced his inquiry with politeness made me certain it was an uncouth question.

"If you so desire."

He fell silent for a moment, his legs still swinging back and forth. Sometimes I thought he exhibited such habits to drive me mad, but on the park bench I understood he was nervous.

"Did you know your true parents?" he asked without meeting my eye.

"True parents?" I asked.

His face flushed, but he nodded still.

"What makes parents real?" I asked as I turned to face him.

Alex scrunched up his face as he mulled over my question.

"Is this a trick question? Like when Uncle Charles does not want to tell me the truth?"

"Not at all."

Alex sighed. "My true mother gave birth to me."

Before I could reply, he twisted to face me. "But, Julia, she is my true mother as well. I think." He paused, his gaze focused on my chest. "Can I have more than one?"

"I don't see why not."

He still stared at my chest, his dark eyes distant and pensive. "What if...what if I love one more than the other?"

"I do not think Julia will ever ask if you love her or Christine more."

He nodded, his brow still furrowed as he concentration. "May I ask another question?"

"You may."

"Two questions, actually."

"Of course."

"Is Grand-mere your true mother?" he asked.

"She is more than that," I answered.

His eyes met mine. I could tell by his expression he wasn't sure what I meant and that perhaps he had another question and did not want to waste it.

"Your Grand-mere has been a sister, a friend, and a mother to me over the years. She has been what I needed, often when I did not know I needed it. She taught me how to care for you, did you know that?"

He shook his head and pursed his lips.

"You have another question?"

"Did you know your birth mother?" he blurted out.

Once he spoke he looked away and swung his legs twice before he forced himself to sit still.

I was glad he looked away as I was not sure I wished to answer him. Whenever I thought of my parents, which was less and less often as the years passed, I did not think of them in terms of grandparents to my son. They had never wished to claim me as their own son, and despite Alexandre being a bright child, because he was mine I doubted they would have given him the time of day.

"Are you upset with me?" he asked.

Our eyes met and I shook my head. "Never," I answered.

Alex looked relieved.

"I did not know my mother well," I said at last. That was perhaps the most benign way to explain our relationship, if not quite generous. "It is difficult for me to explain the relationship I had with my parents."

"Because I am not yet old enough to understand?"

"Well, yes," I answered. Undoubtedly this was something Charles had said to Alex many times and my son was clearly dissatisfied with this being my answer as well. "And because you are far more intelligent than I was at your age and you ask questions I do not anticipate answering."

He offered a closed-lipped smile at my compliment. "Would I have liked them? Your parents, I mean to ask?" he asked.

My pulse quickened at his question, and I had no doubt that once I climbed into bed beside Julia my thoughts would be plagued with nightmares.

"They were not like Charles and Meg or Julia and your Grand-mere," I said.

Alex hung his head. "Oh."

"Because of…?" He looked up at me briefly, his gaze drawn to my mask.

I started to nod, but Alex sat up on his knees and stared at me. "What did you do when I hit my head and made a scar?" he asked.

I thought a moment, recalling how he had been inconsolable that day. "At first? Nothing."

"Nothing?" Alex exclaimed far louder than necessary. Bessie's head popped up from the ground and immediately settled onto the toe of my shoe once she realized there was no cause for alarm.

"Aunt Meg handed you back to me when you would not stop crying, and for whatever reason, you protested by slamming your head into my desk upstairs. At first we did not think you realized you were injured, but then your Aunt Meg began to cry and then you joined her."

"Did you cry?"

"One of us had to be level-headed."

"Did I pass out? Did the physician come and sew me back together?"

"Neither."

"Did Grand-mere find out?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper as though he feared her lingering in the nearby bushes.

"Your Grand-mere knows everything."

Alex grinned and nodded.

We sat in silence for a moment as people passed us by without sparing a glance. The sun was setting, the heat of the day giving way to a breezy, comfortable evening.

"I am glad you accompanied me tonight," I said.

He sat closer, his arm resting against mine. He looked at me briefly and smiled before he turned his attention to Bessie, who was sound asleep.

"Alex, I wanted to speak with you," I said.

"I know," he replied. "Man to man."

"Father to son," I said. Faulted, wretched man to innocent, confused child. I thought. "Your Grand-mere has been worried about you."

His gaze shot up to meet mine. "She has?"

I nodded. "I have been worried as well."

For a long moment I paused. Alex bowed his head and swallowed. "Should I apologize?" he asked innocently enough.

"No, no, Alex, I do not blame you and neither does your Grand-mere."

He searched my eyes for unspoken answers.

"You have always had a swift temper, ever since you were an infant."

He frowned. "Charles says gentlemen do not act like barbers."

"Barbarians," I corrected. "You inherited your temper from me, I think," I offered, afraid he would feel I blamed him. "You have been unable to control your anger recently, which I think is my fault."

Alex gave me a quizzical look.

"Alex, there were many times in the past when I should have left my bedroom door unlocked for you," I continued. "Far too many times I shut you out and disregarded your questions when I should have answered you. I understand better than you know what it feels like to be pushed away."

He swung his legs again, back and forth with such force I could feel his frustration in every kick. His nose wrinkled, his mouth somewhat twisted. For a year that had been his constant expression comprised of frustration and burgeoning anger, all thanks to my carelessness.

"I deserve nothing but your apathy for what I have done to you, and I am truly-"

"When did you know you wanted me?" he asked, his question cutting through my words. He looked at me with his wide, dark eyes. Sometimes when he looked at me I swore I could see new questions forming in his mind, but this time all I saw was his need to be accepted.

"Long before you were born," I answered without a second thought. My throat became tight, my chest aching as I thought of how desperately I had wanted him from the moment Christine said she was with child. "And then the moment you were placed in my arms, I knew there was nothing I wanted more in the world than you."

"Even when I gave myself a scar?"

"Especially when you gave yourself a scar." I reached out and pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him.

His nose wrinkled, his gaze meeting mine. He reached up to wipe the kiss away, but paused and smiled. Without a word, he flung his arms around my neck, then reached up and pulled my mask down enough for his lips to press against the scar on my forehead. His actions were so swift I had no time to react, and even if I had reacted he left me speechless.

Alex placed his hands on my shoulders, mindful of how much pressure he applied to the left side. "I do not know when I wanted you as my father, but I think it was when you first held me."

He truly had no idea how much I longed to hear him say he wanted me as his father, how I feared failing him every day of his life.

"You are my true father," he said before he hopped off the bench, across the park path, and did a cartwheel through the grass, which abruptly ended our conversation. "And Bessie is my true dog!"

Bessie rolled to her feet, stretched, and looked up at me with her sad, questioning eyes. "You are my true dog as well."

Her tail wagged in response, tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. Together we watched Alex as he did a handstand in the grass before he rolled over and laid outstretched with a wide grin on his face and his chest heaving. The last of the sunlight slipped beyond the horizon, the park cast in shadows. Gas lamps hissed, drowned out by the sound of music playing down the street as a summer day became a summer night.

For Alex's sake, I hoped the worst was behind him. I could not bear to think of my son as an angry, bitter man struggling with his emotions. I did not want him to be the mirror imagine of myself or Christine. I wanted him to be better than the two of us. He deserved nothing less than to far exceed the lives we had lived.

"Are you ready to return home?" I asked as I stood over him in the grass.

He sat up and smoothly rolled to his feet. "The women need us," he said.

I chuckled at his words. "Let's hope that is true."